Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(74)

She felt breath along her neck, a whisper of a touch against her throat. Screw them, Mari. Think about me. Think about us. I can take you far away from that room and those dirty old men. It’s probably the only way they can get off, having a woman tied down and exposed to them that way. You’re so beautiful they’re too afraid to touch you, which is a damn good thing right now. I’d have to kill them and that means blowing the big plan. Now, if I tied you down, I wouldn’t be sounding like a dead reptile, I’d be so f*cking hot I’d probably disgrace myself. And I probably shouldn’t have used the word blow. Hell, woman, I can’t even think about you without getting the hard-on from hell.

Ken’s voice slid into her mind, a teasing whisper that made her want to laugh.

She struggled to keep the energy only on one single path, away from all the others, but even if they detected it, they would suspect she was communicating with the other women. Can you really take me away from this room while they’re doing this?

Ken rested his head on his arm. What could he give her to hang on to while Whitney and his pathetic doctor tortured her? There would be a reckoning, but it wasn’t going to be today. Their team had to be in place. Now that they’d uncovered the devil’s lair, they had to come up with a plan to get the women out alive. Whitney wouldn’t hesitate to kill them and destroy all evidence of his research. Ken had no doubt that the entire compound was wired to blow should they be discovered.

Ken? Her voice was unsteady. His anger was beating at her, pounding in her head the way it was pounding in his.

Sorry, baby, I just focused a little too much on your situation.

They couldn’t just go in there with guns blazing—but Peter Whitney, in spite of everything that Lily had said, needed to die. He couldn’t be allowed to continue with his vile experiments. He could only imagine how Mari felt. This place had been her home, that man her only steady guide, and yet she was treated the way Ekabela had treated him. Stripping him naked, dehumanizing him, stripping him of pride and decency and reducing him to less than an animal.

Mari smelled the jungle, felt heat and humidity, raindrops on her skin. The sensation was vivid, so much so that she heard the cry of a monkey and the persistent call of birds. She kept her eyes closed, knowing she was seeing a memory of Ken’s inadvertently triggered by what she was feeling. The smell of blood assailed her nostrils and she tasted the coppery flavor in her mouth. A face was there, a man with the same dead eyes as Peter Whitney, and the knife in his hand was covered with blood. Ken was stretched out, tied so tightly the thin wires cut into his skin.

Mari hadn’t noticed if he had scars on his wrists and ankles, but with this small glimpse into his past, she was certain he had them. Why hadn’t she noticed something that important?

Baby. He whispered the endearment like a physical caress. You couldn’t notice with all the other scars. I’m sorry I took you there. It was an accident.

I know that. I wish I could touch you—comfort you. Because beside the things he’d endured, Peter Whitney’s humiliating punishments were child’s play. And this was a form of punishment even more than a collecting of documentation for Whitney. She had left the compound without permission, and this was the one thing he knew she hated. But he wasn’t crouching in front of her, dispassionately slicing a razor-sharp blade through her skin while others gathered around laughing and urging him on.

Woman, I’m supposed to be comforting you, not sharing memories.

The memory steadied me. I can get through this. I hated the idea of him seeing the marks you made on my body and knowing how you put them there. I thought it would turn something special to me into something altogether different, but I’m proud of the marks you put there. Screw Whitney. He isn’t going to take you away from me.

Again she felt the brush of his fingers along her neck, as if he stroked her like a kitten. Good for you. That man can’t take away anything we did or have together. He’s nothing, Mari, nothing at all. I’m with you. Right here. He can’t separate us now, no matter how much he wants to. I took you to the jungle, and I can take you somewhere much better. But, sweetheart, I’ve got to be able to picture you with clothes on. You’re killing me here.

Again she wanted to laugh and had to keep her expression exactly the same. It took discipline, but she managed. She couldn’t believe that he would make her want to smile when she was exposed and vulnerable and Whitney and his doctor were dissecting her like a bug—well, maybe not dissecting her. Ken had been dissected, cut into little pieces, stripped of his dignity and then the skin on his back. She couldn’t imagine the pain or the rage or the utter hopelessness. That was the worst to her—the despair one felt when totally helpless.

Whitney was a madman. It had taken her years to admit it fully—for all of them to admit it—because they were totally dependent on him for everything. They had no real contact with the outside world and nowhere to go to escape the endless demands and experiments. With the glimpse into Ken’s past, she felt more connected to him, and the connection felt intimate. She clung to his mind, wanting him to keep her centered.

Sex is a big thing to you. She was glad it was—after all, they’d had great sex and she hoped to have even more—but on the other hand, she wanted to matter to him on more than that level.

Yeah, sex is a big deal as long as you’re my partner. I haven’t exactly had a lot of any other lately. I didn’t think I could.