Chapter 46 #3
The room has fallen so quiet I can hear Clay’s breathing. I turn over and hitch up my pants. Clay is clearly unnerved. He wanders to the glass wall and stays there watching whatever is happening outside.
A quiet “Fuck,” comes from him before he gestures vaguely. “All of you, go. Fuck off before I heave you out the window.” He spins. “Leave the frankenstruct cuffed!”
The soldiers pinning down Kail climb off him and file out the door. I rise onto all fours then get to my feet and quietly head for where Kail has been left lying on his stomach. Cannon retreats to the rear wall and stands with an impassive face and his hands clasped at his front.
By the time I reach Kail, he has rolled over, jackknifed into a sitting position, and somehow jumped to his feet.
“God. I need you.” I wrap my hand about his forearm and lean into him, burying my face against him, trying to avoid any of his new wounds.
“Hailey,” he rasps out. His throat sounds damaged, and I cannot imagine what they could have done to him to render his voice that of a ghost.
“I can’t…” I sigh and wrap both arms around him as he curves forward as if he wishes to embrace me. “I hope this works. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Who is coming?”
“Someone important is all I know.”
“Yeah. I figured it was so. I heard what you said, darling.” He inhales, exhales. “About loving me forever. I guess I need to say I love you, too, and now I don’t know what to say or do or—” I place my fingers over his mouth.
He peers down at me then deliberatively bites the ends of my fingers.
“Wait and see if we survive this first,” I whisper. “Then we can talk. Or you can. I need to paddle your butt.”
“Grrr,” he mock-growls, making me smile shyly. “I know whose butt gets paddled in this relationship and… Fuck. I maybe shouldn’t ever do that again. We do need to talk.”
The lift doors have dinged open and closed outside, and people are approaching along the corridor, and I pray this is going to be fine, but who knows?
Whatever Ron and Molly organized, this is better than anything I could have achieved. Apache gunships and quarantining the whole town? I’m scared, but at least I can hug Kail and hold his hand. I turn but remain in his shadow, leaned against him.
A man of average height with white-blond hair enters, dressed in a fine white linen shirt and pale gray pants, with black boots that look suited to an army ranger course.
Two muscular bodyguards flank him, then settle a few feet behind him as he stops at a midpoint between door and desk where Clay now waits.
“You can call me Gregory,” he begins.
Clay curtly says. “Sir. I had this under control. This woman is—”
“Shut up.”
Clay swallows but subsides, and for the first time I see fear written in the widening of his eyes.
“I know everything. I have been listening to what happened in here. I’ve seen the files Miss Hailey Tarrant compiled.
I know of the killings you ordered. I surmise some were done by Mr. Stone also.
” He sweeps the room with his gaze, stops on Cannon.
“You bear much of the blame. Have you anything to say?”
“I uhh, I’m glad you responded to my call for assistance, sir?”
That was definitely a question, and he what? He asked for this man to come too?
“You sent a message today. That was weeks too late. I’m not here because of your request, Mr. Edwards. I will be deciding whether to keep you in our employ later. Please wait outside in the main corridor with the others.”
“Sir.”
Cannon marches out with all the decorum of a funeral director. I’m tempted to blow a raspberry.
“Clay,” Gregory says.
“Sir I can have a complete account of everything sent to you within a day or so… Uhh, I…” Under Gregory’s mild glare, a man embodies the attitude of a disappointed school ma’am, he drains away to nothing.
“Don’t bother. The mountain of information I have from not just your opponents, but your employees, and from the records of the institute, is more than enough. You’ve been a bad, bad boy, Clay Skinner.”
I snort and stifle a laugh. Then I see where this is going. I think. He trivialized the crimes in that description. Please no. Do this right. I’m tempted to cross my fingers.
Clay flinched. “Sir. That is—”
“Shut. Up. We cannot afford to have it all come out in public. Hailey Tarrant?”
“Yes?” I straighten and gesture at Kail. “Could Kail be freed, please.”
“As soon as we have an agreement, yes.”
“So, it’s like that,” I cannot help muttering.
“You’ve suffered a lot, I know.”
A lot? That’s close to a belittling insult.
Whenever his focus slips above me, unease appears. He’s afraid of Kail. Most people would be. Especially the guilty ones.
“We have suffered, and I demand this man suffer too.” I jab my finger at Clay. “He needs to be convicted of his crimes, murder, rape, and on and on.”
Clay stands impassive, waiting, evidently hoping he will squeeze out of this noose.
“There’s a woman in the basement level,” Kail says. “She was abducted by him, probably raped, then preserved illegally. She is one among many, many others.”
“That is what they do here, Mister Stone. Research cryogenics. Research how to make a person like you. A frankenstruct.”
A hiss of disgust comes from Kail. “That’s not the same.”
There it is. Cryogenics and frankenstruct creation are the core reason for this research institute, though buried under hundreds of other minor studies.
Gregory goes quiet. He wants us to remember this.
“What are you saying?” Kail croaks.
“This is what I will offer you. It is what you will get. Saying no is not an option. Don’t do that.”
I tense. An avalanche seems about to bury us. Whoever this Gregory is, he commands powers we do not have.