Her limbs stiffened as a deep, penetrating ache forced her entire body to shake. She bit down hard and tasted blood.
Everything went black.
“Gemma.” Christian’s voice echoed from somewhere far away.
Her eyes flitted open.
Somehow, she’d ended up back inside the cell with Christian, Imara, and Hawk. A buzz of electricity told her Colton was in the chair now. Imara still sat on the floor but appeared to be more alert. Hawk stood at the front corner, watching Colton’s interrogation, while Christian was crouched in front of Gemma, his hand on her cheek.
“I’m okay,” she grumbled, but when she tried to stand, her muscles wouldn’t respond to her mind.
She felt boneless, as if she were nothing but a stuffed doll. The side of her tongue ached from where she’d bitten it, and the right side of her head felt like it had been smashed by a pickax.
Christian’s hand fell away from her face as she managed to lift her arm, pressing the heel of her hand into her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut against the ache.
Christian’s fingers stroked her left arm softly, his gaze unblinking. “It’s a good thing this is only simulated. You had a seizure there at the end.”
A seizure?Stars, that was embarrassing.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Gemma whispered, her throat raw from her screams.
“What do you mean?” His forehead wrinkled, his brows nearly touching in the middle.
She opened her eyes to look at him. “The part about the medicine, what I did with it.”
The small muscle in his jaw flexed. “You know I understand.”
Colton came back, strolling into their cell without any need for assistance, and Gemma squinted at him. How had he not been as affected by the gas or voltage?
Hawk was the next to be pulled away, and his screams were as heartbreaking as Imara’s. Christian sat next to Gemma on the floor, his handin hers, and she leaned against him for both physical and emotional support.
She had already been exhausted before entering the simulation; now, she was languid. Her bones still vibrated from the volts of electricity that had pierced her, and each of Hawk’s screams worsened the pounding in her skull.
She tried focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Christian’s chest as he breathed, distracting her mind from wandering listlessly.
“Another useless one.” The interrogator sighed. “Bring me the last boy.”
Gemma tensed, her grip tightening on Christian’s hand. After all he’d been through, all that he’d seen, she couldn’t let him sit in that chair.
She tried to cling to his arm as he rose to his feet, but he gently pried her fingers away and steadied her when she almost toppled over, still weak from her own experience.
“I’ll be fine.” He brushed her jaw with his thumb. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Gemma sagged back against the wall of the cell, tucking her knees close to her chest. A hiss, and Gemma knew the gas had been forced into Christian’s mask. She held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
“What is the code to your bomb sequence?” the interrogator demanded.
Christian’s cry of pain was a dagger to Gemma’s soul.
She clamped her hands over her ears, dropped her forehead to her knees, and silently screamed for him within her own head. Minutes, seconds, hours passed, and the veins in Gemma’s neck felt like they were going to explode.
Gentle hands caressed her forearms.
Gemma lifted her forehead off her knees. Imara was bent in front of her, a wave of satiny black hair cascading over her shoulder.
“It’s over,” she whispered. “Christian passed. They’re helping him back to the cell.”
Imara assisted Gemma to her feet as Hawk guided Christian against a wall of their glass box. Gemma tried to work her way over to him, but her stiff legs protested, and before she could get very far, the high-pitched whistle shrieked in Gemma’s ear.
