The Vixen's Lead (Kit Davenport Book 1) Page 22

  “Well, well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His familiar face leered at me, and my stomach lurched again as though I might be sick.

  “Simon.” Why was he there? “What the hell...?” Shock held me prisoner. Simon might have gotten weird, but he’d been my friend… Lucy’s friend.

  He ignored my question and cast a disgusted look at Austin’s still form. “Friend of yours?” Not waiting for my response, he continued. “We caught him creeping around the perimeter fence not long after you had so wisely turned yourself in. After your little stunt the other night, our security has been considerably heavier, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

  Smirking, he banged the cage door with his boot, as if trying to wake Austin up, but Austin didn’t even twitch. “It looks like the guards might have dropped your friend a couple of times while escorting him in here.” He clicked his tongue making a mockery of his concern.

  “Si, what the fuck?” I repeated my earlier sentiment. “What are you doing here? Why are you keeping Austin when you already have me?”

  He turned back to me, a cruel smile twisted across his face, and I barely recognized my childhood friend in the face of this monster.

  “Why am I here?” He echoed my question with an edge of crazy in his voice. “Well, that is quite a story...” He trailed off, staring intently at my face then dragging his lecherous gaze down my body. The action left me feeling slimy, and I shuddered. The movement seemed to snap him out if his daze, and his cold gaze returned to my face as he continued speaking.

  “After... after you left, the foster home I was placed in didn’t want me. They sent me back to social services after only a month in their house. Too damaged, they said. I heard my social worker talking about placing me in a group home, but there was no way in hell I was going back to one of those places, so I snuck out when no one was watching me. Went and checked into a homeless shelter and told them I was eighteen, just small for my age. I lived on the streets and between shelters for years, picking up odd jobs where I could in order to live...” His eyes had a foggy, faraway look as he spoke, as if he was lost to the memory.

  “Anyway, one day I saw a flyer posted in one of the shelters. Blood Moon Research Facility was looking for volunteers in a new drug trial, and the money they were offering was unbelievable. Their only criteria was that they were looking for reasonably healthy people under twenty-five. Loads of us applied; normal people wouldn’t turn down that much money, let alone homeless people.

  “They gave everyone a blood test when we arrived, and then only thirty or so were asked to stay. I was one of them.” He actually sounded proud of the fact. “Once the rejects left, we were lead into a room filled with hospital beds and strapped down. They started hooking people up to IV lines, filling them with some drug, but it started working before they got many hooked up, and the ones who were first just... screamed in agony. I had never heard anything like it before. People started freaking out, demanding to leave, but the doors were locked and they weren’t letting us go anywhere.

  Bile burned in the back of my throat.

  “One of the doctors must have taken pity on us, the ones still waiting and watching other grown men howl in pain and piss themselves. He explained that the drug they were trying to develop was supposed to enhance the normal human body to be able to achieve extra human abilities, all sorts of stuff he listed, but what caught my attention was healing.” He clucked his tongue, his gaze zeroing in on mine.

  “They were trying to give people the healing ability that you already had. Well, I knew I had a bargaining chip that could save my ass from ending up in the epileptic, foaming mess that some of the ‘volunteers’ were turning into, so I asked to speak with his superior. When they refused, I told the doctors in the room my story, all about a little girl I used to know who could heal from anything. Anything. And I tell you what, Kit, they ushered me out of that nightmare room and down to a plush-looking office faster than you could turn your head.” He laughed, proud of how betraying me, saved him. “When I got there, a fine looking older lady demanded I tell her again, but I wanted some assurance first because I’m not stupid, you see? So we struck a deal, me and her, that I would be exempt from the drug testing but I wouldn’t be free until I could deliver you.” His grin split his face. “And here. You. Are.”

  “You sold me out?” I couldn’t imagine anything worse, yet he was proud of giving me up. “What the fuck, Si? We were best friends!”

  “No!” he screamed, slapping his hand against the cage door. “No. You and Lucy were best friends; I was in love with you! And then you left and never looked back.” He hissed the last words at me, spit flying from his mouth.

  “Did you know what she did to Lucy? This bitch that you’re in league with? Did you know Lucy almost died yesterday?”

  He laughed, a madness in him I’d never seen before. “Know what she did? Who do you think told her about your desperate need to protect the underdog?”

  The bile in my throat made it hard to swallow. “You sick fuck. How could you do that to her? She was like a sister to you!”

  “Like a sister. She was like a sister, and yet you both managed to waltz off into your perfect new lives without so much as a backward glance for poor little Simon, who was like a brother to you.” He sneered the words with hatred, his face turning red with rage. “You didn’t give a damn about me, but you would always do anything to keep little Lucy safe. Even turning yourself in here for unimaginably painful experimentation.” He grinned manically again, his mood swings giving me whiplash. “So, lucky for me, this sack of shit generously volunteered to guarantee your peaceful cooperation here.” He kicked Austin’s cage door again.

  “What makes you think I care what you do to him? He’s not exactly my biggest fan,” I bluffed, still trying to wrap my brain around this psychopath who’d invaded my friend’s body.

  He considered my words for a minute, then whipped a Taser out and shot a buzzing jolt of electricity into Austin’s still form. I screamed as Austin convulsed, but he didn’t let out a sound, as though he were still unconscious.

  At my cry, Simon’s eyes lit up. “Oh you don’t care? How about now?” He switched his Taser for a gun and pointed it at Austin’s back.

  “Stop! Okay, I get it. Please, leave him alone.” I was out of ideas but desperate not to get Austin hurt any worse than he already was.

  Simon smirked in satisfaction, but thankfully puts his gun away.

  “I’m glad we cleared that up,” he said with the same cold, reptilian smile.

  “I don’t get it, Simon. Why is this Dupree bitch so hell bent on getting her hands on me? By all accounts, she has had hundreds of test subjects, if not thousands. Surely some of those must have been successful or else she would have given up by now?” I was confused as hell, but also determined to keep his attention on me and away from Austin. Despite what an asshole Austin had been, he was still Caleb’s twin and a member of the team.

  “Of course there have been successes,” he sneered. “But none since the little coup that your mother staged. All of the successful test subjects were either lost or terminated during recovery after that. When they ran out of the samples already collected, they were back to square one until they could find new, viable genetic material to... harvest. Don’t get me wrong, the speed, strength... and all the other abilities, there have been a few successes with them recently—but not the healing. And it’s the healing that is the goal.”

  “What’s the endgame? I don’t believe for a second this psychotic bitch is attempting to cure cancer or end world poverty, so what’s she really trying to do? Huh?” I was still frantically trying to think of a plan to get Austin out, but so far nothing was coming to me. Knowledge was power though, so the longer I could keep Simon yapping in his stereotypical villianesque rant, the more likely he might give something important away.

  “She’s doing what any smart person would do. Ensuring her own immortality.” His eyes glowed at the concept. Did he thi
nk he was going to get a slice of the crazy pie?

  “That’s absurd. I can heal injuries and have a little extra strength and speed. It doesn’t make me immortal. You’ve seen for yourself the damage people can do to me. One day, it’ll be too much and I won’t recover, just like anyone else.” I snorted at him, the nutcase, but he only burst out laughing, clutching his sides. Eventually he sobered and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.

  “Oh wow. You have no idea what you are, do you?” He was still bubbling out small giggles, so I decided to try my luck.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think I am?” I coaxed, and he stared at me for a long moment, considering my question.

  “No,” he finally said. “No, I think this is more satisfying that you’re in the dark. I bet that really gets under your skin, doesn’t it? That I know something about you and won’t tell?”

  I went for the nonchalant shrug, whether I could pull it off or not. I might be desperate for the info, but I wouldn’t beg.

  “So now, what, you’re going to talk me into a coma and then harvest me for tissue?” I kept it sarcastic, even as a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  All trace of humor left his face, and his stare turned scarily intense. “Not quite,” he murmured. “But close. You see, the coup your mother staged taught Madam Dupree a thing or two about ensuring her test subjects are sufficiently.... broken before commencing testing. Because without the will to live, what’s the point in escaping?”

  “You know torture won’t work on me,” I reminded him. “Anything you might do to me has already been done, and I survived. So I’ll survive again.”

  My bravado was wasted as his creepy crocodile smile crept back over his face. “You’re right; physical torture alone won’t break you... but it’s a good thing I know you well enough to push those psychological buttons in just the right way, hmm?”

  Reality set in, and it was as though someone had doused me in cold water. Surely he didn’t mean to repeat Mr. Gray’s abuse… He wouldn’t. When six guards came trooping toward my cell door, I braced myself for a fight, but he pointed the gun at Austin again and clucked his tongue.

  “You know the rules.” It was a sick reminder. “You don’t fight back, and your friends don’t get hurt.” Simon faced me, as did all the guards, so none saw Austin turn his head and look at me questioningly. I gave him a barely perceptible headshake. There was no sense in both of us suffering, and while Simon thought Austin was unconscious, he might be safer.

  The guards entered my holding cell. One particularly stupid goon got dangerously close to me, and I had to force myself to remain still and not snap his neck. I considered my options, but with Simon still holding a gun on Austin and six guards to get through, the odds were stacked heavily against me.

  They crowded in, shoving me toward the tiny cot. My composure threatened to crack as the past rushed up to greet me, but I forced myself to cooperate. It was hell. The guards used solid looking metal cuffs to shackle my wrists and ankles. Once I was locked to the cot, they leered down at me. My respiration increased; how far down the dark hole had Simon gone?

  “That’s enough!” he snapped. “You’re done here. I can handle the rest myself.” Even though he attempted to imbue the words with authority, the guards were barely tolerating him.

  “You sure about that squirt?” one guard said over his shoulder. “She might be too much woman for you, even shackled up.”

  Simon screamed, swinging the gun toward them. “Get. Out.”

  Finally, one by one, they skulked out.

  The respite was painfully brief because Simon took their place in my cell. A heavy blanket of panic began to descend, and my heart hammered as though it were a hummingbird trapped in my chest.

  So many dark, cruel memories rose up to swamp me.

  For his part, Simon continued to grin as he removed a long, wicked knife from his belt. With patience I would never have credited him with, he began cutting away my clothes. More than once, he drew blood with the knife until I was naked and bloody before him.

  My vision grayed, my breaths came in short and shallow, I barely noticed Simon tugging off my boots or tossing them aside. He had me right where he wanted me. Hopelessness threatened as he stood back and admired his work. His own breathing grew shallower, and his pupils dilated. Miserable fuck was turned on.

  I desperately tried to shut down, mentally picturing the steel wall I had prepared for situations like this. But it had been years, and today my mental walls felt as strong as rice paper and barely contained the horror and revulsion threatening to drown me.

  Simon leaned so close I could smell his sour breath on my skin. He pressed the sharp knife against my throat as he slid his free hand down to my sex. He grabbed at me, his fingers biting and painful. At the invasion, my tenuous hold on my panic attack snapped, and my vision blackened. Passing out didn’t seem so bad.

  Simon’s sick chuckle echoed against my ear. “I’m going to leave you to marinate a little in this delicious fear.” He hummed before taking a long sniff, then licking his tongue along my cheek to my ear.

  Gross.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Foxy; I’ll be back soon with a couple of your old favorite toys.” He cackled at his own joke. “You always were a fan of that metal tipped whip, weren’t you, darling?”

  I was past the point of being able to respond, lost in my panic attack. It wasn’t Simon, but Mr. Gray who spoke to me. Staring at him, I had to blink to try and filter through memory and reality. They melted together.

  Snap out of this. I’m stronger than he is. I’ve survived this before. It won’t matter what he does—I’ll survive. Yet the phantom crack of the whip played over and over in my ears along with the agonized screams of the child I’d been when I first went into that room.

  The child they’d killed with their torture. The woman I was had been born there.

  I couldn’t be that horrified child again. She was a ghost.

  41

  Austin

  As soon as that slimy, freckled dickhead strutted away down the corridor, whistling of all fucking things, I was on my feet and at the door to my cell. I couldn’t see everything from my position on the floor, faking unconsciousness, but I’d seen more than enough. I would rip his nuts off and shove them down his throat.

  I pulled a couple of long pins from the hem of my jeans, which got missed in the sloppy pat down they’d given before my asskicking started. Studying the lock, I found no keyhole on the inside. That meant I needed to pick it from the outside.

  It only took a second of trying before I realized there was no way in hell my giant fucking mitts were fitting through the tiny squares in the mesh to be able to reach the lock. Shit.

  In the cell opposite me, Christina seemed to have woken up slightly from her blackout but flinched at unseen blows and whimpered, begging her memories to stop.

  Of course our best hope of escape would be with the Princess, who was right now in the middle of a psychotic breakdown.

  Fuck.

  Why the hell had I decided to follow her from the house? I could have just as easily woken the boys and left them to deal with their idiotic little girlfriend, but no, Austin the stupid fuck just had to try and save her stupid, sexy ass.

  God fucking damn it.

  “Christina!” I hissed across, not sure if there were any guards within earshot. When none came to investigate, I tried again. “Christina!” I barked this time, but still she didn’t respond.

  What was it with this chick and needing to be saved constantly? Talk about pathetic. I didn’t know how my brother could stand her, let alone Cole and River. Even Wesley seemed to actually enjoy her company, which made me think they’d all been drinking the same Kool-Aid or all suffered some sort of group aneurysm or something.

  “Hey!” I yelled this time. “Princess, I need your help with escaping here!” Still nothing... Jesus fucking Christ. I wouldn’t put it past the little drama queen to be doing this to me on purpose. Oka
y, I didn’t actually believe that. I wasn’t that conceited, but it might just piss her off enough to snap her out of the panic attack.

  “I swear to fucking god, Princess, if you are faking your panic attack deliberately to make me worry, then you are the most selfish, conceited, stuck up little bitch that I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!” I yelled again. Hope spiked when her flinching and whimpering seemed to die down a little. She mouthed something, but I couldn’t hear her.

  “Speak up, you spoiled brat; I can’t hear you,” I sneered at her. Could she even hear me, or was she still lost wherever it was she’d gone?

  She mouthed something again, and it was a weak, raspy word. But I heard it.

  “Asshole.”

  “Yeah, Princess, it’s me. Asshole.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, huge, wet tears running down her cheeks, and she started to toss her head, as though fighting someone off. Dammit, I needed to keep her focused or she’d go right back into that panic attack.

  “Hey, stay with me Christina! Stop ignoring me, you fucking airhead!” Okay, I was scraping the barrel on insults here, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t remember any of it later. Pissing her off seemed to be the most effective method of getting through to her.

  She mumbled something new, but her eyes cracked open just the tiniest bit. Progress.

  “What did you say? I don’t speak pathetic,” I jeered at her.

  “I said,” she rasped, “stop calling me Christina, you fuck!” The more she spoke, the wider her eyes became. She blinked several times, maybe clearing away the ghosts. I laughed; she was coming back—pale and trembling—but coming back.

  “Okay, keep talking to me, Christina.” A tiny spark of relief flared, but she wasn’t near her usual feisty self yet. “You do understand you’re giving those fuckers exactly what they want?”

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “Yes, great comeback you ditz. That freak said he’s doing this to break you. Is that what you want? To be broken?”