Gator's Challenge (12 page)

S
itting up on a concrete floor
—which really lacked the comfort of her pillow top mattress at home—Melanie tried to not let fear control her first waking thought. Although she certainly had reason to shake in her boots, if her feet weren’t bare.

Actually, most of her was kind of naked except for the paper gown covering her, a giant tissue with holes for her arms and a big gaping seam at the back. She certainly hadn’t dressed herself in it, and the fact that she didn’t remember anything past the point where the lizard thing had taken her down really freaked her out.

What happened while I was asleep?
It didn’t take a vivid imagination to think all kinds of awful things. She palpated herself, hands running over her limbs looking for sore spots, anything that might have indicted abuse or worse.

Stomach a tight knot, she stared at the pinprick hole in her arm. A needle mark. What had they injected her with?

She didn’t feel any different.
Kitty, are you in there?

Rowr
. The discontented rumble of her cat relieved her, but that feeling was short-lived as she tried to shift and couldn’t.

Not even a single hair.

Crap. Still blocked.

Meow
. A sadder sound she’d never heard.

Don’t worry, kitty. I’ll find a way to get you out.

Since she couldn’t unleash her beast and roar her displeasure, she perused her prison.

Her new bedroom sported the latest in jail cell décor. It featured a concrete wall at the back and bars on the other three sides. “He put me in one of those goddamned cages.” She couldn’t help but utter her disbelief aloud. Sure, Andrew had said he would, but a part of her truly hadn’t believed it. Thought it was a ploy to get her to behave.

Wow, was she ever wrong. Again. She truly needed to stop underestimating this new version of Andrew. He seemed ready to do anything at all.

The entire situation wasn’t good. Not good at all. First off, she really preferred comfortable cotton—less chafing on the skin. Second, people wearing paper gowns in cages didn’t have a good prognosis. Especially when in the custody of Bittech and the mad men running it.

I don’t want to be a monster.

She sat up and peeked around. Still the same set of bars and direness.
I need out of this cage.

But how? She stood and walked to the bars, peeking through them to the one across from her. Whoever lived in that cage slept, a hump under a wool blanket. But she didn’t care about the person in the cage. She peeked at the lock and could have cheered when she noted they’d gone old-style padlock. Thick ones that wouldn’t break on a good pull. The kind that needed a key.

Sweet, old-fashioned tumbler lock. Electric panels, while sleek and cool, relied on electricity and ideal conditions. A little too much moisture, or dust, even a surge of power and the components fried.

The last thing they’d want was for a lock to fail and loose a monster.

I wonder if I can open it.

Now, most people knew Melanie as the respectable wife of Andrew Killinger. She kept a nice home—in between the boys destroying it. She cooked lovely meals—often with a bit of spice because it was the only way her husband ever sweated. She also had a sex toy party—done to shock the ladies at the institute, only to end up shocked herself since most of them owned the implements of pussy torture already.

Sad to realize she was the prude of the group.

However, all that stuff wasn’t really who Melanie was. Melanie had grown up on the same wrong side of the tracks as the Mercers of Bitten Point. Her family was just smaller and nicer to people.

Yet, being nice didn’t mean she didn’t have her share of vices. One of her interests in her teens ran to lock picking. It obsessed her. The idea people could hide secrets or, in her mother’s case, the junk food that would rot her teeth.

Lithe fingers made for nimble fingers. And nails, especially long feline ones, could do more than scratch. Lock picking became an art.

But to make it work, I need to grow kitty nails.
She’d just tried and had not been able to pull on her cat at all.

Try again.

She couldn’t worry if she didn’t even attempt.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

Here kitty, kitty.

Really?
She could practically see the disdain in her feline’s tilted head.

Wanna play with a lock?
Because once they got out of this cage, her cat would probably have a lot of playtime.
Hope you’re in the mood to spar and run.

Always.
Her cat practically purred in her head.

Okay, here goes nothing
. She imagined her claw growing from the tip of her index finger.

Given her last failure, she almost expected it to not work. But she could have cried when the sharp tip pulled at her existing nail, reshaping into something long and more needle-like. She did it to the index finger on her other hand. Then she hugged her cage.

Her slim arms slid between the bars with ease. For a moment, she feared cameras watched.
They’ll know what I’m doing.

Then I’d better move quicker.

Face smooshed against the bars to give herself the most wiggle room with her arms, she went to work, poking at the lock, wishing she wasn’t years out of practice.

A click sounded, a mechanical indicator a door had opened. Since playing opossum could provide valuable clues, she flattened herself on the floor, shutting her eyes, and feigning sleep.

Footsteps approached, and she heard the murmurs of two men talking in a low tone.

“Have you finished the preliminary workup on female patient PK1?”

“Yes. Her blood work matches that previously on file. Another dose of DRG4.1C was administered.”

“She showed no adverse signs?”

“None.”

“What of the two subjects being held in the nursery unit?”

Melanie bit her fist as she strove to not scream the question burning the tip of her tongue—
are they talking about my boys?

“The initial blood work and measurements have been taken. The results are good. Some time later today or tomorrow, we will begin dosing subjects PK2 and PK3.”

“Why later?”

The other man did not reply.

A huff of impatience filled the silence. “I said why later? Mr. Parker will want to know why there is yet another delay in getting that part of the project moving.”

A heavy sigh was followed by a scuff of fidgeting feet. “The subjects seem to have disappeared.”

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“Exactly that. The nurse on duty left them secured in the specially designed playroom. When she returned, they were gone.”

“Gone? How the hell did they manage to lose both boys?”

If Melanie wondered before, she knew now.
They’re talking about Rory and Tatum.
By the sounds of it, her boys had managed to hide themselves.

She wished she could fist pump in glee. Maybe they’d managed a way to escape or at least hide until the cavalry arrived, which should be any day, any hour, any second now. It was, after all, the plan, the one she’d concocted when she encased the second little GPS tracker in bubblegum and swallowed it before going on her road trip with Parker. She had to hope Daryl noted it was gone. There had been no time that night to leave a note, and she hadn’t dared say anything aloud in case Andrew or his goons listened. Hell, she’d not even thought about the damned device making its way through her digestive tract since her capture. With the monsters Andrew created, who knew what he was capable of. What if flying wasn’t the only ability he cultivated? What if he’d found a way to read minds?

Then he’d know how much I hated him.

Although, deciphering that didn’t need a mind reader. She declared her dislike every time she spoke to or about Andrew.

Back to the tracking device. Daryl would have noticed it was gone and made the connection, which meant he would have been following her. She hoped. She wasn’t too sure if the signal still worked once she ingested it.

If she miscalculated, then she was in a heap more trouble than expected. She’d not expected, once she got within the new Bittech complex, that she wouldn’t get a chance to get in touch with anyone on the outside.

Everything rests on Daryl now.

What of Wes? Given Andrew’s claim, she could only hope he still lived.

The guy outside her cell didn’t sound too happy as he said, “I want those brats found. Stupid rotten felines. I hate working with them. Such sly, disgusting creatures.

Going to slyly rip your face off.
Rowr.

Her cat took insults very personally.

“When are we beginning the next phase with the female?”

“She has already been added to the implantation roster. They want her starting as soon as possible.

“I thought the other feline subject was pregnant.”

“There are complications.”

It took all her self-control not to shudder at the reminder of the heap of fur with misshapen limbs, distended belly, and expressive eyes that had begged for death.

And now this psycho wanted to do the same to her!

“Which in-vitro treatment is she receiving?”

“No in-vitro for her. Misters Parker and Killinger are both insisting she be slated for actual implantation by another subject.”

“Who’s the lucky guy who gets a piece of her tail?”

“Whoever the boss says. Makes me kind of wish we were taking the mods. It could be us.”

Did either of them see the shudder that shook her body?

“Get her room prepped. Once we’re done here, I’ll find out from the bosses who they want to use with her.”

“I’ll put her in implantation room number two. It’s got viewing windows.”

“Excellent plan. Do you have the needle ready? We need to get her injected with the serum to remove the block before she’s transported.”

“Locked and loaded.”

The jangle of keys and the scrape of one against metal let her know they planned to get in the cage with her.

It took every ounce of will she possessed to keep still. All she wanted to do was jump to her feet and pound on the bars while elucidating the things she’d do to the pair of them when she got loose. They proved colorful and, in one instance, involved a certain hot spice shoved where no light shone.

The imaginative ways she thought of to hurt the men kept her from moving long enough that they opened the cage and came right in.

That’s it. Get closer. Come here, you bastards, so I can give you a nice scratch.

She could feel them staring at her.

“She’s a hot one. I still can’t believe the boss put her down here. I thought they were married.”

“It’s not our place to speculate. Inject her.”

“Are you sure she’s sleeping?” he asked with a little trepidation.

“She should be for at least another hour. She’s not one of the enhanced subjects, so the drugs still work well on her.”

No, they didn’t, but she wasn’t about to correct them. Nor was she keen to let them stab her with the needle. But without her cat, could she really take on two men?

Jab.

The inner musings took too long. The plunger came down, and with a scream, she reared up.

In the second it took her to open her eyes, really open her eyes, she noted things with a crystal clarity that only seemed to come in times of great turmoil.

For one, the pair of guys in the cage with her were human. Puny. Scared. Humans.

And whatever was in that needle didn’t put her to sleep, or hurt.

On the contrary, it ignited her senses, especially those of her hunter side. She rolled to her hands and knees, belly low, lip curled in a snarl. While she might still wear her human shape, they had enough sense to feel the menace radiating off her.

The older of the two guys went scrambling for the open cage door while the other pressed against the back. She went for the one trying to take away her freedom.

She tackled him, her lithe body springing and hitting his with enough force to send him falling to the floor. His head snapped back and hit the concrete, and his eyes shut as he went limp. And she made sure he stayed that way—permanently.

In the bayou, there was only one law when it came to surviving—kill or be killed.

One down. A blubbering one to go. She turned around, a short Latina in a blue paper gown, and yet, the other man shivered in the cell, his eyes wide.

“Don’t hurt me.”

She took a step toward him and was pleased when her fingers managed to pop claws.

“OHGODNO!”

He begged. He screamed. She showed him no mercy. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t have shown her any, and judging by what she’d seen, the pleas of all the prisoners went unheeded.

Suffer not the guilty. He paid for his crimes, noisily, and yet no one came running to his aid.

Once he died, silence fell in the massive containment level. The other cages around her were quiet, except for the occasional whimper. The despair in the air tried to cling. How long had it taken to break these people? She didn’t intend to stay and find out.

She exited the cage and stooped to grab the keys the first man had in his possession.

“What are you doing?” a voice whispered.

“Getting out of here,” she replied as she tugged the ID bracelet off the guy, too. It probably wouldn’t work for her, but it didn’t hurt to have.

“Those who try to escape are always punished.”

Melanie let her gaze rove until she located the speaker two cells to her left. The young, rotund man clutched at his bars.

“They’ll also punish me if I stay. I’ll take my chances. You can escape, too.” She shook the keys at him.

“No thanks. I’m not going to get punished. I like it here.”

Like it? She couldn’t help but gape at him. “Are you insane? How can you like it? They’re planning to inject you with drugs to change you.”

The man shrugged. “At first, I was kind of pissed, but the shots they give us aren’t so bad. They’re better sometimes than the drugs I used to take.”

She narrowed her gaze at the guy. “They’ve been experimenting on you?”