“Hmm, no, thanks,” I responded. “Tempting offer, though. Appreciate your concern.”

  “I’ll wait.” Ben lifted his shoulder. “You’ll come. In more ways than one.”

  I turned and dashed to the staircase at that moment. I kicked off my shoes in the chase and threw open the door quickly. I knew Ben could turn at any second, but I needed to get to the staircase so I could lock it. Sure, he might have men on the ground to take me out but I could do something they weren’t expecting.

  I could go up.

  It was a risk. I knew it was a risk. I just didn’t care.

  I had to do something. Maybe I could find a place to hide out while I called the cops. Speaking of which…

  As I ran up, trying to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible, I pulled out my phone. I had a bar of service which was better than nothing. Quickly, I unlocked my phone and dialed Robby. I nearly slipped on a stair and had to grab the handrail to catch myself. My heart lurched in my throat.

  I heard a door squeak open some floors down.

  They were after me.

  Robby picked up on the second ring.

  “Lara -”

  I cut him off. I rattled off the address of where I was. “They’re after me, Robby,” I said. “They’re going to get me. They’re going to take me. Whatever you do, don’t let Jon come for me, okay? It’s a trap.”

  It was getting harder for me to breathe. My calves burned. I needed water. I needed rest.

  “What are you -”

  At that moment, the door to the floor I was on popped open and a man dressed in all black stepped out. Without warning, he grabbed me. I yanked back, dislodging my phone. It clattered down the steps. Without warning, he reached up. I didn’t even see what he had in his hand before he hit it against my head.

  Then, everything went black.

  When I woke up, my head hurt. I reached up to cradle it with my palm and winced when I felt something sticky and wet on my palm. I blinked once slowly, then again. God, I hoped I hadn’t had a concussion. The last thing I needed was sleep if they hit my head hard enough to bleed.

  I blinked once, twice, trying to get used to the dim lighting in this room. I had no idea where I was. I knew I wasn’t on a bed, but a cot. I knew I was in a small room with what seemed to be glass walls that encased me so I had no ounce of privacy. My eyes continued to flicker around the room, trying to make sense of the shapes and the bungled objects. A toilet, I realized, was positioned by the bed, but other than that, I didn’t think there was anything else.

  I wiggled my toes, realizing they were completely bare still. My heels were back at the building, along with my phone. I closed my eyes again, forcing myself to slowly sit up. I dropped my face in my palms, tilting my head to the left and getting a deep stretch in the side of my neck, before doing it to the other side.

  Something struck me about this place, something familiar. I knew I had never been in one of these cells before. I knew that. And yet, I got the distinct feeling that I had been here. Maybe on the other side. Maybe somewhere else. But there was something inside of me that recognized this place.

  “Sleeping Beauty awakens,” a droll voice commented behind me.

  I whipped around only to see a man in a cell of his own, leaning against the glass with his hands propping himself up, hazel eyes narrowed on me like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me.

  “Who are you?” I asked. I dropped my hands from my head, turning around completely so I could make him out more clearly, so I could take him in. He, too, was familiar, with chestnut hair, wild and unkept, and muscles upon muscles. He wore a grey muscle shirt and black sweatpants that seemed comfortable and practical, and his feet were bare. A pair of dog tags hung from his neck.

  “Who the fuck are you to ask me who I am?” he growled.

  I flinched from the hatred leaking from his voice. It didn’t help that the way he looked at me caused me to go in complete defense mode, like I was concerned that he would do something to me if only he could break the glass between us. Why was he angry? I was in a cell just like he was, wasn’t I? Why did he look at me like I was the enemy?

  And then it hit me.

  “You’re a were-weapon,” I said out loud. I reached up and began to finger my cross, though I wasn’t sure if I was silently asking God for strength or protection. Maybe both. Maybe it was more like reassurance that He was here with me at all. “You’re part of Project Bloodshade.”

  The man scoffed, which was as much of a yes than I expected to get.

  “What do you know about it?” he asked. “I know every single cunt that’s part of that fucking project and I don’t know you from Adam.”

  I tried to ignore his blunt curse words, especially since I, myself, had taken up to uttering them in particularly weak moments. I wanted to ask him why he was so angry, but if he was caged up, if he was anything like Jon at all, I understood. I knew.

  Instead, I shifted, feeling the cool tile beneath my feet. My calves erupted in goosebumps and suddenly, I realized just how cold it was here.

  “I’m a journalist,” I told him, tossing stray hair over my shoulder. “My name is Lara, Lara Tucker.”

  A smile broke out across his face, amusement lighting up his features. He almost looked handsome, though the furrow in his brow hadn’t eased at all. Suddenly, he threw his head and barked out a laugh. Even so, his face was still stiff, hard, as though amusement wasn’t capable of reaching him any longer.

  “You’re Lara Tucker?” he asked, his voice in slight disbelief. “So, you’re the reason we’re here then?”

  My mouth dropped open. “Me?” I asked. “I didn’t have anything to do with this project. In fact, I’m the one who wrote about it. I’m the one who broke the story.”

  “And does everyone believe it?” the man asked, arching a brow. His tone was flat, like he already knew the answer before I opened my mouth to respond.

  I glanced away. I didn’t want to tell him the truth. I didn’t want to tell him that everything I had wasn’t enough, at least to the police. Granted, ninety-nine percent of them were corrupt pieces of shit who cared more about their pocketbook than justice, but what could I say to that?

  “Not fucking surprised,” the man said, shaking his head.

  “Regardless, that doesn’t make me responsible for you being here,” I said, stepping towards the glass.

  “Oh, it sure as shit does,” he said. “You’re the one Hawkins’ can’t seem to get out of his fucking head. You’re the one he burned the original lab down for. So, yeah, you’re the reason why I’m locked up in this place. Because they’re worried we’re all going to turn into loverboy. And now you’re here, I’m here, and he’s out there.” He scoffed. “Fuck this world, and fuck you too.”

  Chapter 14

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I sat on the little cot that they had us use as a bed and stretched out my legs. I probably shouldn’t have worn a dress, looking back. Goosebumps lined my legs and my arms. I wished I could crawl under a blanket and sleep, but I didn’t think it mattered in the end. I wanted to be awake just in case anything significant happened - whatever that was. Whatever that would be.

  I doubted they brought me here just to imprison me. If they did, they were fools. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for something to happen to me. Granted, I wasn’t stupid enough to think I might actually get myself out of this thing. I didn’t think that at all. But I would put up one hell of a fight the entire time. I would make them regret ever locking me up in the first place.

  I glanced around the room, outside the cell. I had been here before. I had seen the man standing in front of me before. I just didn’t know where.

  And then it hit me - this was where that secret government agency housed the were-weapons. I recognized this man as a were-weapon easily because when Jon and I were escaping, we passed his cell. We left him behind.

  Guilt gnawed through me and I pointed my bare toes, trying to get a significant stretch up my calves and in the backs of my thighs.

  “How long have you been here?” I found myself asking in a quiet voice. It wasn’t any of my business. I knew that. And yet, that didn’t stop me from trying to learn about this person. I wasn’t going to let him turn into just another statistic. I didn’t want who he was before all of this to fade away into nothingness. Like Jon, I wanted to know his story. I wanted to help make it count.

  “The hell does that matter?” he asked, scoffing as he did so.

  He, too, sat on the edge of his cot, hazel eyes glaring out the glass. How he got to be so jacked up living in a cell, I didn’t know. I wondered if he was permitted the opportunity to work out or if it was the Moonshade serum in his body.

  “I guess it doesn’t,” I allowed, looking down as I pressed my hands flat together. I wasn’t very good at this, asking stupid questions, conducting a shitty interview. I was usually more prepared; I was usually better than this.

  “Three hundred and twenty-two days,” he grumbled. His eyes stared in front of him, as though he had some sort of super power and could laser through the glass. I glanced down at him, at the strain in his shoulders, the way he clutched the sides of the cot, his knuckles so white it looked like his bones would splinter the skin. Not that he seemed to care one way the other.

  He was angry. I could feel it even though I was far enough away where I shouldn’t be able to. But I did. It rolled off of him in waves, palpable like ocean spray on a turbulent sea. I had this sudden desire to make him feel better, but what could I offer him? It wasn’t as though I knew what he was going through, and even if I did, our experiences would differ. More than that, I wasn’t sure how a shared experience would make him feel better. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who gave a shit about whether or not he was alone in his ordeal. What happened, happened. And he was locked in this cage with no way out.

  Suddenly, I sprang up and proceeded to head to the door. I dropped to my knees and began to poke at the lock.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to see if there’s a way out of here,” I said simply.

  “You think I haven’t tried?” he asked, snorting. “I’ve done everything I could. Thrown shit to break the glass. Thrown my body into it, both my human and my Lycan. I’ve done it all. But there’s no way out of this thing unless they let you out themselves.”

  My brain clicked on something. Maybe if I could get a hold of Robby, he’d be able to hack into this system and spring us free.

  “Do they ever let you out of your cell?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “What?” His tone was droll, almost annoyed. He probably thought the question was stupid, and maybe it was. Another stupid question he had to endure from someone so completely ignorant of everything going on. I didn’t care. My mind was spinning, and a plan was starting to take shape.

  “You heard me,” I pushed. “Do you ever get released, even if it’s to, I don’t know, run in your wolf form?”

  “They bring me out for tests once a week,” he said.

  I straightened. “When was the last time they did that?” I asked.

  “Why?” Suspicion filled his tone, and I couldn’t blame him for that, even if his question annoyed me.

  “Because I have a plan to get us out,” I said.

  “You?” He snorted again, the corners of his lips twisted up, half-amused, half-disbelieving. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “A journalist?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I am a journalist. But I’m also the journalist who broke the Jon Hawkins story, the one who exposed Project Bloodshade. You already know who my grandfather is.

  Hell, I didn’t think he trusted me now because of that. And I needed his help to get us both out here.

  “I’m also the woman Jon Hawkins is seeing,” I finished.

  There was a moment of stillness between us. I wished I had the ability to read his mind, to know what he was thinking. I wasn’t sure if telling him that would help me at all. I wasn’t sure if it would enrage him even more or if it would help him understand that I wasn’t the enemy here, that I wanted to help.

  “So,” he said slowly. “You are the bitch Jon lost his goddamn mind for. Figured as much.”

  “That’s right. You blame me for being here in a cell.”

  “Well, it is your fucking fault,” he said.

  “You know, I never caught your name.”

  “What the fuck does that matter?”

  “It matters,” I insisted. “What should I call you?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Don’t call me shit. Because you and me aren’t going to talk anymore. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I want to…”

  “What? Rot here?” Now it was my turn to scoff. I started to pace, to burn some of this excess energy in my body that tore through me before I could stop it from doing so. I needed to get hold of Robby and this man could help. I wasn’t sure how, but he was someone else, someone who hated my grandfather probably more than I did. “You don’t want to be out of here, back in this world? You don’t want to be in control of your life?”

  “You think I can just step back into this world like taking a walk in the park?” he asked. There was anger in his voice, and bitterness. Good. At least it showed he cared. “I’ve been at war the last five years, and now I’m here. I’ve been in this cell for the past year, experimented on. I’ve died and been brought back to life. You think I can just fucking assimulate back to society? Are you fucking stupid?”

  I bit back a retort and let his words sink in.

  “You talk to me as though I don’t know who you are even though I do,” he continued, his voice a low growl. “Trust me, I fucking do. Anyone still alive and part of Project Bullshit knows about you, knows what you mean to Hawkins. We know something is happening between the two of you. The whole fucking world knows. But it’s making our lives hell.”

  “How?” I asked, then closed my eyes. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

  I was fucking stupid, I realized. I had all of these thoughts in my head, all of these assumptions, and it wasn’t until now that I realized just how wrong I was about it all.

  “Because they believe that we’ll eventually turn into something they can’t control,” he said, his voice low.

  I wanted to look at him, to study his face so I could understand the emotions he was or wasn’t feeling. At the same time, I didn’t want to push my luck. I was afraid if I stared so openly, he might realize he was saying more than he expected to, and clamp up.

  “And they’re poking and prodding us with different types of serum,” he continued. “Trying to figure out which ones are useful in controlling us even more than they already do. I don’t know how much shit is in my body, but I feel like a goddamn experiment.”

  “Have you noticed a difference in yourself?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I can’t tolerate bullshit,” he said.

  I pressed my lips together to keep myself from making a smartass comment. He had every right to be frustrated with me. In all honesty, I hadn’t considered there could be more people, more test subjects that were more Jon rather than Ben Beck. I guess I just assumed Jon was this outlier, not realizing that I was wrong. Not caring.

  My face tinged with shame. I was better than that. I was better than assumptions. I took a seat on my cot and let my legs stretch out again. At the same time, I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling. I took a breath, and then another. I couldn’t just sit here. I needed to do something. The problem was, I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no idea what I could do.

  “Are you the only one here?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed my luck with the questions but it was hard to turn off the investigative journalist part of my brain. And maybe if I knew how many there were, it might help me come up with a plan.

  “No,” he said. “There are three more locked in these things.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked again. I could have probably put it in a more polite way, but the words were already out and there was no way to call them back.

  He barked out a hint of laughter. “You care what my name is after all of that?” he asked. From my peripheral, I watched as he pinched his nose. “You’re a piece of work, kid. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Plenty of people,” I said. “Jon’s told me a time or two.” I stood up from my cot and walked to our shared glass wall. “You knew Jon, didn’t you? Back before…” I didn’t have to finish my sentence. He knew what I meant.

  “We weren’t in the same unit, but he had a reputation, even then,” he said, shifting his shoulders. “After everything happened, I wasn’t surprised they targeted him. The fucker wouldn’t die. And I wouldn’t either. It certainly feels like we’re dead, though.” He scoffed.

  “What’s your name?” I persisted. I began to play with my cross necklace again, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get out of here and how I was going to help everyone. I knew that was a leap. I knew I was being crazy. But I wasn’t sure what to do at this point. I just knew I had to do something. As much as I knew Jon would come for me, I didn’t want him to be constantly responsible for me. I wanted to do this on my own.

  “Alex,” he said gruffly, like he didn’t want to tell me but thought it was stupid if he chose to withhold something as innocuous as his name.

  “Alex,” I said, turning it over in my mouth. I stood up and began to pace. “Are the guards around?”

  “Do you see them?” he asked. “You know, for a journalist, you’re not very bright, are you?”

  I chortled despite myself, curling hair behind my ear. “If we’re going to escape, I need to figure out the guard schedule,” I said. “When do we eat? When do they check on us?”