Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (22 page)

She caught Keith’s gaze on her, his eyes filled with frightening, lethal, concern for her. He still had Shorty in a chokehold, but the knife was no longer against the man’s neck.

“Ke...” She tried to form his name, but her tongue grew fuzzy, swollen. Her head swam. She took a deep breath, but felt like she was sucking in Jello. “...th...”

“Son of a bitch.” Keith’s voice sliced across the thickened air.

Nausea inched its way up her throat. Her vision wavered. Next thing she knew, her palms scraped across the metal floor of the van.

She was just outside, wasn’t she? How did she get...?

She rolled onto her back, her stomach tossing like the spin cycle on a washing machine with the small movement. She blinked, clearing her vision long enough to see Keith lunge inside.

He landed half on top of her, knocking the breath from her lungs. More nausea forced itself up her throat.

The doors of the van slammed shut. The sound rang in her ears and thrust her and Keith into darkness.

Two more muffled slams came from the front then the van shuttered to life and rolled forward. Away from the promise of holding Ryker in her arms.

She choked on a sob, which just made her throat ache worse. “I’m...so...rry.”

Sorry for their earlier argument. Sorry for the mess she’d just made. And most of all, sorry for always insisting on her way—even when it turned out to be the wrong choice.

Keith rolled off her and tugged her close. He touched her sweat dampened hair, stroking it away from her face with his fingers. Her already screwed up vision grew blurrier with the onset of a fresh batch of tears stinging her eyes.

“You did the right thing.” His soft, husky words caused her tears to spill down her cheeks.

He was just saying what he thought she needed to hear. It didn’t mean anything.

Her heart squeezed. But, oh, it did.

Her eyes drifted shut, suddenly weighty. She tried to pry them open and couldn’t. Panic pressed against her chest and she tossed her head to the side. What was happening to her?

Shorty had drugged her. That’s right. Her thigh still burned where he’d injected her. Her head swam. She was going to pass out soon.

No, she couldn’t. She forced her eyes open. “Wh...about...,” She clenched her teeth and pushed the rest of the question out, “Ryker?”

Keith pressed his lips to her forehead, the heat from them lingering for several seconds after he’d pulled back. “We’ll get him.”

He sounded so certain. There wasn’t the slightest hint of doubt in his mind. Her eyes slammed shut. His confidence helped push down the nausea.

But, then a wiggle of doubt weaseled in, churning it up again.

“Why...did...you come...too?”

He could’ve taken off. He was faster, better—stronger—than Shorty. No, doubt about it.

With Cam’s help, Keith could get the rest of the evidence he needed to clear his name. He didn’t need her anymore, had, in fact, been itching to get rid of her from day one. That notion must’ve gotten stronger when he realized she hadn’t leveled with him from the start.

Yet he’d jumped in the van with her anyway.

“Graceless.”

She’d hated that name. Heck, she’d run from it at every opportunity she’d had. Now, hearing it in Keith’s low timbre, tinged with exasperation and tenderness, it washed over her like an endearment.

He touched her brow, and despite her wish to stay conscious, she felt her body start to shut down.

His fingers stroked down her cheek to her jaw. “Never leave a soldier behind.”

Chapter Thirteen

“It’ll all be over soon,” The Keeper said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag before exhaling a cloud of gray smoke in his brother’s face.

Good. No reaction. Just as he suspected.

Useless vegetable.

Suddenly, a nurse barged into the room to fill the pitcher of water beside the bed. Didn’t these people ever knock? He was entitled to a little privacy.

He turned his head and glared at her. “Yeah, like he’s really going to be able to drink that.”

She finished the idiotic task and glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Sir. You’re not allowed to smoke in here.”

He grunted. “I’m paying for it.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, but—”

“You can go now.”

She hesitated, her fingers curling around the middle of the pitcher and whitening her knuckles as she angled a worried glance at his brother.

Interesting.

Suspicion slithered through him. She was paying all too much attention to the catatonic vegetable in the bed.

“What’s your name?” he barked.

Her startled eyes flew back to him. Good. She recognized his authority.

“E—Elizabeth.”

“Well, Elizabeth.” He picked up a green plastic tray of congealed eggs that sat on the bedside table. “Since you’re so intent on poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, maybe you can tell me why I’m paying for this—,” he brought the tray to his nose with a grimace and sniffed, “—it is food isn’t it?—when it’s clear he can’t eat it! Look at him. He looks like a damn alien retard.”

Her brown eyes widened and she bristled. “That’s not true! He’s doing much better. If you just look at him you’ll see that he can move—” She pressed her lips together and drew a fisted hand to her heart.

What the hell was going on here?

He pushed out of the chair, slapped the tray back on the table and advanced on her. “He can what?” he asked, enunciating each word.

She backed up a step, the veins in her neck tightened as she swallowed. “H—he—j—just looks better. I can call the doctor if you’d like a consultation.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He purposely flicked his cigarette in front of her. Ash fluttered to the tip of her ugly white granny shoes. He smiled. “Have a nice day.”

She spun from the room.

He slammed the door behind her.

“Now, where were we...ah, yes.”

He walked back to his brother, but this time didn’t sit. Instead, he towered over him.

“So, bro. Everything’s in place. Tomorrow it’s adios United States, hello Rio. It’s too bad you can’t come with me.” He snickered. “Okay, you’re right. That’s a lie. From here on out, my life’s going to be one big party. And you’re not invited. I’m sorry, I love you and all, but I’ve spent too many years funneling money into your care. It’s time I was a little bit selfish don’t you think? But, don’t worry. I’ve decided to put you out of your misery.” He leaned in close. “See you in hell, bro.”

His brother’s eyes stared vacantly at the opposite wall.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He snickered at his own lame joke, dragging his gaze down the disgustingly cheerful blue bedding to where his brother’s motionless hands rested against the blanket. “Okay, your turn, dumbass. Ah, you’re going to give me the big fat zero again, aren’t cha—”

His brother’s middle finger lifted an inch off the blanket.

What the fuck? He stumbled backward into the chair. It scraped across the floor. He lost his balance, his ass striking the spotless linoleum. Son of a bitch!

He stared at his brother’s hand, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. It couldn’t be. His brother couldn’t possibly—

He blinked. Come on, pal, do it again. He waited, his breath strangled in his throat, his hands shaking like a junky’s.

Nothing. No movement.

He rubbed his eyes with a jittery hand. He was seeing things. Had to be. There was no way his brother moved. Just a trick of the light.

He’d gone to great lengths to ensure the Ketamine, or Special K as it was known on the black market, would keep his brother paralyzed and partially sedated until he was sipping Margaritas on Rio’s beautiful beaches. After that, his brother was on his own. He hadn’t the heart to kill him. He was family, after all.

The cell phone at his belt chirped and he jerked it to his ear, his butt still plastered to the tile. “Yeah? This better be good. You’re interrupting my private time with my brother.”

“That is not my problem.” The familiar, heavily-accented voice sizzled through the phone line.

Al-Ak Raman.

Needles of trepidation poked his throat. “I’m...uh...I’m sorry, sir. Your calls are never a disturbance.”

Al-Ak Raman snorted, a rough sound coming from his throat. “We have a bigger issue. One that requires your immediate attention. You’ve sent me corrupt files. They’ve eaten through our entire computer system. What are you prepared to do about it?”

“What?” He pushed himself to his feet, his stomach dropped to his toes. “That’s not possible. We checked them ourselves. The drive was legit.”

“I don’t care what you thought you saw. We have a network of infected computers that tell a different story. You have twenty-four hours to fix it. Or we fix you.”

“Twenty—?”

Al-Ak Raman had already hung up.

His breath quickened, coming in short pants. Walls closed in on him, as layer after layer of his careful plan and years of success imploded in on him.

What had King done? The bastard had to be responsible for this.

He grabbed the breakfast tray off the table and hurled it at the wall. Leftover scrambled eggs and water slid down the sickening peach paint.

The door flung open and Elizabeth rushed inside. “What is going on in here?”

He’d kill King. String him up by his balls.

He spun, throwing her his most intimidating snarl and shoved past her. “You’re right he is doing much better. The asshole just threw his tray at me.”

Never leave a soldier behind?

Those four simple words still haunted Keith hours later.

He tipped his head back from where he sat on the floor, his back pressed against one wall. The weak glare of the single fluorescent light caused spots to flare in his vision and darken the gray walls of the underground concrete tomb. Hell, he’d let the mercenaries blindfold him and lead him here like a lamb to slaughter.

For Grace.

When was the last time he had seriously given any thought to his own agenda? He had the information on the flash drive, but it wasn’t enough. He needed a name. A face.

If he didn’t discover who was behind this before the MP’s caught up with him, he’d have to go before the JAG with next to nothing. His career would be in the toilet.

Of course, if they didn’t find a way out of this place it didn’t matter.

He pushed himself off the dank cement floor and paced the perimeter of the ten-by-ten room littered with debris and old office equipment. The only exit was the steel door, which mocked him with its impenetrability. Sealed tight.

Just like his emotions should’ve been when he’d foolishly jumped in the van with Grace. Why didn’t he sneak away and follow them instead? He would have had the upper hand and the ability to call the shots.

He pivoted on his heel and looked down at Grace, asleep atop the dingy, thin mattress in the corner. A strand of her hair caressed her cheek, her lips were parted, and though he knew she was tough, she suddenly looked all too fragile. He squatted down to brush her hair away from her face.

Neither Shorty nor the goon who dragged them down here would tell Keith what they gave Grace, no surprise there. But he’d checked her over, and as far as he could tell, the drug wasn’t affecting more than her sleep. However, until it wore off, he was stuck here. Leaving without Grace wasn’t an option.

In the meantime, Keith would keep his eyes and ears open and gather as much intel as he could. Especially pertaining to the kid’s whereabouts.

Was it possible Ryker was here, somewhere?

Keith ran his hand along the rough cement wall. How thick was it? Two feet? More?

The concrete was smooth, not separate blocks with mortar in between, which made it near impossible to chip away at—especially without his knife.

He sunk back to the floor. His palms itched with the need to do something. He clunked his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The drip-drip of water rattled around his brain and forced his eyes open, homing in on the network of pipes that ran overhead.

Where did they go?

He jumped to his feet and moved to the center of the room. The pipes crisscrossed in a haphazard fashion and didn’t look like they led anywhere specific.

Except...

For one pipe that bisected the ceiling and ran through a vent like rectangular opening cut out of the cement at the top of the wall. He dragged his eyes down the concrete where it met the floor in an inch wide drainage groove. A similar rectangular vent was cut out at the bottom of the wall.

He dropped to his belly and slid up to the opening, but even with his cheek pressed to the cold cement he couldn’t see beyond the thick darkness. Who knew where the vent led? Outside? To one of the murky hallways that lay beyond the steel door? He pushed up on his hands and froze as a faint wheezing noise mingled with the steady water drip.