Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4) Read online

  Weapon. I am a weapon. I’ll bring them both in, and then the doc will never question my loyalty again. Scott first – he’s the more skilled fighter, and my primary objective. Helen second, assuming I’ve taken Scott out before she has a chance to run. It’s a fair assumption.

  She raises her hands and takes a step back, perhaps shocked by the ferocity in my voice, perhaps under some delusion that she can fend me off. Who cares?

  I launch myself forward – at Scott, not her. She’s still not my primary target. I don’t give him the chance to see it coming. By the time he’s blinked I’m already on him and throwing half a dozen punches. The first three have landed by the time he recovers enough to get his hands up and block the rest. He’s fast, but I’m faster. While he’s fending off the punches, I swing a kick into his side. It lands with a satisfying thud and he grunts. My hands blur into motion, trying to find a way through his guard, and I realise I have a second advantage. He’s not fighting back, just trying to fend me off. He doesn’t want to hurt me. I’m sure later that will strike me as odd, but right now all I can think is that I have no problem hurting him.

  “Nate!” It’s Helen’s voice from behind me – I was right, she’s no fighter – and I realise my mistake. I should never have expected two absas to be in the field without a handler, and Nate’s as good as they come. Guess that explains what happened to my backup. Doesn’t matter. I don’t need them.

  I sense his movement as his shadow falls across the mouth of the alley, and go to shift behind him. My second mistake. The EM disruptor’s still active. Pain rushes through my head and I stagger back, then Nate’s massive arms are a steel band around me, grabbing me from behind and pinning my arms to my sides as he tries to take advantage of my momentary weakness. I snarl as I try to struggle free. He’s bigger than me, and every inch of him is muscle. But he’s still a man, and he still has weaknesses.

  “Get the–” he breaks off as I slam my head back into his face and his grip loosens. I stamp my heel down onto the top of his foot, then twist round and drive a knee between his legs. He doubles over, his arms falling away from me, and I have only a split second to decide: finish him, or go after the other two? No contest: I can’t risk Scott escaping. The mission is everything.

  I curl my lip and spin back round to Scott. He’s pulling a stopper from a syringe. I hate needles. There’s no way I’m letting him stick me with that. Just one more reason to put him down.

  “Scott, look out!”

  I’m going to have to silence that woman soon, her voice is grating on me. My foot connects with his hand and the syringe goes flying through the air. Helen’s still talking, asking me to calm down, telling me no-one wants to hurt me. Her talent’s buzzing inside my head the whole time, but I’ve had a lot of practice shutting out things I don’t want to think about. I ignore the buzzing and advance on Scott. He’s clutching his hand to his chest. An image flashes in front of my eyes: he’s clutching his hand to his chest, but we’re inside Gardiner’s office. I’m covered in blood – Megan’s – then I’m pointing a gun at Gardiner and Scott’s saying something, he’s saying: “It’s the only way you’ll ever be free,” and– I blink and it’s gone, I’m back in the alley and he’s staring at me with his head cocked slightly to one side and his eyes narrowed.

  “Anna?”

  My head’s spinning from the emotion of my warped flashback, and I can’t quite seem to shove it back into the box. I’ve well and truly lost the element of surprise now, and I just want to be back in my cage, back where everything makes sense, but there’s no way I can go back to the doc and tell him I failed. I have no choice. No, I do have a choice, the doc says I always have a choice, no matter how shitty the options. I just have to choose the one I can live with.

  I close the gap between us faster than I’ve ever moved before, fuelled by my urgency to end this before my resolve can weaken. My fists fly at the traitor, pounding at his chest and still he refuses to fight back. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he keep pretending – can’t he see I’m going to hurt him if he doesn’t stop me? And then he’ll be in Doc Pearce’s cage and all of his pretending will be for nothing. And I don’t care. I remind myself over and over: I don’t care what happens to him. He’s a traitor. He’s scum. I scream at him as I throw strike after strike, driving him backwards, missing as many as I’m landing, and I can feel my arms starting to bruise from the force of his blocks. He grabs my wrists and tries to pull me against him. Fury claws its way up from my stomach: how dare he touch me? How dare he come looking for me after everything he put me through? I easily reverse his grip and toss him to the floor, then I’m on him in a flash, ready to take my fist to his face. How dare he try to take me from the doc, how dare he– My vision swims and I’m inside a gym, Scott is on the floor beneath me, dressed in workout clothes and laughing as he reverses my grip and pins me face down on the mat. I’m sad because I’m thinking about leaving him, and–

  I blink and I’m back in the alley again, my fist hanging immobile in the air, poised to strike. The traitor’s staring up at me and my head’s starting to swim. I shake it and become aware of the buzzing. Helen. It’s got to be Helen. I would never be disloyal to the doc, it’s Helen making me feel this way. I grit my teeth and swing my fist down.

  It doesn’t connect. A hand grabs me from behind, hauling me off Scott, and something jabs into my arm. I twist my head round and see the syringe sticking out of me, plunger depressed.

  “No! You can’t take me, I won’t let you take me again!”

  I thrash with everything I’ve got, trying to shake the hands loose, but Scott’s on his feet and helping, and between the two of them I can’t get free. My foot connects with someone’s shin and I hear a grunt but the hands only hold me tighter.

  My head is swimming again and my vision is starting to blur. The alleyway slips into soft focus, and then Scott is in front of me, his face distorted around the edges. His lips are moving but the words are running into one. I frown and focus, fighting against the drug.

  “I’m sorry, Anna,” he’s saying, but he’s not. They’ve captured me, I can’t let them take me, I have to get back to the doc. I thrash with everything I’ve got left, flailing helplessly in the strong hands.

  “Steady, hold her. Ow, dammit! Watch her legs.”

  Another pair of hands takes hold of me and I can’t shake them loose, I have to… get loose. I need to get back to the doc. I can’t let them… take me, I won’t… let… them take me, I…

  Chapter Seven

  The first thing I’m aware of is that every inch of my body is fire and pain. I try to shift and the pain in my head doubles. That’s when I realise that something’s messing with my EM field. I bite back the scream that threatens to burst from my lips – I won’t give them the satisfaction. Doctor Pearce says pain is just a series of synapses firing inside your head. You only feel pain because your mind lets you feel pain. And anything in your mind can be overcome.

  I take a breath and will the pounding to stop. It doesn’t. I take another breath and remind myself it’s only pain. I’ve felt pain before. It’s not important, it’s simply a distraction. I force myself to think around the headache, and the throbbing in my arm – a reopened wound, for sure – and the dull ache in every single one of my muscles. I close my eyes – distantly noting that even my eyelids ache – and reach out tentatively with my mind. It doesn’t take me long to find the source of the disruption. The collar around my neck is active. My eyes fly open in panic. Surely the doc doesn’t think I’ve run from him? He must know I’m loyal to AbGen, right? After everything I’ve done, he can’t doubt me, he– After everything I’ve done. The words hit me like a fist to the gut. I attacked Megan. Jeopardised missions. Allowed Scott to escape. Kept intel from him about Duncan. After everything I’ve done, of course he has reason to doubt me. The only mystery is why he trusted me in the first place. I’ve let him down.

  My gut churns and I look frantically round for a bucket. The
re’s one on the floor next to the bed I’m on, and I roll over and retch into it. The doc thinks I’ve betrayed him. He’s not even going to come looking for me. He doesn’t know I’ve been captured. They’re going to try to turn me against him, and we all know I’m weak. I’ve fallen for it before.

  No.

  No. I’m not the weak little girl I used to be. That person is dead. The doc pared her down to her core, and rebuilt her better, faster. Stronger. I will find my way back to him.

  I force myself to sit upright, ignoring the protests from my ribs, and for the first time look around me properly. If I’m going to escape, I need to know what I’m up against. The room I’m in – and it is a room, not a comforting cage with bars I can see through – is about ten foot by fifteen. The only furniture is the bed I’m lying on – too big and too soft, and with a red stain – apparently I’ve been bleeding – an armchair, and the bucket, if you count that as furnishing. There’s nothing else. The floor is covered in a threadbare carpet and I suddenly I want to stand on it and feel the fabric between my splayed toes. Which makes me realise my shoes are gone, too. As if I can’t kick just as hard bare-footed. I remain where I am, letting my eyes finish their inspection. There are no windows and the door looks reinforced. The walls are easily fifteen foot high and painted white, but as I run my hand over one I feel the unyielding brick beneath it. I’ll search every inch later, but my eyes are drawn to the one wall that’s not blank.

  I get up from the bed, staggering slightly as my legs cramp up, and holding an arm out to catch myself against the wall. A searing pain in my bicep tells me where the blood I saw came from. I must’ve torn the stitches open in the fight. It doesn’t matter. My eyes don’t leave the wall. It’s covered top to bottom in photos. Some of them are me. No, most of them are me. Here I am with Nathan, completely taken in by his facade. And here with Helen, her arm wrapped around my shoulder as we smile at the camera. And Scott. There are so many of me and Scott. Here we’re posing on a bike, in this one he’s helping me aim a pistol – my posture is all wrong, I recognise now – and this one... in this one we’re pressed together, his arm around me, my hair a mess as I grin at the camera. We look so happy that my stomach starts to churn again. It was all a lie. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker, and here’s the proof, plastered all over the wall for me to see. A photo of the lake in Ryebridge. A blond-haired guy whose name I can’t remember right now. A red-haired girl who’d seemed important to me once. And Duncan. I recognise the Scotsman from his many visits inside my mind while I was with the doc. Those had stopped once he realised I was more than his match.

  My eyes drift back to the image in the centre, the one of my windswept, smiling face next to Scott’s relaxed and beaming one. I pluck it down from the wall – it’s only taped there – and stare at it in my hands. Traitor! My lip curls and I screw it into a ball, launching it across the room. It bounces off the far wall and skitters across the floor. I grab another photo and pull it down, tossing it to the ground. That girl doesn’t exist anymore. I toss another and another, I’ll pull the whole lot down, destroy every reminder of how weak I was, I’ll–

  “Anna.”

  I freeze, photo in hand. It’s the picture of the blond guy. Duke? Dark? I frown.

  “Anna, it’s me. Scott.”

  Like I wouldn’t recognise that voice anywhere. I curl my lip again, looking for its source.

  “I’m talking to you through a speaker in the wall. Next to the camera.”

  I look around, pivoting on the spot as I scan the entire room, and spot the small CCTV camera set right up by the ceiling. A small black meshed circle is set into the wall beside it – the speaker. My eyes narrow. I should have realised they’d be watching me. I need to act smarter if I’m going to get out of here and back to the doc.

  “I know you’re scared, Anna, and I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

  I perch on the edge of the bed and stare at my bare feet as the voice carries on.

  “It must be confusing, and disorientating. I’d like to come in and talk to you, if you want me to.”

  What I want is to get out of here and back to the doc. And I’ll go through anyone who gets in my way. My eyes glitter darkly, but I keep them averted and my face smooth. After a moment, I give a slow nod.

  I hear bolts – plural – sliding back, and then the door creaks open. The tall, dark-haired man steps through the gap. His face looks tired and he’s moving stiffly. He’s favouring his left side: I broke a couple of his ribs, for sure. I quickly look away before he can see me sizing up his weakness. The door stays open the smallest crack behind him, but I’m not an idiot. I know there’s someone on the other side. If I’m going to take them both then I’ll need to catch them unawares.

  “Hi, Anna.”

  I don’t look at him. His voice is like someone sawing on a violin with a rusty knife. Everything about him sends waves of fury through me. I don’t move. I need to choose my moment carefully.

  He nods to the photograph I’d forgotten in my hands.

  “His name’s Iain Drake. You met him when I was… away.” Drake, that was it. His face belongs to the sun memories, BTD. I stare at the photo, trying to squint past the headache and recall something about him.

  “If he’s the one you want to see, I’ll bring him here.” There’s no mistaking the hurt in Scott’s voice, though he covers it quickly. “We just want to help you. I promise.”

  “Then get this off me,” I say, running my fingertips just above the collar around my neck, but not touching it. Never touching it. That’s not allowed. I can’t stand the idea of being parted from the doc’s gift, but losing it would be the fastest way to get back to him.

  “I’m sorry, Anna. We had to turn the disruptor back on, but I promise, we’ll get rid of it as soon as we can. We’ve disconnected the electric contacts.” His voice is strained as he says this last part, and I look up to see him forcing the tension from his clenched jaws.

  I look back to my feet, hiding my eyes as the implication of his words sinks in. It was them who reactivated the collar. Not the doc. He doesn’t think I betrayed him. He’s waiting for me to come back. I suddenly feel giddy, free. Except I’m not. Reality comes crashing back down on me. Scott’s standing between me and my only way out of here. Filthy traitor.

  Maybe the doc has people out looking for me. I can’t chance it though – even if he does, there’s no telling how long it would take them to find me. Doc needs me back working for him sooner rather than later. He doesn’t have anyone else who can do what I can.

  I refuse to be passive; a victim. But that’s exactly what Scott and his merry band of deluded rebels think I am. I can use that to my advantage. They need to think I want to be ‘saved’. I’m their weakness, and I fully intend to exploit that. If the traitor’s telling the truth and the electric contacts aren’t active anymore, then they can’t shock me if – when – I make my move. That will make it easier.

  I process all of this in a fraction of a second. Slowly I raise my eyes, stopping when I reach his chin.

  “I understand. I haven’t exactly given you much reason to trust me, have I? I was scared of what he would do to me, if I didn’t follow his orders.”

  “I know, Anna. And I do trust you, I always have. You just need to remember how to trust us.”

  He moves closer and I override my body’s instinct to stiffen in preparation to attack – I can’t afford to betray my intentions, not with someone watching my every move from outside.

  “It’s okay,” he says soothingly, raising his hands slightly from his sides, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Suddenly the room vanishes and I’m back in my old flat – from before – and he’s in front of me, telling me not to be afraid, and I’m more afraid than I’ve even been in my life, and even though he’s telling me he’s not going to hurt me I know it’s a lie and– I’m back in the present, and he’s watc
hing me silently with his head tilted.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m losing it, and these fake memories are scaring the hell out of me. And they’ve got to be fake, because every single one of those memories has been clouded by feelings for the man they centre around – and they’re not the feelings of disgust I have towards the traitor. They can’t be real. They just can’t.

  “Anna?”

  I stare at him blankly.

  “I want to check your arm, is that okay?”

  I remember the blood on the sheet and glance down at the offending arm. The wound has re-opened and blood is still seeping from it. A flesh wound, nothing more. But checking it will make him vulnerable and let me make the most of the element of surprise. I nod, not trusting my voice.

  He comes closer, watching me intently, and crouches in front of the bed. I allow him to roll back my sleeve, ignoring the tingle that runs over my skin as his fingers brush against it. My body reacts to his proximity – and not in the way that it should. The fine hairs on my arms stand on end and my limbs soften. I find myself leaning just a fraction closer to him. That’s my weakness, a remnant of who I used to be. But the doc trained me to be strong. I ignore what my treacherous vessel wants, and take a slow breath, filling my lungs with oxygen. I’ll never get an opportunity better than this.

  It’s time to go. Savage Anna’s been rattling her cage since the traitor set foot over the threshold. I open the door and let her out.

  She doesn’t waste a moment. Our elbow swings into Scott’s jaw, sending him staggering backwards. The pain of the contact reverberates along our arm, tingling in our fingertips, but the sensation only fuels Savage Anna’s bloodlust. She flies to our feet, throwing a flurry of blows before I’ve even finished registering the tingling in my fingertips. Every one of them lands. Scott’s swaying on his feet, and she swipes his legs from under him, tossing him to the floor like a rag doll. I wait for the disorientating flashbacks to strike, but there’s nothing overlaying the bloodied man on the floor. Hm. Apparently Savage Anna’s rage is too pure for them to affect us.