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I dumbly stare at the gun in Luke’s hand, disbelieving my eyes.
He gives me a sad smile. “Take it.”
Fearing he might change his mind, I snatch it away and grip it so tightly that the rough surface of the handle molds into my sweaty palm. His gaze falls to the floor. He looks exhausted like he’s been through hell and back, when all he did was threaten us with a gun.
“So, are we going or not?” he asks when I just stand there looking at him as if he were a mind-bending puzzle.
“I thought you . . .”
. . . were going to blow my brains out?
. . .were going to kidnap me and force me to bear your babies?
Those were definitely my top guesses just a minute ago. Now I learn he wants to help me save Aydan.
“Without you, I’m just one person,” he says, the sadness in his voice so thick, so heavy, it seems to compress the room to half its size. “I once believed I could change the world, make it a better place. Now I know it was absurd to wish for that.”
“What’s absurd is trying to wipe out an entire race in the process.”
“I never set out to do that,” he says angrily. “That was not my plan. Although sometimes I don’t think it’s so wrong. Humans are doing the same to us.”
“Well, you started it.”
“Do you really think that matters? If humans had learned about us beforehand, they would’ve tried to exterminate us, although I’m sure they would’ve also kept a few specimens for research purposes, just to see what they could gain from us.”
“You’ve watched too many movies,” I say half-heartedly. I can very well imagine the governments of the world doing exactly what he’s describing.
“I had so many dreams for us. Now I don’t care if I die.” He sounds as if he’s truly been sentenced to death and today is his execution day.
If he thinks that making me feel sorry for him is going to change my mind about his crazy scheme, he’s high. Not that his scheme would work anyway. I’m perfectly human, even if he doesn’t want to believe it.
I turn and face the door, trying to figure out what to do. “Elliot sent Aydan to Dr. Sting,” I say with a shiver. “That means he’s in the service level. Our best bet is to take the stairwell.” I look at the gun in my hand, then at Lyra’s immobile shape on the floor.
“Search her,” I say. “She might have another gun.”
Luke hesitates only for a moment, then squats by her side and pats her down. When he straightens, he shows me a small pistol. “Had this on her ankle.”
I nod and head to the door. After a deep breath, I ease it open. There are no guards outside. I take half a step into the hall and look both ways. “We’re clear,” I whisper and gesture for Luke to follow.
We close the door behind us and hurry toward the emergency exit. When we enter the stairwell, I breathe a little easier since most people take the elevator. I hurry downstairs, taking two and three steps at a time. We reach the service level a minute later. Our chests pump in unison. We stop for a beat to catch our breath.
The door has a card reader. I take mine out of my pocket, glad no one thought of taking it away. I wave it in front of the small scanner. Its red light flashes green. I yank the door open. Most of the time only Dr. Sting roams this level, so I charge in.
I head down the long, bare corridor at a run. I know exactly where the Doctor’s favorite room is, so I waste no time—not even to make sure Luke is following. Exposed pipes and ducts run overhead. The walls are rough and the floor is slick, red-painted concrete. We pass several closed metal doors before we reach the one I remember all-too-well.
Without pause, I turn the knob and shoulder my way in.
* * *
MY HEART BOOMS IN MY ears as I raise step into the room. Immediately, my gaze zeroes in on the far corner where the torture chair is bolted to the floor. Dr. Sting stands next to it, his shape stooped over, his back to us. All I can see past him are Aydan’s jean-clad legs and bare feet.
The evil doctor turns slowly to look over his shoulder. I put my gun away before he’s made a full circle. Luke does the same. Maybe I can do this without risking too much.
Dr. Sting’s goat-like eyes take us in without surprise. I see his face in my nightmares more than I’d like to, the multi-color fur, the block teeth, the horizontal pupils. A chill spreads across my back. I clench my teeth and gather my courage. He moves away from his victim, holding something gingerly between his long fingers.
“What is it?” he asks in an aggravated, high-pitched voice that once made me wonder if he was female.
Trying to keep my agitated breaths under control and my gaze away from Aydan, I stroll toward him, gesturing to Luke to wait. “The boss wants him.” I point at Aydan. “Has some questions for the fucking Fender. Yep, he does. Gonna find out everything about those Igniters, and then we’ll show’em.”
I stop a mere two paces away from Dr. Sting. His furry forehead makes him look like one of those Mastiff dogs as he frowns. My eyes involuntarily drift toward Aydan’s prone shape. At the sight of it, a silent cry goes through me.
Blood. So much blood.
I bite my tongue to keep the cry from escaping, but it’s no good. It comes loose, turning into a squeak. At once, Dr. Sting’s vertical pupils flatten to thin lines. He steps back and raises the weird tool in his hand, taking a threatening stance.
“I only take orders from Whitehouse,” he says.
The metal tool is caked with blood and bits of tissue. It’s a contraption unlike any I have ever seen, a rod with something like a trigger and a sharp, jagged cookie-cutter-looking head.
The heck with the risk. You owe me!
I jump him. He’s slow to react, and I manage to snatch his wrist and twist it.
“No,” he cries out. “Not my hand. Don’t you dare hurt my hand.”
“Drop it, then!”
He does as I say, but just as the tool clatters to the floor. He produces a knife out of nowhere.
“Watch out!” Luke calls.
I sidestep the knife’s path as he stabs down.
“You asked for it,” I say, bending his wrist past the breaking point.
There is a sickening crunch that makes my stomach flip. Dr. Sting screams and folds on bent knees, tucking the injured wrist between his thighs. He’s still mid-scream when I release a powerful roundhouse kick and strike him on the side of the head. His eyes roll back, and he falls to the side, unconscious.
I stare at his immobile shape. His freaky fingers twitch. I step on them and put all my weight down until I hear them crack. I feel vicious, as evil as he is, but he hurt me, stuck hot pokers under my fingernails. Worst of all, he hurt Aydan. He deserves worse.
Shaking, I turn and slowly turn my attention to the bloody, unconscious figure that lies on top of the awful torture contraption.
“Aydan!” I start toward him but immediately stop. He’s still, so still. “No, please.”
Not this. Not again.
My throat closes. My vision swims, and I feel I might pass out. I press a hand to the edge of the torture chair, my fingers inches from his pale hand. His bare chest is dotted with perfectly round wounds, oozing with blood. The skin around each quarter-size laceration is bright red and swollen. A trail of marks runs from his collarbone all the way to the edge of his jeans, a red sea of blood splitting him into two hemispheres right down the middle.
I stare at his chest, my lungs paralyzed as if I could give him my air, my breaths.
“Aydan,” I whisper. A tear spills down my cheek and splatters on his hand.
He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.
My chest jumps starts. “Aydan!” I lean closer.
He groans, turns his head my way. His eyelids flutter open, black lashes trembling. His normally red lips are white, almost blue.
“Aydan, it’s me, Marci. I’m gonna get you outta here, okay?”
He tries to say something but coughs instead.
“Help me unstrap him.” I point at Aydan’s feet. Luke gets to work on the wide, leather straps. I undo the ones at the wrists. “C’mon. I know it’s hard, but you have to move.”
I try to pull him up, but he’s too heavy. Luke helps me get him to a sitting position. I don’t even have to ask.
“Okay, hold him right there. I have to do something,” I say.
“What? Now?”
“It’s important. It’ll only take a moment.”
I rush to the corner of the room where a PC sits on a dusty desk. I know where all the computers reside in this building. I made it my business to learn that. This one was installed a couple of weeks ago at Elliot’s request, along with a phone. Dr. Sting spends a considerable amount of time in his dungeon, and his boss wants to be able to reach him whenever his torturous services are required.
My hands are shaking as I set them over the keyboard and connect to my PC to access the communication program I wrote. In spite of my unsteady fingers, I type quickly, connect and fire off a message.
$Warrior> Target is go
I wait for an answer, holding my breath. It comes immediately, practically deflating me with relief.
$Sal> Ten-Four
This is all we agreed on, two quick messages. And it’s a tremendous load off my shoulders to see Sal’s response. He was supposed to keep tabs on any communications from me. From the looks of it, he wasn’t even taking a break to blink.
$Sal> Dr. V?
I guess Sal got my last desperate message about Aydan’s capture.
$Warrior> Disregard
I close my connection, send the computer into sleep mode and rush back to Aydan. I’ll take care of Dr. Volt. I’m getting him the hell out of here.
Luke gives me an inquiring glance which I ignore. Instead, I help him set Aydan’s bare feet on the floor. Ready to abandon this place for good, I drape one of his arms over my neck. Luke does the same on the other side. As we head to the door, Aydan tries to walk, but his legs mostly drag behind.
“We’ll have to use the elevator,” I say, repositioning Aydan’s arm. He’s way heavier than he looks.
“I’ll carry him. You clear the way.” Luke hands me his gun, slips an arm behind Aydan’s legs and picks him up.
Luke groans, his face going red with the effort. I give myself no time to gawk at the unexpected sight: Luke Hailstone—an Eklyptor, or whatever he is—helping an IgNiTe member. Instead, I rush toward the elevator and punch the “up” arrow.
Sweat slides down my temple. I plant my feet on the ground and point both guns at the elevator doors. If anyone is inside when they slide open, they’ll face the end of these barrels and get acquainted with the tip of these bullets.