Page 22 of Fighting for Lucy

He was wrong.

Stubborn might very well have been her middle name.

When you grew up with a condition that could make you vulnerable, and you didn't want to let that condition rule your entire life, you learned pretty quickly how to stand up foryourself and fight for what you wanted. If her parents had had their way, she would have been wrapped in bubble wrap and kept in the house her whole life. But what kind of life would that be?

Everything she had she’d worked hard for. Graduating high school at the top of her class, then the same at college with both her degrees. She’d aced the interview for Prey, and every single day she made sure she did the best she could do. When she allowed herself time just to have fun, she sought out the most adrenalin-pumping activities she could to remind herself that she was alive and could do whatever she wanted.

This might be the scariest thing she’d ever done and certainly had more adrenalin flooding her system than anything else she’d tried, but the same principle still applied. She was tough and strong, she did whatever it took to get to where she wanted to be, whether that be sweet-talking her parents at seven into letting her play football, or deep-sea diving in the ocean where it was so dark you couldn’t see anything outside of the beam of your flashlight.

Survive.

Conquer.

Never show weakness.

When she was led downstairs into a basement, she kept her back straight and eyes wide open. No cowering. If Raul thought it was going to be easy to break her, he was wrong. He hadn't broken Scarlett, and he wasn’t going to get to her either.

Because of what her friend had been through she knew what to expect, and she used the knowledge to mentally fortify herself. Before she’d made a couple of really good friends who she kept in contact with to this day, school had been lonely. The other kids called her a freak, excluded and bullied her, and she had become an expert at finding things to do on her own, usually reading, and pretending that being left out didn't bother her.

Of course, it had, but none of them had ever suspected, and they’d eventually grown tired of taunting her and never getting a response. In third grade when a new little girl had joined her class, they’d hit it off right away. The girl had had cancer and was in remission, but their medical histories had bonded them quickly, and Lucy had finally learned what it was like to fit in and not be treated like you were different.

She’d loved it and never looked back, but the memories of those years when she felt so alone and different lingered, and she could use them now to make her stronger.

In the middle of the basement, there was a large table with cuffs attached to the corners, it didn't take being a genius to figure out that was where she was going to be put.

As predicted, the two men flanking her led her over to it. They didn't ask her to get on, one of them just picked her up and laid her on it, using his superior size to hold her in place while her ankles and wrists were secured.

The awkward angle made her broken arm throb, but it was the least of her worries right now because a man in a crisp, white shirt with black suit pants came strolling in. Recognizing him from his picture, Lucy knew he was Raul Castillo, and with his slicked-back hair and toned body, she could see why women thought he was attractive.

Until you looked into his eyes anyway.

They were dead, and you could sense the malevolence that lived inside him.

“Ms. Elrod,” he greeted her formally as though they were business associates having a meeting, and he hadn't brought her here against her will.

“Mr. Castillo,” she replied, keeping her tone cool and willing her pulse to slow so it wasn’t echoing in her ears.

An eyebrow quirked at her calm tone, and she knew she’d scored a point, even if it was a small one. While she had nointention of taunting the man, she also had no intention of giving him what he wanted. Not just the formula to the drug she and her friends had created, but she wasn’t going to cry, scream, or beg, she was simply going to lay here and stare at him.

Not the best of plans, maybe, but what else could she do?

Prey knew the plane had crashed, and she had no doubt they’d be looking for her. Although she rated the chances of them finding her at pretty close to zero. No one was coming for her. Zander was dead, and even if he wasn’t, she doubted he’d be of any help to her. So she was on her own. For now, she was going to play this calm, cool, and collected while she bid her time and waited for a moment to escape. Or even better, if she could find one then she was going to take the opportunity to kill Raul Castillo. She and her team deserved to live in peace without the threat of him coming after them again and again hanging over their heads.

“You should know I don’t intend to give you the formula,” she warned him. “None of us will so you may as well just give up.”

Annoyance flared in his dark eyes. “I don’t give up, Ms. Elrod.”

Shrugging as best as she could with her wrists cuffed, she met his gaze squarely. “Then I don’t know what to tell you, but you're wasting your time. I know what you did to Scarlett. How you had her beaten and whipped. About the drug you gave her. I won't insult both our intelligence by saying I'm not afraid, but I know how to control my fear.”

“Even in the face of death, Ms. Elrod?” Raul mocked.

“I've been staring death in the face all my life.” While it was unlikely her epilepsy would kill her outright, there was such a thing as sudden unexpected death in epilepsy, SUDEP, that killed more than one person out of every thousand with epilepsy each year. With her seizures not well controlled even with her medication, and the fact that her seizures were tonic-clonic, what used to be called grand mal, she was at higher risk of dying from SUDEP. As a small child, she’d been so afraid of her condition, but as she’d gotten older, learned more about it, and learned that life was never certain and tomorrow was not guaranteed, she’d mastered her fear.

She’d done it then, and she could do it now.

“Ah, yes, the epilepsy.” There was clear distaste in his tone, and he looked disgusted by the thought that she had a condition she’d been born with.

Bad move on his part.

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