Page 38 of Fight or Fly

And there was also the mystery behind the Euro-Soviets’ interference. Why them, and not Sloane’s men? WhyCuba? It didn’t make any sense, and part of me was desperate to solve the puzzle. As horrified as I was at the thought of being separated from the others, at least then I wouldn’t have to watch them suffer... or die. Just like they wouldn’t have to watch me suffer and die.

We had a little more time until I had to let them go. We had the vehicle ride to thisholding facility.

Two guards unhooked Jax’s shackles and urged him to his feet at gunpoint. I stood up when my guard indicated I should, trying to control my trembling as a gun barrel pressed lightly against my back. Behind me, I heard Kam rise as well. We trooped out of the cabin, and descended a portable staircase that had been rolled into place at the plane’s entrance.

The sun was dazzling. It was a perfectly warm, balmy tropical day. A faint breeze rustled my hair. The air smelled of damp earth and growing things, marred slightly by the exhaust from the plane and the parked vehicles.

Our guards directed us toward the back of the military truck.

“Get in,” said Kam’s guard.

Kam found a hand and foothold and clambered into the covered truck bed, his guard following right behind.

“You, too,” said the man behind me, nudging me with the gun.

I was still shaky with emotional reaction—not to mention the dregs of the tranquilizing gas—but I managed to climb in after a couple of clumsy false starts. There was a space on the bench next to Kam, and neither of the guards protested when I took it, my thigh pressing against myodama’s. They didn’t protest when I took his hand, either, curling our fingers together for comfort. The second guard merely sat down on my other side, the pair of them hemming us in, guns still trained on us.

Jax entered, favoring his left side heavily.

“Sit there,” said one of the guards, indicating the bench against the opposite side of the truck bed from us. The alpha complied, warily assessing our situation, and was promptly flanked by his two armed guards.

The vehicle jerked into motion, jouncing and swaying. I considered trying to engage the soldiers in conversation in an attempt to get more information, but the engine rumbled loudly and the air in the covered bed stank of diesel exhaust. Besides, what did I truly expect to accomplish? These men were hired muscle, nothing more—even if they’d showed more restraint in their dealings with us than I might have expected.

I squeezed Kam’s hand tighter and leaned against him, staying silent.

The weight of Jax’s bloodshot blue gaze rested on me heavily. I met his eyes, even though doing so was painful. He glanced away, but not before I saw the fear lurking in his expression. A moment later, our gazes connected again, and he let me see his silent apology for not somehow magically having prevented all of this.

He was alone, separated from his pack and sick with worry over their safety. For the second time in only a handful of months, he’d been thrust into the role of sole protector to two omegas, pitted against overwhelming odds. This time, his failure would certainly mean his death... but that wasn’t the part that was eating him up.

It was us. Kam and me.

We wouldn’t have wanted anyone else as a protector, I tried to convey wordlessly. Maybe I should have gathered my courage and said it aloud, but the idea of giving these beta Committee soldiers a glimpse into something so personal was unbearable.

The journey dragged, though it probably didn’t last more than twenty minutes in reality. I spent it pressing my body as closely as I could against Kam’s—trying to ignore the guns pointed at us. Instead, I watched the thoughts and regrets scull behind Jax’s eyes like clouds against a brilliant summer sky.

The unpleasant judder of bad roads and worn suspension eased to something smoother. Paved, I was fairly sure. We couldn’t see anything with the canvas pulled across the opening in the back, but I sensed we were close to our destination. I soaked in the presence of the others, not knowing when I might need these final memories of closeness to hold a worse reality at bay.

The truck rolled to a stop with a high-pitched squeal of brakes, and a fresh puff of diesel exhaust made my nose wrinkle. One of Jax’s guards pulled the canvas flap covering the opening aside.

As perfunctorily as they’d ordered us into the truck, the soldiers ushered us down from the bed. I swayed, my knees threatening to give way, but the man guarding me steadied me with one hand.

I looked around, taking in our surroundings. We were on some kind of private estate. The area was every bit as secluded as the airstrip had been. There was a massive house in the Colonial style of architecture standing nearby, its exterior white and gleaming in the afternoon light. Our escorts herded us toward a large outbuilding. While not nearly as ornate, it appeared to be of the same solid brick and stone construction as the house.

Holding facility, the lead guard had said.

This wasn’t what I’d pictured, but it would be every bit as inescapable as a prison. For one thing, there was nowhere to run except into the endless mountain forests. And even that much would be a stretch—dozens of uniformed guards patrolled the property with high-powered rifles slung over their shoulders.

It was likely the Committee had properties like this one scattered across the world. With a chill, I wondered what horrors lay within the square outbuilding with its small, high windows and plain white facade.

We found out soon enough. The main entrance opened onto a guard station, which wasn’t unexpected. There, we were handed off to new guards led by a slender woman with a military cap pulled low on her forehead, the bill throwing her face into shadow. She and her underlings were armed, and every bit as no-nonsense as the soldiers on the plane had been.

I noticed Jax giving the woman an odd look—perhaps surprised to find a female in a position of power within the reactionary ranks of the Committee. The male guards prodded us into motion, ushering us down a hallway and through an electronic security door. Beyond lay a second doorway. It was vaguely reminiscent of the thick metal cell door in the terrorist cave in Romania, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver.

When the woman opened it, however, the room beyond appeared to be a basic but pleasant living space with a decently sized bed, table, chairs, sink, toilet, and even a homey rug covering the concrete floor. I blinked in confusion.

“In,” said the woman in a light Russian accent, and Jax pierced her with another long stare.

“All three of us?” Kam asked hesitantly.

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