Avenged (Altered #2)(41)

He smiled at her, unperturbed. “Mr. Ahmed wants to see what you can do.”

“What I can do?” She snorted. “Why would I help you with anything?”

“Because.” Fields nodded to Jeremy. “If you don’t humor me, I’ll hurt your friend.”

She registered Jeremy’s intention a split second before he struck Nick with the butt of his gun. She only managed to stumble toward him before the attack happened. The blow landed between Nick’s shoulder blades. He dropped to his knees as she cried out, reaching for him.

Rough hands held her in check. She struggled against them, but she wasn’t strong enough to break free, to go to Nick. She watched as he writhed, trying to get to his feet.

She could feel his pain in her mind, and it hurt her worse than if they’d struck her.

Jeremy and another guard dragged Nick to a chair in the center of the room. He glared up at his former friend. Disgust filled his face. “You really are an asshole.”

Jeremy snarled and punched him in the face. Nick’s head whipped back, but he recovered quickly. Still holding Jeremy’s gaze, he spit blood on the floor.

“Stop!” Kitty’s scream rent the air as Jeremy lifted his hand again. Jeremy paused, smiling at her. Hatred coursed through her. How had she not seen him for what he was months ago?

Kitty found herself begging. “Please stop. I’ll help, as long as you leave him alone. What do you want me to do?”

I’m fine, baby. Don’t do this. He hated that she was trying to protect him. She ignored him.

Fields smiled. “Mr. Ahmed needs proof of your abilities. You only need to answer his questions.” He accompanied her to the chair next to Nick and helped her sit, as if he had escorted her to a dinner party, not to an interrogation. Then he motioned to Ahmed to go ahead.

Her stomach felt sick, and her fingers shook. Angry to find tears at the corners of her eyes, she wiped them on her shoulders and glared up at the man they were calling Mr. Ahmed.

“Good evening.” His voice was rich with an accent. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

She didn’t respond. It wasn’t like she’d had a choice.

“The good doctor insists that you can hear thoughts.” Leaning against the table in front of her, the man clasped his hands in front of him. “I wish to see proof of this talent.”

“I assumed.” She smirked at him. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me more about what the doctor is thinking.”

Fine. She could do this all day. “Fields is eager to gain your approval. He’s excited that you’re here, and he is stupidly proud of the drug he’s created. He can’t imagine that you won’t be impressed by what I can do. He’s arrogant, believes this will satisfy you, and you will agree to a contract.”

She stopped talking, allowing this information to wash over her. This was one of Fields’s potential buyers. She turned to Fields. No, not one of his buyers. This was the buyer.

She focused on Ahmed, trying to fit him into the puzzle. “You are going to buy the drug.”

Ahmed’s thoughts remained cautious. “I am considering.”

“You? Not your company?”

Images of his company, of board meetings, and many other successful men, flickered in his thoughts. “No.”

“Mergers and acquisitions? Bonds? You are a successful businessman.”

He scowled. “It does not require mindreading to see that I am wealthy.”

“No. I suppose not.” She studied him closer.

You’re brilliant. Find out what you can. Maybe it’s something we can use. Nick’s voice flickered in her mind, full of support. She nodded. When Kenny and Brian launched their escape, the more they knew for Martins, the better.

How? What information would help them the most?

“Did he tell you that the drug kills people? That even the last time they used it, two out of twelve died?” How much did this man know about the drug? Was Fields hiding information from him?

“He did.” There was no surprise. The drug wasn’t safe yet. They knew that. What was this man—Ahmed’s—intention, then, if he knew the drug was still volatile?

“This doesn’t bother you?”

“It does not.” Because the men who will take the drug are not afraid of death.

“The men who take it are not afraid of death,” she recited for Nick’s benefit. Images of guerrilla fighters, dressed in the garb of the desert, filled Ahmed’s mind. The sand stretched out from his thoughts, the memory of the heat.

The Middle East. Nick filled in. He hadn’t even needed to see Ahmed’s thoughts to guess.

She nodded, her pulse picking up. “You will give this drug to guerrilla fighters in the Middle East.” She didn’t know what faction. She wasn’t even sure Fields knew—or cared—which faction. This wasn’t about ideology; it was about cash.

Her assessment impressed Ahmed, but he remained skeptical, attempting to determine other possibilities. Kitty didn’t care about impressing him, though.

“You developed the drug with government funding,” she accused Fields. “You planned to sell the drug to our government when it was ready. You wanted to save lives.”

“Things change.” And people are stupid. Fucking Pike.