6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Quinn
The sweet kindergarten teacher, who, it turns out, is called Eve, manages to be super nice and chatty while telling me absolutely fucking nothing about where I am, why I was kidnapped, or what they plan to do with me. Her eyes keep drifting to the mirror, where people must be watching us.
I shouldn’t be able to eat, given the shit I’ve landed in, but my stomach leaps out of my throat and strangles me as soon as food arrives. It could be drugged, but honestly, at this point, I don't care. I'm starving.
That piece of shit Brackis fastened my legs to the metal chair, which is locked to the floor. He left my hands cuffed too, and the short metal chain connecting them bangs against the plastic tray as I eat. It's simple food, but I'm so hungry it tastes like it came from a fancy restaurant. I inhale half of it and drink the full paper cup of water.
It’s kind of satisfying they think I’m dangerous enough to be denied cutlery and drinking glasses. Like I’m a ninja that could take Eve hostage with a butter knife. I wish I was. Shame I gave up on karate classes after a few weeks when I was ten.
“So, where do you work?” Eve asks brightly, though the forced happy note in her voice isn’t fooling me. Every so often, I catch her face twisting into pity before she straightens it out again. She knows what’s up, and it isn’t good.
Part of me wants to spit in her face, but a stronger part tells me she’s not the enemy. She’s way too gentle to be running a human trafficking syndicate, or a drug cartel, or whatever this place is.
People thought Ted Bundy was nice, too.
I try to force all thoughts of serial killers out of my head. That’s the worst-case scenario, and we’re not there yet.
She’s waiting for an answer. “I work in a cafe. ‘Sandwishes.’ It’s beach-themed, and the food sucks, but sometimes the tips are pretty good. In summer when the tourists are around, anyway.”
A strange look passes over her face, one I can’t read. “I’ve been with my friend Billie. We got the milkshakes. They were good.”
“Next time you come in, I’ll get you one for free. Your friend too, if the boss is out. He’s in the bar by three most days. His wife left him last year, so he’s always hitting on twenty-year-olds. It’s pathetic to watch.”
Eve’s smile is sad. “I bet.”
She glances at the door again. She didn’t lie to me, at least, and tell me she’ll take me up on the offer. We both know it won’t happen.
The intercom buzzes, and we both jump. “Eve. I want a word.”
There’s no mistaking the big guy’s harsh British accent. Eve glances at the mirror one more time, then squeezes my hand. “We’ll get you out of here soon.”
She heads to the door, leaving me alone with the food. I pick at it some more, though my appetite has finally left me. I might need my strength for whatever is ahead.
The light in the room is the sort of depressing fluorescent hospitals everywhere seem to love. I hate the way it bleaches my skin. I must look like a dug-up ghoul after no sleep and all the medication. If they try to sell me now, they’ll be lucky to get fifty bucks.
It shouldn’t make me laugh, but exhaustion has made me lightheaded, and I snort as a giggle tries to make its way out. Maybe if they think I’m a drug-addled psycho, they’ll let me go?
The door opens, and the British guy enters, shutting it behind him. If the room felt small before, it’s a goddamn closet now. His gigantic form is a black hole, sucking all the space and air from the room. It pulls the last traces of my amusement with it, and all I can do is stare, mouth open.
Intimidating doesn’t begin to cover it, and it’s not just his size. His green eyes stand out like lanterns against the slight olive tint of his skin. He’s the sort of man you can picture doing intense physical labor. Using those huge hands to swing a hammer.
Jesus Christ. Why in the hell am I thinking about that?
He takes the seat across from me, squeezing in with difficulty. Air travel must be his idea of hell. He holds out his hand like we’re meeting in a boardroom. Not that I’ve ever seen an actual boardroom.
“Jacob West. What’s your name, love?”
I take his hand on autopilot. It swallows mine whole, but his grip is gentle. Not like those assholes who try to show how manly they are by crushing your hand to death. The chain on my cuffs shakes, and his eyes stray to it.
After a few seconds of silence, he prompts, “Your name?”
I’m compelled to answer, the words dragged from my throat by his calm politeness. I’d have told Brackis to go and fuck himself, but saying that to this man feels about as smart as shoving my head into a blender. “Quinn Bartlett.”
He still hasn’t released my hand. “Quinn, I’ve got some things to tell you, and it’s not good news. Are you ready to hear it now, or do you need more time to collect yourself?”
I’ve heard that exact tone of voice before. People are all trained to deliver bad news in the same way. Doctors, cops—they get the same lessons. Be direct. Don’t drag it out. Don’t apologize.
I’ve got some bad news about your heart.
I’ve got some bad news about your sister.
All delivered in the same matter-of-fact tone Jacob is using on me right now. It breaks the spell of compliance I’d slipped into. Fiery flickers surge through my body and straight out of my mouth. “More time to do what? Sit here and admire the beautiful fucking view?”
I gaze around, awestruck, at the green walls. Now that my mouth is moving, there’s no stopping the torrent of anger that pours out. There’s a reason I’ve had five jobs in the last four years. “Maybe I should enjoy the fabulous cuisine?”
I manage to move the hand that he isn’t holding just enough to flip the plastic tray, sending the remaining food flying over Jacob.
The minute I do it, my sanity floods back in a cold wave. Why? Why am I so fucking stupid? Jacob doesn’t flinch or make any attempt to stop the fruit and cold cuts from covering him. He glances down; flicks the tray to the floor, where it lands with a doom-like thud; and meets my gaze again.
“Better?”
I swallow, mouth desert-dry. If I’d done that to Brackis, I’m sure he’d have slapped the shit out of me. But Jacob’s eyes have darkened, and there’s the faintest touch of amusement at the corners of them. It’s somehow much scarier.
I don’t answer, and he nods. “I’ll go ahead and tell you what you need to know.”
The hint of humor has evaporated. I brace myself. What’s the worst-case scenario? I’m to be chopped up and used for organ donation. Not that my organs would be worth shit. Might as well make a stew out of them. I’m to be sold as a sex slave. Sacrificed to a god. Sent to—
“You’re in a place known as the Compound. It doesn’t show up on any GPS systems, and only a few select people know where it is. It’s home to a group called the Onyx Brotherhood.”
Human sacrifice it is, then. I fucking knew it.
“I’m a Brother, as are the other men you saw besides Colonel Brackis. He’s an employee.”
I don’t miss the twitch of his lips as he says Brackis’s name. He’s still pissed about earlier.
“All Brothers are lead scientists in their field. Here, we work without having to worry about the constraints of money or government control. We’re free to pursue our own interests.”
I blink. This just took a left turn down a very weird highway. Everything about this man screams soldier, mob boss, or gang enforcer. Not a geeky scientist. A smarter woman would have kept her mouth shut, but my brain clearly wants me dead. “You’re a scientist? Really?”
Another crinkle of his eyes. “It doesn’t suit me?’
“No, I mean…” Shut up. “I was thinking drug cartel lord. That sort of thing.”
Nice save, asshole.
If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “You’re not the first person to say that. But back to the point.”
His hand squeezes mine, drawing my attention back to it. Why the hell hasn’t he let my hand go? But there’s something comforting about the pressure of it. Especially given that this man, who is clearly trained and used to delivering bad news, still takes a moment to brace himself before speaking.
“Our society has an ancient tradition. We take women as Wards. Each Brother must take one woman for their own and keep them. It’s not consensual, and the outside world has no idea it happens. Suzy was supposed to be my Ward, but Brackis took you instead. It was an accident, but because you’ve seen the Compound, we can’t let you leave.”
There it is. I’d braced for the gut punch, but it still knocks all the wind out of me, a sharp pain driving into my heart. They steal women. They can’t let me leave. It’s a cult, and though it’s science rather than some religion, the result is the same.
“You keep women as what? Sex slaves?”
My voice is rising, and I try to pull my hand away from Jacob but it’s like yanking against solid stone. No hope.
“There’s more to it but yes, essentially.”
His eyes never leave mine, and even as my brain reels to catch up with his words, I’m struck by how calmly he’s delivering this. It’s having an odd effect on me, muting my emotions to match his. My panic bubbles away, but the strangeness of this conversation suppresses it.
He talks about sex slavery like it’s no big deal. What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with all of them? I have so many questions they stick in my throat, and I just gape.
He takes my silence as license to continue. “Now, to your future. You have a decision to make, Quinn.”
He pauses before saying my name, as if it’s a strange, exotic word he’s unsure how to pronounce. Do they have Quinns in England? What a stupid thing to wonder about.
“Kendrick—that’s the big boss, the guy in the fancy suit—wants to hand you over to another Brother whose Ward passed away a few years ago.”
I flinch, and he holds up his free hand. “He didn’t kill her; we don’t do that. She got sick. The Compound has the best medical care in the world, but we’re not miracle workers.”
The best medical care in the world?
What would they make of my Brugada syndrome? Maybe these insane scientists grow new hearts in labs or have robot hearts or something. Not that they’d waste one on a sex slave, I’m sure. Plenty more women to kidnap.
“He’s called Edward and, in my opinion, is a dick. Likes to throw his weight around and bully anyone less important than him. Always an arsehole to the staff. I wouldn’t count on an easy ride with him, even though he’s getting on a bit. Pushing sixty.”
My lips are still frozen. How can I speak when my head is filled with a vision of life with this faceless man. An asshole and a bully. Handed over to him like a sack of potatoes. Not that I’ll stay put for long, because however secure this Compound is, there has to be a way out somehow. I’d rather get shot trying to escape than serve some pathetic guy forever.
“The other option, Quinn, is me. You definitely won’t have an easy ride with me, but I’m not cruel for its own sake. Just very strict. I’ll punish you, but not more than you can handle. But make no mistake, you’ll be my slave in every sense of the word. I’ll own your body and use it however I want. You’ll belong to me.”