Crouching Tigress Horny Dragon (Fire Mates #3) (14 page)

A chill of revulsion shot up Regan’s spine at the memory but she shoved it aside. What was on the other side of the door was worth it. Seeing the animals running free from Epoc’s building was worth it. Seeing the bastard’s normally smug and composed face twisted with rage tomorrow night on the six o’clock news was worth it. Completely.

A soft click sounded and the door’s locking mechanism deactivated, followed by a faint hiss of escaped, artificial air—rank with animal faeces and disinfectant.

Regan’s lips spread into a grim smile.
Bingo
.

Muscles and nerves coiled, she gave the door a gentle and oh-so-minute push. So far, her “romance” of the security guard had landed her all the codes and schedules required to get to the main lab undetected, but she wasn’t stupid. Being stupid led to being caught. Or shot.

She stood frozen, on the balls of her feet, ready to run. Or fight.

Nothing.

Except the low and mournful whimpers of animals locked in cages awaiting a slow and agonizing death.

“Not anymore.”

Her voice was barely a breath. She pushed the door wider and stepped into the guts of Epoc Industries’ Scientific Division, flashlight seeking those she had come to rescue.

The animals.

“Oh, shit.”

A German Shepherd cowered in a cage before her, tail tucked between its bent hind legs. The sharp outlines of its ribs jutted out beside the hollow pit of its gut, the raw pink skin of its shaved neck and chest festered with weeping sores. It turned a sunken brown stare on her, its misery and pain clear in the liquid depths. Various tubes punctured its neck and chest, feeding something in and out of the emaciated dog.

“Epoc.” Regan shook her head. “You bastard.”

Stomach heavy, she took another step into the lab, moving her flashlight from one poor animal to another, throwing each into stark illumination as she did so. Here a bank of nine white cats, strapped into a device rendering them incapable of movement, eyelids wired open, a murky orange liquid dripping in slow, even drops onto the exposed eyeballs of each. Here a chimpanzee in a small cage, wires protruding from four stitched incisions on its spine, connecting the primate to what appeared to be a Geiger counter. Over there another bank of cats—these ones with their mouths braced shut around fat tubes filled with a black, viscous fluid.

Regan’s stomach rolled and her grip on the flashlight grew hard. Fury surged through her. Fury and burning helplessness.

It didn’t take a Zoology degree to see the animals in this lab would never run anywhere again.

Their eyes—their miserable, beseeching, dying eyes—held her. And asked for help.

Regan swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat and she thought of the small vial of Rimadyl in her backpack. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would save these animals from their pain. Nothing.
Epoc. You inhuman bas—

A low groan to her far right cut the dark thought short. Fear and adrenaline scorching through her veins like electricity, Regan swung around. “Holy shit!”

The wolf was massive. Bigger than any Regan had ever seen. At least half the size of a buffalo, it stood on all fours in a heavily barred cage, bound by multiple leather straps completely restricting its movement. Two clear tubes jutted from a neat, little cut high on the base of its neck—one pumping in a thick, black liquid, the other empty, as if waiting for its use to commence.

Regan took a step forward, moving her flashlight over the wolf’s muscled form.

It was sick. Possibly dying—the rapid, shallow breath, the dullness of its steel grey coat told her the animal was suffering. Big time. Yet even unwell, it still exuded primitive strength—a wild power almost frightening to behold. Regan’s heart pounded in her chest and she slid the flashlight’s beam to its head, careful to avoid shining the narrow but powerful light directly in the animal’s eyes.

The wolf snarled silently, long teeth glistening, the twin silver discs of its eyes fixed on her.

Silver?

A slight frown pulled at Regan’s eyebrows and her apprehension vanished immediately. A canine’s eyes reflected green light in the dark, not silver, regardless of the genus. She shook her head, despair making her heart ache. “You poor thing,” she whispered, throat tight. “What has Epoc done to you?”

The wolf’s strange eyes stared at her. Seemed to delve into her soul. She pulled in a long, slow breath, unable to look away.
Wolf? Is it really a wolf?

The wolf watched her from its cage, radiating power and rage.

And pain.

Regan blinked, shaking herself. What the hell was she doing standing around? God, did she want to get caught?

She placed the flashlight’s barrel between her teeth before pulling her backpack from her shoulder. The heavy-duty bolt cutters tucked away inside would free the animals—she tossed a quick look at the still-staring wolf—
all
the animals of their metal-barred prisons.

Her hand brushed the hard plastic case of her anaesthetizing kit and she turned to the shepherd. At least the poor thing wouldn’t die behind bars, even if its freedom only lasted a few moments.

On silent feet she crossed to the caged dog, holding her head down and to the side, right hand held out. She doubted the animal had the strength to bite but she wasn’t taking any chances. Everything about her body language was by design:
I am not a threat to you
.

The dog’s sad, brown eyes watched her approach, its tail giving a small, almost desperate wag as she drew closer and Regan’s heart clenched again. She let her lips pull into a soft smile, careful not to show her teeth. “Yes, I know, boy,” she murmured. “I’m going to take the pain away. I promise.” Tail wagging weakly, the dog watched her.

As did the wolf.

Regan felt its silver gaze study her every move. It was unnerving somehow. Like the wolf judged her actions. She gave it a hurried look over her shoulder, butterflies flapping into frantic activity in her stomach. It looked like it could tear her apart with one simple snap of its jaws, sick or not. Lord, was she really going to set it free?

Of course you are. Would you really leave it behind? After seeing what Epoc is doing?

She turned back to the shepherd and quickened her pace. No. She wouldn’t leave it behind, regardless of how it unnerved her. Reaching the dog, she placed her right hand through the bars of its cage, slowly raising it to the level of the dog’s muzzle, allowing it to smell her scent. “It’s okay, mate,” she soothed. “I’m going to help.” The dog’s nose—drier than parchment—touched the small strip of exposed flesh between her glove and sleeve and its tail thumped weakly again.

Damn, I hate you, Nathan Epoc.

A soft snarl shattered the tense silence and Regan turned her head, the wolf catching her eye in the powerful glow of her flashlight. Its steady, silver stare bored into her before flicking to the left.

Her stomach twisted with unease. Pulling her bolt-cutters from her backpack, she severed the chain on the shepherd’s cage, the noise like a gunshot in the silent lab.
Hurry, Woman. Hurry.
Pulling the chain free, she unlatched the lock and swung the door wide.

The dog stared at her, sunken eyes unblinking, tail wagging weakly.

Time pressing down on her, the weight of the wolf’s gaze like a branding iron on her back, she withdrew her hypo kit from her backpack. “This won’t hurt,” she whispered, reaching into the cage. “I promise.” The dog cowered, tail thumping in nervous swipes against the bars, its eyes fixed on her. With gentle fingers, she pinched a fold of skin on the back of its neck and injected the painkiller directly into its blood system. Tucking her torch under her armpit, she placed the hypodermic between her teeth and ran her hand down the dog’s chest, feeling its wildly beating heart. “I’ll do this as painlessly as I can,” she said, her throat growing tighter at the animal’s implicit faith. She moved her hands to one of the thick tubes inserted into dog’s neck, readying to withdraw it.

A low grumble sounded behind her. Like a warning.

Muscles tense, Regan looked at the wolf again.
I’m coming. I can’t rush this.

The wolf studied her, before flicking its silver stare to the left again.

A chill shot up Regan’s spine and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end. Fair dinkum, it was like the animal was trying to tell her something.

Yeah. To hurry up! Pull your finger out, Woman or you’re going to get caught!

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she turned back to the shepherd. Hoping against hope the Rimadyl had started to take effect, she removed one tube. The dog whimpered but didn’t flinch. “Good boy,” she murmured, giving it a soft smile. Another tube followed. Another. Another. The dog gazed up at her, the thumps of its tail growing weaker. Regan’s throat constricted. It wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I need you to stay here for a moment, mate,” she whispered, scratching it behind the ear. “Just until I see to the other animals. Then we’re outta here, okay?”

Another tail wag, weaker this time. As if it knew what she wanted, the dog dropped into the down position and rested its muzzle on its extended front paws, liquid-brown eyes still locked on her. Trusting. Hopeful.

Tears burned at the back of Regan’s eyes. She placed her palm on the shepherd’s head…

And the wolf growled again.

“I’ll be back,” she said, knowing the high dose of painkiller would end the dog’s misery before she returned. Blinking, refusing to let the tears fall, she moved silently. Across the lab. To the wolf.

A flash of white in the dark told her its teeth were bared, but she continued forward. Pulling the bolt cutters from her backpack, she quickly severed a link in the chain wrapped around the cage’s locked door.

A soft growl emanated from behind the bars and she looked up, her breath catching at the silver eyes staring at her. This close, the wolf’s power was almost suffocating, as was its pain. “Not much longer,” she muttered around the barrel of the flashlight. She slipped the bolt-cutter blades around one thick, shiny metal bar and—with considerable effort—managed to slice into the metal. Half an inch. She tried again. Maybe a bit more this time, but not much.

Regan scowled. This was going to take longer than she thought.

The wolf watched her, silent, before its hackles rose and it swung its head to the left. Seconds later, the chimp burst into screeching wails and a concealed door in the far left wall flung open.

Three armed security guards barged into the lab, guns and flashlights aimed at her. “Hands up, missy!”

Ah, shit!

“Hands up,
now
!”

Shit! Shit!

A whine filled the air, followed by the acrid stench of urine as the shepherd emptied its bladder.

“C’mon, girly,” the largest of the three guards barked, something black and ominously shaped like a gun pointed straight at her chest. “Don’t be stupid.”

A wave of cold calm rolled through Regan. She gave the guards a slow smile, feeling the black paint smudged across her face stretch and crack. “Someone should tell Nathan Epoc his security sucks.” She pitched her flashlight at the largest guard’s head.

Twenty-six years being the baby sister to one hulking, older brother stood Regan in good stead. When it came to defending herself, she was an expert.

The flashlight cut across the dark lab like a lethal pinwheel, narrow, white beam turning the room into a crazy lightshow. There was a loud clunk—metal on bone—as the flashlight struck the largest guard’s forehead, followed by a bellowed, “
Mother fucker!”

But Regan wasn’t listening. She ran straight at the stunned and indignant man, flinging herself into a reverse spinning kick and smashing her booted heel against his thick jaw.

The guard went down. With a solid and somehow wet thud.

Blue eyes wild, Glock raised, the guard to Regan’s left leapt at her. “Bitch!”

Without thought, she dropped into a crouch, taking out his legs with a tight, savage foot sweep. She was up before he hit the floor, scooping up her torch and sprinting across the lab to the far door, the chimp’s screeching wails like a Klaxon alarm in her head.

“Freeze, bitch!”

Shit, shit, shit!

The third guard—the rookie, if she remembered the schedule correctly—began running after her, stumbling over one of his fallen partners as he did so.
God help me if he remembers he has a—

A shot fired, shattering the grim thought, and the rack of glass test tubes on the counter to Regan’s immediate right.

SHIT!

“Shoot the fucking bitch!”

A metal chair flew through the air—
Christ! They’re throwing furniture at me?
—before something large and heavy smashed into her, driving her to the floor.

Hot, wet breath snorted in her ear. “Gotcha, cunt.” The largest guard—the one she’d hit with her flashlight—ground his flabby, sweaty bulk against her back, pinning her to the chilly, lab floor. “I’m gonna show you who sucks around here,” he sneered. He dug his fingers into the soft underside of her wrists, ramming his hips against her ass. “You. On my hard cock.”

“Shit!” A high-pitched shout cut across the guard’s snarl. “She’s let the dog out!”

Regan twisted her head, in time to see the shepherd, weak and trembling, launch itself from the cage, teeth bared, hackles up.
Oh, no!

A gunshot split the air. Blood spurted from the dog’s side, bright red and thick. Regan screamed, the anguished sound drowned out by loud, raucous laughter as the shepherd’s lifeless body thudded to the floor.

“Got the fucker!” the tallest of the guards smirked, re-holstering his gun. Piercing blue eyes fell on Regan and his grin stretched wider. “Now, back to the fun.”

Cold dread curdled in her throat. She bucked, trying to dislodge the guard pinning her to the floor. “Get off me, you fat fuck!”

He chuckled, dick grinding against her writhing butt. “Only when I’m done, cunt. Then my partners are gonna have their go.” He pressed his open mouth to her ear and shoved his tongue into its shallow shell. “And you can scream all you want ’cause there ain’t nobody here to hear you except these dumb-fuck animals.” With a grunt, he flipped her onto her back and shoved his engorged dick hard against her crotch. “And they ain’t gonna help you one little bit.”