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She struggled again. “Untie my hands.”
Hobart just smiled. “No.”
Alarm jangled through her nerves. “What do you mean, no? Undo my goddamn hands! When I tell King what you—”
“King is going to Level Ten you as soon as we get back to base,” Hobart sneered. “You’re done, bitch. You are so culled.”
She jackknifed up so she almost rammed her head into his face. He rocked back, evading her. “No!” she shrieked. “He trusted me! All alone! He sent me on a mission to—”
“It was a suicide mission. He was getting rid of you. Anyone with a brain that still functioned would have seen that. But you’re trashed, Zoe. Strung out on Melimitrex. He was going to Level Ten you as soon as you mowed down the McClouds and the Ranieris, since it was such a simple task, no intelligence involved. But you couldn’t even handle that much. Pathetic, you know? Really embarrassing, for one of us.”
She shook her head, rejecting his words. “No! No, why would he send you to pick me up if he was going to—”
“Use what few synapses are still firing in your brain and figure it out.” Hobart’s voice dripped false pity. “He couldn’t risk you ending up with the police, pulling an auto-destruct, like you antiquated older models were programmed to do. Like Nadia. We’re too exposed.”
“But…but he—“
“And you want to hear the really shocking part? We just found out that Lily Parr killed Melanie. And King is back at headquarters alone, with her on the loose, until we get back. Because of your incompetence, we’re still miles away, Zoe. He’s completely exposed, with enemies on the loose. Think about that. Just think about it.”
The horror of it transfixed her with guilt.
Hobart nodded. “You’ll see, when we get back. He’ll fix you. And I hope I get to watch.”
It richocheted in Zoe’s brain, echoes swelling, horribly loud.Pop,a pinpoint of agony bloomed in her eye. Too much pressure. Flashes of light. She saw Hobart’s face, through a veil of red. God, how she needed another patch. Her heart swelled, pounding like a trip-hammer.
Lies. It was all lies, the jealous, scheming, lying dickhead. “Undo my hands.” Her voice shook, now. “I need a patch.”
Hobart laughed at her. “Fucking junkie trash. No reason to waste meds on you. You’re being flushed, bitch. Down the tubes.”
His face wavered, swam, through that fog of red. His eyes began to glow, like red hot coals. His mouth was open, laughing. He had fangs, like a predator, a panther. A demon. She couldn’t get any air. Her lungs were locked.A demon.Both of them were demons. It all fell into place, with a quietclick.How could she not have understood before?
Hobart and Julian were demons. They didn’t love King, not like she did. They were only interested in power. They were malfunctions, abominations. They should have been culled at birth. They would stab him in the back, if she did not stop them.
She was the only operative whose love was entirely pure. The only one who could protect him from the enemies who stalked him.Hobart’s demon face swam and wavered, and suddenly he yanked the smothering plastic back down over her face. She vibrated inside her dark plastic cocoon. Galvanized by her holy mission. She would save her King. She was the chosen one. Made for this, by his own hands. Molded, by his brilliant mind. He was her maker, her lover, her God.
She was the one. The sureness of it steadied her, made her strong. He would see it, in the end. She knew he would. He had to.
They belonged to each other. Forever.
CHAPTER34
So many rooms. Lily fumbled, inserting key after key, all unmarked, all perfectly similar. Room after room, some crowded with rotting furniture, some empty. The last three had not opened at all.
Click.Finally, one opened, and light flooded out. Lily peered in, and realized why the three doors had not opened. They’d been boarded shut, since a block of rooms had been remodeled into one long room, pure and clean and starkly white. Crowded with blinking, gleaming medical equipment—and beds. The beds were not empty.
She scanned them. Sixteen beds, ten occupied. She tiptoed in with a sense of dread, swiftly ascertained that Bruno was not there.
These were young people. That boy couldn’t be more than fourteen. The girl next to him looked even younger. What in the hell? They were strapped down. Leather restraints, webbing. Hands, feet, chest, heads. They wore goggles, headphones. They were covered with sensors, wires. They twitched and moaned.
She stood there, shivering. Bruno was not here. She had no business poking her nose into the filthy secret doings of these people. But something prodded her deeper into the room.
A couple of them seemed about twelve. She stopped, at one who looked like she might be dying. A girl, Asian. Her body arched against her bonds, her head thrashed, her feet drummed. Her wrists were welted from her frantic struggling. The sounds coming out of her sounded like pleading, as if she were being beaten.
Bruno’s dreams.Oh, God. That was what the girl was experiencing. It came to her like a splash of ice-water. The experiments that had been done on Bruno. Happening, in real time, to these kids.
Lily was tempted to unhook the girl, but then what? Would she scream? Would she see Lily as another opponent, and attack her?
No. She couldn’t. The girl in the last bed, a blonde, was in the same condition as the Asian girl, thrashing and gurgling. The others just twitched and moaned, like dogs having running dreams.
