Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
The instant we’re down, mud splattering around us, I tear off my helmet, seeking out Addie. I find her a few feet away, sitting up and yanking off her own helmet. “Creed!” she shouts, going to her knees to crawl to me.
In a flash of movement, I’m on top of her, covering her from the gunfire that follows, about to roll to some nearby trees for cover when I hear weapons cock above me.
I rotate to find myself looking up at the barrels of a dozen weapons, no doubt loaded with Green Hornets. Snarling wolves stand among the Zodius soldiers. Lucian is, of course, front and center, obviously leading the attack. Lucian, who has always wanted power but has never gained anything more than Julian’s disregard.
But this isn’t over.
We were never alone in this battle.
Behind the Zodius army, Renegades materialize, pointing guns at our enemies’ heads. Lucian senses their presence and steps in profile to me, and now Jensen. “These might not be Green Hornets,” Jensen declares, “but they’re going right through your men’s heads.”
“Not before Creed and Addie are dead,” Lucian assures him, his gun pointed right at Addie’s head. “Back off, asshole.”
And when I look into his eyes, I see a desperate man who will die if he fails Julian. And anything shy of killing Addie to torture me is failure. I don’t give myself time to consider the repercussions of my actions because there is no good answer. I could use the wind, but any number of things could go wrong, and one stray bullet could kill Addie. I wrap myself around her and windwalk her to Sunrise City, praying she’ll survive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brock
Coldness seeps into my awareness with a hard bite. So. Damn. Cold. My eyelids flip open to the burn of bright lights. Pain piercing my cornea, forcing my lashes downward as if weighted with cement, granting me the comfort of darkness. Yes. Darkness. I like the darkness. It was all I could feel. All I could see.
The room shifts around me, its shadowy movement almost enough to entice me into another attempt to open my eyelids. A soft voice shifts through the empty space of my mind, a sensual, sweet voice, an angel come to help me.
My lids scrape across my eyeballs, and I blink into the bright light that splinters through to my brain; it turns the coldness into blistering pain that travels a fast track down my spine. Muscles twitch in my face and across my eyebrows. I inhale and force myself to focus.
White ceiling. I was staring at a white ceiling. My vision fades; spots glisten like water droplets above me, disorienting me. Desperately, I fight for something to hold in my line of vision, but there is only that damn white light. It is all over, surrounding me, consuming me.
Panic expands in my chest and rises to my throat with suffocating precision, and I jerk upward. A sharp tug on my wrists draws a gasp, pain wrenching them and soaring up my arms. I pant several times, my mind a whirlwind of foggy images that I can’t make out.
I lift my head and look around—small sterile room, white sheets, hospital bed. Sharp pains shoot through my wrists as restraints dig into my flesh. Desperately seeking freedom, I jerk upward again, finding nothing but more resistance, more pain.
Clarity comes to me with the realization that the pain came from the steel pinch of needles—IVs—running through my legs, chest, and arms. I glare down at myself, at the tubes and needles around me and in me, and memories weave a taunting path through my mind. The bridge. The gorgeous female. The injection.
“Lawrence, damn it! Get the hell in here! Lawrence!” Over and over, I scream; no concept of time, but there is no response to my demands. I scream until my throat rasps.
“Easy,” comes the soft, female voice I recognize from the van. “You’re okay.” She speaks over her shoulder. “Get Dr. Chin, please.” A gentle hand settles on my arm a second before her piercing gaze blinks into focus.
Jocelyn, I thought. Her name is Jocelyn. “You bitch! You tricked me! You were supposed to be giving me the injection, not bringing me here.”
She recoils as if slapped. “No. I didn’t trick you!” She leans in closer again. “Brock, sweetheart. The secrecy of our location is a necessity. I know you understand this. You’re a military man.”
“Then use a blindfold,” I snap back. “It doesn’t require needles or straps. I read the GTECH reports. Don’t jerk me around, lady. They weren’t tied down. They didn’t even know what was happening to them.”
An answer slid quickly off her tongue. “Their transformation was gradual. Yours will not be. You’re tied down so you won’t rip your IVs out as your body transforms. A few days from now, when we take them out…”