Born to Darkness (65 page)

“I’m not sure who’s in the office right now,” Goatee told him. “Whether it’s Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones.” At Shane’s elevated eyebrows, he smiled tightly. “You learn, fast, not to ask questions with this gig. Just roll with it, and you’ll go far.”

“Mac.”

God damn, but she had a headache. Mac opened her eyes, but the overhead lights were much too bright, so she closed them again.

“Mac.”

It was entirely possible that she was going to puke.

“You have to wake up.”

Shit, that was Anna Taylor’s voice, and in a flash Mac remembered. The gunship, the machine-gun fire, Shane—beautiful, honorable, heroic Shane—running full-bore up the hill as he shouted her name …

The little beige room where she and Anna had been strapped down, their clothing gone, wearing only flimsy hospital gowns …

Anna had warned her against using her power to break them free, and Mac had ignored her—until it was too late. Until drug-pumps in their arms had gone off.

But—good news!—whatever they’d been injected with hadn’t killed them. They were both still alive.

In fact, Mac was feeling extremely alive. In addition to the headache from hell, she was strapped down to the bed again, and this time her restraints were so tight that whenever she moved, pain shot through her wrists and arms.

And that was really saying something, since one of her biggest talents was in suppressing the ability to feel said pain.

“Mac,
please
 … What did they do to you?”

Mac forced her eyes opened and saw Anna strapped to the bed that they hadn’t broken. Whoever had put them back onto the beds was gone—they were again alone in the room.

Anna was looking at her with something akin to horror in her eyes.

Mac looked down and … 
“Fuck.”
She was strapped down, and more. No wonder it hurt like shit every time she moved. Someone had attached sharp metal hooks to the restraints, and they’d pierced the skin of Mac’s wrists, the metal driven down through her flesh and then back out again, oozing blood.

It was pretty diabolically clever—if Mac tried again to pop the restraints, those attached hooks would tear her wrists wide open and cause massive hemorrhaging.

And although she had monster talent when it came to rapid healing, she didn’t think that even
she
had the power to keep from bleeding out after an injury as catastrophic as that.

“The girl—she’s back in my head,” Anna told Mac. “She wants me to make sure you understand that we won’t be given another chance. If you try anything else—anything at all—she says … They’ll kill me.”

Mac looked at Anna. “Tell her we want to see Nika. If she brings Nika in here, we’ll do whatever she says.”

“She wants you to lower your mental shields.”

“Tell her I don’t have mental shields,” Mac said. “My telepathy
is worth shit. If she wants to brain-talk with me, it’s gotta be all her.” She looked over at Anna. “And since when do
you
have telepathic powers? Even power-to-receive isn’t something any old fraction can just do unless the sender’s only a few feet away.”

But Anna wasn’t listening—she was clearly communing with the girl—a Greater-Than—who’d apparently chosen to be spokesperson for the Organization, God help them all.

So Mac took the opportunity to examine her restraints. No doubt about it, she’d need Bach-level telekinetic control to move her arms up as she gently unlatched the straps, and then carefully maneuvered those savage-looking hooks out of her flesh.

Yeah. So
that
wasn’t going to happen.

It made her ill to look at the wounds, particularly since her skin was looking angry and raw around the metal—like it was the biggest piercing ever.

Years ago, Mac had tried getting herself pierced in a variety of places, to counter her lack of tattoos, but her body always read the metal as an unwanted invasion, and she developed an infection, no matter how hard she worked to keep it clean. And the moment she removed it—the earring or nipple ring—the hole instantly closed and healed.

But until then? It hurt like a bitch on wheels.

And no matter how she did it, removing these hooks was going to make her scream.

But
that
pain would be nothing compared to the anguish of having her heart ripped from her chest as she watched Shane Laughlin die.

Because he
would
come after her. Mac believed that with every fiber of her being—regardless of the fact that he’d damn well know that his doing so would mean almost certain death.

And the really stupid thing was that Mac knew Shane would have volunteered for this rescue mission even if she’d never used her voodoo on him.

He would have done it because it was the right thing to do, because he wanted to help, because he still believed in the power of goodness over evil, because he believed that America still had a
chance to rise up from its current cesspool of greed and lack of compassion, to become, once again, a place where truth and justice and the common man mattered.

Mac had woken up this morning and had lain in bed for a while, just listening to Shane breathing, remembering his words from last night.

Can I tell you what it feels like from this end? Because, to me, it feels fucking real. It feels like … Connection, to the nth. It feels like joy, like truth. It feels like I belong somewhere again
.

She knew exactly what he meant by that, because she felt the exact same thing.

Connection, to the nth. As if she finally belonged.

Almost as if it were real.

Mac had lain there thinking that maybe it would be enough—knowing that she made Shane happy, regardless of how it had started.

She had almost woken him up with a kiss—with a hell of a lot more than a kiss.

But she didn’t trust herself around him.

When Shane was with her, she could imagine him talking her into doing it. Giving in. As it was, even while he was asleep, she was actually considering just going ahead and being selfish and making him her permanent boyfriend.

If they both lived at OI, he’d never tire of her. He’d never do what Tim did—because they’d never be apart for that long.

Mac wasn’t a saint. She’d had that exact same type of relationship with Justin. What was the big, if she did the same with Shane?

People settled for less-than-perfect all the time, when it came to love.

Still, she hadn’t awakened Shane with a good morning greeting of the orgasm variety.

She’d been too afraid.

Instead, she’d just slipped out of her apartment, not even leaving a note, knowing he would follow. Eventually.

But God, what she wouldn’t give, now, to have that moment back so she could take a do-over …

“She’s coming inside,” Anna announced. “To talk to you. She says if you harm her—”

“She’ll kill us, I get it,” Mac said as the door opened, the many locks that sealed it clicking and popping.

“Not us,” Anna corrected her. “Me. Apparently, they’ve discovered that I’m worthless to them.”

Before Mac could question her and ask,
But I’m not?
, a young woman stepped into the room. She was heavily pregnant, and carrying quite a few extra pounds along with the baby that was growing in her uterus.

She was also carrying around a massive amount of hatred and fear. It was all Mac could do not to recoil. It was so strong, so dominant that Mac could read nothing more—no compassion, no love, no desire, no pride, no hope—not even any envy or jealousy. Just that relentless fear-driven hatred—almost as if this girl were little more than an animal who’d lived her entire life in a cage, in a really terrible zoo.

“Congratulations,” Mac said, mostly to throw her off guard, because it was probably the last thing she’d expected Mac to say. Plus, she knew that reaching out to this girl-thing with true compassion and kindness would only incite her to bite. Figuratively. So she’d keep it shallow. For now.

The girl blinked.

“When’s the baby due?” Mac asked.

The girl looked at the hooks in Mac’s arms and laughed her disdain. “Like you give a shit.”

“Looks like you’re close,” Mac said. “I’ve heard having a baby changes women radically. Prepare to be amazed.”

“This is my third,” the girl said, and the force of her hatred crackled around her. Just as absolutely, Mac knew that she was telling the truth. “I think you need an actual baby for that bullshit to happen. I’m just a breeder.”

“Oh, my God,” Anna whispered. “You poor thing.”

The girl bristled. “I’m neither poor nor a thing.”

“But you
are
on the wrong side of this fight, you know,” Mac told the girl.

She just laughed. “I’m not the one with chunks of metal in my arms.” She glanced over at Anna, and there was something in that look that made the hair stand up on the back of Mac’s neck.

So she kept the conversational ball in her court. “Fair enough,” Mac said. “So where’s Nika? We’d like to see her, make sure that she’s safe.”

Again, the girl laughed her scorn. “What is it with you people? Do you really believe you have the power to make demands?”

This girl had no idea of the powers that Mac had, but Mac didn’t say that aloud. It was better to let her—and whoever was scaring the crap out of her—think they’d bested Mac with their anti-telekinetic restraints. Of course, the fact that they may well
have
bested her with those painfully sharp hooks in her arms was entirely possible.

But it was a fact that Mac was unwilling to admit just yet. “Nika,” she said again, pleasantly but firmly. “Now.”

“She’s not at this facility,” the girl said, and yes, she was definitely lying. “But they are planning to move you to the same location. In China, I think—to avoid those annoying science nerds from Über-liar Institute.” She looked at Anna. “Not you. Your journey ends here. Don’t you just hate when they say that on
American Idol
?” she asked Mac. “After over forty seasons, you’d think they’d find something new to say. But Anna’s really does end here. It’s kind of ironic, since they went to all that trouble to acquire her.” Back to Anna. “I don’t really get how you could have a sister who’s a fountain, and a friend who’s a fountain, and yet be the furthest thing from one yourself. But—good news! You’ll be leaving soon, just the way you wanted. Don’t worry, it’ll be quick. I’ve heard that bleeding out can actually feel quite pleasant. Compared to some ways of dying.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Mac said. “You don’t get to control me—to order me to keep my powers in check—if you’re going to kill Anna. She’s your leverage. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” the girl said. “And that’s why you get to choose. Who’s going to go with you to China, Michelle? Is it going to be Anna or Nika? Inquiring minds want to know.”

What if he jokered?

That was among Elliot’s biggest concerns, so he’d rigged a device that he strapped onto his chest that would automatically inject him with a fatal dose of a derivative of cyanide, should he experience the telltale symptoms. He set up the computer to administer a continuous jot scan, not just of himself, but of Stephen, too.

And then he sat on the edge of Stephen’s bed—something he’d always admonished family members of patients for doing.
Pull up a chair, hold a hand, but don’t crowd the patient
, he’d said.

If he survived this, he was never saying that to anyone again.

As he touched Stephen’s arm, his shoulder, his chest, he could feel a slight buzzing, but nothing close to their usual connection.

Usual. Huh. Funny how he could spend a lifetime without something, and in the course of a few short days, it could suddenly become
usual
.

He leaned over and saw that Stephen’s lips were dry, too dry, so Elliot rummaged in the drawer for the balm that he’d had Robert from Hospitality bring down from Stephen’s apartment, figuring the Greater-Than would be most comfortable using his own products and wearing his own socks.

Even though he was unconscious and dying.

And okay, now Elliot was just stalling. Dry lips really wouldn’t
matter to Stephen if he were dead—which was what he was going to be, and soon, if Elliot didn’t do something.

So he did something.

He took the syringe that he’d already prepared, and he tied the elastic tubing that he’d taken from the supply closet around his left bicep.

And he kissed Stephen, softly, sweetly, on the lips. “Love you always,” he whispered.

And Elliot injected the oxyclepta di-estraphen directly into his own vein.