Zara had endured pain before, Whitney had seen to that, but it was nothing like the chemicals Zhu kept injecting her with throughout the long day and most of the night. She knew she’d resorted to begging. Anything to make it stop, but he was relentless. He never raised his voice, it was always the same low tone, demanding she tell him the truth. The questions he asked her bounced in her head like Ping-Pong balls. Each time they hit the side of her head, it felt like a blow.
Strangely, toward morning, Zhu sat her up, his arm supporting her, holding a bottle of water to her lips, forcing her to drink the cool liquid. Those times he’d given her water, he was always unfailingly gentle. He was impersonal, as if he hadn’t noticed she was naked. He didn’t threaten to rape her. Once, when Cheng came in to see the progress, Zhu covered her body with a blanket to prevent the other man seeing her. She wanted to cry in gratitude, which was insane since Zhu was the one who had taken her clothes.
She woke alone and thirsty, her body hurting beyond belief. Every muscle. Every joint. There was a terrible taste in her mouth and even brushing with her finger didn’t get rid of it. She didn’t know what she’d said or done the day before. She only knew she didn’t want a repeat of that torture or anything like it that Zhu had devised. She also knew she was going to die here. She actually felt she might welcome death from the virus, although if Cheng did an autopsy, he would find the SSD in her brain and might find a way around Whitney’s protections, and everything she suffered would be for nothing.
The one chance she might have was Zhu. Shockingly, while her strange reaction to him when he’d slipped her a drug on her teacup had faded completely, his reaction to her seemed to increase the more he was around her. She was well aware his attraction to her wouldn’t stop him from doing his job; he’d certainly proved that. He had subjected her to hours of chemical interrogation and hadn’t batted an eye that she was in terrible pain while he’d done it.
Cheng was angry. No, angry wasn’t the right word for what he was. Over the last couple of days, he’d discovered the exact extent of the damage done to his computers. Every secret he’d collected over the years, the locations of guns, of traffickers, of drug routes, all were wiped out. His precious data on the GhostWalker program he’d sacrificed his men for was gone. Someone had to pay, and she was fairly certain that someone was her.
Several times she heard gunfire reverberating on the floor and knew others—innocents—were being interrogated and probably killed. The screaming individuals in agony really got to her. Her heart stuttered as she considered maybe someone was coming to try to rescue her. She couldn’t sit still and jumped to her feet, hope blossoming. She paced unsteadily across the room, wishing she had a window to look out of. They hadn’t even given her a view. Just four walls. It felt as though she were suffocating.
Footsteps. Many people. She closed her eyes and tried to will a rescue team to open the door. She hurried back to the bed and pulled the thin blanket over her. Heart pounding, she waited. The lock thudded. Clinked. The door handle rattled. The door opened, and Zhu’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. Her heart sank. Of course no one would come for her. Who would? Whitney? He made it clear, when one of them went out on a mission, they were alone. Get in. Get out. Come back or die.
Bolan Zhu stepped inside and she shrank back, one hand to her throat defensively. He didn’t look as though he’d come to free her. He threw her the clothes he’d taken from her. “Get dressed.”
She didn’t wait to see if he would leave. She knew he wouldn’t by the way he folded his arms across his chest. He kept his eyes on her the entire time. Her heart shivered inside her body and the tremors started. She’d never been so afraid of a man in her life. She pulled on her clothes, praying that he was going to let her leave. The moment she was finished, he reached out, took her arm and began to pull her toward the door. Suddenly, the four walls felt like protection, not a prison.
“Please tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand what you think I could have done. I was with you the entire time,” she protested, trying to hold back, trying to reach one spark of humanity in him when he was completely unreachable.
“Come with me willingly or you will regret it,” he said.
It was his tone, a soft whisper that was issued in a firm, unyielding manner, that told her he wasn’t playing around. She went immediately, terrified he was going to torture her again. He took her down the hall to the elevator without saying another word. She couldn’t control the tremors running through her body, and she didn’t try to stop her wild heart. They would expect her to be scared. A professor of a university accused of wiping out an entire building full of data would be scared.
As soon as she entered the room on the second floor, she knew what they were going to do. There was an MRI machine. They were going to look for signs of treachery on and in her body.
“Strip.” Zhu stepped away from her. “Everything.”
Zara looked to him and then around the room, feeling helpless. She’d been helpless her entire life. She considered forcing him to kill her right there, just as a final show of defiance against Whitney, Cheng and Zhu. All three. She hated feeling weak, at the mercy of men who used her for their purposes. She wasn’t real to any of them. She was a tool, nothing more. She didn’t because she was a GhostWalker and if they had her body and took it apart, which they would, she would be endangering every other GhostWalker and her country.
She stepped away from Zhu, looking at the floor. Strangely, there were spots on it. Small, round, rust-colored spots. Tears? Blood? Bloody tears? She unbuttoned the small flat abalone-shell buttons and let her blouse slip from her shoulders. She didn’t try to seduce Zhu by making it a striptease. He’d already seen her body. He’d taken the clothes from her once before. Had he forced her to dress just so the guards wouldn’t see her? A small concession. She wanted to think that. She needed to think Zhu was trying to look out for her, but she knew he wasn’t. He was the one torturing her, causing her untold pain. She simply undressed, folding her clothing neatly and placing each item on the little table just to the right of the door. Her bra and panties were last. She hesitated before she unhooked her bra and then shimmied out of her lacy panties.
Zara refused to cover up with her hands. She’d done that the day before and it hadn’t done her a bit of good. She stood, shivering, completely naked in front of Zhu, her gaze on those strange spots dotting the floor. Waiting.
Zhu handed her a thin hospital gown. She put it on without looking at him.
“Miss Hightower.” He spoke her name low. Compelling. When she didn’t look at him he switched tactics. “Zara, look at me.”
She took a breath and raised her eyes to his.
“If you’re hiding anything, you need to let me know now.”
“What would I be hiding? And where?” She sounded bitter. She felt bitter. There was no getting out of this. She was terrified because no one was coming for her and after subjecting her to all of this, wouldn’t they have to prevent her from talking even if they determined she was innocent? She was going to die. She had to decide how she wanted to die. She couldn’t rile Zhu, he was too disciplined, and he clearly dissociated himself from his victim. The guards were more susceptible. She could taunt one until he shot her. But what about her body? How could she die and not leave evidence behind of the GhostWalker program? She was intelligent, she had to find a way, but right now, she was so scared it was all she could to stay standing.