Betrayal's Shadow (10 page)

There was no point in looking. No point in speaking, because Turen’s closest friend was nowhere in those black depths. Those eyes held no hope of turning back time, no hope of forgiveness, and even less hope for redemption.

Turen had expected nothing less. It wouldn’t stop him, but the weight of the challenge pressed on him in a heavy, unyielding yoke.

“You rub Shank raw.” Xavier tied the tubing above Turen’s elbow and swabbed a section of the skin below. “If you want me to scratch the death-wish itch you’ve developed, I can throw you in a room with him and Rasheer. Probably won’t kill you, but you’d acquire some healthy respect.”

“Take the manacles off and we’ll see who acquires more respect.”

His former commander stilled without meeting his gaze. “Is that what you want for Isa’s blood, a chance at me?”

Turen looked away and ignored the painful twist in his gut at the reminder. He didn’t flinch when Xavier jabbed the syringe in his arm and attached vials, one by one, to fill with his blood. “Why bury yourself in this makeshift hell to feed the addiction of human waste?”

Xavier filled four vials, capped each one, and slid them into a pocket in his vest. “You chose to come here and meet with me in this hell. Not happy now? Makes you the hypocrite, not me.”

“You’ve shut off any other rational line of contact.”

“Because I don’t want to waste time with any of you.” Xavier spit out every syllable, each one louder than the last. “I’m not accountable to you or any of the others. I don’t have to explain myself or justify my actions or be fucking
redeemed.
”

Turen’s jaw grew rigid with the effort to resist Xavier’s pissing match. A classic avoidance technique, yet even knowing it, he couldn’t help himself. “You’re so far above the rest of us?”

“You have no idea,” Xavier snapped. “I’m leagues ahead of the rest of you.”

“And how’s that working for you? Find much validation here with your drug profits? Are you satisfied to watch your people fade to nothing? If you have proof, bring it forward. Do you think we’d reject you?”

“I no longer care.”

“And the samples of my blood?” Turen nodded to the pocket with the vials as a suspicion turned his skin to ice. “You can’t truly think I plotted to kill Maitea.”

Xavier froze and then leaned in slowly, inches from his face. “Had it been you, I’d have killed you already. If you want a shot at me, then you’re welcome to try. Just rip off the manacles and come for me.” He snickered. “Yet, if I let you go, you’ll miss your chance at an enlightening educational experience. You came all this way to find me. I’m happy to oblige. Keeping you here will expand your horizons.”

With a snap, the tubing released. “Maybe I’ll use your blood to figure out a lethal toxin for our people. Then they can choose an easy way out instead of living alone, forever.”

Turen couldn’t stand to look at him. He didn’t believe Xavier’s words, but none of this exchange was typical of the man he’d known. Then again, he’d never been Xavier’s enemy before.

The wooden case stood open, several empty vials nestled beside two full ones. If his blood vials were in Xavier’s pocket, what were those?

Xavier wrapped and pocketed the syringe and left the room. Only the door’s click confirmed his departure.

Two of the guards returned for Turen’s escort back to solitude. They released him from the leather restraints and jerked him upright. An exaggerated stagger landed him against the table and over the wooden case, allowing him to palm a full vial and slide it into his pants pocket. The guards had already searched him before he entered the room. They wouldn’t expect him to smuggle out anything.

The return followed familiar stone hallways. The guard who’d stopped Shank’s assault walked at his back. The uneven pattern of his gait registered in Turen’s ears, an indication of damage and stiffness to the man’s right leg, enough to signal a weakness. Detecting those weaknesses gave Turen a twinge of guilt, but weaknesses were all there were to exploit here—a lesson soundly beaten into him by Rasheer and Shank.

Right, then stairs, then two more turns and his cell. Reverse memory was another game he used to hone his mind and keep him sane. Bit by bit, he’d memorized the prison layout, despite the guards’ best efforts to confuse him. He hadn’t survived the last two centuries without skills. Skills sharpened by Xavier himself.

One more turn and—damn it. The scent was too strong, too close, and directly in the hall in front of them.

He waited until the guard had unlocked his cell door and threw himself against the guard behind him, planting his foot directly into the man’s injured leg. The man crumpled and Turen vaulted several more feet back down the hall before the second guard Tasered him in the back.

“Get him back into the cell,” the man he’d attacked shouted, struggling to his feet.

The second guard grasped his chains, dragged him the few feet to his cell, and tossed him in unceremoniously. The door just cleared his feet before it slammed shut and locked.

He had been lucky neither guard had pursued vengeance for the assault. Something he’d counted on. Had it been Shank, the maneuver would have cost him a body part.

Cool hands stroked back the hair from his face. Moments ticked by. He listened to his own short breaths and finally worked saliva into his mouth to speak.

“You’ve got to learn to control this, Mia, or you’re going to get us killed.”

***

Mia swallowed hard and sat back on her heels, gripping her backpack with shaky hands as the adrenaline spike vanished. She choked back the urge to puke.

Damn. She’d prepared this time but not for showing up in front of the guards. She’d expected to appear inside Turen’s cell.

Instead, the bright cold exposure of a hallway, the footsteps, and the voices barely gave her enough notice to beat a hasty retreat around the nearest corner. When the guard opened the cell, instinct had overridden fear and she’d slipped behind their backs during Turen’s scuffle. In a split second to decide between exposure with Turen or without him, she’d wasted no time in debate.

Arms wrapped around her knees, she waited for him to regain the use of his limbs.

“You okay?” His voice sounded strained, but the familiar low gravel eased her concern and she sucked in a breath.

“You’re asking
me
that after what they did to you?” She’d witnessed the jolt of his body with the Taser strike, followed by kicks to his ribs during her quick move. She forced another slow breath and considered the alternative. It could have been worse. The Taser could have been a gun, and he wouldn’t be here now. Logic didn’t help. Unprepared didn’t begin to cover her level of readiness.

With a groan, he rolled to his side. “I’ve felt better. Trust me. It beats what Rasheer can do.” His hand slipped over her boot and squeezed. “You did well.”

She forced a quiet laugh. “Yeah, a few more times and we can take our act on the road.”

“God, I hope not.” He pushed to his knees and shook his head. “Just give yourself a few minutes. The nausea after the adrenaline will pass.”

He was better prepared. Then again, he had a lot more experience in life and death scenarios than she had. “Is Rasheer the one who—”

He didn’t answer but hauled himself onto the slab to sit and turned to face her. More lying than sitting, actually. At least he appeared to be okay. Mia focused on his solid outline to distract from the thundering beat of her heart. Turen’s voice, his image shadowed against the wall, was familiar, comforting in a surreal way. The threat outside the cell door she ignored.

“Mia?” His casual use of her name caught her off-guard, almost an endearment in the quiet of the room. It rolled off his lips and she stifled a selfish wish he’d continue, avoiding any reference to the dangers around them and the temporary nature of their relationship.

“You sound better.”

“Rasheer likes to work in…intervals. Today wasn’t his turn.”

Recollection flooded back to her at his words. The abuse to his body during her last trips hadn’t escaped her notice. “What does he want from you anyway?”

“My time with him is just a sham for extracting information. He relishes a false sense of control. Nothing you should be concerned about.”

“Then where did they take you today?”

Turen tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. She didn’t think he had blocked her out as much as he was trying to forget he was here. “Xavier had some purpose for me.”

“It sounds like you got confirmation that Xavier controls your captivity.”

“He’s in charge today.”

The monotone in Turen’s voice signaled a reluctance to give more details. Time to change the subject to safer, more mundane topics. “Do they feed you?”

He gestured toward the metal tray by the door. One she’d neglected to notice. It had obviously been there for a while, the irregular hardened lumps unrecognizable. Her throat filled with an acrid backwash and she turned her head, pursing her lips. “Looks sort of like oatmeal.”

She hoped he wouldn’t tell her if it was something much worse. Honesty only needed to go so far.

“Some protein mix. Keeps the body functioning.”

Nothing appeared touched on the tray. “You didn’t eat it.”

“I try not to, might be laced with drugs. I’d rather maintain control.”

“Not that I blame you. However, you can’t hold out indefinitely.” These circumstances were so far beyond the help of any defense class. She would have to sign up for survival training to keep up with him. She fished around in her backpack and dug out a chicken sandwich and held it out to him.

He didn’t move.

The expression in his eyes was indiscernible. She took it for doubt. He wasn’t sure he could trust
her
? In annoyance she glanced away. The tray full of lumps caught her eye and her anger evaporated. He was beaten, tired, and hungry. Maybe, in his shoes, she’d be reluctant to trust, too.

Mia opened the baggie, took a bite, and slid it across the slab to his hand. With a jangle of chains, he picked up the bag and gave it a cautious sniff.

“Chicken,” she said and tried to swallow the lump of sandwich past the dryness in her throat.

He gave a brief nod. “Would seem. Why did you do this?”

“I wasn’t raised in a barn.” The sarcasm didn’t cover her insecurity, but she refused to explain the compulsion she had to help him. She’d packed supplies in spite of her nerves over the influence he exerted on her. Locating an old backpack in the garage, she’d added water bottles, something for the man to eat, antiseptic, and bandages. His bloody wounds, impossible to ignore, bothered her most of her waking moments. She’d noticed those wounds on him twice and suspected they were probably a fraction of what he experienced here.

Her efforts hardly amounted to a staged breakout. She had no knowledge of how to accomplish such a feat without getting them both killed. That didn’t mean she could stand back and do nothing. Nothing was tantamount to joining the other side. Commitment dictated her choice.

Besides, sins of omission lodged too heavily with guilt, and with life as risky as it had been the past few days, she couldn’t afford to waffle. He’d saved her—several times. He deserved some help in return.

She waited while he ate. The speed with which he finished brought tears to her eyes. When he was done, she rolled an energy drink across the slab.

“Thank you for your charity,” he said.

“I don’t consider it charity to bring a meal to a man who’s being tortured and has saved my ass on several occasions. Considerate maybe, humanitarian perhaps, definitely not charity.”

“At least your ass is quicker in response to the threats.”

He didn’t openly laugh, but she was relieved to hear the humor return to his voice.

He finished the drink, stuffed the baggie inside the bottle, and then rolled it back to her. “So now I owe you in kind?”

“No. I’m still not even for all the times you’ve saved me.” She waved the empty bottle in her hand.

“I don’t do
no
, Mia. Either tell me what I can offer or bring
nothing
next time.”

A harsh response, which under other circumstances Mia might take as an accusation. Instead she interpreted the words coming from a man discouraged but strong, beaten but still resolute, and perhaps tired beyond his endurance. “Okay, you can answer some questions.”

“Perhaps.”

She bit back a laugh. “Ah, repayment in kind has limits.”

“Everything has limits.”

“I need to know more about why you’re here.” A fair request, she hoped. Open-ended enough to let him control the subject.

He was silent for one minute, then two. She decided he’d chosen to renege when he finally spoke. “Let’s set some ground rules first.”

She frowned. Rules didn’t signal an open-ended exchange of info.

“For whatever reason, you can come and go. Do you have any control over that ability?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, the snarky response curbed in favor of a more considerate answer. “I show up after I fall asleep. I don’t control it. I’m trying to pay more attention to how it happens.”