have no rights and no feelings—that you’re nothing at all.”
“Stop it.”
He swung around so she could see the mess that was his back, the numerous skin grafts and the terrible scars that remained of a once beautiful man. He spun back around, his face close to hers, his silver eyes, fierce and steady and totally implacable. “I saw what they did to you and you’re not going back there.”
“Stop it.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Don’t say anything else.” He had reduced her to that helpless creature, crawling across the floor, determined she’d never beg for mercy, never give what was demanded of her. She saw herself through those silver eyes—not the soldier who commanded respect, but that animal, half-mad with pain and despair, torn and bleeding and without hope.
Of all the people in the world, it had to be Ken who saw the mess Brett had made of her body. I can keep this up all night, Mari; eventually you’ll give me what I want. It will just hurt a lot more, but I don’t mind that. Ashamed, she pulled the blanket closer around her as Brett’s words echoed in her mind. Of course he hadn’t touched her face. Whitney would have killed him, but sooner or later, Whitney’s threats wouldn’t be enough to deter Brett. In a way she felt sorry for him. Whitney had programmed him, turned him into an animal who no longer thought about right or wrong, only what he wanted—and he wanted Mari. He would be on the team that came for her, and he would kill anyone who stood in his way.
She reached down to touch her hip. There was a bandage there. They’d found and removed the tracking device Whitney had implanted. She should have known they would find it. She had been certain her team would be able to find her quickly, using that tracking system, but now they would have to rely on Whitney—or Abrams and his military contacts—and that would take some time. There were few trails leading to the GhostWalkers and no one carried identification. If they died during a mission, they were buried quietly, without public fanfare, because no one knew they existed.
Ken jerked down his shirt, covering the scars running down his belly, disappearing even lower into his jeans. He leaned over her, his hand spanning her throat, fingers stroking a caress over her silken skin. His whisper was soft, lips against her ear so that his breath was warm, fanning curls of heat through her body. “I don’t live by anybody else’s rules. I make up my own.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, a bracelet that went halfway around, but her fingers dug into his skin, into the ridges of his scars as her lashes drifted down. “Don’t let anyone else see me. Especially not Briony.”
Ken closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. It was sheer hell to be so close to her and not touch her. Even with blood and sweat and the drugs, her scent drove him crazy. Whitney’s experiment into pairing through scent was more than a success. But even more than the physical need, he felt the urge to protect her. Maybe it had been the sight of her broken and battered body when they’d cut off her clothes. Maybe it had been the sound of Nico and the surgeon swearing, or Jack’s hiss of rage. All he could remember was feeling the impact like a punch to his gut, and then later, when they’d rolled her over to examine her back, he felt his heart being ripped from his body.
He had known there were monsters in the world—he’d met a few, destroyed a few—but who would want to do this to a woman? Someone like his father. Abruptly he pulled his mind from going in that direction.
“Are you all right, Ken?” Jack asked, touching his arm.
“I swear, Jack, this is like going through it all again. First the deer and then Mari. I don’t think I’ll ever close my eyes again.”
“We’ve got to get out of here. We don’t dare stay any longer.”
“I’ll stay behind. You take her to a safe place and get some rest. I’ll make
“Stop it.”
He swung around so she could see the mess that was his back, the numerous skin grafts and the terrible scars that remained of a once beautiful man. He spun back around, his face close to hers, his silver eyes, fierce and steady and totally implacable. “I saw what they did to you and you’re not going back there.”
“Stop it.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Don’t say anything else.” He had reduced her to that helpless creature, crawling across the floor, determined she’d never beg for mercy, never give what was demanded of her. She saw herself through those silver eyes—not the soldier who commanded respect, but that animal, half-mad with pain and despair, torn and bleeding and without hope.
Of all the people in the world, it had to be Ken who saw the mess Brett had made of her body. I can keep this up all night, Mari; eventually you’ll give me what I want. It will just hurt a lot more, but I don’t mind that. Ashamed, she pulled the blanket closer around her as Brett’s words echoed in her mind. Of course he hadn’t touched her face. Whitney would have killed him, but sooner or later, Whitney’s threats wouldn’t be enough to deter Brett. In a way she felt sorry for him. Whitney had programmed him, turned him into an animal who no longer thought about right or wrong, only what he wanted—and he wanted Mari. He would be on the team that came for her, and he would kill anyone who stood in his way.
She reached down to touch her hip. There was a bandage there. They’d found and removed the tracking device Whitney had implanted. She should have known they would find it. She had been certain her team would be able to find her quickly, using that tracking system, but now they would have to rely on Whitney—or Abrams and his military contacts—and that would take some time. There were few trails leading to the GhostWalkers and no one carried identification. If they died during a mission, they were buried quietly, without public fanfare, because no one knew they existed.
Ken jerked down his shirt, covering the scars running down his belly, disappearing even lower into his jeans. He leaned over her, his hand spanning her throat, fingers stroking a caress over her silken skin. His whisper was soft, lips against her ear so that his breath was warm, fanning curls of heat through her body. “I don’t live by anybody else’s rules. I make up my own.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, a bracelet that went halfway around, but her fingers dug into his skin, into the ridges of his scars as her lashes drifted down. “Don’t let anyone else see me. Especially not Briony.”
Ken closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. It was sheer hell to be so close to her and not touch her. Even with blood and sweat and the drugs, her scent drove him crazy. Whitney’s experiment into pairing through scent was more than a success. But even more than the physical need, he felt the urge to protect her. Maybe it had been the sight of her broken and battered body when they’d cut off her clothes. Maybe it had been the sound of Nico and the surgeon swearing, or Jack’s hiss of rage. All he could remember was feeling the impact like a punch to his gut, and then later, when they’d rolled her over to examine her back, he felt his heart being ripped from his body.
He had known there were monsters in the world—he’d met a few, destroyed a few—but who would want to do this to a woman? Someone like his father. Abruptly he pulled his mind from going in that direction.
“Are you all right, Ken?” Jack asked, touching his arm.
“I swear, Jack, this is like going through it all again. First the deer and then Mari. I don’t think I’ll ever close my eyes again.”
“We’ve got to get out of here. We don’t dare stay any longer.”
“I’ll stay behind. You take her to a safe place and get some rest. I’ll make
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