Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Nine



She had no idea how much time had passed. It felt like hours but that couldn't be right. Her legs still trembled from the orgasm Ryker had given her, and the place where her wrists had been bound felt tender to the touch. Izzie was made of stronger stuff than most girls her age and size. Her threshold for pain had not yet been reached, though the night was young and the bastards who had her chained up had made it clear this was just the beginning.

Izzie shuddered. After the doctor, that Briggs guy, escorted Ryker out, he had returned to unfasten her bindings. Briggs was smart enough not to come in unsupervised. Had it not been for the fact that his companion wielded a .45, Izzie might have been tempted to knee him in the groin and make a break for it.

Tempted, but she wouldn't have acted. She didn't want to risk getting into even deeper shit by causing a scene. In any case, she'd seen this movie before—the woman screams, curses, and kicks, and, eventually, the superhero would swoop in and save the day. Only there was no superhero here. No white knight to rescue her from a fate worse than death. Wright was long gone, and, even were that not the case, she had no way to let him know she was in trouble, and then no guarantee he would give a damn.

She had only herself to rely upon, and, despite the bleak nature of the situation, she knew escape was possible. Izzie hadn't survived Harrison, the streets, and her own death wish just to fall on her face when the stakes were raised.

And she had Ryker.

Ryker.

She shivered and clutched the vampire's torn T-shirt closer to her chest. If nothing else, she'd never forget the look on his face—the haunting despair in his eyes that spoke volumes for everything he could not say. How long ago had they stood in the alleyway? How far was she from St. Louis? She remembered going to The Wall and speaking with Connor, getting a general idea of where to search for the vampire so she might deliver her message. She remembered finding him in the place they first met, concern etched in the expressive contours of his face. She remembered talking with him, though about what she couldn't say.

And then . . . nothing. Nothing but the haze of black and the sensation of falling—nothing she could see or experience. She'd lost time somewhere between locating Ryker and finding herself in this dreary unreality from which she had yet to awake.

Everything was confused. Though she'd dismissed the thought as soon as it originated, she'd first considered the possibility Ryker might have led her into a trap. He was, after all, the last thing she recalled before the lights went out. And while she could easily blame her predicament on a vampire she barely knew, somehow she'd understood he had nothing to do with it. This wasn't his style.

No, Ryker was much more of a lurk-in-the-shadows and frequent-dive-bars kind of guy. Government operations and conspiracies seemed a little out of his league. Then she'd thought of Prentiss, his vampire floozies, and the veiled threats lain at her feet upon her refusal to do any grunt work where Ryker was concerned. It couldn't be a coincidence that her memory didn't extend beyond finding and warning Ryker about C.R.O.S.S. and the plot involving his death.

And now this.

Izzie expelled a deep breath, her stomach rumbling. She hadn't eaten in at least twenty-four hours, and even then she hadn't done more than pick at the food Connor had provided. Between Ryker at The Wall and Prentiss drugging and kidnapping her, there hadn't been opportunity to wolf anything down.

Then there was the argument with Wright and the need to find her vampire.

Her vampire.

Well, she reasoned, if Ryker hadn't been her vampire before, he certainly was now. Again she thought of the look on his face as he approached the table, and his visible objection to doing anything that wasn't invited. His hands had trembled as they caressed her skin, his eyes searching hers for permission before trespassing. She had never seen that look before in anyone—not the strangers she encountered, not Wright, and certainly not Harrison. It said what little else could.

I'm sorry.

I don't want this.

Please forgive me.

Tell me to stop.

Stopping wasn't an option. Izzie couldn't chance it. Ryker touched her with tenderness and care, and she trusted Briggs would make good on his threat to tear away the only familiar face and replace him with someone who gave less than two shits about her welfare. She couldn't lose her vampire. She needed him.

And not just out of self-preservation.

The difference between what was real and what wasn't was difficult to discern right now. In the course of a few hours she'd grown decades older, giving her time to mull over the actions she'd taken and consider what tomorrow might bring. And no matter how many times she went over it, Izzie knew leaving Zack Wright had been the right thing. Wright's vendetta was based on a crime for which the entire species couldn't take blame.

Izzie wished his pain on no one, but the vampire psychopath responsible for Amber Wright's death was hardly the first and only psychopath who'd destroyed lives. Harrison Bennett had been as a real and human as anyone else in the world. Yet if his madness did not make all humans mad, neither did the phantom that had ripped away Wright's link to humanity make all vampires evil.

Any lingering doubt to her convictions had washed away the second Ryker stepped inside this room. When his gaze landed on hers, the mask of the man she'd met—all arrogance and self-assuredness—had been exchanged for horror, anxiety, and unrestrained concern. As though he ached every time she flinched. As though her breaths and moans and strains against her bonds echoed within him.

She'd never felt so connected with anyone as she did in those minutes together. Reading his eyes, granting permission, and seeking comfort—no matter how forced—in the tenderness of his touch.

He'd stroked her like he feared she'd break, and had he been anyone else, she would have. It was hard thinking about where she was while drowning in his eyes.

As her body came down and the fog in her head faded, she'd realized it was over. Ryker was gone, leaving her alone with sweat clinging to her body and an ache she didn't understand between her legs. What he'd given her had been unlike anything she'd experienced, and she needed more. Anything to escape the walls of their prison. Anything to forget where they were.

Anything to forget Dr. Briggs and the cold manner with which he regarded her.

The sound of her cell door opening penetrated the cushion she'd set around her mind. Izzie looked up sharply, her veins hardening with anger as Briggs strode back into the room. He steadied a lunchroom tray in his hands, topped with a bowl of something, a small bottle of water, and a carton of chocolate milk. He didn't trouble himself by looking at her, instead placing the tray on the table.

"Chicken noodle soup," he said, still not looking at her. "Hope it's to your liking."

Izzie didn't move.

"I should also advise you," Briggs continued, "I wouldn't try anything. Not only would you be unsuccessful, but your vampire friend would be transferred to a different study . . . that is, if we decided not to dispose of him. It seems the two of you got along today and I'd hate to break up the group dynamic."

She hadn't even realized he'd entered without a bodyguard. It didn't matter, though. Right now her captors knew to anticipate an escape attempt and she wouldn't give them reason to beat her down or punish her. No, she wouldn't make a move until the time felt right.

Until the odds were in her favor.

"You don't have any known allergies, do you?"

Izzie slowly wobbled to her feet and shook her head. "Not to food."

"Good. Peter wondered if you might enjoy a peanut butter sandwich tomorrow.

Her stomach growled when the soup's aroma reached her nose. "Okay."

Dr. Briggs glanced at the T-shirt in her grasp and clucked his tongue. "We will provide a blanket tonight, as well as one pillow. We don't want you to freeze. However, Subject 061's clothing should not be in your possession. Give it here."

Izzie frowned and handed it over, fighting instinct to not shield her nudity. Harrison had instilled shame in her at a young age—shame for her existence, shame for being a girl, shame at her nakedness which, as he said, made sinners out of puritans and drove the righteous man to lust. It was what had happened to him with her mother. Despite his being a man of God, Harrison had succumbed to temptation at the hand of Satan's servant. Thou art of woman, and therefore of sin. Somehow the years had managed to unravel her father's conditioning, and though she didn't enjoy showing off her tits for some perverted scientist, she didn't recoil when his gaze roamed her body.

It made her want to kick in his teeth.

There seemed little sense in remaining ladylike. Izzie marched intently toward the table and lifted the bowl to her lips. Hot broth splashed against her bare skin, but she didn't care—not with her stomach whining and her taste buds rejoicing. While she knew it couldn't be the best soup she'd had, at the moment it tasted better than anything she'd ever put in her mouth.

"Oh God," Izzie whimpered, wiping her damp chin with her wrist.

"Hungry?"

She nodded and raised the bowl again. In seconds, the soup was gone, and her attention shifted to the milk carton. When that was empty, she uncapped the water bottle and swallowed a couple mouthfuls before forcing herself to stop.

"There now," cooed Briggs. "Isn't that better?"

Izzie licked her lips and favored him with a glare.

"If you're finished, it's time to wash up." From his back pocket, he procured a set of handcuffs. "Turn around, please."

She hesitated but did as instructed, doing her best not to flinch when his fingers brushed her skin. With her hands locked behind her she couldn't defend herself; if Briggs intended to do something terrible the time was now.

He didn't. Instead, he sighed and took hold of her arm and steered her toward the door.

Izzie had seen and experienced many things—things she hadn't thought unusual until integrating into regular society, and even then she'd lived in the shadows. Yet no matter how many alleys she'd haunted, how many demons she'd fought, how many seedy clubs she'd searched, or how many scenarios she'd envisioned, she'd never once seen herself walking naked through a maze of halls. The experience was humbling. Though she seemed to be the only one who thought it odd—those people she passed regarded her apathetically, if they even bothered to glance up. Not that she wanted to complain. The fewer people who witnessed her humiliation, the better.

Briggs led her into a small room equipped with a shower and toilet. It also had a mirror, but Izzie wasn't eager to catch her reflection.

"I will stand outside," Briggs told her as he unlocked the cuffs. "You have fifteen minutes to clean and use the facilities. I will knock three times when you have ninety seconds left."

Then he stalked out and she was again alone.

Izzie sprang for the shower. It had been a long time since she felt as filthy as she did now. She scrubbed her skin raw, rinsed, and scrubbed again. Then she took to her hair and massaged shampoo into her scalp until soapsuds stung her eyes.

Once she felt sufficiently clean, she selected a razor from the shelf and tended to her underarms and legs for no reason other than her vanity. When she did see Ryker again she wanted her body to be open and inviting—she wanted him to know she regretted nothing and she was ready, desperate even, for more sensual escape.

Right now he was the best shot she had at avoiding reality, and she was determined to enjoy what little time they had together, no matter the reasons the researchers gave, or the cost. She might be viewed as a science project while with Ryker, but she only had eyes for her vampire.

Izzie emerged from the shower with enough time to make use of the toilet and, by courtesy of the brush next to the sink, untangle her hair. She washed her hands, wrapped herself in a towel, and relaxed in the final moments she had alone.

Then Briggs's knock came, and the next ninety seconds rolled by mercilessly.

"Time's up," he said.

Izzie opened the door and turned around, presenting her wrists. He snapped the restraints into place and guided her back to her cell. For whatever reason, he did not ask her to remove the towel.

She found the promised pillow and blanket waiting for her on the table.

"We'll begin again tomorrow," Briggs said as he unlocked the cuffs once more. "Subject 061 will undoubtedly be eager to see you."

He clearly looked to rouse a response and she did not give it. Instead, Izzie headed for the table and seized her bedding before making her way back toward the corner.

"Good night, Subject Beta."

"Up yours, dickhead."

Briggs smiled. "Charming."

Then he closed the door and switched off the light.

No one disturbed her again until morning.