Page 191 of Cerulean Truth
Stunned, I mulled over his words. He knew about my translation? How the hell did the Radicals find out? My mind raced, quickly connecting the dots.
James had been wrong all along; there had to be a mole in the Council. That was the only way anyone else would know. Godsdamn. They knew about my untraceable translation… Oh. My. Gods. I needed to escape, and I needed to do it fast.
“Which means, whatever or wherever the secret is, it isn’t in your blood. So, we need you to translate for us, and we need you to do it in this room where we can study it,” Logan finished his explanation forcefully.
I suppressed a snort. If only he knew… Didn’t seem like my best option to tell this guy I only knew how to translate if my life was directly in danger. He looked like the type to oblige.
Before actual despair could take hold of me, I tried to channel James. “Whenever you find yourself in a hostage situation, try to take control of the conversation.”
“Are you a Radical?” I asked, changing the subject swiftly.
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they call us now? Radicals?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t pick the name.”
He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m against the Great Exposure, if that’s what you mean. And I’m pretty ‘radical’ about stopping the international consensus, so it’s an apt name, just not very original. In any way, it’s sad one gets a label so fear-inducing, for just forming a different opinion.”
I coughed, masking my sarcastic snort. “I hear you’re not too stingy with using violence when expressing that opinion.”
Logan scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the woman whose boyfriend has murdered over a dozen people on her account.”
My eyes nearly popped and my jaw dropped. “No, he didn’t.”
Logan’s eyes went dead cold. “You should inform yourself better of the actions of your own Collective, especially if their next Leader is your partner.”
I blinked. Had James really killed so many people? On my account? Sure, killing was in his nature… but still. Maybe this Logan was just messing with me. But it didn’t seem like it.
“Youordered me to be strapped against a tree to bleed out,” I snarled back.
Against expectations, Logan did not deny this. “It was an order from higher up, but yes, those men were three of mine. And had it worked, all of this…” he pointed to the room, “wouldn’t have been necessary. But your fierce protector interfered and look where that brought us.”
“Oh, so now it’s James’s fault you’re using me as a lab rat after abducting me from my childhood home?” I replied sarcastically.
Logan shrugged, unaffected. “I don’t really care whose fault it is. I only need results. The how and where are unimportant.”
“I’m betting thewhoof it all is pretty important,” I responded through my teeth.
Logan stilled entirely for a second. Then shrugged it off casually, as if I’d asked him about the weather.
"Anyway, as I said, the sedation is wearing off as we speak. I hope you’ll be able to translate within an hour or so. We’ll run some tests, figure out a few things, and then you’ll be on your merry little way. Until then, you will remain comfortable as my... guest."
This time, I couldn't hold back a snort. "Comfortable? I've been taken against my will, I'm pinned down to a chair, I can’t move my legs, my arm is so messed up even Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t snack on it anymore, and you want to use me for experiments. Can you please enlighten me on where this 'comfort' might exist?"
Logan scratched his head, appearing to be in deep thought. “Well. If it’s a snack you desire, I could always arrange for some escape-room service?” he suggested with a wry smile.
My jaw dropped slightly. Word play?Really?
Before I could serve him an apt retort, he rose to his feet, smirked, and, without another word, opened a portal and vanished through it, leaving me alone in the sterile, windowless room.
Flapping Darn Jack. I was seriously and efficientlyscrewed.
Ignoring my racing heart, I looked frantically around the room for any object that might help me was a futile effort, and the same could be said for scanning it for escape routes.
What would James do?
I had no idea how to get myself out of this situation, and I had to figure it out sooner than later.
Slowly, a semblance of sensation crept back into my legs. The initial subtle tingling morphed into an increasingly annoying itch, and a flood of relief washed over me when I realized I could finally scratch the persistent discomfort.
