“Can pull your memories and play them as movies.”
The list of items went on and I found that I huddled further into Nephele’s hold. These weren’t just items of assault. They were all different kinds of torture. Psychological. Physical. Mental. Emotional. There was something revealed that touched each mode of attack, one more terrifying than the next.
“They really wanted to incapacitate whoever they got their hands on,” I murmured.
“Yes,” one of the men said. “While a lot of it had the same magic signature as the net—volatile but sloppy work—there were some that were tight as a vault. No loopholes. No errors. Nothing that could break it—except a stronger witch, which we have.”
“Fortunately,” a voice on the phone said, different from the one who’d been asking questions.
The more everyone spoke, the more uneasy I became. What kind of person even thought to make a piece of fabric that sends electric shocks through your nerve endings and remains in your bones, causing incredible pain that can be controlled by a remote? Or a liquid that is absorbed through the skin and into the bloodstream, where it can make your blood clot, increasing the likelihood of an aneurysm, heart attack, stroke…
A knock on the door made conversation pause and the entire room turned to look as it inched open and a man stuck his head in. He flushed at the attention but looked at Wayne. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s something that you need to see.”
“Now?” Wayne asked.
The man’s gaze flicked to Kohara before his gaze settled on Wayne. “Yes, Director.”
Severely frowning, Wayne stood to follow. As did Kohara, and then Bronte. Before I knew it, we were all following the man into the hall and a procession headed for the elevators. This time we took several, except that our family and three friends squeezed into one again.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like the cuddle, demon,” Tara teased. I smiled, but I think we all knew it was half-hearted.
My heart was racing already, dreading what we were about to see. I had to believe that it was unprecedented, that the meeting was interrupted. Which meant it had to be important, right? Although I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I wasn’t sure that my gut believed that.
We stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor. The hall was lined with doors and long windows. As we passed the first one and I peered inside, the uneasy feeling that had settled in my stomach as we talked about the items found amplified. Inside was a half pulled curtain. The side I could see beyond showed a gurney covered in blood.
For a brief minute, I was terrified that maybe The Harem Project wasn’t any better than ORKA or Silence. The fear of that weighed me down, prevented me from taking a breath. It wasn’t until Nephele placed his hand on the small of my back to keep me moving that I realized I’d slowed way down.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head. Oh fuck, what do I do if The Harem Project is just like them and my guys are all on board?
But then we stopped, and I heard the intake of breaths. I almost didn’t want to look. Far too afraid of what I’d see and the potential for a disastrous future that I wasn’t sure I’d make it to.
Nephele pulled me to his chest, his muscles stiff. He swore under his breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from peeking around. Twisting in his arms, I shifted until I could see through the bodies.
The room beyond was just like the one I’d peeked into. There was a curtain, but this one bunched against the wall to reveal what wasn’t hidden. It looked like any medical room might, but laying on the gurney was… unidentifiable.
“What—?” I asked, not sure what I was seeing.
It was a body, yes, but completely broken and bloody. There was a patch on their scaly legs that was rubbed bare but… in a very brutalized way. As if someone had taken a cheese grater and tried to peel them apart, layer by layer. They were bleeding profusely from all orifices. Missing a hand. Ribs sticking out of their chest.
Was their chest even moving?
Bile rose in my throat as my eyes continued to take in their appearance. In the hall, everyone was silent. Staring in horror.
“What happened?” Kohara asked.
“He was dropped on our doorstep,” the man said.
“Our doorstep?” Wayne said, voice sharp. “Explain.”
“Headquarters. In Louisville. Dropped at the glass doors, which are locked this time of night, and left for dead.”
“Is he going to die?” Bronte asked.
There wasn’t an answer.
“By whom?” Wayne asked.
