Emerge: The Captive: (Book 3)(3)

“Where’s Aidan? We have to do something!” She jerked free of Graham’s hold and ran, stumbling to her knees as the van’s tail lights faded in the distance. There was nothing any of them could do.

“Quinn!” Her shrieks ripped from her throat like shards of broken glass.

“Sasha, get it together. My brother needs you.” Graham grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

“How did this happen?” She shook her head, refusing to believe Allie and Quinn had been taken.

“They must have followed us all afternoon. I’m pretty sure I saw those guys earlier today.”

“The dove,” she whispered. “This is my fault.” Sasha’s hands shook. Just that afternoon, she’d healed a bird with her gift. Right out in plain sight, too full of herself and her power to think that it could ever lead to this.

Sasha stood beside Quinn’s brother in the deafening silence, too stunned to speak. Did my arrogance just cost my Complement and my best friend their freedom?

~~~





CHAPTER

TWO





Quinn: Summer


Atlanta, Georgia


“Time’s up, brother. She’s ready for him.”

Quinn recognized the smooth-as-silk voice and knew it was a precursor to bad news. Nothing good ever came from Ryan Conner’s visits.

“I see you came prepared,” Michael replied, greeting his brother just outside Quinn’s filthy cell. The Conners were the only people Quinn had seen in years. Except her. She visited often. Too often.

Quinn’s head slumped against his chest as he dangled from the ceiling, the chains digging into his mangled wrists almost to the bone. He needed to take advantage of whatever reprieve he could get while the brothers bickered. He had no idea how long they’d had him like this. Days. Maybe a week this time.

After so many years, he missed his family. His friends.

Sasha. It was painful how much he missed her. Their last moments together haunted him. If he’d known it would be the last time he would see her, he would have made it count. He would have made promises. Plans. Plans for a future he no longer had.

As a captive of Soma, Quinn had two options. Submit to Livia’s will, immediately sign over the rights to his life and willingly become her slave. Or choose option B. Resist, and Livia would eventually break him anyway and he’d still end up a slave—against his will.

Give in. The errant thought was never far from his mind. To give them what they wanted—unfettered access to his power, his gifts, and his knowledge—would set him free from this torment in an instant. But Quinn would never willingly become a Soma slave. That left him with option B—resisting until she finally broke him. But breaking an Immortal was no simple matter. It would take more than just his desire for the pain to end. He would have to lose all hope and all ability to care about himself or anyone else. And that was why Quinn Loukas was no closer to breaking today than he was the day he arrived at Sterling Tower four years ago.

Or is it closer to five years now? He’d lost count, but he’d lasted this long. He could make it another day. One more day….

Liquid fire splashed across his back, shocking Quinn from his stupor and setting old wounds ablaze. The lashes never healed between sessions. Michael’s magnetite-laced whip saw to that, and now the raw, infected gashes sizzled and bled anew. A second splash of Michael’s special concoction—water mixed with alcohol and some sort of acid—peeled away what little new skin Quinn’s ravaged Immortal body had been able to regenerate.

Raising his head, Quinn clenched his jaw shut, holding back the screams that burned his throat raw. With a glare, he met his jailor’s gaze, his vision fading in and out of focus. He would not give the brothers the satisfaction of winning this struggle. Not today.

One more day.

“He’s a stubborn son of a bitch. I’ll give him that,” Michael said, nodding at Ryan.

The two brothers looked nothing alike. Michael was blond and cruel, where Ryan was dark and indifferent. He held himself above the violence his brother dished out so eagerly.

“Lower him,” Ryan said as he fiddled with a wooden box in his hands.

“You can do it where he is,” Michael insisted.

“Lower him. I don’t want his blood and grime on my new suit.” Ryan brushed at his impeccably tailored jacket, cringing as he stepped into Quinn’s dungeon-like cell.

“Fine, but make it quick.” Michael flicked a switch on the gray brick wall and Quinn landed with a thud at Ryan’s feet.

“Where do you want it?” Ryan nudged Quinn with the heel of his custom leather shoe, polished to a shine.

Quinn stared up at him in confusion. Then the metal rod in Ryan’s hand suddenly glowed white hot and he understood. The brand. He’d seen it before. Quinn looked away, disinterested. He didn’t care where they put it.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll put it somewhere unpleasant.”

Finally, Quinn gestured at the back of his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look at it. They could brand him like cattle but they would never own him.

The searing hot iron touched his skin, sizzling like steak in a skillet, and the screams finally came. There was only so much he could take. After all this time, why were they branding him now? Like it was only the beginning. Was this just another one of their tricks? Like the white room?