The Phoenix Project. Jacquelyn Frank
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circle of his arms, close enough that her nipples brushed his chest through the cotton of their matching T-shirts. Since she had never been allotted any underwear, just like everyone else, it felt strangely exposing. Probably because she hadn’t been touched by someone who wasn’t medically examining her in a long time. As sea-green eyes wandered slowly down her length, she was quite sure there was nothing scientific about his examination.
“Move it!” the orderlies barked at them.
They moved. Some were known to be trigger happy, and neither of them felt like puking their guts up for the next three days or riding an electrical current of punishment. Amara felt his arm fall around her waist.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said softly. “Figure maybe I’ll spare myself a few shoves if you’re close by. They are starting to piss me off and I’m two seconds away from buying myself a puke festival. Be worth it to crack a couple of jaws, though.”
“Be careful,” she whispered back to him. “They won’t hesitate to kill you if you’re too much trouble.”
“Yeah,” he grimaced. “I figured that out. So, I’ll just be occasional trouble.” He gave her a flashing grin at that. The lines of his slightly longer than military haircut and the strength of his rugged jaw and cheeks made him seem tough, but that disarming smile that reached deep into his jade eyes made him seem almost as mischievous and guileless as a boy. “So where’d they get you from?”
Amara frowned, not wanting to exchange captivity stories, but as they were herded down the imposing white corridor, she needed anything to calm her racing nerves.
“The Reeceville Workhouse. They took a bunch of us in our sleep. You?”
“I’m a cop. A Federated States cop. Something tells me I got a little too close to this operation,” he said drolly. He grimaced as he looked at her. “I am sorry.”
“For?” she asked in surprise.
“For not doing my job right. All I can do is hope my coworkers can figure out what I was doing when I disappeared. I was working alone and got in too far too fast. Before I could make the right reports, I got made. I guess I should be glad I’m not dead.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Amara whispered sadly.
She felt his grip around her waist tighten in what she could only deem as a brief hug of comfort. He was a total stranger, and she had no reason to trust a thing he said or did, but the gesture of kindness was difficult to resist in such a vacuum of feeling humanity. She rubbed at one of her skinned elbows as she snuggled up to his warmth some more.
“You’re cold,” he noted with a frown.
“Always. I’m used to it.” She shrugged.
“Well, I tend to generate a lot of heat, so anytime you need warming up, you can come by me.”
She shot him a look, and he instantly groaned as he realized how that had sounded. She couldn’t help but laugh at his woebegone expression.
“I meant…” he said quickly.
“I know what you meant. And thanks. It’s a kind offer.”
“What’s your name?”
“Amara,” she said softly. When she saw the lab doors looming before them, she couldn’t help but lean against the strength and protectiveness of the male who held her. “Yours?” She tried not to sound as panicked as she was becoming, and she knew she failed miserably.
“Nick. Nick Gregory.”
“Nick,” she repeated. She stopped long enough to look up into his eyes directly, her hand reaching to cover the one at her waist. “Nick,” she said with gentle sincerity, “I’m sorry I ever met you.”
Nick understood what she meant instantly.
“Yeah,” he agreed as he glanced at the lab doors when they opened with a pneumatic hiss. “I’m sorry I met you, too, Amara.”
Chapter 3
Nick woke up as if he were dredging himself out of a mire of crude oil and molasses. It was almost impossible to move, or even to breathe. His every muscle hurt as though he’d overdone his circuit training six times, and everything screamed angrily inside of him when he tried to move.
The last thing he remembered was a pretty little blonde with copper-penny eyes and a lost expression etched behind them. It was clear she had given up all hope, but she had still felt fear and resistance those last instants before they had been torn apart and dragged in to be strapped down onto waiting tables. For the millionth time, Nick cursed himself for being an irresponsible idiot. He should have been more careful. He should have reported in. His manager was always bitching at him for his “cowboy” cop work, warning him it would bite him in his ass one day. Well, one day was here. Now. And it hurt like a fucking implosion.
Nick tried to open his eyes, feeling ten tons of grit scraping under his lids. He had a savage case of cotton mouth, too. He wondered what they’d done to him. Since he felt like he’d gone a few nasty rounds with the Jinko world champion, it hadn’t been anything fun. Bad enough he’d been bound down and helpless when one of the Asshole Twins had purposely baited him by copping a feel of Amara’s breast. It had all but killed him when she’d simply turned her head aside, bit her lip, and closed her eyes as if she could send herself away from her situation just by the will of her mind.
It was just one other thing that he could add to his tally of screwups. He should have known not to show any favoritism to her. Not while they were still in the process of teaching him exactly who was in charge. He’d fought them like crazy from the outset, causing mayhem and tearing furrows of havoc for about a month before they’d delivered their ultimatum: Comply or die.
Realizing more than his own life would be at stake if he let them kill him without examining all possibilities of escape, he had complied. Nick was beginning to wonder if that had been such a good idea.
The department shrink said he had a “hero complex” and that it was going to get him killed one day, or worse.
This was definitely bordering on worse.
His eyes opened the tiniest fraction, and he closed them instantly. Damn. This place was so white it hurt. Everything was white. Monitors, computers, bottles, and tubes. All of it. The only things not in white were the little lab rats in heather gray tees and sweats running around like whipped dogs.
Except for Amara. She had kept her long blond hair, and whether she knew it or not, it was an act of sheer defiance. He had instantly liked that about her. Of course, in the “not dead yet” category, he’d thought she also had a killer body. He wondered if he could still be considered a “hero” if he had spent a good amount of time thinking the damsel in distress had nice tits. Really nice tits.
Then he remembered he hadn’t been the only one to notice and a rush of fury balked through him. Oh, he was going to get that miserable fucker who’d touched her if it was the last damn thing he ever did.
Nothing “complex” about that.
Well, best to get on with this mess, he thought wryly. He was starting to get hungry, to add to a roaring case of thirst, and the sooner he dealt with the business of getting to his feet, the more likely it would be that they’d feed him. Nick opened his eyes and bore the glaring shock of white as it pounded into his head. He realized immediately that he was back in his room, dumped in his bed facedown and totally naked.
“Ah, shit.”
He hated waking up naked without knowing how he’d gotten that way or what’d happened since then. It made him paranoid. Especially when he hurt so bad he couldn’t figure out what kind of damage had been done and where. He felt like they’d taken him out and beaten him with clubs. He rolled over and tried to see if any bruises accompanied the way he felt. That was when he heard the locks on his door snap open. It slid free with a hiss and then, with a shout, the pretty little blonde Amara was shoved into his room and