Riding the Storm (35 page)

He
wasn't giving Charles the satisfaction of answering anything, but Charles
didn't seem particularly upset by that.

"You've
got a lot of training under your belt," Charles continued. "But none
of it's going to be able to save you in the end. Not when you've been the
victim of a very powerful curse. A curse that no one has been able to get to
the bottom of, no matter how hard they try."

It's
a gift, not a curse
, he heard Haley's
voice echo in his ear. But as much as he wanted to believe, there was an entire
lifetime of pain and humiliation to back up the fact that gifts weren't
supposed to bring this much heartache.

Haley
. At the thought of her name, which he'd been trying
his best to keep out of his mind in case they were somehow able to read it, the
tattoo began to tingle.

He
thought about thunder, tornados, anything. And still, he couldn't bring
anything on.

He
coughed, then groaned at the pain that effort caused along his rib cage. Charles
was by his side in a second, a water bottle in his hands.

"Have
some water, Remy."

He
looked up at the man. "Where's Haley?"

"What
if I told you Miss Holmes is being very well taken care of?"

"What
if I told you that I don't believe a fucking word you say?" he asked.
Charles nodded as if in agreement, switched on a video monitor mounted near the
door, and Remy got an eyeful of Haley, sleeping peacefully.

She's
all right
. Relief surged through him,
and he wondered how long that feeling was going to last. "What about my
father?"

"He's
not as comfortable. But, then again, you really don't want him to be, do you?
Not after what he did to you. Because if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be in
this situation."

"I
want to see my father," he repeated, hating the validity of Charles's
words.

"Fine."
Charles nipped the monitor view to a room where Remy Senior was being held. His
father had been beaten, looked scared, hurt, lost. "Is that what you
wanted to see?"

"What
do you want from me?"

"We
want you to come work for Itor."

"Thanks,
but I already have a job."

"With
ACRO? What, you think they're going to save you, Remy? They've got you right
where they want you."

Remy
didn't answer, but that didn't matter.

"You're
nothing but a weapon to them. They're lying to you if they tell you anything
different."

"And
how do I know you're not?" he spat before he could stop himself.

Charles
smiled, as if he'd been waiting for Remy to ask that question. "They're
planning on making you their caged pet, to keep you locked away like the family
skeleton in the closet until they need you for something. Just like your own
father tried to do. Poor, loyal Remy falls for it every time."

The
words stung him to the core, but he forced his body, his facial muscles to stay
relaxed. I-don't-give-a-fuck mode. He was about to tell the guy to screw off,
to kick Charles's legs out from under him, to break out hard. Then Charles
started speaking again, his voice low and relaxed.

"Haley
fucked you, didn't she? Fucked you until you couldn't see straight, until you
couldn't tell up from down. Until you thought you were in love with her. And
now you think you should follow her anywhere. Even into ACRO."

Remy
clenched his teeth and tried not to listen, but Charles was dredging up fears
that played inside his own head and refused to go away, especially after he'd
professed his love to Haley.

"That's
how ACRO does it, Remy. They use sex to get what they want. And they want
you—badly."

"And
what you're offering is so much better, right?" he asked, flexing his arms
so the bindings around his wrists clanged against the metal pole. "Is this
how you treat your operatives?"

"I
was just trying to give you a taste of what ACRO will do to you. They were
planning to put you in a cage, Remy. Lock you up like a dog to keep you safe
from yourself. They weren't going to train you and let you live the way you
want to—with freedom and power. They were going to try to save the world from
you."

Remy's
gut clenched, because he didn't want to believe anything this guy said. But
fuck, his weather shit was dangerous—and so was Remy himself in the wrong, and
maybe even the right, hands.

Charles
moved in closer. "Everyone you love and trust betrays you. It's the way
your life was meant to be, starting with your own momma."

Remy
began to hyperventilate, air pulling painfully through his lungs. He heard
screams before he passed out completely, and realized that they were his own.

Dammit,
his mental game had gone to shit since he'd met Haley.

When
he came to seconds later, it wasn't because his breathing was under control.
Rather, the tingle that made his skin feel too tight was back in full force.

"Storm's
coming, T-Remy," Charles whispered in his ear.

"She's
coming around."

Haley's
eyes fluttered open. The backs of her eyelids felt like they were coated with
sandpaper, and she groaned as they scratched her corneas. Bright light above
made her wince, and, disoriented, she turned her head away.

Lying
down. She was on a bed.

Two
strange men wearing jeans and sweaters stood next to her. One, a tall blond,
held a glass of water. The other, bald and stocky, helped her sit up. Thunder
cracked, and her head nearly split open.

"Have
a drink," Baldy said, his German accent deep and guttural. "You'll
feel better."

The
temptation to knock the glass out of Waterboy's hand was intense enough to make
her shake, but her mouth was so parched she couldn't refuse. She gulped the
entire contents as Baldy held her. She wanted to ask about Remy, but if Itor
believed she cared, they'd exploit both her and Remy's feelings.

Baldy
released her, stepped back. He watched her for a moment, then frowned.
"I'm not getting much," he said to the other man. "Her parents
are protecting her."

Caught
off guard, her mouth dropped open. Quickly, she snapped it shut. She'd been
through too much military and ACRO POW training to let them rattle her.

"Protecting
her? How?"

"They're
not talking, and they're keeping others who might talk from coming
around."

Waterboy
huffed. "Ms. Holmes? Do you possess any kind of special ability?"

His
nasally American accent annoyed her. Especially since he was playing for the
wrong side. She smiled and shoved the glass at him. "Thank you for the
water."

"Let's
go," he said to Baldy, and then he turned back to her. "Mr. Mikos
will see you shortly."

They
started out of the tiny, sparsely decorated bedroom, but at the doorway, Baldy
turned to her. "Your father said he loves you." His brow furrowed
over troubled eyes, and she wondered if Itor was, perhaps, not his first choice
of employer. "Your mother… she said she's happy to see you've finally
fallen in love. She's showing me some sort of drawing. A fist holding
lightning. Something about soul mates."

Baldy
shut the door, and she tried not to tremble. No doubt he was messing with her
head, but the mere idea that her parents were actually protecting her and
trying to talk to her… well, it rattled her, just like he'd intended.

The
faint voice jolted her out of her emotional mire, and she stood, her feet
thumping on the hardwood floor. Three steps took her to the window, where she
peered out from the second-story room into the gray daylight. Fields, trees and
a gently sloped hill surrounded the house, isolating it from civilization. A
ramshackle barn rose out of the pasture behind the house like an ugly wart, and
as she watched, the front door opened, spilling weak light into the gloomy day.
A man slipped out, but before the door closed, she caught a glimpse of the
interior.

Chills
ran up her spine at the sight of a metal table, the kind used for autopsies. A
cage. Tools. Medical equipment. They were keeping Remy there. She didn't see
him, but she knew.

Unsure
of her plan, she tugged on the window, but naturally, it had been nailed shut.
She had to get out. Had to get to Remy somehow.

"T."

The
voice again. A man's. Louder. It hadn't come from outside. She moved to the
wall near the bed. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Where's
my boy? Where's T?"

Oh,
God. Remy Senior. "Mr. Begnaud? It's Haley. Haley Holmes. Are you
okay?"

The
distinct sound of a fist striking the wall made her jump. "Where is he?
What did you do to my son, you bitch?"

"Mr…
Remy, I'm a prisoner too. We're being held by a foreign agency that wants your
son."

"Your
fault," he shouted, and she resisted the urge to tell him he was the
reason both agencies had been after Remy in the first place. The guy was
probably half out of his mind by now anyway.

"He'll
get us out of this," she said, hoping he'd believe it, because she wasn't
sure she did.

She
moved around the room, listening to Remy Senior throw curses at her as she
looked for a way out or anything she could use as a weapon. She tried the door.
Locked. The heat ducts were too small to allow a cat comfortable passage.

Nothing.
The only furniture consisted of the bed, a night stand and an old dresser. She
couldn't even reach the caged lightbulb on the ceiling when she dragged the
night stand beneath it. Breaking the bulb would have at least given her a shard
of glass for a weapon.

Frustrated,
she sank down on the bed. Her skin itched, probably a reaction to whatever
they'd injected her with, and her tattoo had begun to tingle. Maybe another
side effect…

Lightning
flashed, and her tattoo began to burn. Definitely not a side effect. The storm
was affecting Remy, and shit, what was going to happen if they couldn't be
together when his storm fervor hit full force? If he was restrained, which, no
doubt, he was, he wouldn't be able to relieve himself.

What
if there's a storm and you don't get sex?

I
have to. She makes me.

Fear
knotted her stomach. Would he go crazy, maybe even die if the pressure couldn't
be relieved?

She
raced to the window, looked out into the growing darkness. The lights inside
the barn had been turned off, dousing the sinister effect. She could easily
have been gazing out the window of a bed-and-breakfast onto the quaint,
sprawling farm surroundings.

It
wasn't right. Evil should look evil. It should reek like rotten flesh, not
smell like the pine cleaner and fabric softener that wafted around her room.

Helplessness
gnawed at her, making her muscles quiver, her bones soften. A suffocating
sensation tightened in her chest, and she wanted to drop into a ball of
despair, wrap her arms around her middle in defeat, spread her legs and imagine
Remy there, his fingers, his tongue…

She
blinked. Where had that come from? Looking down, she saw that she had pushed
down the waistband of her cargos and was rubbing her tattoo. It pulsed and
sizzled, and the sharp ink outlines had risen up so her fingertips could read
them like Braille.

Weak,
shaken and confused, she shuffled toward the bed in almost a dreamlike state,
sinking down on it as though her body had gone boneless. Closing her eyes, she
took deep, slow breaths, wondering if the drugs had messed with her system.

A
sudden, searing firestorm spun through her like a tornado of flames. She
gasped. Her eyes flew open. The scent of musk, ozone…
Remy
… washed over
her, until she could detect him on her skin, in her clothes, her hair. His
essence permeated her every cell. It was as though he were there, inside her,
possessing her completely.

She
could feel the hunger rushing through his veins. His heart pounding in his
chest.

His
very soul merging with hers.

Slowly,
as if moving quickly might break the connection, she eased back on the bed and
absorbed him until his life force intoxicated her. Her senses reeled, even as
her mind tried to stay focused, tried to figure this out. But in the end, it
didn't matter how all this had happened, because she was with Remy, and somehow
he was making love to her.

Something
strange was happening. One minute, Remy was practically hanging by his arms,
numb, muscles screaming in pain, his senses assaulted by manure and grass and
ozone.

The
next, he was lying between Haley's legs—and God, it was soft and warm. He
inhaled the scent of woman, brushed his lips against her neck and figured he
must've been hit by lightning. Must be unconscious or dead to be able to see
this, feel this so clearly.

"Haley,"
he whispered against her skin, scared to look up and see her face, because this
mirage could disappear that quickly.