Strange Case, an Urban Fantasy (Hyde Book III)

  Mitch’s strides were longer so he got to the door first. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did Des’s hubby come home early?”

  “What?” Eden ducked under his arm and then stopped. Ryan held Alex by the hair, her head tilted back painfully.

  “Alex,” Mitch said, “I thought I told you to stay home. In fact, I distinctly remember using enough duct tape to make sure you did.” He shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know why no one listens to me. I know shit.” Something about his ill-timed humor gave Eden confidence. If he was being sarcastic, it meant he was felt somewhat in control of the situation—obnoxious control, but still control.

  They went in slowly, watching Ryan while giving themselves time to take-in the room. There was an enormous glass room in the center, like a tank you would see dolphins in at an aquarium. Except this one was empty and there was a door with a key-coded lock on it. Along one side was a fridge and cabinets, and on the other was a lot of chain hanging from a cinderblock wall.

  “And I thought I was screwed up,” Mitch said under his breath. He understood something Eden didn’t. Until he whispered an explanation. “The kid upstairs said there was a fight cage. Whittley must think them brutalizing each other is a spectator sport. Probably gets off on it.”

  Eden tasted bile. She knew Ryan experimented on Hydes, but she’d thought the torture was psychological or something that fit into a syringe. This was…

  His own kind. People suffering from the same curse he did. He enjoyed watching something that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. The images of Mitch’s Hyde tearing apart Hyde01 would never go away or diminish, and Ryan had a special viewing cage set-up for fun.

  How sick does a person have to be to do that?

  Mitch’s whistle yanked her back into the conversation. “Super kinky in here, Whittley. I had a feeling you’d be into feet or women’s clothing, but this? Nah, this is impressive. But if we interrupted you two, we can wait in the hallway. He doesn’t last more than a minute or two, does he, Alex?”

  Ryan sighed disgustedly, his gaze moving from Eden to Alex to Mitch. “I wish I could’ve seen you and my father fight, Turner. My old man was a lot of things, but ‘easy to deal with’ wasn’t one of them. How much damage did he do before you took him apart?” He wasn’t talking about a guard, he was talking about…

  “Hyde01 was your…” No, she couldn’t have heard that correctly.

  Mitch’s hand slipped around her waist, jostling the safety pins, and pulled her back a step while he took one forward. “I just had the weirdest moment. I thought I heard you say that Hyde01, formerly known as Ian”—formerly Eden’s dad—“was your father.” His grip tightened protectively.

  “You heard right.” Ryan yanked on Alex’s hair when her ineffectual squirming increased, her eyes red and terrified. “Fucking terrible one frankly. Kind of like yours, Turner. But, unlike yours, Ian took his drugs…until somehow they stopped working.” He looked at Eden and opened his eyes in feigned shock. “Oops.”

  The idea that she and this monster shared even one strand of DNA was impossible. Impossible.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” Mitch whispered. “So sorry.” He held onto her, slowly easing her behind him as if she would break if he moved too quickly. But she wouldn’t. Her body felt like it was being entombed by cement—hardening as odd things Ryan said pieced together.

  “It’s…” Not okay. Not by a longshot. But what could she do about her DNA? She had a brother. A psychotic, serial-murdering, patricidal brother whose life-mission included drugging and caging his little sister. And while she would’ve preferred him taking that secret to his grave, he looked happy about it. As if his confession had taken the weight off his chest and slammed it into hers.

  “We had different shitty moms but the same shitty father,” Ryan said. “Be glad you didn’t know him, sis.”

  “You must have had a tough childhood…bro.” Her voice was calm, icy, but inside she was burning. “I’m sorry he hated you.” Her lip curled into a disgusted smirk. “About equal to how much he loved me, right? You said he did it for me—his life’s work to find a cure. Not for himself, not for you. For me.”

  “And what’s not to love?” Mitch asked, shoving her farther behind him. “She’s amazing.”

  “She probably got that from her trash-heap of a mom.”

  “It’s understandable that you’re hurt.” But there was no pity in Eden’s tone. “He barely knew me, but he still cared more about me than he did you. You worked alongside him for, what, years? Knowing his reasons and knowing you weren’t one of them.”

  Whatever Ryan was feeling stayed internal. She knew what he wanted from her, why he hadn’t killed her years ago—she was pureblooded and female, and that made her useful. Singular. But all of that was nothing compared to how important she was to him now.

  “And then you find out that dad was right—your little sister actually is better than you are. She did something that you couldn’t. Something that he couldn’t. Without drugs or transformations, she became a better version of herself.”

  Ryan’s eyes ignited with rage as he chuckled. “I had time to rethink that while you were beating the shit out of me.” Alex’s whimpers increased, probably because his grip had tightened. “Would you actually consider that ‘better’?”

  “Enough, you two,” Mitch said. “We didn’t come here for therapy.” They came here to end this, however they had to. “If this is going to be two-on-two, I think you should explain that to your teammate.”

  “No need.” Ignoring her cries, Ryan yanked Alex towards him and adjusted his grip.

  Her neck gave way with a crack. The crying stopped but her expression never changed. Not even when he let go and her body slumped to the floor.

  “Wow, what did she do to deserve that?” Mitch’s laugh held absolutely no humor. “Oh right. But what did she do to you?”

  “I’m assuming you didn’t come here to chat or take a tour. So let’s do this.”

  Ryan’s calm made Eden even more uncomfortable. He’d already proven he was a better poker player than she was and that he knew how to stack a deck. With Alex dead, Ryan only had two opponents to consider, but both were equal to, or stronger than, he was. So he knew something they didn’t. Some trick up his sleeve or in his pocket.

  As soon as she saw his hand move, she knew which it was.

  “No!” She spun around Mitch and lunged, but Ryan was too far away.

  It happened in slow motion, or as if there was a strobe light that only showed blinks of chaos. Ryan’s hand coming out of his pocket. The glare of overhead lights on the metal. A loud pop. A flash of fire. Mitch crying out her name. The bullet slamming into her, its force disrupting her flight. Pain. Oh god, the pain.

  Everything stopped by a tiny piece of lead. And then things started flowing again—time…sound…her blood.

  §§§

  “Eden!” As soon as he realized what Whittley was doing, Mitch had moved. But it all happened too quickly. He’d only been a half-second behind her, and that was a half-second too late.

  When Eden went down right in front of him, something broke. But he stayed absolutely still because nothing he could do would stop Whittley from putting a second bullet into her, somewhere more vital. So Mitch only imagined the pain he was going to cause the fucker.

  Each quick exhalation came with a quiet whimper as she tried to gain control over the pain.

  “Back off, Turner.”

  The hardest two steps he’d ever taken. Because they were away from her. “Eden?”

  “I’m okay.” She rolled onto her back, cursing when she saw the gun pointed at her face. “I’ll be better when he’s dead.” Blood slowly seeped through the left shoulder of her shirt.

  “If either of you move an inch, a millimeter,” Whittley said, “the next one goes through her forehead.”

  “I’m going to kill you twice, asshole,” Mitch growled.

  “No. You’re going to shut up. And she”—he k
icked her right where the bullet had gone in—“is going to tell me how she integrated her sides.”

  “Is that all?” Mitch asked. “Shit, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Don’t,” she warned, her gaze never leaving the gun.

  “If you know, why haven’t you done it?”

  Mitch tried to appear relaxed. Because nobody thinks a relaxed person is actually planning out every possible way they can slaughter you. “I don’t have what I need. You do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let her go and I’ll tell you.”

  “No!” she cried. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

  “That’s so grotesquely sweet.” Whittley’s gaze played ping-pong between the two of them.

  And then Mitch saw something horrible. Shit-brown irises became a shit-brown/over-chlorinated-pool-blue swirl.

  No fucking way. Mitch squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, and blew out a breath of relief. Whittley’s irises were shit-brown again. Hallelujah. It must have been a trick of the light or a trick of Mitch’s paranoia. Because even this asshole wasn’t stupid enough to skip his meds.

  “I only need one of you to tell me how to do it.”

  Mitch nodded. “That’s one way of looking at it. But the not-incredibly-stupid way is that if you kill either one of us, you lose leverage over the other. Think, Whittley. What will get you what you want?” He paused. “Ok-ay, let me tell you what I would do if I were you. Thank-fuck I’m not you because the only thing the world needs even less than you is two of you.” He looked at Eden, worried that this might be the note things would end on.

  Just get her out. Whatever you do, make sure she’s out of it. Big breath and…“She’s bleeding all over the floor which is unsanitary, as well as being a major slip-and-fall hazard. So I would shove her out the door and then torture the asshole in front of me until he gave up what he knew.”

  “Mitch, no.”

  “I’m not letting her go.” Damn his even moderate intelligence.

  Better come up with something quick, asshole.

  And then he did. And she was going to be so pissed.

  “Fair enough. Then chain her up over there in those cuffs.”

  “What?” she screamed.

  “Would you please stop interrupting, babe?” he snapped and then turned back to her brother. Her fucking brother. What the hell? Did she have any other family members Mitch could kill? Because he seemed to have a real knack for it. Something he would prove as soon as she was safe and he had his hands on Whittley.

  “I’m assuming you have a key to the cuffs,” Mitch said.

  “Of course.”

  “And since she bites her nails, she won’t be able to pick the lock with them.” He looked at her pointedly and put his thumbs through his belt loops that didn’t have the get-out-of-cuffs-free pins hers did. “It’s a terrible habit, babe. Really.” Aaaaand back to Whittley. “Then I’d play a little game.” He nodded towards the glass box. “With my fists.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We play for the key to her cuffs and the cure.” Of course, it had nothing to do with either of those things. It had to do with getting her away from the gun and getting that asshole trapped in something until either Mitch or Eden beat him soundly. As long as the bastard got exactly what he deserved, it didn’t matter who gave it to him.

  Mitch yawned. “I name the drug but hold onto the dosage info until after I’ve killed you.”

  “I have the cure and you still expect me to put up the key?” He shook his head. “What are you anteing up?”

  Mitch didn’t want to ante up anything. Primarily because he didn’t need the key. Eden would do her little trick and be out of those cuffs in a minute and a half. Whittley was unknowingly calling Mitch’s bluff before the game even started.

  He reached into the pockets of his jeans, felt around dramatically, and pulled out nothing. “I only brought my winning personality. Maybe I could come up with a joke or two.”

  “The RLS-7. That’s your ante.”

  “No,” Eden hissed.

  “No worries, babe. I can take him.” Not only was Mitch taller, bigger, and heavier than Whittley, he also had a visual reminder of what he was fighting for. Sure, she looked pissed, but if he really squinted his eyes, her expression looked a little like the one she made when she came. You gonna ask her to moan occasionally too, asshole? That might actually help.

  Whittley didn’t look convinced.

  “I don’t get why you’re still confused, Ry. Either you win and I die via seizure or I win and you have—what is it?—thirty-eight seconds to high-tail it out of there. And it will still be a win for you because you’ll have my Hyde to entertain you through four inches of glass.”

  By Mitch’s figuring, if this human-episode was anything like the last, he had a bit more time. But honestly, his figuring had been proven totally fucking wrong for about the last…oh…fifteen years or so.

  Mitch spread out his arms. “All of today’s prizes will come into the cage with us. He who is still breathing takes all.”

  Without a word, Whittley hauled Eden off the ground and shoved the gun to her temple. He held her so tightly, she couldn’t hurt him faster than he could curl his index finger. He pushed her towards the chaining-station and ordered her to put the Hyde-sized cuffs around her ankles.

  Attaching chains around your body holds its own kind of torture. The sound of metal coming together and the feel of cold enclosing your skin make every other sound and sensation disappear.

  And from the look of satisfaction on Whittley’s face, he knew it too. Mitch should’ve killed him while he was still attached to the chair. Probably should’ve killed Alex too.

  Live and learn. Live and learn to kill your enemies at the first opportunity because they always come back for more. Persistent little fuckers.

  The cuffs were so wide they covered a third of her calf. The chain clanked against the O-rings it was threaded through. Whittley yanked on one end, pulling one of Eden’s legs out from under her. She fell to the ground, catching herself in a push-up position. Then her injured shoulder gave out, and she rolled onto her back, groaning.

  Mitch was on his knees right in front of her when he saw the gun in his peripheral vision.

  “Keep your hands off her.”

  Mitch held them up at three and nine, staring into her eyes, seeing anger and pain in them, but not fear. “Great.” The word barely made it through his clenched jaw.

  Buddhists lie—deep breaths didn’t cleanse, calm, or harmonize shit. Not like caressing this dickhead’s face with a fist would.

  She climbed to her feet slowly, glaring at both of them. Hopefully not for the same reasons.

  “Quick kiss for luck—but not from you, Whittley—and then we’ll make this happen.” He moved closer to her before the prick could refuse. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “It won’t kill me. How’s your idiotic brain?”

  “It won’t kill me.” Hopefully. He leaned towards her, not to kiss—although he’d get to that in a second—but to whisper in her ear. She balked, so angry she didn’t even want him to touch her.

  “Knock it off, babe. This all rests on you slipping out of those cuffs, grabbing that gun, getting to the top of that cage, and shooting him.” The walls were high but she’d figure out a way to get up there. She was resourceful like that.

  “Oh. That’s not as stupid as I thought it was.”

  “Gee, thank you so much. Now give me a goddamn kiss.”

  She did, and it was as far from damning as anything could be.

  “Do I need to shoot someone to break you two up?”

  She pulled back. “Don’t let him kill you.”

  “Do you really think I’d give him that honor? If anyone’s going to kill me, it’ll be you.” Because that bastard’s face would not be the last thing Mitch saw. “I’ll see you soon.” Uncuffed.

  Chapter XLIII

  Mitch clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ?
??Well, this is exciting and barbaric, isn’t it? Oh, the gun stays out here and, since I’m guessing neither of us wants to go in first, we can hold hands.”

  “I can’t wait to shut you up.” Whittley flicked his head towards the refrigerator and row of cabinets along the opposite wall. “Which one are we playing for?”

  Oh, right. The drug. He went to the fridge. “Shit! Don’t your people know that whoever drinks the last beer restocks the fridge?” He saw it right away—J-0026—in a big bottle. But he took his time, saying anything insulting he could think of to stall. He straightened, holding the J-0026 and a bottle of something else.

  Whittley put the gun down on a table near the door of the cage.

  Mitch knew his strengths, as limited as they were. He could fight pretty well, especially against someone who spent most of his time ordering people to do things for him. But what Mitch truly excelled at was annoying the shit out of anyone with functioning ears. Fifteen years of perfecting his technique, figuring out which areas were the most sensitive and heading straight for them. And if that not-so-high road failed, he had no problem aiming lower.

  This might actually be fun. “So this Board…”

  “The Board doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Oh my, I think someone’s been naughty.” Mitch walked to the door of the cage, Whittley following cautiously. And hopefully, Eden was working on those cuffs as quickly as she could. “Damn, Ry. When are you going to figure out that there will always be someone who’s willing to spank you?”

  “Not if you’re in the top spot, which I am now. But don’t worry, Turner, I’ll be glad to spank you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not into spanking or guys. Although…” He sighed. “Okay, I admit it—I’ve had more than a few fantasies about all the years the Board had you bent over.”

  “I should’ve put you down a long time ago.”

  “That hurts my feelings, Ry-ry.” They walked in side-by-side, both ready to pounce if the other even thought about closing the door from the outside.