Page 8 of Unchained

Then he’d really turned.

Camryn forced the image from her mind. She couldn’t go there. Not after what had happened last night. “I’m glad he hasn’t found you.”

“You’re staying low, honey?” Concern filled her mother’s voice.

Oh, how Camryn missed her. But being together right now was too dangerous. Isaac would be looking for both of them. With their names and appearances changed, he’d have a hell of a time.

“My job is definitely discreet.”

“That’s wonderful. I was thinking I’d take a trip to see you next month. North Dakota is beautiful, but I miss you.”

She closed her eyes, and tears leaked through her lids. “I miss you too, Mom.” She said goodbye and hauled her butt out of bed. If she didn’t get herself in gear, she’d wallow all day. She made herself eggs and toast—wasn’t it considered breakfast if she’d just woken up?—then showered and tugged on jeans and a T-shirt. She’d run to the grocery store and stock up on food for the weekend. One more shift and then she had three days off.

An image of Brooks and his icy-blue eyes flashed through her mind. Would he ever get out of the hospital? Did he have family waiting for him? A career? Pity pulled at her heart. He wasn’t a monster. The fear, uncertainty, and guilt in his eyes told her that.

She shook her head and scooped up her keys.

I won’t think about him anymore. Not until my shift starts.

Hanging on to that firmly planted notion, she exited the house through the garage, got in her car, and backed out of her one-bedroom townhouse. At the top of her list was stocking up on comfort food.

* * *

Sweat ran in rivulets down Brooks’s face. He watched the droplets smatter on the concrete floor at his feet. The restraints circling his wrists, his waist, and his feet were the only things that kept him from ripping Leonetti and Eddie limb from limb.

“You doing okay, there, Brooks?” The doctor smiled.

Brooks gnashed his teeth. He knew the doctor’s tricks. Leonetti addressed him by name in an attempt to sound personable. Meanwhile, he had the rest of his staff refer to Brooks as a number. The sickly sweet tone of the man’s overly professional voice made a red haze cover Brooks’s vision.

“Fuck you.” He spat, and it landed at Dr. Leonetti’s feet, several paces away. Brooks bounced on the steel bed, which was tipped up vertically. His toes barely touched the floor, leaving all the weight on the straps that secured him. Leonetti kept the torture rooms on the twelfth floor—“So the others won’t hear the screams,” as Eddie liked to say.

For hours, Eddie and Dr. Leonetti had tortured him in the water chamber. Ice-cold water blasting the body at full force and from every angle for god knows how long was enough to make anyone cave.

Except him.

He had one purpose. He wouldn’t give up until he’d slaughtered the two men in the room . . . and Conrad Hornick. Brooks’s temper coiled, keeping his gaze on the doctor’s beady eyes. With his receding hairline and small oval-framed glasses, Leonetti looked like an everyday family physician and not the complete sicko that he was.

“Careful. Don’t get yourself too worked up before we give you the serum.” He waggled his finger, and Eddie chuckled from a desk several feet away. The machine hooked up to Brooks beeped as his heart rate accelerated.

“You’re awfully tense today, Brooks,” the doctor said, reading the machine. “You tried to escape two nights ago,” he said softly.

There it was. Of course, this mind-fuck was punishment for his defiance. Brooks kept his expression flat. “You made me kill people in cold blood. Now you’re pissed I took my rage out on three of your guards? Maybe you should stop trying to screw with nature.”

“That’s what science is, my boy. Taking something nature’s made and making it better, stronger.” He swatted Brooks’s chest.

Seconds ticked by. Brooks kept his gaze locked on the doctor. A niggle of unease chomped at his spine. They were going to do something worse . . . use a new drug. Something to push the boundaries to which he’d already acclimated.

Dr. Leonetti tugged on one of the wires hooked up to Brooks’s chest. “You’re a few hours late on taking the serum. How are you feeling?”

A muscle in Brooks’s neck twitched. “Fine.” The word slipped through his teeth before he could replace it with something more aggressive. He wasn’t fine. Nowhere fucking near it. He’d been through the withdrawal stage once before, and the suffering had been unbearable. The sweat rolling off his brow wasn’t just from his flaming temper or the hot lights overhead. Nor was it just from the effect of his weight being pulled at by the restraints. Oh no. The familiar roll of nausea in his gut, coupled with the fact that they hadn’t fed him yet today, made the craving that much deeper.

He hated the drug—would rather die than be their puppet any longer. But going without it would be a slow and painful death.

“I’ll give you a choice, my friend,” Dr. Leonetti said flatly, as he turned his back. He took two steps away.

Brooks’s fingers flexed with the need to feel the doctor’s neck snap under his grip. The endearment only pissed him off more. He’d revel in every second it took to slaughter both of them—if he could hold himself back long enough to relish the moment. The doctor had killed dozens of people. Three of them were people he’d “rewarded” Brooks with.

Dr. Leonetti pulled a syringe out of his pocket and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “Often we let you run through the course,” he said, referring to level eight of the basement, which held an obstacle course designed to burn off his energy. “Other times, we need to see what you’re capable of. If the drug can overpower your subconscious mind. In the three instances you murdered innocent men, it was when you were deprived of the drug for two hours or more, and then given it.” He ticked the corner of his mouth up. “Almost as if your body couldn’t store the added hormones as efficiently.”

---