Page 11 of He Is Jensen: Part One

Anger coils inside me, and I lunge forward. The wolves snarl and block my path to Julian.

“You want her,” Julian says. “Good. I’ll give her to you. I’ll keep Tad and all the other men away from her.” When my eyes narrow in suspicion, he says, “That’s right. As much as my wife wants to use her for fertility testing, I won’t let her.” He pauses, allowing the implications to fill the silence.

My fingers curl into my palms by my side, my thoughts going exactly where directed. To the sex camps where his kidnappedwomen are traded from soldier to soldier in hopes one of them will find the rare lifebond connection that mates them and allows them the production of offspring.

“You can save her from such a fate,” Julian offers slyly. “She’ll be yours and yours alone, and you don’t even have to give up my brother’s secrets to get her.”

Right. And I’m going to become the president of the United States. Julian’s attempting to manipulate me, playing a game to get what he wants. “Get to the point, Julian.”

“I need her skills in the lab, and as a dead ICE addict, she’s no good to me. Layla will perform better for me if she’s functioning of her own free will. You will see to it that she does. As long as you make sure she cooperates, no one touches her but you.”

Chapter seven

Jensen

Two hours later, twoguards lead me out of the cage to the luxury officers’ quarters that I’m told I’ll share with Layla, and that no doubt has cameras everywhere. When I ask for her, I receive silence as my answer, and soon I’m left alone to pace the space I barely see for my worry over Layla. Over and over, my mind tortures me with images of Tad touching Layla, images of her begging for ICE, willing to do anything to get her next hit.

I’m her bastard hero,Julian had said.

Julian saved Layla from cancer, and she may well feel grateful to him or even loyal to him. All I’ve ever done for her is stand her up for a date and get her kidnapped. She can’t trust me anymore than I can now trust her. I scrub my hand over my nearly two-day-old beard and glance at the clock on the security panel that reads exactly noon, only five minutes later than the last time I’d checked.

“Damn it to hell,” I mumble, surveying the one-room quarters—my prison—that include a leather living room set, a full stainless-steel kitchen, and a bedroom complete with a king-sized bed. Everything is high-end, not basic military boarding as it was when I left Groom Lake almost three years ago now.

Julian’s investors are deep-pocketed and eager to fund enough GTECH serum to convert them and their families. And yet, no one knows the long-term consequences of what we’ve become. I rotate back to the door, wondering if there are guards on the other side and wondering what the fuck is going on. I should be wolf bait inside the coliseum right now, where I’d be mangled and healed on repeat until I tell them the Renegade’s secrets, which I will never tell. So why isn’t that happening right now? Why, when Julian has Layla submissive to him over an ICE addiction, does he think he needs me? Unless Julian’s using Layla to get to me? I don’t need to think too long and hard to entertain the many ways Layla might be used against me.

The door bursts open, and Layla is shoved inside.

Tad fills the doorway behind her. “Take care of her,” he orders. “Or I’ll enjoy doing it for you.” He barks out laughter and pulls the door shut. A glow of red lights appears on the knob as he activates the electronic locks.

Any thoughts I’d had of her forming loyalty toward Julian fade as she glares at me, her hands up. “You’re one of them.” Accusation lances her words.

She’s still wearing the same black skirt she’d been wearing when I attempted to rescue her, one side of it ripped, one section matted with blood—myblood. The dark length of her silky hair rests in disorderly waves framing her pale face, where not a drop of make-up remains. And she’s so fucking beautiful—absolutely freaking beautiful. There is just something about Layla that calls to the man in me, even way back so many years ago, before I’d fully known what being a man meant.

“I’m not one of them, Layla,” I promise.

She shakes her head, rejecting my answer. “You were bleeding to death. They shot you at least a half dozen times.” Her voicelifts, cracks with anger, and turns into a shout. “You should be dead right now.”

Okay, I hadn’t seen that one coming. She’s pissed I was still alive? “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m not dead, nor do I intend to be anytime soon.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she snaps. “Don’t say it like I did something wrong. I cried for you. I…took that damn drug for you.”

Understanding washes over me—the reason Julian needs my help. Either Layla’s a damn good actress, or, cancer or no cancer, she’s not happy about being an ICE addict, and she believes I helped convince her to form the habit.

“I’m one of the two hundred men injected by Powell at Area 51 before Julian Rain got high on power and took it over. That makes me a GTECH, and yes, I heal quickly, among other abilities. But I am not, nor will I ever be, one of Julian’s men.”

She studies me a moment, her gaze sharp, but her body eases slightly, melting against the door. “So, you work for the Army?”

“The Renegades,” I say. “A private special operations group composed of both GTECHs and civilian human members.”

“Human,” she repeats.

“Most GTECHs don’t consider themselves human.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

She seems to digest that a moment and accept it before moving on. “They want me to help them with the drug,” she says. “Just like you did.”

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