Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33658 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33658 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Was I?” He smirks again. “I bet you have a little hiding in you, too.” He hands me the vials. “Dinner is on its way. After which, she should sleep, not fuck. We expect a lot of magic from her tomorrow.”
I don’t even want to know what that means. He backs out of the room and shuts the door. I don’t move until the light on the door buzzes red. I rotate as Layla steps in front of me. “I think they can still see us. I saw it in his eyes.”
“They can hear us,” I say. “Fuckers are listening, and Tad is the kind of guy who gets off on that shit. I once had to pull him off a woman in a bar in Germany. She was saying no. He didn’t care.” The buzzer goes off again, and I push her behind me, but instead of soldiers, there’s an older woman and two waiters to service us.
I pull on a shirt, and then, in silent acceptance, Layla and I claim the table, and we’re forced to endure the supervision as we’re served brown butter ravioli. We’re being treated for a reason. Julian wants us both on his side. He wants me by his side, and her fucked into submission. Maybe that means he’s trying to fuck me into submission through her, but it won’t work.
When we’re finally alone, Layla refuses to undress, expressing fear over being watched. We lay down on the bed, her curled to my side, lights on the floor ensuring we cannot hide in the darkness. Long seconds pass, and she speaks softly. “There are so many name-brand stores here. Are they all willingly supportive of the Zodius?”
“Most of those in power want to be converted, so yes. Yes, they are.”
“How do you win against that?”
I lean in and whisper, “We just do. I promise.” And then I fold her in close again, holding her close and silently promising not to let her go. And I don’t ask all the questions about her past or her family, who don’t seem to be near to support her cancer battle. I want to know everything, but I don’t want Julian to know.
I’ll find out when we’re out of here.
Soon, I promise.
Chapter seventeen
Layla
For the next few days, Tad comes for me, and I’m taken to a lab where I work alone. Each day, Julian and his wolves come to me. Each day, I’m snarled at and stared at with black, expectant eyes, as if I can work miracles overnight. I’m not a doctor, and I, in fact, scream that at him. His wolves all but rip my throat out. One even bites me. I’m taken back to my room with stitches, and Jensen is furious. I’m barely able to calm him down.
“We’ll find the ICE stock,” he whispers. “Then we’ll get out of here, but we have to move fast. The Renegades will come for me. For us.”
Apparently, they’ve been taking Jensen to walk the facility and act like one of their own, trying to convince everyone the Renegades are joining them, as Jensen is close to Caleb. No other explanation would seem possible. He’s looking for the ICE stock as well, but I’ve been captive in a tiny room. I have no recourse to find anything. He has more than me.
I push to my toes and whisper, “What if they think we’re dead?”
He doesn’t comfort me on this. In fact, when I pull back and look into his eyes, I know he fears the same. But our food arrives before I can press. Steak and potatoes tonight. I wonder how many more days I have of learning nothing to help Julian before we’ll get bologna.
By day four, I’m placed in a lab with about a dozen scientists, all working under clear duress. The room is a ball of tension, racing about and growing bigger and stronger each moment. When lunch is called, everyone is taken away but me and one other scientist who has been the only one who’s dared be friendly.
We eat our sandwiches together, and he tells me a bit about the top secret military lab he’d run for years. Neither of us are doctors, though, and we feel the help of Chin, whom I met once, would offer us more success, but we both agree we don’t dare ask. “I’m sure we’re being recorded,” I say, eating the Twinkie they gave me for dessert. “Hopefully they know we need him. You think the others are coming back?” I ask, looking around the large empty space.
“They seem to test how we perform in small and large groups. Obviously, we’re being tested.” He runs his hands down his legs. “I better get to work.”
An hour that feels like an eternity later, I sit at a table in the confines of a laboratory, staring at the slide under the viewer, studying what I’m told is Julian’s six-month-old, Dorian’s, DNA. After only a glimpse at Dorian yesterday, I can say definitively that he looks more like he’s twelve. Per the medical reports I’ve been provided, he’s estimated to be aging at the rate of two years a month. And the only thing more terrifying than his growth rate is the fact that I now know that it’s his DNA that’s supplying the drug I’m ingesting to stay alive.