Heartless Legacy (Heartless Heirs of Canyon Falls #4)

126. Thea

Chapter 126

Thea

D r. Quack walks up to me, with a small smile on his face as he says, “We meet again.”

I close my eyes, trying to block out his face, and the sound of his voice, and I try not to think about what he must’ve looked like smiling down at LJ.

“You hurt her.” I know he did, so it’s a statement rather than a question.

“Her?” He asks, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Her, who?”

“You know who.”

“You’re right, I do. The people in charge made sure I understood just how special Layla Jean was.”

He pumps the air bulb on the cuff and says, “Sadly, my in person sessions with her ended yesterday. I would have liked to work with her more. The priming she went through this past year yielded some interesting results. I have lots of data to work with, and compare to the other subjects who were on the oral dosage plan.”

He gestures towards me. “Although none have been as fascinating as you. Perhaps whoever you end up with will be interested in working with me.”

“What do you mean, you primed LJ this year?”

“As much as I love hands on research, I can’t very well strap down every person who people seek to control. I am working to revolutionize psychotherapy and behavior modification and need to know if my techniques can be used as a part of an outpatient treatment option. I have several test subjects out in the world.”

His meaning is crystal clear. “You’ve been drugging LJ? How?”

“Her mother expressed some concerns about her behavior and their relationship. With my help, Layla Jean became more open to making acceptable friendships, and has been thriving.” He frowns before continuing. “Or she was until you returned, and she started exhibiting some of her previous traits. I believe spending time with you affected her dosing schedule, and she pulled back from those friendships, nearly undoing all the progress we’d made.”

Giving me another creepy smile, he says, “What did you do to get her to form such a powerful attachment to you, even at the risk of ruining her relationship with her mother and boyfriend?” He arches a brow and asks, “Are you lovers?”

“We’re family.”

“Layla Jean has a family, but she chooses to spend time with you instead of them. That shows a strong emotional attachment.”

“They’re not her family. They’re people she’s related to, who happily turned her over to you, and let you drug her and fuck with her mind.”

“I wasn’t the one administering the dosage. That was an outside party.”

“It doesn’t matter who did what. Anyone who hurt her or aided in that harm will meet the same end.”

Looking over his shoulder at the guards, I say, “You don’t have to be a part of this. In fact, if I were you, I’d immediately resign from your post.”

One asks, “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“Because when I get free, I’m leveling this place to the ground and taking out anyone affiliated with it.”

The guards laugh, and the one who hit me says, “If you survive, the only thing you’ll be doing is crying for mercy or begging for your next fix.”

With a dismissive shrug, I say, “Your funeral.”

The doctor finishes taking my pressure and temperature, then slides the needle into my arm. I tense from the pinch of it and swallow down my panic. I steady my breathing and, turning my questions back to Dr. Quack, I ask, “So, is this what men with more money than God want? To see me strapped to this chair?”

There’s no doubt that watching my mind crack will be way more entertaining than what I’ve done in the gauntlet.

Glancing over to his left where Lazarro is standing, he says, “Not today. I’m just prepping you, like I did the others.” He pushes two more syringe filled solutions through the tubing. “It’s adrenaline, a B vitamin and zinc shot, but it won’t last long.”

He backs away and offers, “I hope you make it through, so we can play again, but if not...” He leaves the, oh well , unsaid, but it’s clear. I’m just a guinea pig and he’ll live to brainwash another day.

The guards unstrap me from the chair and manhandle me again, taking me to another part of the grounds, and push me into a building. The doors snick closed, dropping me into darkness. I try to make out shapes and sounds.

Lazarro's voice projects through an intercom. “You each owe a debt that you have refused to satisfy by running off or refusing to participate in the gauntlet. Ordinarily, I’d immediate accept the first offer I get for deserters, but I’ve decided to give you all a second chance. I’m willing to waive your debt and forgo a sale, for one of you.”

I feel twitchy. I roll my neck and sway, trying to expend some energy. The lights flicker on and off. I count the bodies I see, making note of where they are.

“The rules here are the same as in the gauntlet. You must be the last person standing when the final alarm blares. Your fight for freedom starts now.”

Wood croaks on my left. I jump out of the way right before a crate topples over on me, and run towards the other side of the room. The clutter in the room turns the space into a giant obstacle course. The lights continue to blink off and on, messing with my perception, and I stop twice to fight the people behind me, only to find empty shadows.

Someone comes at me from the right, with a yell. I jerk my hands up to fend them off and stumble backwards into another crate, jarring my back. Pain blooms in my left lower side. I counter their attack with a punch which they easily dodge. There’s another fight happening on my left, and I’m sure a few more are happening on the other side of the room. Pushing the girl backwards, I grab her hair and slam her face against a crate, then frantically looking for a safe place to catch my breath and try to come up with a plan.

It’s hard to focus on where to run, with the lights flashing. I don’t make it far before I encounter someone else. Not giving the guy a chance to react, I run at him, knocking him into the wall. He elbows me in the chin, as I reach for his eyes to gauge them out. The second blow to my chin knocks me on my ass. I scurry backwards and scramble to my feet, running for the back wall, when someone grabs my ankle, dragging me back down.

I kick and squirm, trying to break free of his hold. One of my kicks lands squarely against his chest, sending him scooting an inch backwards into a pole. His head cracks against it with a nauseating crunch.

Getting to my feet, I run down the hall, darting into the women’s restroom. I scour the space, looking for something to use as a weapon. There’s no way I can fight for nineteen hours straight.

Climbing onto the sink, I reach up, grabbing one of the plastic grids from the drop ceiling frame and jump off the sink yanking as hard as I can. It takes a few tries to get it loose and expose one of the wires anchoring it to the ceiling. I twist and turn to get the wire and a piece of the plastic grid free. I fashion the wire into a hook before shoving it into my boot. The plastic grid rests against the small of my back. It won’t do much but give a nasty scratch, maybe a paper cut, but every advantage helps.

The door opens and two guards rush into the bathroom. Before I can react, they’re on me, dragging me back into the hall. They drop me in front of a group of four, who attack as soon as the guards step out of the way. My attention is split between fighting multiple opponents and worrying about the guards.

This is all too much like that night. My plans to fight back go to shit as my trauma rears its head, paralyzing me. My eye throbs, my vision’s spotty, and my ears ring. I can’t tell if it’s from my anxiety or the repeated blows to my head. I bite back the cry, working its way up my throat.

I knew the risks of coming here. I knew it would be bad. But, I had no choice. I have to do this. I try to find a sense of calm amidst the panic. I think of Deacon and how I refuse to need him to rescue me again. I can hear him saying bring them in close to regain ground in the fight. I hear LJ saying she trusts me to keep her safe, and I hear Harper Sagebrook’s voice saying, “ And if the panic comes. Use it.”

I make myself smaller, letting them get closer. Reaching for my boot with shaky fingers, I dig out the wire and grab at the ankles of the person closest to me. When they fall to the ground, I stab, pressing until something gives way, and I feel the warmth of blood on my hand. I try to crawl away, but somebody grabs me from behind, wrapping their arms around my neck, choking me, and dragging me to my feet.

The voice hisses, “This thing is far from over. Back down there you go. No hiding away like a little bitch.”

We’re on some type of platform. He pulls me through the door, maintaining his hold around my neck. I lurch forward, flinging myself down the stairs. Our tumble forces him to break his hold. Using the railing for support, I get to my feet and dive at him, pushing him over the side.

The other two come towards me, and I race down the steps to put distance between us, stumbling as I go, running blindly towards what I think is the back of the building, looking for an exit.

Someone dives for me when I reach the bottom of the stairs, sending me into a crate. It splinters under me. I wince as I scramble to grab one of the jagged pieces. Rolling over, I swing, embedding the nail sticking out of it into his jaw.

I stand on unsteady feet and run for the door, shoving through it, ignoring the pain and nausea. I head left towards the building Lazarro was in. “Where do you think you’re going?” A guard asks as I step through the door. “You’re not supposed to be over here.” Glancing over my shoulder, he asks, “How did you get out?”

He pales when I say, “Through the door.” He looks behind him and says, “Let’s go.”

Taking a step away from him, I search for an opening and a weapon. There are no helpful crates or crowbars over here. Wincing through the breath I take, I say, “I - I think I’ll sit the rest of this out.”

He walks closer, pushing the muzzle of the gun against my shoulder. “You want out, you need to do what Mr. Lazarro says, and win. If you don’t, he’ll just find another way to get you to behave. Or maybe I’ll take the initiative myself.”

Gripping his dick, with his free hand he says, “You’ll perform for us one way or another. Now move.”

Lazarro keeps saying he’s a businessman, and I’m assuming the guards aren’t allowed to shoot the merchandise. When I clear the doorway, I spin, grabbing the edge of it, and swing it into his face as hard as I can. Scurrying past him to get back inside, I look left and right, searching for the stairs. I find them and rush to the third floor where I saw the cameras.

This time, I don’t bother trying to sneak around. Another set of guards are waiting for me near the first set of cubicles. They drag me into the conference room, where Lazarro scowls at me from his end of the table. “How does she keep gettin out?” He asks the guard on my right.

There’s a garbled noise on the other end of the radio, then static. He tells another guard. “The guard in the perch over at the detention center is giving me dead air. Go make sure he has a fresh battery.”

To me, he says, “You don’t seem committed to our agreement, so I think I’ll give my earlier buyers what they want. You can sit here and watch as they break your little friend in real time.”

The screen on the wall behind him comes on, bringing up an image of the doctor’s chair. Another camera feed is brought online, playing right next to the first one. The cage the camera zooms in on is empty. Lazarro snatches up his radio and growls, “Where’s lot thirty-two?”

It sickens me that he’s just given them numbers. “Sir, she should be in containment after her latest session.”

“I’m looking at the feed and she’s not there.” Bolting to his feet, Lazarro walks to the door and asks, “Who won the last bid for lot thirty-two?”

The response comes from someone sitting at one of the cubicles. “The same person who won the first one. He’s maintained the highest bid the whole time, sir.”

“That’s impossible. He can’t have that much money.”

I wave at the screen when he turns back to me, and say, “There’s an empty cage where I’m assuming my friend should be. I am here performing in good faith. You said there are no rules, which means my escape attempts are well within the guideline of the gauntlet and whatever hunger game shit is going on in the other building. If anything, it sounds like you’re the one in breach of our deal, so I guess that means all bets are off.”

Lazarro takes a step towards me. “Nothing’s off. I’m going to wring every dollar I can out of you. Even if that means strapping you to this table myself, and letting every guard I have use you as a punching bag or a whore.”

I tell him, “I honored our deal, and followed your rules to the letter. I didn’t call the cops or tell The League. I ditched my phone and showed up. I gave you forty-eight hours.” Staring at the clock on the wall, I say, “Time’s up.”

“Sir! Sir! We’re under attack.” Comes a frantic yell through his radio. A window smashes and a metal ting rings out, seconds before a grenade explodes near the cubicles.

Lazarro runs through the door, while everyone else stands around in shock as gun fire erupts on the other side of the hall. I shove against the body on my right and chase after him. He’s gone by the time I make it to the end of the hall.

Terrance walks up to me, wincing as he turns my head side to side and asks, “You okay?”

Slapping his hand aways, I say, “I’m fine, but Lazarro’s on the run.”

He nods and says, “Of course he is. That’s what fuckers like him do at the first sign of trouble. Run and leave everyone else behind. We’ve cleared the detention center and the first building here so far.”

Scanning the floor, looking at the employees trying to run, I ask, “How much more ground do we need to cover?”

“Two more buildings.”

Hobbling down the hall, I say, “Let’s go.”

I have to tell Terrance repeatedly to focus on the mission, and not me, as we make our way to the next building. This one is also full of people in cages.

We clear the floors room by room. I’m at the far side of the hall when I hear grunts coming from the room directly in front of me. Peeking through the door, I see a back decked out in tattoos. The person sporting the ink is spread wide on a St. Andrew’s cross.

A woman stands in front of him, holding a whip. It hisses as she snaps it; the tip cracking against his skin. She says, “I was hoping this time I’d get to reward you, but you’ve been a very, very bad boy and deserve to be punished. Your choice is a hundred lashes or none at all. All you have to do is say the words. Say it.”

When he doesn’t speak, she whips him again. “Say it. That’s the only way to end this punishment. Say you hate her.” Swoosh, crack. “Say that you never loved her.” Swoosh, crack. “Tell me you hope she dies in the gauntlet.”

Pushing the door open a little further, I see recording equipment pointed at them. Someone hums at her feet, drawing my attention to the person on the floor between his legs. I shove the door open the rest of the way, letting it bang off the wall. The woman with the whip takes a step away from him with a startled yelp. I ignore her, going straight for the woman on her knees.

Grabbing her hair, I yank her away from him. “Who. The Fuck. Do you think. You. Are?” I backhand her, sending her falling to the floor. Fisting her hair to hold her steady, I smack her again and again. “How. Dare. You. Touch. Him.”

Her tears, snot and blood, coat my hand. I slam her head into the floor and release my grip, then spin around to face the woman holding the whip. She’s making a run for the door. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t.”

Ignoring the pain in my body and the fact that the adrenaline is wearing off, I grab her by the back of her robe. I reach for the whip. We struggle for it as she also tries to shake the robe off. I let her keep the handle, taking hold of the cracker and thong, wrapping the length between them around her neck twice, and drag her back to the center of the room. I’m even more enraged now that I can see his face, and the cuts and whip marks on his body.

“Did you do this? Did you try to destroy his artwork?”

She wheezes and gasps, clawing at my hands. “Who the fuck do you think you are to punish him? To touch him? To mar him?” I tighten my hold on both ends of the leather, pulling taut.

Pax croaks out, “Thea.”

“You had no right to touch him! No right to hurt him. His repentance doesn’t belong to you. It’s mine. He’s. Mine!”

“Nem.” His voice is rough and hoarse. He might’ve been enduring in silence when I got here, but I can tell he’d been yelling at some point before. “Let go. Nem. You’re gonna. Kill her. Let go.”

Glaring up at him, I say, “She deserves it. They all deserve it.”

He winces as he swallows and says, “Yes, but you don’t. You don’t deserve to have it on your conscious.”

Jerking her closer, I lean back, lifting her off the floor by her neck, and ask, “What conscience?”

She makes a rasping sound, then her body goes slack. I release my hold on her, letting her fall to the floor, and slam my foot against her wrist until I hear it snap. Then do the same with the second one.

Pax is staring at me with a look of hope, fear and confusion that I’m sure I’ve worn after a session in the quack’s chair. “I’m real.” I say, as I untie him from the cross. I take a step back while he gets his feet under him. “I’m real, Pax. I’m not a hallucination.”

Through swollen eyes, he nods and says, “I know, but why are you here?”

“Me? What are you doing here?”

“LJ. You were supposed to stay in the gauntlet to rescue her.” Shaking his head, he says, “You shouldn’t be wasting time with me. Go and rescue your friend. She needs you.”

“LJ’s not here, Pax.”

“Felix has her. I saw photos.”

Walking over to him, I gently place my hand on his chest and say, “He had her, but she’s safe and has been since the first round of bidding started.”

“How? How did you free her? I saw you in the gauntlet.”

Nodding towards the door, I ask, “We’ll talk about that later. Can you fight? Because there are still a lot of guards running around.”

“Yeah, I can fight.” He says as he weaves on his feet.

“Okay, then.” Moving towards the door, I say, “Let’s get out of here.”

He looks unsure about following me. “Pax, I promise I understand how you feel right now, but we don’t have time for you to second guess me. I am. Real. I am rescuing you. Just trust me. Okay, Big Guy?”

He hesitates, before agreeing, “Okay.”

Meeting up with Terrance at the end of the hall, he hands me an earpiece, and says, “Put this on before you go running off again.” Looking at Pax, he asks, “Is he good?”

“He’ll make it. You got the teams sweeping the rest of this building?”

“We do.” He holds up his finger and says, “Copy that.” To me he says, “Lazarro’s been spotted. He and his guards escaped in a vehicle at the back end of the property.”

“What about the doctor?”

“I’m sorry, Snowflake. He’s not here either.”

“Don’t call me Snowflake.” I mutter as my earpiece clicks on.

Another voice says, “I’d never call you Snowflake, Sweetness. Reckless and impulsive, sure. The woman who is determined to give me a heart attack or a murder charge. Definitely. But never Snowflake.”

I glare at Terrance. “You little snitch.”

He smirks as he turns and leads us back towards the stairs. To Wolfe, I say, “You can save the lecture. We’re in the middle of a carefully coordinated rescue. How are things back in town?”

“You turning yourself over to a psychopath to facilitate this rescue is precisely the reason I need to give you a lecture. But, you’re right, now is not the time. As for things back here, The League called an emergency session, which started two hours ago. My guess is they’ve already worked out that you’re not coming. I haven’t heard from anyone, so I don’t know what penalties are being discussed.”

“We’re coming,” I say as I step into the parking lot.

“We?”

“Me and an unexpected package I just picked up.”

I slip into the SUV, after Pax, and ask the driver. “How far away are we from the dead zone near The Tomb?”

“I can get us there in under an hour.”

Terrance hands me a shirt and says, “This should fit him.”

Turning to Pax, I help him slip the t-shirt on and say, “I need to make a stop at The Tomb. I can send you with the team to get treated.”

He winces as he shakes his head. “My father shipped me off to Rockridge, and I woke up here. I saw those people, those kids in cages. I recognized some of them from lower ranked legacy families.” His aquamarine eyes darken, as he says, “My father wants to overthrow the high council. If he succeeds, no one will be safe, so whatever you’re about to do, I’m doing it with you.”

“Alright, then.” Giving his hand a squeeze, I say, “Let’s end this.”