Turning Payne (11 page)

Riley stood silently behind the one-way mirror and watched as two of her father's men injected her sister with another series of shots. The lion roared, her muscles rippling unnaturally under the restraints. For a moment, Riley thought the animal's face became slightly more human, its limbs stretched and elongated, but then just as quickly the lion lay still, unmoving on the cold, metal table.

Four days had passed since her father had brought her there. Four days since she had seen Turner. Had he escaped or was he still a prisoner? She breathed out heavily and placed her forehead and palms against the cold glass.

The door behind her opened, but she didn't turn, knowing the monster who stood behind her.

"We're close," her father said. His once dulcet voice sent a chill down her spine.

"You're killing her." Riley straightened and rubbed her hands over the goosebumps on her bare arms.

"She's strong and the serum seems to be working." He placed a cool hand on Riley's shoulder and turned her towards him. "I
will
fix this."

For a moment, Riley saw the man who had had raised her. The man who had read to her at night, who had kissed her cuts and bruises when she was little, had rocked her back to sleep when she had nightmares. A part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him, to trust him to make everything better—but this wasn't the father she knew. The man in front of her was the cause of nightmares, not the protector of them.

"We'll get Kiera back. I promise you," he said, leaning towards her as if to embrace her.

"And then what?" Riley spat, shrugging his hand off and moving away from his reach. She glared, seeing the man for who he truly was. "We go back to being one big happy family, while you continue to kill innocent people?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I know you don't understand what I've been doing here, but I'm still you're father, and—"

"Father?" A shrill laugh tickled her throat. "The father I knew died in a fire years ago. I wish you'd stayed dead." She took a step towards him and poked her finger at his chest. "Once you fix Kiera, we're gone. I never want to see you again." She ignored the nagging warning at the back of her brain and pushed forward, releasing her anger in a single shove.

His eyes went wide as he stumbled backwards, before bracing himself and squaring his shoulders. She pushed him again, but this time he didn't budge.

"You won't get away this time." She beat a fist against his chest, once, twice. Tears blurred her vision and she continued to hit him. "I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life."

"Enough." He slapped her hard across the cheek. She stumbled backwards. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, his face inches from hers. "This is your home now. I suggest you get used to it."

She placed her hand over her burning cheek. "Or what? You'll strap me to a table like one of your experiments?"

His lips curled back in a sneer and he raised his hand. She thought he'd hit her again and she cringed.

"Come with me. You may feel differently once you see what I have to show you." His expression transformed into a mask of stoicism. He let go of her arm, turned and strode towards the door.

She hesitated, and glanced back at the lion that lay motionless in the other room. There was nothing her father could show her that would change what he'd done. 

Her father held the door open and waited. With a silent sigh of resignation, she followed him. He led her down a series of halls and doors to a similar observation room and motioned for her to enter. A humorless smile played at the corner of his lips.

She looked at him suspiciously, before stepping into the dimly lit room.

In the parallel room, behind the glass wall, a man was stretched out on his side, his arms and legs secured by leather straps to a surgical table. A white sheet was pulled down low, revealing the tightly coiled muscles of his back. His head was turned slightly, his dark hair shadowing his face, but she knew instantly it was Turner.

Riley inhaled sharply.

Another man wearing a white coat and surgical mask stood off to the side inspecting medical equipment. He picked up a needle that was nearly double the length of the man's hand.

Bile rose in her throat. Turner shifted slightly, as if he heard her. His eyes were a dull grey, his face drawn and pale. He licked his dry, cracked lips, seemingly looking straight at her. He knew she was there, she could feel it in her gut.

Why hadn't he escaped when she'd given him the chance?

She slammed her fist against the window a second time, then turned on her father. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing that he hasn't allowed."

She hissed out a breath. "Bullshit."

A howl of pain echoed from the other room. The man had inserted the needle into Turner's spine.

"You're killing him. If you don't let him go right now, I swear I'll…I'll…"

Her father rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a simple lumbar puncture. He knows the risk. I gave him the choice. I want to earn your trust again. Make things right between us. Lucky for us, it seems your
friend
has a soft spot for you."

"I don't believe you. You don't ask, you take. Why would he allow this?"

"The antiserum only seems to work when administered with the stem cells of a metamorph. The reason Kiera is responding so well to the treatment is because of his"—he motioned towards Turner with contempt—"natural antibodies."

"Antibodies can come from blood, or lymphatic fluid, which is far less invasive."

"Metamorph biology is different." He placed his hands in his pockets and looked down his nose at her. "Stem cells hold the key to Kiera's recovery. That's what you want, isn't it? For Kiera to be human again."

Panic snaked through her. Turner was trying to help Kiera, but at what cost? Is that why he hadn't left?

"I want to talk to him."

"The procedure is almost complete." He nodded towards a second door that she hadn't seen before. "You can say your goodbyes then."

She shivered at the finality in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"He's being transferred to another facility tomorrow." He gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But I can promise you that he won't be harmed as long as he continues to cooperate."

Turner cooperate? That wasn't likely. She had to get him out of there. Tonight. "I want to speak to him alone."

His jaw tightened and he searched her face.

She steeled herself, bit her cheek, and said as passively as she could manage, "If you really want to earn my trust, then you have to trust me in return."

He nodded and flicked his wrist towards the door. "Five minutes."

When the masked man had left via another door, taking the vial of spinal fluid with him, Riley entered the sterilized room.

There was a small camera in the far corner of the room, and despite the one-way mirror, she was aware of her father's watchful eyes. She had no clue what she was going to do. Only that she had to do something.

Turner remained laid out on his side, and Riley winced at the dark bruises in the center of his lower back. She rounded the bed, pulling the sheet over his shoulders to cover his exposed, shivering body.

"Riley?" His voice was raw. He tried to turn but the bindings held him secure.

"I'm here." She pulled a stool beside him and sat down, reaching for his bound hands.

His eyes opened fully and locked on to her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and squeezed his fingers. She leaned close to his face and whispered. "I have to get you out of here."

Use your thoughts, Riley.
The words floated through her head like a warm wind. 

Can you walk?             
She started to unbuckle the ties that held his hands. Once she started to project her thoughts, it seemed easier than speaking, as if somehow their brains were connected.
My father is waiting with a guard on the other side of the door, but if we can get you—

He gripped her hand to stop her.
Even if I had the strength. There are too many guards. I'll never be able to fight them all.

Riley faltered, her gaze roaming the room, from the camera, to the mirror, to the steel tray that held an array of medical tools. The fluorescent light reflected off a scalpel, and Riley knew what she had to do.

With slow, subtle movements, she started untying his restraints again.
There is a tray of tools behind you. When you're free, I want you to grab the scalpel.

His brows furrowed and she knew he understood what she wanted him to do
.

I won't put you at risk.

Her chest tightened with the knowledge that he was still trying to protect her.
My father won't let you harm me.

Turner's expression didn't change, but his gaze grew more intense.
You're willing to leave Kiera?

"Thank you for helping my sister," she said, keeping her voice and gaze steady, knowing her father was listening. She removed the last clasp on his hands and stood. "She's going to be all right because of you."

She walked to the end of the bed, her back to the mirror, to her father, and rested her hands on his ankles.

Turner watched her with narrowed eyes.
You're sure you want to do this?

He won't hurt Kiera, but he will hurt you.
She unfastened the first buckle and then the second. A sound behind her made her heart skip a beat. She quickly unfastened the last two buckles and turned to face her father's furious glare.

Her father looked down at the unfastened restraints and bellowed, "What are you doing?"

Turner moved off the bed in a fumbling, lethargic movement, sending the metal tray and its contents flying.

Her father reached for his holstered pistol and aimed it at Turner's back.

Riley screamed. Without thinking, she grasped a pair of elongated scissors that lay still spinning on the floor by her feet. With the scissors fisted in her hand, she rushed at her father. She brought the scissors down with a sharp thrust, embedding them deep in the side of his neck.

He dropped his weapon and stumbled onto his knees. He grasped the scissors and pulled them out, throwing them on the floor. A gasp caught in his throat and his face tensed. He held his palm against the wound, but blood seeped through his fingers. His teeth clenched and then parted in a cry that resonated off the tiled walls. He fell on his side, his mouth opening and closing.

Turner staggered to Riley, and pulled her against his chest.

"Wha-what di-did you do?" Her father's eyes were wide with fear and betrayal.

Blood pooled around him, turning the tiles red. He exhaled one last time.

Acid burned her mouth and continued down her lungs. She teetered forward and fumbled to feel for a pulse. Nothing. She pulled her hand away as if burned, her fingers stained with his blood.

"I killed him."

"Riley." Turner pulled her away by the shoulders. Her name sounded broken on his lips. He forced her to look away from the body, holding her tight against his chest. She shook in his arms. "There will be guards here soon. We have to move."

Her body had gone numb. She pressed her palm to her chest, where a sharp pain seemed to pierce her heart shattering it into a million pieces. That much pain shouldn't be possible without an open wound. "I-I killed him," she repeated, unsteadily.

"I know, sweetheart."  He pulled her tighter, stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for protecting me."

She clung to him, her body shaking. Her father had tortured, killed and destroyed more lives than Riley could count, but she had never imagined that it would be her own hand that would end his life.

Turner stiffened as if acutely aware of danger approaching. "There are guards in the hall. Are you ready for this?"

She nodded and he released her, moving to pick up her father's discarded weapon. They would no longer be able to use her as leverage, not after she'd killed the one man who had kept her alive. They would have to fight their way out.

"Fuck," Turner's gaze seesawed between the two doors. "Get behind me."

Both doors flew open and multiple gunmen filed in. Turner kept his weapon raised, but there was no way he could fight them all off. Their backs were to the wall, her father's body a hedge between them and the guards.

"Put your weapon down." It was an older man that spoke, his voice grizzly, eyes sharp and pointed on Turner.

Turner growled. "Step aside and drop your weapons, unless you want to see your entrails hanging from the fucking ceiling."

Pure terror washed over Riley, not for herself, but for Turner. She knew without a doubt that he would fight to his very last breath to protect her, and there was no way in hell he would win this fight.

The scientist who had administered Turner's lumbar puncture stepped into the room and addressed the senior guard. "Circe wants to speak to"—he nodded at Turner—"him."