“What is the end goal?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What is your end goal? You’ve said you want your technology back. We can’t actually return it. Then you say you want me to upload into your system, a system I should remind you is not calibrated to the specifications required to sustain me or my mental framework, to do what exactly?”

  “Our projects are proprietary and none of your concern.”

  “All right,” I said, keeping my tone agreeable, even if my heart fisted as I let my gaze slip over Hatch once more before I turned on my heel and headed back to the bed.

  “Where are you going?” he yelled.

  “Nowhere, apparently,” I answered him in the same patient tone I would use to explain to an assistant who failed to understand even the basest parameters of an assignment. After easing onto the bed, I stretched back and closed my eyes. It took everything I had to put myself in a vulnerable position.

  Discipline allowed me to regulate my breathing. Years of yoga, even in the memoriam, had kept me in the practice.

  “Dr. Bashan, I think you are gravely underestimating my level of conviction.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Don’t ignore me,” he snarled after several seconds where I just breathed.

  In.

  Hold for four.

  Out.

  Exhale for four.

  In.

  Hold for four.

  “Dr. Bashan!”

  Out.

  Exhale for four.

  My breathing regulated until my heart slowed, and even the pulse of anxiety eased. No matter what I did in the next few minutes, they planned to make the attempt with Hatch. It wouldn’t be the first time either. During the debrief, both Hatch and Oz mentioned the earlier attempts during Hatch’s captivity. He’d shrugged it off, but I couldn’t imagine the process had been any fun for him.

  “Fine. You have only yourself to blame for what comes next, Dr. Bashan.”

  My breathing never changed. The level of anxiety and irritation echoing in his voice, however, continued to climb. Swallowing the spit in my mouth, I kept my eyes closed. Pain jolted through me from head to toe, and even expecting it, I couldn’t keep from gasping.

  I snapped my eyes open, and I could see Hatch’s face, twisting in a grimace as something pressed against the side of his head. I couldn’t see anything but him, but I could feel him. This close to him, there was no way to miss the flashes of agony pulsing toward me.

  His rich blue eyes opened, pupils blown, and I stared into them. Carefully, I took a deep breath, and he mirrored the gesture, then we exhaled together.

  One breath.

  Then another.

  The pain intensified. It was like someone was driving a hot metal spike right into my brain. The memoriam had done this when it fought me on my way out. The construct desperate to keep me inside, it inflicted pain.

  But pain could be compartmentalized. It was the result of neurons firing, warning of danger. What they were doing could cause him brain damage. I saw it, they had to see it. Another breath.

  The jolts came with far less frequency, but no less intensity. The muscles in my arms began to spasm, and my fingers jerked open and then clenched. Even my breathing came in shakier gulps. Still, Hatch never looked away from me, and the sweat soaking the back of my neck joined the sweat dripping from my brow.

  How long this hell went on, I couldn’t say, but I never let him go. Not once. I refused to break the connection. As long as I could share the pain, I could halve it and hopefully prevent any permanent neurological damage.

  As brutally as the pain had begun, it ceased and he sagged in his seat.

  “Fuckers,” he muttered. “No damn clue what you’re doing.”

  I smiled, even as his words slurred and his eyes fell closed. The whole image vanished, as did my sense of him.

  He wasn’t dead.

  The logical side of my mind understood that perfectly. He wasn’t dead. The strain of the connection, of what they’d tried to do to him, it had knocked him down and he’d passed out.

  Sleep was the best thing for him, and I was desperate for some of my own. There was no way to disguise what was wrong with me, and I could only hope their dark lighting and UV lamps hid enough of it.

  I needed to rest before they tried to repeat the process. I somehow doubted that these idiots understood that they typified the definition of insanity.

  “Dr. Bashan.”

  If I weren’t so damn tired, I would have jumped. The voice was no longer filtered by the mechanics of a speaker. I cracked my eyes open to find a man with a bit of a paunch and receding hairline standing in the room with me. He also wore a mask over the lower half of his face.

  Did he think I was contagious or something?

  Interesting.

  “Mr. Smithson, I presume.”

  He inclined his head. “You were right.”

  “I am right about a great many things, Mr. Smithson. Would you care to identify which one you’re discussing?”

  The man stiffened. His posh accent and mannerisms suggested he was the one used to talking down to others. Not the one who was treated like the imbecile he’d acted. He’d extracted a heavy cost in blood and pain for what?

  “I need your help.”

  Those four words were not what I was expecting. But I’d take the opportunity.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because…” he gritted out. “You may actually be the last chance humanity has.”

  Chapter 12

  “The secret of freedom lies in educating people, whereas the secret of tyranny is in keeping them ignorant.” - Maximilien Robespierre

  DIRK

  The door to the cell opened, but Dirk made no move to exit. Instead, he just waited. Every muscle in his body ached. Even his bones were sore. More than all of that though, he was angry. Fucking furious that these cunts had come after her again. He had no idea where she was. They might have plugged her back into that abominable machine already.

  What he did know was they better kill him, because he would take every single one of them apart until he got to her. Hatch appeared in the doorway, and Dirk started forward. “You got out?”

  “Yeah, mate, same way you are. They opened the doors.” Suspicion etched every single word. Dammit. What was the game now?

  Dirk joined Hatch in the hall. At least he looked to be in one piece. As were Andreas and Oz. Both men had some minor abrasions and bruises. Though, Dirk had to give the former priest some credit. He’d joined in the firefight this time and actually held his own.

  Nothing as motivating as protecting the woman they all loved.

  “What’s the plan?” Oz looked to him, as did Andreas. A door at the end of the hall opened. Planting himself between the newcomers and the others, Dirk braced for whatever came next. Hatch moved up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

  The former smuggler looked like hell, but Dirk imagined he didn’t look much better. The armed men split apart, revealing Valda in the center of them. A smile softened her bruised face, and she ignored the men and their weapons to close the distance between them. Dirk didn’t care why they were bringing her in here, but he wrapped one arm around her and then steered her right behind him before he faced the guards.

  Smithson followed through the opening between them, and the armed men stayed right by the door. “If you will come with us, we’ll have this conversation somewhere more comfortable.”

  “We’re not having any fucking conversation.”

  “Dirk…” The soft weight of her hand on his back urged him to comply, but there were some things he wasn’t going to bend on. Allowing these cunts to control anything where she was concerned was right at the top of his list.

  “You want to have a conversation,” Dirk continued. “Then you let us out of these cells, and we meet somewhere on neutral ground without your jackbooted thugs.”

  “You’re in no position to negotiate,” Smithson snapped. “I’m allowing the four of you to join Dr. Bashan for this conversation as a courtesy.”

  “I’m afraid we won’t be having that conversation,” Valda said as she moved up beside him, but he and Hatch both shifted until she was tucked more behind them than in between. Smithson transferred his glare to her, but Valda seemed unperturbed by the retribution that man’s eyes promised. Dirk actually looked forward to digging his thumbs in and poking them the fuck out. “Dirk has always been in charge of my security, if he feels this is not a secure situation, then I will have to defer to him.”

  Pride unfurled in him. He had no problem following her lead. She took charge of everything, save for her personal safety and in his bed. That she acknowledged it and backed him without missing a beat filled him with a kind of inescapable joy that he’d almost forgotten he could feel. For too long, it had been the battle they waged to get her out broken up with the fragments of moments, all too brief and fleeting.

  Smithson swore. “Dr. Bashan, I’m afraid you’re failing to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  Hatch snorted. “You must be dead from the neck up, you daft wanker. She doesn’t fail to understand anything. I guarantee she is smarter than every single person here combined. So speak plain or get out of the way, because we’re leaving and she’s going with us.”

  As threats went, it was understated, but Dirk appreciated it. There were only six men. He could handle that many, and they had plenty of weapons for him to take. Oz and Andreas would haul Valda back into one of the open cells and out of the line of fire, while he and Hatch cleared the way. Two of the guards shifted their grips on their weapons and flicked looks from him to Hatch then back. Smithson might be an idiot.

  The guards weren’t.

  Smithson would make a good body shield, too. The idiot in question took a couple of steps closer, leaving the safety of his men. “I already explained the severity of the situation, Dr. Bashan. We desperately need your cooperation.”

  “Then show good faith.” Dirk informed him. “As long as we’re prisoners, we’re not doing anything for you. Not when we know the exact lengths you’ll go to get what you want.”

  Torture.

  Incarceration.

  Murder.

  They’d done it all.

  More, they’d attacked Valda in the memoriam from what he’d learned. Nothing about them was trustworthy.

  Nothing.

  Smithson scrubbed a hand over his face. “We don’t have time for these dramatics. Every minute—”

  “Every minute you continue to argue,” Valda interrupted him smoothly, “is a minute you are wasting. I understand you believe this is a critical mass situation, but I also believe that you are making the kind of unilateral decisions that landed the world in its current crisis to begin with. If you truly want my help, then you will show us the respect of meeting on our terms. I’m afraid you’ve already done irreparable damage to any trust we might have possessed had you simply approached us. Approached them.”

  Yeah. No.

  Dirk would have no respect for them.

  Period.

  And he’d never have entertained leaving her in the memoriam.

  “You seem to have forgotten it was your people who stole from us,” Smithson snarled, but sweat beaded on his brow and he shot a nervous glance at the corner. The cameras were there. So he wasn’t sure about who was observing.

  “Listen, you arsemongering knobhead,” Hatch began, but a flash of movement Dirk caught from the corner of his eye was Valda putting her free hand on his arm. Like the hand she had on him, it seemed to calm Hatch down. “Fuck it. Fine. Let us go, or we don’t cooperate at all.”

  “So you’re saying you will if I release you?”

  “We’re not saying anything of the kind, but I can tell you that you have a zero chance for cooperation if you keep us here,” Dirk informed him.

  “I could just execute them one at a time, Dr Bashan,” he threatened, but Valda didn’t flinch.

  “Then you would guarantee that I would let the world burn rather than ever help you if you harm them again. The fact that you’ve harmed them at all leaves me in a distinctly uncharitable frame of mind. While I may not possess the skills to…how does that saying go…fuck you up? I can certainly withstand anything you bring to bear. My mind is a fortress, and I will not be controlled by you or anyone else.”

  From anyone else, that line wouldn’t carry any weight, but Valda delivered it with such force, Dirk believed her.

  “I’ll fuck them up for you, luv,” Hatch said with a playful smirk. “How many pieces do you want them in?”

  The faintest of chuckles escaped, of all people, Oz. “Just take them down, I can take them apart. It won’t take that long at all.”

  Dirk had to admit, there was something exceptionally dangerous in how easily Oz said that. The doctor didn’t believe in inflicting harm on others. He’d often described his life and his commitment to it as the reason he’d become a doctor. But all of them had been pushed too far.

  “I’m searching my soul for a problem with this,” Andreas finally offered into the silent standoff. “I’m not finding one. So let us go or shoot us. Those are pretty much your options.”

  Smithson scrubbed a handkerchief over his face this time, mopping up the sweat. “Fine,” he said abruptly. “Put a gun to their heads and see if you still feel that way.”

  The guards came forward in pairs, weapons pointed at them, and Dirk felt more than saw Hatch move Valda back and behind him. Oz and Andreas would cover her, and Dirk took two steps forward. The mouth of the gun barrel pressed against his skull as he stared into the eyes of the guard wielding the weapon.

  There was no malice or fury, just apprehension and maybe a flicker of regret. These guys didn’t want to be here. Well, then they should exercise their conscience and turn on the suit before he got them killed.

  “Still feeling unhelpful, Dr. Bashan?”

  The threat hung there in the air. Dirk didn’t blink. He trusted Valda’s faith in him. He had faith in her trust.

  “I don’t believe in repeating myself, Mr. Smithson,” was her only response.

  Good girl.

  The guard’s gaze cut away briefly, indecision shifting the weight of his grip on the handgun. It was almost imperceptible, but it was exactly what Dirk wanted. He disarmed him swiftly, twisted him around, then used him as a shield when the second man fired. At this range, the body armor the guard had on wouldn’t protect him from the force of the discharge as the weapon hit him. Dirk shot that guard, then the two closest to Smithson, leaving him the only target in the field. The two guards at the door weren’t rushing forward to protect him.

  “Still feeling uncooperative, Mr. Smithson?” Dirk asked. Panic fluttered across the man’s expression.

  “Don’t any of you give a damn about humanity?”

  “When people show it,” Dirk told him. “I give a damn then. Currently, you’re acting on greed and power. That’s not humanity. That’s just selfishness.”

  “Fine. Go back to Mr. Benedict’s estate. My men can take you there. Then we will talk.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Dirk told him. “And your men aren’t taking us any fucking where. We’ll manage on our own.”

  No way in hell this should have worked, yet thirty minutes later, they were leaving the Blossom Foundry compound in a vehicle both he and Hatch cleared. They had no tracers, no tags, and no escort. The only thing Dirk had conceded to take was a phone that he had Hatch strip down to the most basic pieces.

  Once in the vehicle, he had Hatch drive while he kept watch. Behind him, in the backseat, Andreas, Valda, and Oz were silent. None of them dared believe this. He didn’t trust it on their way out to the road, or even when they were halfway to their destination.

  While he didn’t pick up on any visible tails, he still kept a wary eye out.

  “Are we really heading back to the manor house?” Andreas asked finally, puncturing the quiet.

  “That doesn’t seem wise,” Oz stated.

  “It’s not,” Hatch agreed. “But we need supplies and we need backup. They’ll meet us there and we’re going to swap cars and I’ll fix the phone. Then we’re moving on, so don’t get comfortable.”

  Dirk allowed himself a brief moment to check on Valda, and her expression seemed almost inscrutable. Bruises marred her face, and there was a hint of dried blood around her temple. Her dark eyes flicked to him, and he drank in the sight of her before he turned his attention back to their path.

  Their stay at the manor was mercifully brief. Hatch kept a cache of supplies, including another vehicle tucked away inside a garage that looked more like a near collapsing shed. Dirk respected the camouflage, and Valda’s momentary look of dismay as they entered almost made him laugh.

  Almost.

  Once he’d transferred what he needed from the phone and gotten them clean transmitters, they piled into the next vehicle and left via an underground route that put them out onto a roadway several kilometers away.

  “Something you used to use in your spotty youth?” Valda asked once they were heading north again.

  “And my checkered present, luv. But I never leave a good escape route behind. You never know when it will be useful. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so I suggest those of you who can sleep, do.”

  “Are we going to talk about what Smithson wanted?” Andreas asked, though his tone suggested he wasn’t all that interested.

  “Not now,” Dirk told him. Not until he’d had time to talk to Valda alone. He wanted to know what Smithson had said to her. “Get some sleep. All of you.”

  To his utter surprise, Andreas listened. The man wasn’t known for his cooperation with orders. Oz had drifted off too, but only after Valda had taken his hand. The unease between them needed to be addressed. Whatever it was, they would resolve it. For the next three hours, neither he nor Hatch said a word. Each time he checked though, Valda was awake. The darkness hid her expressions from him, but she was looking out the window.

  They pulled into the old Carlisle Castle four hours after leaving Hatch’s estate. He used another underground access point, navigating by memory some rather unfriendly turns, and since the tunnel was wide enough for one vehicle, Dirk appreciated his care.

 

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