Page 19 of Flawed Fate
One of them scoops Tara up as if she weighs nothing and throws her over his shoulder. The other one takes my arm—not rough but not gentle—and steers me toward the door. Down the stairs and through the living room, out to the driveway, where a black van is idling with its side door open.
They dump Tara in the back. That’s the only word for it. She’s limp, her head lolling, and I watch them zip-tie her wrists and ankles before laying her on the floor of the van like cargo. My stomach turns in a way it shouldn’t.
“Get in,” the man holding my arm says. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay or whether I need anything. He’s barely even looking at me.
He sort of half-shoves me into the van. I sit on the bench seat across from Tara’s unconscious body, and the door slides shut, and then we’re moving. Just like that, it’s over. Why do I want to cry? And why doesn’t it feel like relief making my eyes sting?
The drive takes what feels like forever. There are no windows in the back, just the hum of the engine and the rattle of equipment secured to the walls. I stare at Tara the whole time. The dart wound on her neck is already bruising purple, but should fade fast, her being a shifter and all. If there’s one thing I know about them, it’s that they heal quickly. The zip ties cut into her wrists. Her limp body slides on the floor every time we take a turn.
She fought because Declan told her to stay with me, and she did. She doesn’t even like me, and she put herself between me and two armed-men without hesitating.
I don’t know how to feel about that. About any of it.
The van slows, then stops. The engine cuts. There’s no chance to adjust to the sudden silence before the door slides open, and I’m hit with a familiar smell. Pine trees.
I’ve spent half my life in this place.
Why doesn’t it feel like coming home?
They walk me inside through a side entrance I’ve used a hundred times. Down a hallway I know by heart. Everything looks the same. The fluorescent lights, the polished floors. The quiet hum of machinery behind closed doors. Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
Dad is in his office. When the door opens, and I step inside, he looks up from his desk, and for one stupid, desperate second, I think he’s going to stand up, walk around the desk, wrap his arms around me and tell me he was worried sick, and he’s sorry for leaving me, and he’s so glad I’m safe.
He doesn’t.
“Good. Sit down.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk. I’ve heard him sound warmer and more cordial when speaking to his techs. “How do you feel? Any dizziness, nausea, unusual pain?”
I stand in the doorway with my arms hanging at my sides, and I wait for my father to ask if I’m okay. Not medically. Just... okay.
His eyes narrow. “Iris. Sit.”
I sink into the chair he gestured toward, shivering, though I don’t think the cool air is the reason for it. I’m with the one person who should care I’m safe, and he might as well be looking straight through me. Why is he looking at me that way?
“I need you to tell me everything that happened.” He’s pulling on gloves, reaching for the blood draw kit he keeps in the top drawer of his desk. Always ready to work. “How manyshifters were there? What did they ask you? Did you tell them anything about our research?”
“I didn’t tell them anything.” My voice sounds flat, even to me. “There were… I don’t know. Four? Five? Different kinds. Wolves and bears.”
“Bears.” He frowns, noting something on a pad. “We suspected they were collaborating with the wolves. Go on.”
“They wanted you to shut everything down. The facilities, the experiments. All of it.”
“Obviously.” He says it dismissively, like it’s barely worth acknowledging. “What else?”
I stare at him. He’s not looking at me. He’s prepping the needle, tying the tourniquet around my upper arm. I’m here, he’s speaking to me, but I might as well not exist. “Dad.”
“Hmm?”
“I was kidnapped. They took me from our house. I was tied to a bed for hours.” I can’t believe I have to say this. I shouldn’t have to beg him to care.
He glances up briefly. “I know. That’s why I sent a team to retrieve you. Hold still.”
The needle slides in. I watch my blood fill the vial, almost black in the fluorescent light. He fills one, then swaps in a second. Then a third. He’s never taken three before.
“I was scared.” I can’t believe I have to say that, either.
“I understand.” He doesn’t sound like he understands. He sounds as if he’s thinking about something else while his mouth forms the right words. “But you’re safe now. And we have work to do.”
