Page 30 of Unchained

“Just do it.”

She took the scissors from his fingers, put them back in the bag, then wiggled on a pair of latex gloves. Next, she reached for the scalpel and removed its protective cap. It was one of those tools she carried that she hoped to hell she’d never have to use. She cleaned his skin with an alcohol wipe. His spine was ramrod straight against her abdomen. “Try to breathe,” she said, pausing to press her hand to his shoulder.

His shoulders relaxed and he took several breaths. “Ready.”

She felt the spot again and located a bump. It was the size of two grains of rice. Holy shit. Holding her finger on it, she used the tip of the scalpel to cut his skin in a parallel line. He didn’t jump, but heat rolled off his back. She lifted the knife. “There. Hopefully we won’t need another incision.”

“I’ve had far worse.” The words came out as dry as a martini. Each one of her heartstrings twanged in her chest. She didn’t even know the half of what he’d endured the last eight months—if he was even accurate about how long he’d been held captive. Mist coated her eyes, and she blinked it away.

Placing the knife down, she turned back to the wound she’d created. Her stomach churned viciously. Doubt crept over her mind. Part of her thought he was wrong, or wanted to hope it was his paranoia that believed there was a microchip in his neck—dear god, who would do such a thing? But the other part of her, the one that sucked at the pit of her stomach, knew Brooks hadn’t been wrong so far. Everything he’d claimed had been proven true.

She pressed her forefinger on the side of the hard piece—maybe it wasn’t a microchip. Maybe what she was feeling was scar tissue or some kind of deformity. She used her fingertips to push the object toward the incision as if she were removing a sliver. A clear white piece popped up. There was something planted in him.

Acid hit her palate.

She pushed harder. Brooks didn’t flinch. Taking shallow breaths through her nose, she fought the rush of anxiety that threatened to steal her consciousness. Never in her nursing career had she fainted, and she wouldn’t start now.

Using her fingernails, she pulled on the tip. A half-inch long device came out. “Oh, my god,” she hissed. Dropping the microchip on her car, she shook her hand as if to rid herself of whatever evil was attached to such a thing. Her mind spun violently, like an out-of-control merry-go-round. No person should be chipped and tracked. But it drove home Brooks’s previous point: he was valuable to them. If Dr. Leonetti had invested that kind of money to trace him, they intended to make more off him in their possession. Hate boiled beneath her skin.

Blood rolled down the back of his neck and beneath his shirt. She grabbed some gauze and mopped up the droplets. Then she removed a butterfly bandage from her bag, pulled the skin together, and fastened it. “There.” She exhaled a tight breath.

Brooks stood and picked up the microchip. “Those fuckers.” He held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning it around. He dropped it to the dirt and smashed the chip with his foot. “Let’s get out of here before they track it again.”

She stood and brought her body close to his, breaking the boundaries of personal space. Her chest hovered inches from his ribcage. If someone had done to her what had been done to Brooks, she’d be a wreck. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him. His body stiffened and then relaxed. Laying her ear to his heart, the thumping started to slow. His hands rested tentatively on her back, as if he were afraid to truly soak in her affection. “I’m sorry for what they did to you.”

His fingers twitched on her spine. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“How many others are there?”

Brooks’s hot breath stirred the hair at her temples. “From what I know, a lot of his subjects don’t make it past the first trial. But I’ve never met any of the others.”

She peeled her cheek from his shirt but didn’t pull away. “How is that possible?”

“He made sure I didn’t come into contact with anyone I could form an alliance with.” His jaw rocked back and forth.

She lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I promise you’ll get them back.”

His eyes sparked, and then some of the anger fizzled. “You’re not going to talk me out of killing them?”

She stared at the base of his throat, where the material of his shirt rested. She’d witnessed the skin beneath. The scars, the bruises, the proof of confinement. What she hadn’t realized until now was the depth of his trauma. A week ago, she would have said “two wrongs don’t make a right.” Now, that sentiment didn’t apply, and in Brooks’s case, it was naïve of her to think anything less would be sufficient.

He deserved to know the men who’d hurt him couldn’t touch him again. He deserved to close his eyes and sleep without his body jerking with nightmares, to not be fighting a constant battle, whether he was awake or asleep. He deserved peace. And if that meant Conrad Hornick and Dr. Leonetti didn’t have the opportunity to hurt anyone else, so be it.

She looked up and his baby blues collided into her, stealing her breath. He was guarded and tormented, but his eyes told the stories of his soul. His gaze searched hers, screaming for her acceptance.

“I think you need to do this.”

His mouth softened. “Good. Mind if I drive?”

“Not at all.”

He scooped up the keys from the hood, and she returned her medical kit to the trunk. After getting in the passenger seat, she clicked her seatbelt buckle into place and opened her phone as Brooks settled himself behind the wheel. Pulling up the search she’d saved of Conrad, she flicked her gaze to Brooks. “He lives in Seattle.”

“Yeah? That’s where we’re going then. Are we heading the right way?”

She tapped the screen of her phone. “Yup, we just need to continue West. Is Seattle where you’re from?”

He started the car and pulled onto the road. Silence filled the vehicle. She was pushing his memory, but the need to know more about him strummed inside her.

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