Page 4 of Unchained

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.

CHAPTER 2

Brooks’s blood boiled. His skin lit with fire, as it did every time he woke to receive the sedative—or the drug. Whichever realm the sick doctor decided to thrust him in. He narrowed his eyes at the blonde. She held a blue sponge, and her dark-green eyes watched him with unveiled fear.

She must be new. If she’d been present for the last few weeks of hell, she would have fucking screamed at his touching her. He hadn’t seen her before, of that he was certain. She wasn’t one of Dr. Leonetti’s minions. Nonetheless, she was here in his prison, no doubt about to inject him.

He twisted her wrist. “What are you doing to me?”

Her face contorted, and a mewl of pain escaped her lips. “Washing you.”

He snarled. “Since when do they do that?”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow.

“You’re going to burn in hell for what you do to me. To these people.” He twisted her wrist farther, and she bent her arm at an awkward angle to prevent him from snapping the bone.

For a flicker of an instant, his instincts screamed at him to release her. Something told him he’d been raised to never hurt a woman, but since they’d been working on wiping his memory, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was it didn’t fucking feel right to cause her pain. But she’d inject him if given the chance, and then go on to do the same to the other patients. A broken wrist might save someone’s life today.

Not his. They’d chain him up like the beast they’d turned him into if he broke her arm like he wanted to.

“Stop,” she said, panting. “I want to ask you some questions.”

“Fuck your questions,” he growled. “You—”

A needle plunged into his flesh. The burning sensation ripped through his veins. His muscles tensed, resisting the drug, but it was no use. His hand extended open, and the woman stumbled to the floor. Her sharp gasps reached his ears, but the screeching sound of his own blood vessels quickly drowned her out.

His back arched, and he stared at the ceiling as the tiles morphed into one. Hot eyes on his body brought his attention away from the pain that quickly faded. The woman stood, her eyes wide in horror and her lips open in a giant O.

He mustered all his strength. “I’ll find you. I’ll find all of you and—”

His head dropped to the bed. The black fingers of oblivion stretched across his vision. Sleep would come this time . . . the next injection would be the one that would force rage into his body and expel it like an exorcism on the next victim they tossed to him.

She’d burn in hell . . .

But so would he.

* * *

Camryn staggered to the far corner of the room. She held her throbbing hand to her chest. Her breath ripped through her dry lips. He was sedated now. He couldn’t come after her.

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