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  Finding a redhead in Mexico was like trying to find a hooker in church—there just weren’t many around.

  Because of his unassuming guy-next-door looks, he was able to move through the border with usually no more than a wave and a “have a nice day.”

  His phone rang, blaring a “Highway to Hell” ringtone. He knew it was Diego.

  “What,” he said.

  “I need you back here,” Diego said calmly.

  “Can’t. I’m busy.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Once you are in the folds of my cartel, you know you can’t escape, Charles. You belong to me, just as every other assassin does.”

  “Are you threatening me, Diego? Because if the answer is yes, you better rethink that. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  Diego chuckled. “If that’s the way you want to play it, then fine.”

  He hung up.

  Charles’s left eye began to twitch. Now not only did he have the Six Saviors after him, he had a drug cartel.

  And he didn’t care. Nothing else matter except killing those Warriors.

  He knew that in order to do that, he either had to take them out one by one as they left the missile silo, or he had to get in there. When he watched Hudson leaving the silo alone, it was simple to follow him. Of course, a little bribe to the front desk and concierge didn’t hurt either. He knew every move Hudson made, every phone call, and every request to the hotel staff. When Hudson had asked for a concierge, he had known his opportunity to get Hudson had arrived. He slipped the real concierge a twenty to stay at his desk, which the guy was happy to do since it was about one-hundred-and-ten-degrees out, and Charles had gone to Hudson’s room. The look of surprise on Hudson’s face made him so giddy, he almost forgot to Taser him.

  He had been certain that Hudson would break. Yes, he was physically large, but that didn’t matter when it came to torture. Charles sensed that Hudson was mentally weak, and he was surprised Hudson had held out as long as he had. It actually infuriated him, and he wanted nothing more than to gut the Warrior. However, he was sure that Hudson would eventually give him the code he needed.

  He had dreams of breaking into the silo and gunning down anything alive, then setting the place on fire, or throwing a Molotov cocktail in there and watching the whole thing blow up. He imagined the carnage and the smell of burnt flesh, and it made him giggle like a little girl.

  Charles headed back to his room for the night and decided he would make his way to the silo again tomorrow for a little recon. However, the urge to kill was overwhelming because he had held back on Hudson, and it needed to be addressed. Sighing, he looked around and saw a little Mexican maid pushing her cart. She would be easy to dominate and carry out to the desert once she was dead.

  “Excuse me, senorita,” he called.

  The woman turned around and smiled.

  “I need more towels, por favor.”

  “Of course,” said, reaching into her cart and pulling some out.

  That wouldn’t do.

  “I also seem to have an issue with some bugs in my bed,” he said quietly, stepping close to her. “I’d hate get anyone in trouble because of it.”

  Her eyes widened, and he could see the realization in them. If one of her rooms were caught with bed bugs, she would be out of a job.

  “Of course, sir,” she said, putting the towels away and turning her cart around.

  Whistling softly, he led her to his room, and he felt the rush of the impending kill flow through him.

  He would take down the Six Saviors once and for all if it was the last thing he did.

  And it most likely would be.

  But for now, he had to sate his urges, the very make-up of his being, the darkness in his soul.

  Chapter 12

  Beverly carefully tied the last stitch in Hudson’s chest. Her back ached, her fingers were numb, and she had lost count of the stitches at one hundred and twenty.

  Rolling her neck, she placed the needle and thread on the silver medical tray next to the bed along with the latex gloves she had been wearing.

  She looked around the room again. It was nice. Deep, dark, desert reds, and rich desert greens complimented the blacks and tans. She took off her shoes and squeezed her toes in the plush dark green carpet.

  She desperately needed a shower. Or bath. She just needed water.

  Padding over to her suitcase, she took out some sweats and a t-shirt and went into the black marble bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her. She stripped and decided on a bath instead of a shower, as she needed to sit and think and try to relax.

  She looked for some bubble bath under the sink, and found none. She did find some soap with a French name she couldn’t pronounce and decided that would have to do. It had a light scent, nothing too flowery or feminine. When the tub was full, she undressed and slipped under the comforting warm water.

  Heaven.

  Closing her eyes, she thought about the past few hours.

  Her, Rayner, Faith, and Hudson had ridden in silence for a good half hour. Since Beverly wasn’t familiar with the area, she had no idea where they were going, but she noticed signs that they were on Interstate 10 heading west. Rayner had put Hudson in a bathrobe and strapped him in with the seatbelt in the back seat. Beverly climbed in next to him, somehow feeling protective of her patient, even if she was a fraudulent doctor.

  She wondered what would happen to her if they found out.

  Hudson had let out a groan, and Beverly made some soothing sound she had never made before while pushing some hair out of his face. She remembered the beauty of the man that he had been, and she could still see some of it under all the black and blue bruises.

  “Beverly,” Rayner had said, breaking the silence, “I need you to put this on around your head like a blindfold. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you see where we’re headed.”

  Fear clenched her gut, and she shakily took the pillowcase from him, running her finger over the Four Seasons emblem stitched in the fabric. “I don’t know where we are, Rayner. I’m not from the Phoenix area. And why wouldn’t I be able to see where we’re going?”

  “Let’s just say that you’re going to a…private facility.”

  Beverly was stunned. What did a private facility mean? Military? Government? He didn’t look like any government or military guy she had ever seen. He and Faith looked like two people who loved to have fun and also loved each other. Government? No.

  “What does that mean?” she asked incredulously.

  Rayner nodded, brushing off her question. “I told you, nothing illegal.”

  Faith had looked over the seat with kindness in her eyes, but Beverly’s heart pounded with nervous energy as she folded the pillowcase in half and tied it around her eyes, and that little voice that was constantly nagging her about finding some pain pills grew louder.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  She remembered bouncing up a dirt road, stopping, going a little farther, and then coming to a stop. “Beverly, I’m trusting you to keep that thing on. I’m coming around to get you and lead you inside.”

  She heard another male voice outside the car. “What the fuck, Rayner?”

  “Later, Noah. Like you can see, we’ve got company.”

  Then Beverly’s door opened and she heard a sharp inhale, as if whoever was there was shocked by what they saw. Then a female voice greeted her. “Hi. I’m so terribly sorry about this. What’s your name?”

  “Beverly,” she said quietly.

  “Beverly, I’m Abby, and I’m sure this must be very scary for you. Please, let me help get you inside and we can get that off your eyes.”

  Beverly felt Abby grab her hands, and she was led across some gravel and up five stairs. She could hear Rayner and Noah talking in the distance in hushed tones. A few steps later, they had reached another staircase heading down, and Beverly couldn’t hear them any longer.

  “Let’s get this off you,” Abby said, untying the pillo
wcase.

  Beverly was met with a smile from a woman in her mid-twenties with long, thick auburn hair, a plastering of freckles across her nose, and warm brown eyes. She stood a little taller than Beverly, and wore black shorts and a pink t-shirt. “Hi, Beverly,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Abby.”

  Beverly shook the delicate hand while looking around the room. She had landed in some type of great room and kitchen area. The low lights provided a comforting glow, showcasing the state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line kitchen stainless steel appliances, a shiny black countertop, and comfortable, yet elegant furnishings. The place was breathtaking and she was certain that military facilities didn’t look like this.

  She didn’t think they did, anyway.

  A large, black cat sat in the middle of the kitchen floor staring at her.

  “That’s Neptune,” Abby said. The cat meowed a hello.

  She heard cursing behind her and turned to find Hudson slung between Rayner and another man. They were struggling with Hudson’s girth and weight.

  “Jesus, what the fuck has he been eating? He’s about as easy to move as a truck,” the other man said. He was tall and large with wavy brown hair and dark eyes wearing jeans, combat boots and a black shirt that had Affliction across the chest in white. That must be Noah.

  “You eat what he cooks,” Rayner had grunted. “You know exactly what he’s been eating.”

  “We’re almost at the elevator. Let’s just get him in his quarters,” Rayner said. “Follow us, Beverly.”

  She did as she was told, noticing that Abby and Faith trailed after her in silence. She turned, and both of them gave her a small smile, then fell in step on each side of her.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Beverly,” Abby said in a low voice.

  “I am too,” Faith said. “But thank you for helping our friend. It means more to us than you’ll ever know.”

  They all piled into the elevator, and Hudson let out another groan. “We got you, man,” Rayner said, “you’re solid.”

  “No,” Hudson moaned as his head lolled to the side. “No, I’m not.”

  The elevator came to a halt, and Noah pulled out some keys from his jeans pocket and unlocked the heavy wooden door.

  They led Hudson to the bed and laid him out, both of them breathing hard.

  “I think I just messed up my back,” Noah grumbled. Then he turned to Beverly, grimaced, and then smiled.

  “I’m Noah, by the way. I’m Abby’s…husband.” He stepped forward, keeping one hand on his lower back and offered her his other hand. She shook it, but didn’t say anything. “I’ll go get some knitting tools. What else do you need?”

  Beverly looked at Hudson, going into full doctor mode. She did a more in-depth examination of his wounds and listed a few things she thought she might want and then met Noah’s eyes. They were the same dark color as Hudson’s and Rayner’s.

  She wondered again what she had gotten herself into and who these people were.

  But it was odd, because she wasn’t afraid. She had surprised herself with the calm that came over her in spite of the fact that she was in a strange place pretending to be a doctor.

  She reached up and turned the hot water lever, hoping to soothe the kink in her upper back.

  Everyone had stayed with her for about an hour or so, talking in low tones as she stitched up Hudson. She didn’t participate in the conversation, and eventually Abby had said, “Let’s leave Beverly alone so she can concentrate, and we can start getting dinner ready.” Faith agreed, but Rayner didn’t.

  “I’m staying,” he said quietly, leaning up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Beverly had wished everyone would go, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Rayner, you aren’t helping by being here,” Faith had said.

  “I’ll stay to make sure Hudson’s okay.”

  Faith gently touched his hand. He bent his head down, and she said something in a low voice to him.

  “All right,” he had said with a sigh. “We’ll be back about dinnertime, doc.”

  It had to be about dinnertime.

  She was a little hungry, but she really didn’t feel like seeing anyone. Not for a while, at least.

  She was having trouble with her thoughts and feelings about the man who looked like he had been through a paper shredder.

  As she had stitched the massive planes of his body, she couldn’t help but admire the deep cuts of muscle and tendons. The guy was in phenomenal shape. And that same word came back to her that she had used to describe him before: beautiful. Flashes of watching him have sex the previous night ran through her head non-stop, leaving an ache in her lower belly.

  The last thing she should be thinking about was sex, but Hudson had made that nearly impossible.

  She thought back to the last time she had sex. It had been about six months before her mother died, so that made it...almost a year and a half. She rarely dated because of time constraints and sheer exhaustion, and forget about having the energy for one-night stands.

  But no matter how beautiful Hudson was, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hurting. She had seen it in his eyes.

  And why would someone want to cut him like that? He was tortured, pure and simple. Most of the cuts were shallow, as if they were put there to inflict pain, as if someone just cut him enough to not injure him, but to have him bleed out.

  She had always had an aversion to violence, whether it was real as on the nightly news or the Hollywood version, and she guess that was because she had seen the consequences of it through her work. It made her uncomfortable and her stomach uneasy.

  And what was a Colonist? Faith had said a murderer. What was Hudson messed up in that someone wanted to murder him?

  So many questions. She had a feeling that if she could get Faith and Abby alone, maybe she could get some answers. Both of them seemed nice, and they did seem to care about her well-being. Maybe she would get lucky and catch a few minutes with them.

  She slipped under the water and got her hair wet. She didn’t have the energy to actually wash it, so she got out of the tub and put on her black sweats that had PINK emblazed on the butt and a white t-shirt. She combed out her hair and wrapped it in a bun at the top of her head, then stepped out of the bathroom. She threw her dirty clothes in her suitcase and went to check on her patient.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in a low whisper as she approached the bed. She jumped, startled, shut her eyes, and regained her calm before looking at him.

  “Hi, Hudson,” she said in a quiet voice, smiling. “I’m Beverly. I guess you could say I’m your personal physician.”

  He watched as she approached the bed and sat on the edge.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Can you tell me who did this to you?” she asked in a quiet tone.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He tried to roll to his side with no success, bit out another ripe curse, and met her eyes again. “I need some pain medication.”

  She nodded. “They left some Vicodin for you. You can take some now.” She went to the bathroom, filled up a glass with water, and brought it back to the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand, she found the pills and gave him one along with the glass of water.

  Looking at the little pills, she remembered the comfort they had given her. Just one won’t hurt you. It will help with the anxiety you’re feeling.

  She watched as he popped the pill in his mouth, and she actually felt her own mouth begin to salivate. Closing her eyes, she remembered the first time she had taken a pill while on duty at the hospital.

  It had been her second day back at work after the accident, and a man had been brought in by ambulance after suffering injuries during a head-on collision that wasn't his fault. He had been admitted, and Beverly was one of the doctors looking after him. Soon after she reviewed his chart, she went to the waiting room to talk to the family, confident that the patient would make it. As she spoke
to them, a code blue came over the loudspeaker, and she realized it was for the patient she was assuring was fine to his family. She ran to the room to help with resuscitation efforts, and a half hour later, they pronounced him dead.

  Thinking about having to tell the family that their beloved brother, father, and son was dead hit way to close to home. She remembered the pain that ripped through her when she found out her mother was dead, and she couldn't do it to someone else. Running for the bathroom claiming a bad salad at lunch, she had thrown up, and then pulled out one of the pain pills she had brought to work with her that day. As she sat on the bathroom floor, she studied the little white devil, its promises of relaxation beckoning. She swallowed it dry, and fifteen minutes later went back to work, feeling a whole lot better about her job, and herself.

  Soon, she realized that popping the pills had become a habit, like taking her vitamins. When she thought about getting through a day without them, her anxiety rose, and it seemed like an impossible task. She wasn’t in physical pain any longer from the accident, but she was in emotional pain from her mother’s death. The pills became a way to soothe that pain, as well as her anxiety.

  She became terrified that someone would find out her secret, and she began distancing herself from her colleagues and the few friends she had. After a couple of months, most had learned to leave her alone, and she was in complete isolation with her addiction, pride keeping her for reaching out for help. After all, she was a doctor. Her arrogance told her that she could get a handle on her pill popping when the time was right, and she had convinced herself that she needed the pills to help with the anxiety. Looking back, she now realized that the anxiety would have disappeared if she had gotten the help she needed then. The anxiety had been caused by her fears of someone finding out about the addiction, and what would happen if she were found out? Would she be fired? Her colleagues would certainly gossip behind her back, and the thought of hearing the whispers as she passed them in the hallway made her even more anxious.

  It had been a vicious circle.

  Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes as Hudson tried to sit up, without success.