Gator's Challenge (3 page)

W
e should leave
.

His gator expressed his displeasure and had been doing so since they left Bitten Point. Wes couldn’t blame him.

I wish I could go back in time.
Change things so he wouldn’t find himself here, in this place. Trapped in this nightmare.

Wes paced the room they’d given him at the new and supposedly improved Bittech Institute. Although calling it an institute sounded too nice. Try more like fucking torturous dungeon, only this time it sat above ground.

The new place wasn’t even all that far from the original, but this new location had a hell of a lot more security, layers upon layers, and barracks for the employees working within.

No more wandering into town and flapping loose gums. No more curious residents asking questions.

Bye-bye, freedom.

Then again, Wes had lost his freedom the day he made his choice.
Do as we say, or else.

The “or else” had made his decision a no-brainer. Still, though, the bitter pill proved hard to swallow.

A pack of smokes came out of his shirt pocket, and he tapped one out. He snagged the filtered tip with his lips as he yanked out a lighter. He paused as he caught a glimpse of a smoke detector on the wall and the sprinklers in the ceiling.

“Fuck.” Stupid anti-smoking a-holes. Couldn’t light a cigarette anywhere indoors these days without getting into trouble or causing thousands in water damage as automated fire systems engaged.

Stepping out of his room—if you could call the cell-like square a room with its double bed, desk, single chair and television—he headed along the bland gray corridor to the bright red Exit sign gleaming at the end. The hall on this third floor of the employee housing was quiet this time of the morning, unlike the previous eve when the guards and doctors, brought over to the new place, moved in.

The majority of the commotion died down around midnight, but Wes never did manage to fall asleep, not with the image of Melanie, betrayal shining in her eyes, reminding him of his douche-bag status.

I betrayed her.

His gator harrumphed.
You betrayed all of our own kind.

And the worst part? He knew what people would say.
Not surprised at all he turned out to be a traitor. He is a Mercer after all.

The stigma of his name followed him and, in this case, proved well deserved.

Stepping out of the compound, Wes noted in the distance the guards patrolling not only the entrance—which required identity cards and thumbprint swipes—but also those guarding the perimeter, not all of them human.

It seemed Bittech Institute wasn’t trying very hard to hide anymore. Wes had to wonder how long before the outside world took note.

Hopefully it would take a while before an intrepid human drove the two miles down the long, winding drive to the new institute and noted the monsters roaming around. It didn’t bear thinking what would happen if the world found out monsters lived among them.

The brisk dawn air hit him, and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, a man grasping at a freedom taunting him just out of reach.

The fresh, crisp air and wide-open sky teased Wes. It called him.
Leave this place. Swim free. Hunt for pleasure, not for others.

Funny how that voice sounded an awful lot like his inner beast.

The freedom he’d lost chafed. The fresh air taunted him with—

The acrid smoke curled from the tip of the cigarette he lit, wiping away the torturous reminder of what he couldn’t have. He pushed back against the insidious whispers telling him to escape.

If I leave, what will happen?

It didn’t bear contemplating, and he wouldn’t second-guess his choices now, not when he knew he’d make the same decision again.

Regret was for pussies. A real man made his bed, and he fucking lied in it, even if it was lined in nails, rusty ones.

Argh. He threw the cigarette, but its feathery weight worked against him. The lit butt caught in a gust of wind and flew back toward him.

Fucking hell. The discarded smoke hit the one rip in his jean-clad thigh and singed. He flicked it away, but the damage was done. A hint of red there and a dose of heat to sear the skin—
mmm, barbecue.

Not funny, you sick bastard.

As Wes rebuked his inner gator, he slapped himself, only to hear a voice he never thought to hear again after last night.

“You’re slapping the wrong part of your body. Why don’t you stand up and I’ll help you get the right spot?”

Melanie.
What is she doing here? I thought she escaped.

He straightened, ignoring the taunting red cigarette glowing on the concrete patio that ran the perimeter of the building. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“No hello for an old friend?” She arched a brow, the thin line of it truly evocative, especially when she angled a hip.

A petite five-foot-something, Melanie had curves, and a fiery attitude to match her wild, wavy hair. At times like these, when her irritation coursed unbound, Latina fire burned in her eyes and accented her words.

He shook his head. “How did they catch you?” And why wasn’t he informed? Andrew kept him apprised of most of his moves, something Wes needed given his defined role as personal guard. He used to enjoy the position of head guard at Bittech until he’d been brought over to this new place. Over here, he’d hovered in limbo since some dick called Larry already seemed to be charged with keeping the place secure.

“What am I supposed to be doing?” he asked as Andrew handed him a box in his old office.

“Bringing this to my car.”

“Not the box”—
asshole—“
I mean at this new place. If that other dude is running shit, then what’s my role?”

“You’ll do whatever I tell you or else.”

Apparently do whatever Andrew said didn’t include letting Wes in on his plans for his wife.

We could easily make her a widow,
his sly gator reminded.

I’m thinking about it.

Melanie deserved better.

Like us.

No. Better as in someone who wasn’t a dick.

As Melanie blasted him, most of it about him being a lying sack of shit that she wouldn’t piss on if he caught fire, he caught words that froze him and made him interrupt her litany of his faults.

“Rewind. What do you mean Andrew kidnapped the boys?”

“Oh, please. Don’t act so innocent,” she snapped. “You guys made it pretty clear last night that you’re chummy. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen your boys. Are you sure Andrew has them?”

Brown eyes pinned him with disdain. “Know a lot of other guys with a flying lizard on staff?”

“Which lizard?”

“Does it matter?”

As a matter of fact, it did. “That bastard. I can’t believe he’d stoop to scaring his kids like that.”

“Then you don’t know Andrew very well,” she retorted.

“Are the boys all right?”

At this query, her angry composure wavered. Her eyes filled with moisture, and she bit her lip as soon as it began to tremble. “I don’t know. I have no idea how they’re doing. I spent most of the night awake getting driven in loops to lose anyone who might have followed.”

“Who brought you?”

“I did, of course.” From around the other side of the car, an older man appeared, dressed in a suit, hair impeccably cut.

Wes knew him. Most people did. His name was Parker, and he sat as a councilor on the SHC—crooked fucker if there ever was one—oh, and a Mercer. Parker’s mother had married outside the family—contrary to popular belief in town that they’d interbred.

But a different last name couldn’t dilute the fact that half of Parker’s DNA remained pure, bad-to-the-bone Mercer.

“I wondered when I’d see you again, Uncle.”

Melanie blinked. “Uncle? You’re related? I thought I’d met all your uncles. At least those not doing time. This one is—”

“Respectable?” Wes sneered. “Only until you get to know him. Then you’ll see he’s just like the rest of our family.”

Parker slapped a hand over his heart. “Such disdain. And for family, too. After everything I’ve done, I’d expect a little more gratitude.”

“I’ll show you gratitude. Anytime you like, you and me. No one else.” The feral grin felt great.

Melanie frowned. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m in a soap opera.”

“Isn’t real life always a never-ending punch line?” Wes pushed away from the wall. “So where is she staying, Uncle?”

“What, aren’t you going to automatically assume she’ll be living with her husband?”

His lips tightened. Why did his uncle hold a taunting smirk on his lips? Had he guessed how he felt about Melanie? He’d tried very hard to hide it.

“Take me to my boys, this instant. They’re the only reasons I caved to Andrew’s blackmail. I want to see them now.”

Distaste twisted Parker’s lips. “Ah yes, the brats. I think I’ll let Wes take you to them. I never could abide children. Noisy, messy things. Useless, too, until they’re much older.”

His uncle really deserved a smack, and Melanie seemed determined to deliver.

Wes grabbed a hold of Melanie’s arms, holding her back lest she launch herself, claws extended, at Parker’s face. Knowing his uncle, that wouldn’t go over well.

As she snarled and thrashed, growling, “Let me at him,” he asked, “Where are the twins?”

“Tell me now or I swear I will shred you to ribbons.” Melanie just might, given she managed a curled lip and a snarl, a sound no human body should ever be able to make.

Parker seemed completely unruffled by the fact she’d eviscerate him in a heartbeat. “Top floor. The new nursery unit. They’re the first ones to enjoy it. But we hope to change that very soon.”

For a moment, Wes stood still as a rock, despite the fact that Melanie pulled and yanked, desperate to go find her kids. Wes couldn’t move because Parker’s ominous words hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.

The first…
implying there would be more children, yet more innocents getting drawn into the sick game his uncle and the others played.

“You can’t be serious,” he finally managed to mutter.

“I am. And you will not question me. Now take the woman to her brats. I’ve other things to attend to.” With that order, his uncle stalked away.

We should eat him, too.

Except his uncle, with his tough and stringy carcass, would probably give him indigestion.

“What are you waiting for?” Melanie said, snapping him out of his paralysis. “Take me to my boys.”

“I’m waiting for you to not harp.”

“I don’t harp. I bitch. Loudly.” She eyed him with tight lips. “So move or I’ll take my ranting from mildly peeved to full-on she-bitch.”

As he led the way to the building, a need to explain burned, trying to force its way past his lips. He clamped them tight. No, he wouldn’t make excuses. Melanie deserved better than that.

Besides, real men didn’t admit to making mistakes.

Neither did assholes.

The line between the two stretched very thin.

As they walked through the heavy metal reinforced doors that led into the research building, Melanie craned her head and let out a low whistle. “Look at the security in this place. Cameras, motion sensors, guards.”

“Heat sensors, too. Also, all the doors and elevators in this place require not only a keycard but a thumbprint.”

The interesting thing about the keycard was it remained clamped to a person at all times. They’d built it into the bracelets all the staff wore. Brandon, his brother, called them cuffs. But they were more than that. They were almost foolproof because they couldn’t be passed along or copied. Cut the bracelet off, and as soon as it stopped touching living skin, it died—as did all that person’s access.

Between that and the thumb scan, again from a living being, and the place proved impossible to navigate for any but approved personnel.

He explained that to her as they went through the security checkpoints.

“What if there’s a fire or something and the electrical stops working? How would all these people get out?”

“They wouldn’t.”

Melanie wouldn’t relent as he pressed his wrist against the scanner and then his thumb. “Surely there’s some kind of back door to escape. I mean you can’t convince me that Andrew and the others would rather let everyone die than have an easy way to escape.”

As he yanked her into a spot before the elevators, screened by a potted plant, he leaned down and hissed, “Stop being so fucking obvious that you’re looking for escape. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

“I am just showing a healthy curiosity.” Her guileless appearance didn’t fool.

“If you’re a cat burglar casing the joint,” he retorted.

“You can’t blame me for wanting to leave.”

“No, I can’t.”

The ding let him know the elevator had arrived, and he stepped out of the blind pocket, face a rigid mask, bearing straight. Let no one see the turmoil inside him.

He stepped into the cab, Melanie at his side. The doors shut, and the swipe-press combination allowed him to choose the top floor, level nine. As he stepped out and noted the bright colors, and attempt at colorful murals, he wondered if they should just rename the floor “twisted nursery.”

It truly was. He’d not actually visited this floor before, assuming more offices or labs graced this level. He rarely cared to visit those. He kept his interests in the lowers levels, where they housed the experiments.

The C-shaped desk proved the island of control for a matronly woman, late fifties, her face florid, with hair scraped back in a tight bun. She wore scrubs with happy, smiling elephants, probably to counteract the scowl on her face.

“You aren’t authorized for this level,” said the nurse.

“I am, and so is she. This is Mrs. Killinger, the boss’s wife. We understand you’ve got her boys here.”

The flat lips of the nurse disappeared entirely in disapproval. “Indeed they are. Absolute hellions. Nothing like their father. They must have gotten the wrong side of the DNA coin toss.”

The snide remark hit Melanie, but to his surprise, she didn’t fly into a rage. Maturity from the firecracker he knew?