While it was quite obviously the least of her problems, it stung that he mocked her so easily. Of course, Whitney got that he hated her. He might not know all the details, but from her warning to Cassandra, he knew enough to know that she was involved in the program. But if he knew she was a scientist, he should assume she had no experience being dragged out of bed, strung up by her wrists, or experiencing pain like this. She used knives to cook, on the rare occasion she was allowed, that was all, and she’d never even touched a gun, only seen them because the guards at the facility wore them strapped to their bodies.
“It’s okay, darlin’, everybody makes a fool of themselves the first time around,” the man—Blade—drawled.
The way he said darling made her skin crawl. It was so explicitly sexual, and she had never been given permission to indulge that side of her womanhood. Not only that, but this wasn't the kind of sex she’d even want to indulge in anyway. It was power and control, about taking advantage of her, about belittling her. It was pain, not pleasure.
“Don’t worry, by the end you’ll be a pro.”
For some reason, she got the feeling he’d just winked at her, even though she couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing night vision goggles. Maybe it was because she understood what he was saying without saying it.
Torture.
He was talking about torturing her and letting her know that this was only the beginning of the horrors she was going to live through.
There was no denying that a huge part of her believed she deserved it. She was the one who had created the initial version of the drug, although at the time she had never conceived of the consequences of her discovery. How could she? She hadn't known enough about the world to think of anything outside her own little bubble.
But another part, a smaller part, a teeny, tiny little part knew how unfair it was for her to be punished for something that hadn't been her choice.
No way this man would believe that, though.
He knew she was part of it, he knew she was a liar because she hadn't done a believable job of acting like her name was Mary, and he knew as well as she did that she wasn't going to hold out under torture.
Thing was, though, she’d tell him anything he wanted to know without him having to stab her, or peel off her skin, or gouge out her eyes, or whatever other sick and twisted thing he dreamed about doing to her.
Plannedon doing to her.
Because this wasn't really about intel gathering, if it was, he wouldn't have broken in the way he had, gone through her stuff, prepared this rope for her, and then brought her outside. He wanted to hurt her, to punish her, and was probably imagining Dr. Gardner’s face in place of hers.
Too bad he would never think to ask if she hated the scientist, too.
Even knowing what had been done to this man and his team, to all the others who had been given the drugs as well, Whitney still knew that she had ample—possibly even more—reasons to hate the deranged doctor. Maybe she hadn't beengiven experimental drugs, but she had been imprisoned just the same, trapped in a situation she had no hope of getting out of.
Only she had.
She’d gotten out.
Found a way to escape.
Did she really plan to just hang there and give up? Give in to whatever this man had planned for her? Was she going to just sigh and accept her fate the way she had so many times before?
Where was that fire that had her working on her exit plan?
If she could do that, she could figure something out now.
Couldn’t she?
Figuring out puzzles was what she did. If she just looked at this like a puzzle, maybe she could work on it and find a solution. It wasn't impossible, even if it wasn't particularly likely.
A tiny flicker of defiance lit inside her, and Whitney met Blade’s gaze when it moved slowly back up her body. Well, she met where his gaze would be if he wasn't wearing those goggles, which gave him a creepy, otherworldly look.
Nothing had changed in that she was still utterly terrified of this man and what he had planned for her, but she was sick of being a pawn. She wasn't really who he wanted, he wanted Dr. Gardner, and she’d offer up the man on a platter if she could, but he’d punish her nonetheless for crimes she’d committed against her will.
Obviously picking up on her slight shift in demeanor, minuscule though it had been, he reached out and touched a fingertip to the spot at the corner of her eye where he’d dug the tip of his knife into her skin just enough to make her bleed. That finger pressed hard against the small wound, making her whimper, and he snickered and then pulled his finger back. Bringing it to his lips and letting her watch as his tongue darted out to lick off her blood.
Shivering, cold, fear, revulsion all merging together, she startled, her body swaying wildly as Blade moved closer again, his large body pressing up against hers, reminding her that he held all the power. Lifting his knife, he let it glint in the moonlight again before lifting it up above her head.
For a second, Whitney thought he was going to cut the ropes, let her down, and … do something to her, although she had no idea about forms of torture or how you went about breaking someone.
But he didn't cut her down.
