30. Chapter 30
Riley
My mittened hands were useless, and the camera’s red eye blinked at me from the corner.
I guessed it was sometime in the early evening.
My ribs ached where the ogre punched me, a dull throb that the implant filed under manageable.
The catheter pressed cold against my inner thigh, a humiliation I pushed aside.
Their drugs were good, but my new hardware was better.
My implant sent another chilly blast through my system, burning through the sedative’s fog.
It was so strange that my implant was now an ally.
The thing seemed to purr when it discerned my thoughts, as if we’d reached an understanding.
It kept me alive, and I was slowly losing the desire to rip it out of my neck.
The door hissed open, and Wilson and Langston walked back in. “You’re metabolizing the sedative faster than expected,” Wilson observed, pulling the rolling stool closer to my bed. “How?”
“It must be my superior Cog abilities.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “If you were my subordinate, I’d have you whipped and dumped in solitary for a few days.”
I stared up at the ceiling. “Apex has already tortured, branded, and cut me open, then modified my brain with an implant and a chip. What you describe would be like a walk in the park.”
The General studied me. “It’s too damn bad you were born a Cog. You aren’t hysterical, have a straightforward manner, and your college transcripts are impressive. Has Commander Marlowe tried to contact you recently?”
I stared at Wilson. Did he not know where Marlowe was? “Why are you asking me? Isn’t he under your chain of command?”
“He’s gone dark, which is always concerning with him. He also has most of our operatives under his control. We want our assets back.”
His casual mention of those modified shifters and Cogs who’d been tortured and then brainwashed into complete submission made my stomach turn.
“At your last press conference, you denied any knowledge of the Chimera program.”
Wilson smiled indulgently. “No one would believe your word over mine, and as I said, you’re not stupid. What were you doing at Mary Mountain a couple of days ago?”
“I already told you,” I sighed.
“I’ll ask again. What makes you so special? Conall Segerson mated you, and Adrian Marlowe is captivated by you. Your ability to manifest electricity is truly impressive, but there must be something we’re missing.”
I stared at him, letting the implant control my anxiety. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
Wilson inclined his head. “The Commander has become a liability, and his methods are extreme. He’s also willing to modify the human population to gain the upper hand. He even modified himself, for God’s sake. He’s compromising our long-term objectives.”
“What are your long-term objectives?”
Wilson tilted his head. “Your uncle was a Marine. Did he train you?”
“What incentive do I have to tell you anything?”
Wilson brushed his sleeve. “The real question is what will happen to you if you don’t. The supernatural population doesn’t deserve equal status with Normals.”
The man seemed to believe what he was saying. “So you want to exploit and control the rest of us, and eliminate those you can’t control.”
“I want you regulated, registered, and monitored. The more powerful you are, the more oversight you require. Your mate, for example, is a Category Ten threat. He’s also wealthy, commands a Pack of tens of thousands of shifters, and has political connections and sway.
That’s a concentration of power that shouldn’t exist.”
“He doesn’t abuse his power or try to exploit people who aren’t like him. I think he’s one of the few who does deserve that power.”
I probed Wilson’s energy. Beneath his calm, rational exterior, I sensed his deeply ingrained dislike and prejudice. He didn’t merely disagree with granting supernaturals rights. He resented us on a visceral level.
“You hate me just because I’m a Cog.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “I don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you, Ms. Blackthorne.”
“I’m a level eight Resonant, General. I know exactly how you feel. You resent that you find me compelling, and you loathe my kind.”
Wilson studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Langston, step out for a few minutes.”
Langston turned and walked out as Wilson walked over, yanked the wire from the camera, and came to sit on the side of my bed.
“You need to watch your mouth and show some respect, Ms. Blackthorne, or you won’t see the light of day.
My brother was killed by a female cat shifter,” he murmured, glancing down at my wolf necklace.
“Our unit was ambushed. The shifter was a translator working undercover for the enemy, and she tore out his throat before any of us could react.” His voice didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes.
“I held him as he bled out, gurgling for air. He planned to marry that thing and bring her back with him. He was only twenty-four.”
I said nothing.
“My ex-wife was an Empath,” he continued.
His energy shifted as sorrow gave way to resentment.
“She left when my son was four years old and moved to Oregon. She said she couldn’t live with my rage and resentment anymore.
” The pieces clicked into place. His hatred stemmed from personal experiences, not just generational prejudices passed on from childhood.
The door hissed open again, and Langston walked back in with a man wearing a white coat. The man was likely a doctor, about forty, with a military buzz cut and cold, assessing eyes. His energy felt sharp, like a scalpel.
He glanced at me, then looked at my chart and the monitors. “You’re right, Director. She’s metabolizing at an accelerated rate. Interesting.”
Wilson and Langston stood at the foot of my bed. Wilson’s hands were clasped behind his back, his posture military straight. Langston had his arms crossed, his face expressionless.
“I want a complete physical assessment and a detailed scan of the implant, Doctor Becker,” Wilson instructed.
The doctor nodded, washed up, and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then he started looking me over.
“No swelling at the insertion site. No signs of rejection or infection.” He moved to my chest, listening with a stethoscope, then checked my eyes with a penlight. Each touch was brisk and impersonal, as if he were checking the tire pressure.
Then his hands moved lower. “A full checkup includes a gynecological exam. It’s standard protocol for female detainees.”
My stomach dropped. The implant buzzed at me, trying to wall off the surge of panic. The nurse pulled a drape over my knees, a thin concession to modesty that did nothing to soften what was coming.
“Spread your legs,” Doctor Becker instructed.
I didn’t move. My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
Wilson folded his arms. “Ms. Blackthorne, the exam is mandatory. You can cooperate, or we can administer a paralytic and proceed anyway.”
There was no way I was giving them tacit permission to assault me. “Don’t touch me. You know I don’t need a gynecological exam. This is sexual assault.”
The doctor smirked. “We don’t need a paralytic. I’ll just tighten her ankle restraints.”
He grabbed the straps and pulled them tight while I struggled. The catheter shifted uncomfortably as the doctor’s gloved fingers pressed between my thighs.
Something hot and sick rose in my throat as he fiddled with the catheter, removing the clip on the inside of my thigh, hooking up a syringe to remove the water, then slowly pulling the tube out.
He cleaned me up down there, and I turned my head so they couldn’t see my face. The implant pulsated, trying to create distance between what was happening to my body and my mind.
That’s when I felt it.
A shift in the room’s energy, subtle but unmistakable. Wilson’s calm, rational facade hadn’t changed. His posture was still perfect, his expression controlled. But underneath, his feelings of arousal spread over my Resonant senses.
Langston too. His energy was thinner and more anxious, but there was a quick, shameful spike of lust. The bastards were getting off on it, watching me pinned down and examined while they stood there, pretending this was just procedure.
Becker didn’t try to hide his erection or his interest when his fingers moved inside me, at first probing around, then in a slow in-and-out motion.
I swallowed hard and started counting ceiling tiles.
When he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he pushed up my hospital gown, then grabbed my breasts, kneading them cruelly.
Langston stepped forward. “That’s enough. We’re professionals here, not animals. And if Alpha Segerson hears about this, he’ll track you down and kill you slowly.”
The doctor scowled at Langston, but he reluctantly pulled my gown down and finished his exam. “Her reproductive system appears normal. No abnormalities, and her blood work came back negative for pregnancy.”
He adjusted himself, then brought the bed up to a sitting position, pushing my torso forward so he could access the back of my neck. I pushed against his rough hands, but he viciously pinched my thigh.
“Hold still,” he snarled, roughly palming my head and pushing it down. The mobile scanner hummed as he ran it across the area.
“There’s remarkable integration here,” Becker murmured absently, studying the monitor next to the bed.
“The implant has meshed with her cervical cortex and fused with the neural tissue to a degree I haven’t seen before.
I heard the Roswell group created a few specialized biocompatible models.
” He tapped the screen. “The implant is sitting right there. It’s remarkable. ”
Wilson stepped closer, studying the screen. “Could it ever be removed?”
“Not without risk of paralysis or cognitive impairment. It’s too integrated.”
“And functionality? What’s her experience been?”
The doctor grinned. “She’s right here. Let’s ask her.”
When Doctor Becker turned to me, I reared back and headbutted him in the nose. He yelled and grabbed my throat, squeezing painfully, but Wilson peeled him off. I choked and gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“Enough! I need her in one piece and relatively unhurt. You’re excused.” When the doctor slammed out of the room, holding his battered and bleeding nose, Wilson turned and abruptly backhanded me across the face.
My head snapped to the side. “If you hurt one of my staff again, I will let that person do whatever he or she wishes to you for one hour, short of permanent injury or death. That leaves a lot of options. Some like to sodomize the offender to teach them a lesson. Others enjoy breath play and other forms of torture. An hour can feel like an eternity. Do we understand each other?”
My forehead throbbed as I glared at him through my hair. It’d been worth it. “Yes,” I ground out.
“Tell me about your experiences with your implant. The sensations, the side effects, any cognitive changes.”
“Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”
His mouth tightened. “Be serious.”
“I have a foreign object integrated into my brain stem. It doesn’t get more serious than that.”
I could’ve told him how the implant seemed to enhance my analytical abilities and how, at first, it was terrifying to have another entity inside my head, shutting off my emotions and analyzing the hell out of everything.
I also could’ve told them how the implant had evolved and how we were learning to communicate with each other. But after everything they’d done to me and so many other Cogs and shifters, it would be a cold day in hell before I voluntarily gave them anything.
Wilson folded his arms. “If you don’t want to talk about the implant, we’ll talk about something else. How is Alpha Segerson planning to combat the shifter registration legislation?”
Maybe giving him vague, useless answers would save me from being assaulted again. “He obviously opposes it. Other than that, I don’t know.”
“Don’t play dumb. What does he know about the Chimera Project?”
“About what you’ve heard on the news.”
His eye twitched. “Maybe you’ll be ready to talk when you wake up tomorrow.” He turned to the nurse. “She’s ready for another dose.”
The woman nodded and picked up a syringe and a vial from her tray. I tried to paw the IV out of my arm, but the mittens were too restrictive. The needle slid in, then heat flooded my veins.
The room tilted, and my tongue felt thick, the edges of my vision starting to blur. The implant scrambled, trying to metabolize the drug, but there was too much, too fast.
“Conall is going to... rip your throat out,” I slurred.
Langston looked a little green, but the General stared at me impassively. “Before the Commander or Segerson gets here, I’m going to gather whatever information I can. And tomorrow? We’ll use more persuasive methods.” Even in my drugged state, I knew he meant torture.
Langston shifted his weight. “General, with respect, Alpha Segerson was explicit about what would happen if anyone harmed her.”
“Then we will make sure he never finds out.”