SAGE
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Dr. Adamson said, as my hand fumbled for the gun in my pocket. “We have guns, too.”
He calmly lifted his gun from the table, holding it up for me to see.
“You know we wouldn’t kill you, of course, but a gunshot wound in the right place can be very painful. Isn’t that right, Dr. Stanstopolis?”
I followed Dr. Adamson’s gaze across the room toward the bed, and there she was, Dr. Stanstopolis, standing amid a slew of medical devices. An IV stand with a bag of fluids hanging off the hook, a surgical tray filled with long tools, a monitor … some sort of ultrasound machine.
Dr. Adamson smiled at me, as if pleased at finally attaining some sort of goal.
“I’m so glad to see you here. All those people at Vasterias were getting suspicious of me, you see, thinking I might keep you all for myself. So they kept me out of the labs—my complete life’s work, all of it … they just cut me out.”
Dr. Adamson rested his hand on the gun. “That’s why I need you. Because the person with the leverage is always the person with the power. And your eggs will give me the leverage for a trade with Vasterias. They have something I’ve wanted for a long, long time. And I know, for your eggs, they’ll agree.”
My brain felt like it might explode trying to process Dr. Adamson’s words. My body remained frozen at the door—in shock, fear, confusion. I didn’t know why, but I could not move.
“So you see,” he continued. “I needed to get you out of the mansion without anyone suspecting me. As it turned out, I had such compliant enlistees.” Dr. Adamson paused, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “My sons have taken a real liking to you, haven’t they? So eager … too eager. They were signing up to save you before they even knew the rules of the game.”
He stood then, bringing his gun with him and taking a step toward me.
“Tell me, Sage, why do family bonds make it so easy for someone to act irrationally? It’s always been a weakness in my sons—the way the two of them are willing to sacrifice for each other. You said so yourself, back in the helicopter. They care too much—that’s their problem. All I needed was a man on a motorcycle to delay Beckett. I knew Jack would worry; I knew he’d leave you. And then, all that was left was for Sven to scare you back here to this hotel room.”
What?
It was Dr. Adamson? Everything that had happened … us getting out, Beckett getting delayed ….
But Sven was working with my father. So, was my dad in on the entire plan? Had he set up the boys? Gaining their trust, helping organize the master plan to get me out, all so he and Dr. Adamson could finish what they started together? So they could finally get full compensation from Vasterias?
The hurt—the pain in my heart at the idea of my father’s betrayal—it sliced deeper than any pain I’d felt since getting kidnapped from home. My dad abandoned me. Not once, as a baby; not twice, when he didn’t come to save Finn in time; but a third time.
The vision of the loving, good-hearted man from my dream shattered into pieces.
Dr. Adamson stepped closer to me, and I spun toward the door handle, trying to unlock the deadbolt, unlock the door handle, pull out my gun, everything all at once. I tried for too much. Dr. Adamson grabbed me, wrapped my shoulders, wrestled me to the ground from behind. I screamed, kicked, struggled against his weight, clawed at the carpet, pushed away from that all-consuming lemon smell wafting off his clothing.
I fought hard. Because this was my last hope of escape—I knew that somewhere deep inside of me.
If I didn’t get away, I had no idea what would come next.
“Get the gun,” he grunted, rolling me to my side, and I felt Dr. Stanstopolis reach into my jacket pocket and pull it out.
“It’s okay, darling,” Dr. Adamson said in my ear as he struggled to contain me. “We really aren’t going to hurt you. We just need something from you, and we’ll be on our way. What happens to you after that—wherever you disappear to—I don’t care.”
Dr. Stanstopolis contained my kicking legs. Dr. Adamson jerked my body up until he leaned with his back against the wall, still hugging me from behind. Dr. Stanstopolis sat her wide hips down on my shins, a feat for a woman wearing a tight white skirt and high heels.
Dr. Adamson gripped my right forearm, digging his fingers into my skin and pulling my wrist closer to his face, inspecting it.
“What do we have here? I believe you’re wearing something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“It was a gift,” I said. I didn’t have enough air to speak more words because Dr. Adamson gripped my rib cage so hard, I could scarcely breathe.
“Get it off her,” he ordered Dr. Stanstopolis.
She frowned at him but reached over and unclasped the bracelet.
In my ear, he whispered, “That is my wife’s. No one else’s. Ever.”
His hand lifted a cloth to my mouth and nose.
My head drooped forward into blackness.