He had yet to tell me anything about my sister’s involvement. While I had access to some of her memories, I needed—masochistic or not—to hear from Cartwright directly. I tried to convince myself it would help fuel my need to bring down the whole operation. But perhaps I was a glutton for punishment. I should know it all. Have to hear the harrowing facts.
At the end of the day, I hadn’t protected her.
“Please, no more.” His cries didn’t move me one iota. In fact, I blew my nose and placed the used tissue directly in front of him. I didn’t get a fist-pump moment from knowing he was on edge, though. I didn’t get an explosion of adrenaline or confirmation that I was on the righteous path. I just wanted all the answers.
My smugness disappeared with a pop when I opened myself to the exhaustion that had been creeping towards me since that first billowing inhale of black smoke. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Controlling my features not to let my exhaustion show, I pulled up the plastic chair positioned against the wall so I sat opposite the doc. The room stunk of his vomit, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, but no way was that happening just yet.
“It’s time to tell me about Hazel.”
His ashen face remained blank a moment as his pupils expanded before resettling. The bastard knew exactly who I was talking about. I just had no idea if he knew who she was to me.
He appeared to tether himself as he shuffled uncomfortably, until something akin to pride registered on his face. My finger jerked involuntarily on my thigh, eager to reach out and kill the man. Within two seconds, his neck could be broken and his involvement would be over. But murdering a guy who was chained down wasn’t exactly my style, despite the rage swirling in my gut.
“It was happenchance we got Hazel,” he began. A flicker of regret for her loss warred with my relief that her abduction hadn’t been a hit against me. “But she made so much possible.” It seemed like the sick bastard’s pride would be exactly what we needed. He was so focussed on his success, if I could keep him talking, we might get what we needed to shut down this operation for good.
“How’s that?” His eye contact told me enough—he wanted an active audience.
“Her blood was nothing we’d seen before.” A look of awe appeared in his gaze. “Hundreds of subjects were tested, but she was the first we were able to reproduce with success, grow and develop a new cell. We managed to find others since, once we’d discovered the ideal genetic makeup that made her blood different.”
My brain stuttered on “reproduce.” In a jar and blood, right? Ice shot through my veins at the alternative. But when he spoke, horror took form.
“Her eggs and the samples we mutated made her an almost perfect host.”
Plastic cracked under my hand.
“Five specimens produced were able to multiply blood supply tenfold. Almost as soon as it was taken, the supply reproduced almost at full count.”
Nausea threatened to escape, and the plastic that had broken free from the arm of the chair was all but ground to dust. The room took on a new hue, grey with hints of red. My eyes had shifted.
“We were so close to perfection, but the samples died and quickly. Also, there were some reactions.”
A flash of my sister’s damaged body flooded me. Every muscle in my body tensed.
“We realised if she got pregnant naturally, if she birthed a female, the—”
I exploded out of the chair. A red mist descended as I reached out, only to falter. Thatch’s scent was the first thing to register and bleed through my need for blood. After his scent, the heat of his strong arm around my chest and the hard body against my back reached me. Next were his soothing words. “Come on. I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
Tension thrummed through every inch of my wired frame. I didn’t know if I could. How could I leave this room with Cartwright still alive?
“You need to come, Callen. Not like this. Let me help you.” When he followed up with a soft “Please,” I dropped my head in defeat, hating every minute.
With his arm still around my chest, my eyes refocussed. Terror painted Cartwright’s features, and while the puddle of piss on the floor gave me some satisfaction, nothing but his incarceration—but more preferably, his death—would whet my need for justice.
Out of the room, Thatch kept us walking until we were outside. The journey was a haze of beeps and the whooshing of automatic doors, and bodies moving out of our way. We didn’t stop until he was before me, his hands gripping my shoulders, and grass was under our feet.
Forcing myself to focus, my eyes connected with his.
“I need you to take a big breath, okay?” His piercing eyes held me captive, grounding me.
I nodded and inhaled deeply. The rush of fresh air immediately helped to clear my mind and filled my aching lungs. Had I really held my breath all the way out here?
“Good.” His strong hands were unyielding, and I didn’t think it was possible to be more grateful than I was with him before me, helping me keep myself together.
“Fuck.” The word rushed out of me, and I dropped my head to his chest. He welcomed the move, his one hand releasing my shoulder and moving to the back of my head.
Thatch remained silent, giving me the time to breathe through the anger whirling through my brain, my veins. Heck, my need to strike, my thirst for vengeance seemed to grow and become an extension of my very self.
With my eyes tightly shut, it was easy
