Unchained: A Thrilling Romantic Suspense/Dark Romance Blood Brothers Novel Book #3

Chapter 1

Brooks slammed his palms against the door’s metal arm. An alarm screeched. He didn’t stop running. The desert’s cool night air hit his bare chest but did nothing to fan his flaming skin. Adrenaline pumped through him. He’d escaped. And they’d do anything to get him—and the drug coursing through his veins—back.

“Get him!”

“Don’t fire!”

The shouts behind him made him run faster. Dirt and rocks cut into the soles of his feet, but the sensation barely punched through his consciousness. The eight-foot-high chain-link fence came into view. The wretched drug would enable him to scale it. He jumped and latched onto the fence. His fingers twisted around the tight metal, and he scurried to the top. As he swung his body over the barbed wire, the thorns ripped at his flesh. Hot blood seared his abdomen as he sailed through the air. His ligaments twanged as he landed on his feet, sending a shock wave through his body.

He didn’t slow.

He charged for the line of trees a few meters ahead. They’d soon be on him with their tranquilizer darts and stun guns. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. But this time, he wouldn’t get dragged back to their twisted fucking lab.

Branches whipped his face and body as he ran through the woods. His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, the drug making him hyperaware of his surroundings.

Flashlights bobbed behind him. The guards wouldn’t stop their pursuit until they caught him. He was worth too much to kill, and he knew too much to be allowed to escape. A fallen log appeared in his path. He leaped off it and lunged to the ground. A large tree came into view. He skirted around it and then pressed his back to the trunk. The stiff bark scraped his back as his chest rose and fell. His blood pressure would be through the roof. The drug had that effect.

Bastards.

This time, he’d escaped before they’d unleashed him on someone. Pain ricocheted through his skull, reminding him that if he didn’t release the torrents of energy, he’d die. Slowing his breath didn’t work. Nothing fucking worked except going on a rampage or seeing his hands inflict carnage on another person. The thought brought him to his knees. No more. Never again.

If he didn’t escape tonight, he’d find a way to take his life. Trapping his energy after an injection was one way, but that was easier said than done—human beings were wired to survive. Footsteps rustled over fallen leaves.

Brooks closed his eyes and pressed his fists into the trunk at his sides as he stood.

Snap

A twig gave away. They were close. He shifted to peer around the side of the tree. Flashlights illuminated the path ahead of the three men. In a few paces, they’d pass him. He shuffled around the tree as they moved, staying out of sight, his bare feet silent on the cool, damp earth.

“He can’t be far,” said one of the guards.

“Are you kidding?” said another. “That monster can run like a cheetah. I almost hope he’s far.”

Brooks’s lips twitched. He’d make these half-wits wish they’d never touched him. Each one of them had abused him in one way or another. Even if just by their silence. His body temperature rose. Sweat covered his brow. Beneath his skin, his veins twitched, the drug almost too much for them to contain. It was now or never.

He stepped around the trunk and moved behind them, locking his sights on the bald guard—Charlie. The one who’d shocked him with a stun gun the last time he tried to escape. In one quick movement, Brooks advanced, grabbed Charlie’s head from behind, and cracked his neck to the side. The man’s lifeless body fell to the ground.

The two other guards whipped around, guns aimed. “Hands in the air!”

Brooks smiled. He kicked his foot out, knocking the sniper from Andy’s hands and sending the man flying backward. The other guard, Jose, fired rubber bullets. Brooks’s chest burned with the impact of each one. He caught the weapon, tore it from the man’s fingers, and jabbed it into Jose’s face. Blood sprayed through the air. Jose cried out and dropped to his knees.

Andy dove for Brooks’s waist but didn’t take him down. Brooks jabbed his elbow into the back of Andy’s skull once, twice, three times. Andy’s hands loosened, and he flopped to the ground.

Crunch

The butt of Jose’s gun hit Brooks’s mouth. His brain flickered and then cleared. He locked his gaze on Jose like a laser beam. His temper flared and crackled, creating a red vignette around his vision. “You fucker,” he breathed. He grabbed the scuff of Jose’s collar and lifted the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound body up. “You sick sonofabitch. You like hurting people, huh? You like watching me murder all those fucking people?” His voice boomed thick and loud. The drug made the sound foreign to his own ears.

Jose grappled at his wrists. “You’re wrong. I—”

“It’s your turn.” Brooks smashed Jose’s body against the tree. He pulled back his fist, held him in position with his free hand, and then pummeled him in the stomach. Brooks’s blood pressure lowered as he let out the pent-up rage the drug and his imprisonment had inflicted.

Crunch, crack, crunch

Ribs broke with each blow of his fist, but he wasn’t done.

Cold metal pressed into Brooks’s neck.

Crack! Sizzle!

A sharp, piercing pain shot through him. His body jolted. He let go of Jose and caught the tree for balance. Jose’s unconscious form fell to the earth. Slowly, Brooks turned. Andy stood there, his shaking hand holding a stun gun on an extended rod.

“Hands up, thirty-six!”

Dark forms raced through the trees. No. Six men closed in on them. But Brooks wouldn’t go without a fight. He lunged forward, grabbed the rod, and jabbed it through Andy’s neck. His eyes snapped open in shock, and his face went as pale as the whites of his eyes. He grabbed the rod as pain-filled gasps gurgled through his lips.

Whap, whap, whap, whap

Rubber bullets hailed down on Brooks, stinging his skin. He charged for the men. The pinch of a tranquilizer dart entered his side. His legs trembled. He fell to his knees. The cool mud soaked through the thin material of the cotton hospital pants he wore. His muscles tingled, falling asleep. He stared at the men who’d take him back to hell.

He’d get them all. Every last fucking one.

And then he’d satisfy the revenge that ravaged him. The only name he’d been able to commit to memory, the only name he’d fight not to forget. A dark cloud rolled over his mind, and his eyes lifted to the sky. He sunk to the mud and muttered the name he said every time they knocked him out...

“Conrad Hornick.”

***

Weird.

Camryn stared at the building. It looked out of place smack-dab on Timber’s Terrain in Utah’s West Desert. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, and a little ball of nervousness formed in her belly. A new job always came with a bit of anxiety, but the interview process for this one had been extensive. As a registered nurse, she should be in a hospital or a doctor’s office. But right now, she needed something temporary for her temporary life.

And pulling round-the-clock shifts in the ER would only deplete her if she needed to run again. Not to mention more people would see her face.

She couldn’t have that.

She checked the rearview mirror, and the sight of her foreign blonde locks gave her a start. She’d get used to it. That’s what her mom had said. She climbed out of the car and made her way to the single-level pop-up laboratory. Rather than walk up a concrete walkway, as she’d done at all her previous nursing jobs, she stumbled over rocks and dirt.

Overhead, an eagle called. Camryn lifted her chin and inhaled a deep breath of the dusty air. At least there was some greenery in this area of Utah. The sun was low on the horizon, and the brilliant oranges and pinks were just filling the sky. She hated working night shifts, but the interviewer she’d spoken to had said she’d need to work two weeks of nights to fill the previous RN’s position. Then she’d go on days.

As she approached the structure from the west, she had a view of the grounds to the side of the building and a partial view of the grounds behind it. A chain-link fence with barbed wire stretched out toward a forest. She crinkled her forehead in confusion. If the job hadn’t required such a rigorous background check and interview process, she’d be certain there was something sketchy about the place. She pulled open the front door. The familiar scent of antiseptic struck her nostrils as she approached the desk where a receptionist waited.

Glasses perched on the woman’s nose, and her droll face lifted in acknowledgment. “Hello, dear. What can I do you for?”

“Camryn Bay—” She cleared her throat. God, she’d never get accustomed to the fictitious last name. “I mean Royse. Camryn Royse. I’m here for the RN position under Dr. Leonetti. It’s my first day.” She sent her gaze to the darkening sky outside the window. “Night, I guess.”

“Ah, welcome. I see you didn’t have trouble finding us way out here.” The woman’s warm smile calmed Camryn’s jittering nerves. She gestured to a whiteboard beside the desk. “Stand here and I’ll get your picture for your ID.”

Camryn slid her purse into a nearby chair and then stood in front of the whiteboard. As she smiled, a bright flash blasted her eyes. The woman at the desk clipped papers together, reached into a drawer, and grabbed a metal piece and a lanyard. A few minutes later, she stretched her arm across the desk. “Here’s your photo ID. You’ll need it to access certain areas of the lab.” She flipped the card to reveal a magnetic strip. “Just swipe. I hope you’re okay with the photo. No retakes.”

Camryn glanced down at the picture of herself—blonde yet again. At least in the grainy, instant photo it didn’t look so strange. She fit the lanyard over her neck and picked up her purse, waiting for more directions.

The woman held out a metal key on a ring. “For the elevator. I suggest you put this on your keychain, or somewhere you won’t lose it. We won’t dole out another.” She flashed her a tight smile. “Elevators are at the end of the hall to your left. You’ve been assigned to the seventh floor.”

Camryn fingered the circular key. Then she froze. Seventh floor? The building was only a single story. Her heart pattered in her chest as she tried to figure out the puzzle. The receptionist kept her back to the front of the desk as she bent over a filing cabinet.

“Um, I’m sorry. I’m confused—seventh floor? There’s only one floor.”

The woman turned. Her eyes peeked over the rim of her glasses. She chuckled and pointed at the ground. “Basement, sweetheart. The main floor is for the lab. Dr. Leonetti’s work is below.”

Camryn nodded and turned away. The key burned a hole in her palm. She made her way down the hall, but her feet lagged as if she’d strapped ankle weights to them, which she did three times a week for her workouts.

What was so unusual about there being a basement? Every hospital had a basement. Her abdomen clenched. Patients weren’t kept in basements. She closed her fingers around the key.

Stop being paranoid, Cam. Just because your nephew tried to kill you and your mom doesn’t mean everyone’s out to get you.

Besides, she’d found the job on Utah’s medical services dashboard. Not Craigslist for goodness’ sake. She reached the elevator bank and jabbed the button. The door dinged. Inside, she turned to press the button for the seventh floor and her hand stopped midway. Her stomach plunged. There were twelve floors.

Good grief.

She wet her lips, inserted the circular key into the slot below the numbers and turned it, then pressed the button with 7 on it. The doors whooshed shut and she caught the railing as the cart whizzed down.

Beep, beep, beep

Red numbers at the top, just below a security camera, illuminated her descent. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Go home now.

The voice of warning pounded in her skull. No, no, no. She needed a job and she needed money. This one paid damn good—better than the others she’d found, and that was why she’d stuck around for the longer hiring process rather than find something else overnight. She stepped onto the polished concrete floor and swept her gaze around the room. The center buzzed like that of a hospital’s triage station, only it held cubicles and examination beds. Along the perimeter were individual rooms.

“You must be Camryn Royse?” A shorter woman who appeared to be in her late thirties approached. Her curly dark brown hair spilled from a ponytail on the crown of her head.

Camryn strived for a passive expression. What the hell kind of care facility was this? “Yes. I’m scheduled for 7:00 p.m.”

“I’m Jen, the head nurse on this floor. It’s nice to meet you.” She jutted out her hand, slid her fingers over Camryn’s, and gestured to one of the hallways that boxed in the triage station—or whatever it was. “I’ll go over your patients. Hope you have a good memory.” They passed each relevant room and Jen rattled off her duties. “Don’t worry, each room will have a clipboard outlining their meds and care.”

Camryn listened with half an ear as they strolled. In the lack of natural light, Camryn’s senses spiraled. A person could go days without knowing whether it was night or day. Surely the nurses took the patients upstairs for fresh air. The alternative was inconceivable. A light overhead flickered, sending shadows across the floor. An ominous energy gripped her throat. Maybe once she’d asked some questions and talked to patients, she’d find some peace about the basement conditions.

“Any questions?”

Camryn pulled back her shoulders. “What about feeding schedules?”

“Not for you to worry about. We have the meal staff to take care of that.”

Of course. She’d never been assigned to give meals before, but she’d also never been in such a facility. She glanced around the ward. “I’m sorry. I must have missed some key points in the interview. What kind of facility is this?”

Jen’s eyes sharpened. She smiled, but the stretch of her lips made a shiver run down Camryn’s spine. “Rehabilitation.” She nudged Camryn to the side as a stretcher rolled past. A man lay withering on a bed, no sheet covering him. Only black briefs shielded him below his waist. Bruises and burns dotted his body. “Everyone who’s sent here has experienced some form of trauma. Either physically or mentally. In some cases, we use experimental treatments. Often, you’ll see a lot of patients sedated, or you’ll need to sedate them, so don’t be alarmed.”

Camryn nodded slowly and curled her fingers into her palms. Rehab. Okay. “What about an outside schedule? I assume each patient needs to get outdoors at some point during the day.”

Jen’s eye twitched. “Again, not for you to worry about.” She nodded behind Camryn.

Camryn turned to a door marked thirty-six.

“This is our newest patient. He’s experienced severe mental trauma, delusions, insomnia, hallucinations. He doesn’t do well awake—at least not yet. Dr. Leonetti works with him one-on-one several times a week, and he has two hours of awake time in the morning and again in the afternoon to eat. Outside of that, he’s sedated.”

“Is Dr. Leonetti here? I haven’t met him yet.”

“No. You won’t see much of him. Why don’t you take some time to familiarize yourself with the patients’ charts? Thirty-six will need his shot in”—she looked at her watch—“ten minutes. Might as well start there.”

“Okay.” Camryn turned for the door.

Jen caught her arm. “One important thing. Thirty-six’s injection needs to be given at exactly 7:30 p.m. Not a minute sooner or later.”

She scrunched her brow. “Why?”

Jen waved her hand. “It’s the meds. They’re finnicky and we’re still trying to regulate him.”

The PA system crackled. “Code blue, room 13. I repeat, code blue, room 13.”

Jen jerked her head toward the triage station. “I have to go. Don’t hesitate to ask someone if you have questions.” She bustled down the hall.

Once again, Camryn turned to the door marked thirty-six. A clipboard sat in a plastic folder on the door. She pulled it out, grabbed the door’s cool steel handle, and stepped into the room. She shifted her gaze to the patient in the bed and the air whooshed from her lungs so quickly pain shot through her chest.

She shut the door. A man in his mid-thirties with a blanket tucked around his hips lay there, unmoving. Tattoos adorned his chest and arms. She inched closer and ran her fingers over the leather straps binding his wrists. Goodness. Dirt marred his fingers, his abdomen, and even his face. Never in her life had she seen a patient in such a dirty state. His light-brown hair was thick and greasy, his beard overgrown and scruffy. Scratches littered his dirt-smeared cheeks as if he’d been whipped with sticks. She studied his chest and abdomen—sharp cuts, much bloodier than the ones on his face, covered his flesh.

Anger burned inside her. She lifted the clipboard and browsed the first page.

Brooks Ivanov, age 35, 215 pounds.

Admitted May 14.

No known allergies. Suffers from paranoia, insomnia, delusions, and hallucinations.

She lifted the paper. The next one listed his medications. There had to be more on his medical condition. Why exactly was he rehabilitating? Jen had said everyone had experienced severe trauma. Camryn lifted her gaze to the clock—eight minutes until she had to administer his medication. She went to the cupboard, found a syringe, read it to confirm the dosage and drug name, then dropped it into the pocket of her scrub shirt.

In the meantime, she could at least clean him up. She went to the sink against the wall, found a steel bowl, soap, and a sponge, and then went to work, starting with his face. The dirt took a little elbow grease, as if it’d been there for weeks. In minutes, the water was brown. She changed it and added more soap.

Swiping the sponge over his eyes revealed thick, dark eyelashes. The kind that women paid big money for. The fine, perfectly straight bridge of his nose suggested an Eastern European background. She mopped the wet material over his lips. A large purple-and-blue bruise covered his mouth.

Camryn’s nerves ticked. She lifted her gaze toward the door. Something wasn’t right. He’d been in the facility for over a month and they were still working out the kinks in his meds? Hadn’t bathed him and he had a fresh bruise?

She wet her lips. The anxiety she’d felt earlier returned. She’d signed a nondisclosure agreement swearing not to discuss any patients, or the facility. Surely that didn’t mean the treatment of the patients.

She worked her way down his chest, uncovering more bruises. Tears stung her eyes. She wiped her face with her sleeve and continued working. She’d get him clean, maybe ice the bruises and disinfect the scratches. Finishing his torso, she moved to his left arm, then his right. Detailed art and words she couldn’t make out through the unique font and the dirt decorated his skin.

She opened his palm, stretched for the bowl of water, and dunked the sponge. She’d need to freshen the water after—

The patient jerked, locking her wrist in his hold. A scream lodged itself in her throat.