Avenged (Altered #2)(2)

And she wanted to live. She couldn’t help it.

As the days slipped by—she’d lost track of dates a while ago—they’d stopped coming as often. Her only contact with the world would be when her food tray slipped into the slot in her door. This was the first time in over a week that she’d seen anyone from the lab.

Now, she got it. They hadn’t needed her anymore to study Solvimine. Fields thought it was ready for prime time.

She scanned the sterile room. There was only Mark and an orderly, the examination table and then another table full of medical supplies and scientific equipment.

This exam room was different than the one in Fields’s first hideout. A while ago—again, no telling how long—she’d been drugged and had awakened in a new cell, nicer than the first. Much nicer. And there’d been this exam room, much better equipped than the last one.

Fields had received new funding. No one told her who—no one told her anything, and they kept their thoughts bland—but there was money here. A lot of money.

It didn’t matter, not now. What did matter? Getting out of here. Saving others from her fate. Or worse, the fate of her parents.

She hadn’t considered escaping in a long time. She’d tried three times in the beginning. She shivered, remembering waking up in a straitjacket.

That hadn’t been pleasant.

But people were going to die. More people. And Mark knew. He knew people could die. What was the matter with him?

Her hands fisted and anger coursed through her. He should do the right thing. He should tell management. He should go. She glared at the back of his head, sending the silent demands at him like daggers.

He lowered the pen he’d been writing with to the table. “I should tell management. It’s the right thing.” He lifted his head. “I should go right now.” He stood and squared his shoulders, suddenly purposeful.

No way. Those were her words. Exactly those words.

Had she done that? There was no other explanation for his sudden change of heart. She’d put her thoughts in his head.

Horrified, she gasped, covering her mouth. It broke the spell. Mark halted on his way to the door, shaking his head. “What the…” He turned, pointing at her. “That was you. Wasn’t it? You did that.” He spun toward the door and pressed the big red security button there.

This was bad. She had to move. Now.

Acting fast, she dove for the counter next to her, coming up with the needle he’d used to take her blood. Closing her fist around it, she lunged at Mark, plunging off the table, the needle over her head.

The rage was intoxicating. It filled her, completed the places that had been empty.

Mark caught her wrist, holding it away from him. She cried out, the sound primal, like an animal. Her hand drove relentlessly toward Mark’s neck. His eyes widened and fear passed through them. The adrenalin coursed through her, giving her more strength than she’d ever imagined possessing. The tip of the needle inched closer and closer to his skin.

Then Mark’s thoughts blasted into her head, a string of chaos. No words, only emotions, raw and jagged. Terror. That was fine with her. He should be scared. After what they’d done to her, let them be afraid.

But it was the helplessness that made her waver. She knew helplessness too well. Her hesitation gave him the upper hand. He yanked her arm back, drawing the needle away from him.

The familiar sting hit her in the hip followed by the just as familiar floating. Tranked.

In her anger-filled haze, she’d forgotten about the orderly.

Then, she knew nothing.

…

The wheels of the custodian bucket squealed as Nick Degrassi pushed it with the mop down the corridor.

He moved slowly behind it, humming, like any janitor might when alone scrubbing floors at night. Dressed in the one-piece green jumpsuit of Goldstone’s custodial staff, he worked the mop in the methodical way he learned during basic training: section by section, in the creases, doubling back to be sure he didn’t miss any spots. The job didn’t require much attention. He’d always been a perfectionist, so cleaning came naturally to him.

Instead, he spent the time counting the rooms and minutes until he got to where they were keeping Kitty.

He’d been at the Goldstone building for two weeks. He wanted to be here sooner, but it had taken some time to get through the military red tape.

Damn military and their bureaucratic bullshit.

Sure, they had a right to mistrust him. After all, Nick, his friend Seth, and Seth’s girlfriend, Blue, had pretty much destroyed an entire building at Fort Sam Houston. The Army was not pleased with them.

Not that he’d had much to do with the actual destruction. He’d been there, though, and gotten a first row seat while Seth and Blue did the heavy lifting. He had to admit, the image of Blue, bloody from a bullet wound to her shoulder, her short hair standing on end as she used her telekinetic powers to rip apart a wall? Something he’d never forget. And he’d seen some pretty messed up stuff.

So, Seth and Blue had been forced to retreat to her mother’s trailer in Idaho to lay low, and he’d gone to play nice with the brass. He’d set up a meeting with Major Martins, the officer who’d turned them in, to make peace. Between them, they’d established that they needed each other—Nick and his friends because they were a small group, some boasting extraordinary powers, but alone with few resources; the Army because they were searching for a madman who’d given people super powers—and they’d devised a plan to work together.