The faintest of smiles curved Dirk’s mouth. Even his beard was gone. Though, like his head, stubble graced his cheeks.

  “You should see what they did to you.”

  Horror filled Hatch, and he gaped at the other man. “Not the hair…anything but the hair. Damn, mate, do you know how good my hair is?”

  The snort of sound was probably as close to a laugh as Dirk was going to get. But then he couldn’t put his feet down and his arms had to be fucking aching hanging like that. Still, Hatch’s were killing him.

  “Are you quite finished, Mr. Benedict?” The snap of the Manchester accent brought his head around to focus on the man in the button-down white shirt with his sleeves rolled up.

  “No,” he answered Smithson blithely. Because A, fuck him, and B, seriously, fuck him. “I’m not done, you cocksucking pollywank. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Dirk huffed another laugh and shook his head.

  “I think I’m the man in control of your future,” Smithson responded in an utterly bored tone. “So if you need to get a few more insults off your chest before we get to work, let’s do that.”

  “Arsehole, you can beat me until you actually sully that overpriced suit you’re wearing. You can burn me. Stick me. You can shave my fucking hair…though don’t think for a second I won’t pay you back in kind, only I’ll be sure to take your balls off while I’m at it. I’m not fucking cooperating with you.” They’d hounded him for days.

  Twice, they’d tried to install him into their version of the memoriam, and both times, he’d jettisoned straight out and then promptly thrown up all over their techs.

  Good times.

  They wanted him to explain how he was doing it, and on that subject, he remained mute. They beat him for answers. They beat Dirk for answers.

  And they were getting exactly nothing.

  Not that they needed to know the reason he wouldn’t tell them shit was also because he didn’t know how he did it. The first time, they’d apparently tried to inject him while he’d been unconscious, and that hadn’t worked at all.

  Thank fucking Christ. Because if he woke up in that hellish landscape without Valda there, he had no idea what he’d be dealing with. So they’d attempted to do it awake, and it had resulted in a brutal beating to even get him in the chair.

  He’d taken more than a few of the jackholes out that time. They’d broken two of his fingers and dislocated his shoulder. The two fingers in question were still taped together. He leaned a little to look at them. Still had decent color.

  Good. At the rate they liked to beat him, he wouldn’t be surprised if the fingers bloody well fell off.

  “Perhaps I’ve changed what I want,” Smithson told him, dragging his attention back to their present circumstance.

  “Oh? A good spot to pick up fish and chips? Sorry, mate, the best pubs closed down a decade ago. That alcohol ban in England never did go over well. Sure, you can find a black market for it somewhere. Tell me which part we’re in, and I might could hook you up with a lead.”

  Honestly, he’d kill for a fucking pint right about now.

  Surprise flickered through his eyes before Smithson could mute it. Dirk’s expression tightened for spare seconds before he forced it to relax. Yes, the captain had caught the same thing Hatch had. England.

  They’d been transported all the fucking way across the pond. That meant Blossom Foundry. Fucking bastards.

  Smithson turned to the table behind him and lifted a device. It looked like a cross between a nail gun and a scanner. There were injectors all along the side of it. Oz had used one of those when they’d had to prep for the memoriam before. When placed at the base of the skull, it allowed nanites to be injected directly into the shunt of spinal fluid, then onto the brain. Or something like that.

  Frankly, the only fucking thing he’d paid attention to in that conversation was the nanites had to be able to access their cerebrum in order to let them interact in the memoriam. The connection of electrical impulses to their natural senses would allow them that freedom once they were inside.

  And they’d done a dizzying amount of trial and error. Something Hatch had volunteered for over and over again.

  He’d been the first one injected.

  They’d repeated the process until, between him and Oz, they’d calibrated the equipment and their own responses.

  “You know,” Smithson said idly, reminding Hatch the bastard was in the room. “You are nowhere near as entertaining as you think you are.”

  “I’m a bloody riot. Ask my man, Dirk, over there. Stone-faced fucker actually smiles at some of my jokes. That’s like the equivalent of laughing his ass off. Trust me, I’m fucking hilarious.”

  He coughed, and blood coated the back of his mouth. His ribs also caught on fire. Fuckers had definitely fractured a couple. He was a right damn mess.

  “Sir,” a man said from near the door. “She’s on.”

  She.

  Hatch flicked a look at Smithson from beneath his lashes, and the man set the device down with a slow smile. “Good. It’s about time she was available for our call. This is what? The fifth attempt?”

  “Seventh. She answered this time.”

  “Well, well…” Smithson began the process of rolling his sleeves down. “I should go and have a chat with her. In the meanwhile, introduce our guests to the new physician and get them both ready. I want them plugged in before the call is over.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without another look in their direction, he snagged his jacket and headed out.

  There was only one ‘her’ they could be referring to. At least to make him look at both of them like that. At the same time, it could all be a ploy. A measure taken to force them into compliance at worst or a trick at best.

  Oz and Andreas wouldn’t let Valda contact these bastards. Dirk’s men all had orders. They’d follow them to the letter. His men were loyal without question. They’d defended them for years and asked for next to nothing in return.

  Three of the five men in the room left with Smithson.

  Two versus two were odds Hatch was willing to risk, but before he could work out a way to free his wrist, the door opened to the hall again.

  One of the men returned with a fresh lab coat wearing doctor. Great.

  Just what Hatch needed to see. Sudden stillness from Dirk had him cutting his gaze to the side. He couldn’t quite see the fellow, just a flash of his coat, and he considered turning his head. So far, he’d avoided anything more than glib interactions with the doctors and lab workers. Most of them had learned to be afraid of him, because to treat him in any way, they had to get close.

  Unlike what they had at the compound, there were no automated assistants here.

  “Mr. Smithson wants them prepped and ready for injection before he’s off his call,” one of the guards said.

  “So I heard,” came an intensely familiar voice. Dirk’s expression made sense. “However, these conditions are not conducive to injection. They can’t be restrained like that; it triggers adrenaline dumps, which leads to unfriendly conditions for injection to take. Something you clearly have issues with, if the records are any indication.”

  Oz walked into view and stared down at him. The distant demeanor and cool eyes offered nothing as he studied him.

  “His fingers are broken.”

  “He resisted,” the guard answered. “Just do your thing, Doc.”

  With a dismissive look at the guard, Oz turned to where Dirk hung. “And his shoulders are likely hyperextended, if not dislocated.” He made a snort of disgust. “Bring him down and cut him loose. We’ll need to move them to medical beds for treatment. They could have—”

  “Not happening, Doc,” the guard said. “They’re both lethal. They stay bound where we can control them. Just do your job.”

  “I cannot inject them in their current state. Do you understand the definition of insanity, gentlemen? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting to get a different result.” Then, as if he couldn’t be bothered, he tossed the digital tablet down on the table nearest Dirk before striding to the doors. “I’m afraid until you do as ordered, your success rate will remain at zero.”

  One of the guards cussed and another grumbled, but it was the first who said, “We can’t just free them. They’ll attack and you’ll be dead.”

  “Then sedate them,” Oz ordered, and Hatch gritted his teeth.

  “Could just knock the bastard out,” said the guard directly behind Hatch.

  “And add to the injuries I will need to continue to treat to see him out the other side?” Oz snorted. “Feel free.”

  The doc sounded like an arrogant fuck. God in all his wisdom looking down on the peons.

  “Make a decision, gentlemen. I have other projects and a hot cup of coffee waiting.”

  Fucking wanker. Hatch had his desire to eat under control until he mentioned coffee, and now that was all he wanted.

  The hesitation in the room dragged out.

  Then something sharp stabbed Hatch in the neck.

  Fuck. He jerked his head up to find Oz staring at him steadily, no trace of emotion or recognition in his expression. “I’ll see you on the other side,” he murmured.

  And relief flooded Hatch.

  He had no idea how the doc was getting them out of this, but what the hell…

  Then his senses fell away, and darkness swallowed him.

  Chapter 6

  “War does not determine who is right—only who is left.” - Bertrand Russell

  VALDA

  England.

  Hatch and Dirk were in England.

  They’d been taken halfway around the world, or so Alexander Smithson claimed during the single call I’d accepted from the Blossom Foundry. We’d done it on board the yacht while on open sea away from the island and the Utopia lab. The precaution was one I could agree with, though Andreas was not a fan. Campbell’s ship wasn’t really a yacht, but it was sleek and well-armed. She also cut through the seas neatly, and while the waves offered some sway, it barely dislodged me from where I held my pose on the foredeck.

  My muscles protested the position, because I had to maintain vrksasana, tree pose, no matter the ship’s movement as it sliced through the water. The engines had been opened to full throttle, and while there were more than twenty men on board with us, there were even more awaiting us in England.

  Campbell had sent a unit ahead to scout and track the actual location. I trusted them to do their job. If he had his way, I would be back in the Utopia bunker. But I refused to stay hidden. I understood the concern. I even appreciated how the man laid out all the ways Smithson and the Blossom Foundry were trying to lure me in. I was the target.

  Yes.

  Dirk would kill him if they let me get taken.

  I understood his worry there as well. I trusted Campbell and his men because Dirk trusted them. Dirk had seen to my security for years, and I trusted him with all of it. It was easier for me to let go of that piece of control to focus on my work, and it soothed him to maintain an iron fist over my safety. What I had only confessed to him once left a mark on both of us, looking back with the perfection of hindsight, I could almost see when the indelible shift in our relationship had begun.

  While my faith was absolute, my conviction was devout. I would not let them be kept a moment longer than necessary. They had not abandoned me, and I refused to abandon them. To my surprise and ever-lasting delight, Andreas had taken my side in the argument. He wanted them back, too. We were lovers again, finally. And I’d woken each day since in his arms, wrapped and safe. Yet I could not savor it the way I wanted to while I worried about what was being done to Hatch and Dirk.

  They’d been kind enough to provide proof of life.

  Bloodied.

  Battered.

  Proof of life.

  All the calm I’d scraped together during my yoga fled as images of Dirk’s shaved, cut head and swollen face filled my eyes. Hatch hadn’t faired much better. There were burn marks on his skull. I didn’t need expertise to know what had been done to them. The images had been geared to show me one thing.

  They were alive.

  They didn’t have to stay that way.

  If the Blossom Foundry did not get what they wanted, they would use Dirk and Hatch to attempt it. Lowering my leg, I dipped into adho mukha svanasana, downward dog, and let out a breath. Maybe the blood rushing to my head could cleanse it from those images.

  Still, nothing could fully erase them, and I didn’t want to. I could see Hatch’s beautiful eyes, all puffy and bruised. Blood trickled from his nose. The metallic taste coated my tongue and my pulse throbbed against my eyes as I pushed down into urdhva mukha svanasana, upward facing dog, then I opened my eyes, expecting to see the blue sky and the snow white drift of clouds in the distance.

  Hatch stared back at me, a corner of his mouth kicking a little higher, despite the puffiness marring the other side of his beautiful lips. A cut sliced through the bottom one, likely inflicted by a ring slamming a blow there. As if the very thought of it summoned the image, I could feel the blow, and a wet laugh escaped me.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Hatch murmured, his voice a little slurred and his head leaning a little to the side as though it were a great effort to keep it up. “This is an excellent fucking dream. You look great.”

  My heart squeezed. I didn’t release the pose for fear of losing sight of him.

  “Yeah, I’m not pretty.” He tried to shrug, but his shoulders barely moved. A faint grimace pulled taut over his face. “But this is hardly the worst I’ve been. Gimme a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, and I’ll be all better again.”

  Tears filtered across my vision, and he wavered.

  “Don’t you do it, luv,” he whispered. “Don’t you shed one damn tear for me. This is my fantasy, and I just want to see you warm, drenched in sunlight, with those beautiful breasts straining against that top, and look at those nipples all peaked and ready for me.”

  Heat coiled in my abdomen at those words. It was such a Hatch thing to say. A wet laugh escaped me, and his grin kicked a little higher.

  “Yeah, even in my fantasies, I can make you smile.”

  “You always make me smile,” I whispered. “I just hate imagining you like this.”

  “Then don’t,” he ordered. “Think of me hot and naked with you wrapped around my cock while I rock your world.” A harsh laugh escaped him, followed by a racking cough.

  My heart hurt as he leaned slightly and spit. Then his expression shifted.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Why was I answering my own damn fantasies?

  Because I missed him, dammit. They’d all worked their way so deeply into my soul that I felt less somehow with them gone. I had Andreas, I loved him so much, even his god had to know it. But I loved Hatch as well, and he was suffering.

  He wasn’t looking at me so much as past me, and then he flicked his gaze back to me. “Well, if she’s a hallucination, mate, I’ll take it. She looks so fucking good. There’s sun in her dark hair, and I swear it’s got these little strands of gold in it. Her eyes are…they’re fucking perfect, even if she looks like she wants to cry.” He paused and then snorted another painful laugh that set his chest wheezing, and my arms trembled from refusing to release the pose less I lose this fragile, albeit painful, daydream.

  “Fuck you, she thinks I’m the sexiest thing she’s ever seen. Right, luv? Your cunt is wet for me right now, isn’t it?”

  “Always,” I whispered, and it wasn’t a lie. I did ache for him, and that ache unfolded with every word he released. “I’m coming, Hatch. You have to hold on.”

  “Don’t,” he snarled. “Not even in my dreams, luv. You stay the fuck away from these people.” He groaned, then jerked his gaze away from me, as if it physically hurt him to look in my direction. “Fuck off, man. Maybe they have fucked with my head too much, I don’t care. I like seeing her. But even in my damn hallucinations, she’s being her stubborn self.”

  “I can’t be anyone else,” I chastised him, albeit gently. “I can’t leave you.”

  Instead of answering me, he kept his focus away. His lips pressed together mutely. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t look at me, he wasn’t speaking at all. The shaking in my arms warned I was pushing too hard, but I only lowered myself to the deck slowly.

  As difficult as it was to keep staring at his battered and damaged face, I yearned too much to see him to let go of this precious moment. It was mine dammit. I…

  He still wouldn’t look at me.

  If anything, his expression turned thunderous. It was a blink and miss it moment, the ripple of cold fury iced his eyes, but he didn’t shift his gaze at all. Why would I imagine this? I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’d seen Hatch truly angry.

  He could challenge a saint.

  It was one of the things I loved about him. The rakish attitude and roguish behavior hid the intelligent depths and gifted engineering mind. He was every bit the rogue, but he was also brilliant and cunning. A dangerous combination in someone who wanted to know how things worked.

  Still, he kept his gaze steadily forward and controlled. Sweat gathered along the back of my neck and dampened my hair. The trickle of it between my breasts and down my face alerted me to the fact that I was drenched.

  It wasn’t hot on the deck.

  If anything, the breeze off the ocean was cool and refreshing. The sun warmed me, but hardly offered more than some comfort to stave off what could be a real chill. But I was sweating.

  Profusely.

  Sweat beaded on Hatch’s forehead. The droplets trickling down as though he were in the throes of breaking a fever.

  Stubbornness was in his DNA, but he usually preferred to tease me than ignore me. That was more Andreas’ or Oz’s style when they were truly angry with me.

 

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