Page 11 of Unchained

The elevator dinged.

Shit.

Jen stood outside the doors. Her lips lifted in a tight smile. “Hey, Camryn.” Her smile faltered. “You okay? You look a little green.” She inched backward, as if she suspected Camryn would ralph on her.

Camryn lowered her hand to her throat, toying with the top of her scrub shirt. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m feeling a little off today. I didn’t want to call in sick on my second shift.”

Jen reached out to stop the elevator door from closing. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded.

“All right. If you need to go home, just let one of us know.” Jen stepped into the elevator and pressed 12.

Camryn’s heart beat ferociously against her breastplate. If Jen wasn’t aware of what was happening with the patients—specifically Brooks—she’d find out now. And if there wasn’t a huge fuss over what had happened five stories below them, Camryn would know for certain the whole team was in on it.

Jen raised her eyebrows in a “do you need anything else?” manner.

Camryn muttered her thanks and exited the cart. She should have said she was too sick to work. Her conscience gripped her weakening resolve. No. She had to see if Brooks was here . . . if he was even alive.

Instinct made her want to run to his room and burst through the door, but that would only look suspicious. She placed her bag in the staff room, tucked her cell phone in her pocket, and stopped by the triage station for meaningless chatter before turning her attention to the patients. She tended to one of the female patients first, Lynnie. Her hands shook uncontrollably while she measured out meds and checked vitals. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Brooks needed his sedative in ten minutes.

This time, she had to delay. To be sure he was okay.

She finished up with Lynnie then moved down the hall. Her footsteps padded across the smooth concrete floor, falling into rhythm with the pounding in her head. Heat scorched her back. Paranoia told her every other nurse suspected her plan. She approached the door marked thirty-six.

God, please let him be here.

She could have asked him questions, but instead she’d sedated him. If they’d killed him, whether by accident or on purpose, she was to blame. She could have saved him. She fought back the guilt raging inside her and opened the door. Spotting him, she lowered her shoulders and the tension in her neck ebbed away. She shut the door behind her and approached Brooks’s still, sleeping form. Pressing her hand to his wrist, she relaxed even more as she felt warmth flowing beneath his skin. He was alive. Peeling back the sheet, she stared at his fluorescent-red chest.

A siren screeched inside her head. What the hell had happened to him now? She turned her attention to his face. More bruises covered his jaw, and even more tiny purple marks scattered his torso. What had he been involved in on the twelfth floor? She returned her focus to his wrists. With his hands bound, she couldn’t see if he had any lacerations from tearing at the restraint she’d found broken downstairs. The only way to check was to remove them.

She glanced at the clock again. Shit. She had five minutes, and there was of course a big risk he’d wake early. Moving quickly, she pulled at the belt and freed his hand. She lifted his wrist and stared at the torn and bruised skin.

Her stomach plummeted.

* * *

Brooks let her lift his wrist, keeping his arm as limp as possible. He’d been awake almost a fucking hour, but his body was spent from the events hours before. Having the two substances in his system made it that much harder to settle. His brain wanted to run, and his muscles needed to rest. The drug would last eight hours in his system, which meant if he could summon his strength, he’d likely kick the sedative lingering in the wings of his consciousness to the curb.

He needed the right opportunity. The one that would get him out of here. He couldn’t waste his last burst of energy. Tomorrow, who knew where the fuck Dr. Leonetti planned to send him, but one thing was for sure—it’d be somewhere he couldn’t escape. Somewhere that prevented any contact with people.

He cracked open his eyelid and stiffened his wrist. Her fingers, so damn soft, held him firmly.

“Hi again,” he said.

She snapped her head toward him so fast she almost stumbled. Her free hand slapped her chest, but she didn’t let go of his wrist. “You scared me.” The accusation came out fast.

He shrugged. “I could say the same, but I’ve been awake for a while.”

Her tongue swept over her bottom lip. She lowered her gaze to his relaxed fingers. “Are you going to hurt me?” Fear flickered in her eyes and then vanished.

Good god. When had he become a person to fear? What’d they do to him? Before Leonetti, and before Conrad had taken him, he’d been a different man. Every day, his memory of who he’d been became blurrier and blurrier. But he knew now for certain he’d never hurt a woman in his life. He lowered his hand to the table. “I never had any intention of hurting you.”

Her gaze darted around. “This morning you said—”

“I thought you were one of them.”

“Who’s them?”

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