Break Out (Supernatural Prison Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Phoebe kicked and clawed, but Fang had the upper hand. He crawled his way on top of her, and my vision blurred red.

  Pressing a palm down on her forehead, he forced her head back, exposing her neck. Then he leaned forward—

  “Fang, don’t!” I screamed. “Man, please… don’t do this.” My voice cracked, and I didn’t care who heard.

  Fang appeared to say something right in her ear, and then he pulled back. Did he change his mind?

  Phoebe stopped fighting. She didn’t beg for her life. In fact, she just stared at him.

  Then, in a movement so slight I could have easily missed it, she lifted her chin. In defiance… or an invitation.

  It happened in a blink of any eye. Fang sank his fangs into the base of Phoebe’s throat, directly into her carotid artery. The coward that I was, I closed my eyes, unable to watch her bleed out all over the tile floor.

  In the far recesses of my mind, I knew Phoebe would survive this. She’d already lived—and died, and lived again—through so much. There was no reason to think this would be any different. But how much death and destruction could one body take?

  Now I fully understood why each time she worried she might not come back. There was no guarantee. And Fletcher wasn’t God, no matter how he tried to be. He didn’t know if she could keep coming back. No one did.

  Except maybe God. But it appeared he’d abandoned us to this fate worse than death.

  5

  Phoebe

  I awoke to the familiar cadence of a heart monitor.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Without opening my eyes, I knew exactly where I was. I had no desire right now to rejoin the rest of the world, so I kept them closed.

  That, and I’d probably vomit if I opened them. I wasn’t sure if it was the trauma my body had endured or the distinct smell of disinfectant, but I felt like I was going to be sick.

  Too bad my mind didn’t get the memo it was time to rest. It decided now was the perfect opportunity to relive the moments before my death in agonizing detail.

  Mr. Fletcher and his gladiator-style matches. His subtle nod to Xander indicating what would happen if I didn’t fight. Him failing to acknowledge whether my dad was alive or dead. Xander coming to my rescue but calling me “defenseless”—which was true, but he didn’t have to say it in front of everyone.

  Me fighting back, knowing there was no point. Fang apologizing to me, saying he’d make it quick. The anguish on his face from the loss of his brother—his twin—and fear of losing his parents. Tears forming in my eyes, not for myself but for him. Tears that could heal bodies but not broken hearts.

  The resignation I’d felt, knowing what was coming, and anger at myself for fearing it anyway. Indescribable pain as sharp teeth penetrated my skin.

  My eyes flew open. The blinding white light burned my retinas, so I immediately closed them again.

  Lifting a shaky hand, I rubbed my fingers along the area of my neck where Fang had ripped into my flesh. The skin was perfectly smooth. I exhaled loudly.

  The sound of shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor alerted me to the unfortunate fact that I was not alone. Because I felt more vulnerable with my eyes closed, I opened them again.

  A woman in a lab coat stood beside my bed, recording my vitals. She and the others might have worn white coats, but I refused to think of them as doctors or scientists.

  “Hello, Phoebe,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  Bile rose in my throat. I hated the way they acted—as if I were here for a routine check-up, and they actually cared how I felt. “Great,” I mumbled. “Never better.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Either she missed the sarcasm completely, or she ignored it. Probably the latter. “There are guards posted outside the door. I’ll be right back.”

  Clipboard in hand, the woman walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. My head throbbed from the sound. Or maybe it was from dying and coming back to life.

  Still, I savored the solitude. No one watching me. No one telling me what to do, where to go, when to be there. No Lucy, who rarely spoke to me but whose presence seemed to always fill the small space we shared.

  I was completely and blessedly alone.

  It was a rare occurrence these days, and I thought back to how I’d hated every moment of the time spent solo after my dad left—correction, after he was taken. The grass really was greener, I supposed.

  The door opened again, bursting my blissful little bubble. Mr. Fletcher strode in, and I didn’t miss the look of shock that crossed his face. No one ever believed it until they saw it for themselves.

  He pulled up a chair and sat down, entirely too close to me. His gaze roamed over my body, and my nausea intensified. Then he zeroed in on my neck. “Fascinating,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, a modern miracle,” I muttered.

  His eyes found my face. “Nothing miraculous about it, my dear. This is science, pure and simple.”

  My stomach clenched. “No, this is people using science for their own purposes. My question is, what’s yours?”

  I’d been thinking about this since the night he visited my cell. What was the “mission” he’d referred to? Were we talking world domination here, or just the time-honored tradition of greed?

  His eyes flashed. “I’ll be the one asking questions, Phoenix.” He reached out and pressed two fingers against my neck.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Incredible. Not a scratch.”

  “Are you done?” I asked.

  Removing his hand, Mr. Fletcher said, “Not even close, my dear.” Then, oddly, he snapped his fingers.

  If he called me ‘dear’ one more time—

  Two guards rushed into the room. Before I knew what had happened, my wrists and ankles were strapped to the bed railing on either side of me. Then the goons left as quickly as they’d arrived.

  Mr. Fletcher picked up a small metal object from a nearby tray. I struggled against my bonds. “What are you doing?” My voice pitched, and I hated how frightened I sounded.

  “I need to ask you some questions. Answer honestly, and no harm will come to you.”

  My breaths came out quicker when I realized that the item he was holding was a scalpel. He lowered his hand and pressed the blade to my cheek, causing my breath to stutter to a stop. “How is your father alive?” he asked.

  My heart hammered against my chest, but I didn’t dare move a muscle.

  Is. Mr. Fletcher said ‘is.’ Not was...is. I’d held out hope Dad was still alive. Did this confirm it?

  The blade pricked my skin. “I don’t know! He was alive when I found him.”

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. It was the truth. What I didn’t know was if Mr. Fletcher knew my father had been unconscious until the day I discovered him. How could he?

  A sliver of a memory flickered in my mind. My mother, just after she discovered Dad was awake, saying, “I tried everything. New medications. New doctors every week…” Could one of them have told?

  “How long had your mother been keeping him here?”

  I exhaled a shallow breath. Mr. Fletcher didn’t know. And this was an easy answer. “I have no idea. That was the first time I’d seen him since… since you tried to kill him.”

  “How did she keep him alive?” he asked, skimming right over my accusation. Which evidently was true. I hated this man with every fiber of my being.

  “I don’t know. I told you… that day was the first time I saw him.”

  “How did you find him? Did she tell you where he was?”

  Xander and I technically figured it out on our own, but she—and some guards—had dropped hints. I nodded.

  “What else did your mother tell you?” Mr. Fletcher demanded.

  My mind froze. She’d said a lot in those minutes before she died. Question was, how much did I want him to know I knew? I had no clue what was important and what wasn’t. If I knew too
much, I had no doubt he’d kill me.

  The blade sliced into my skin, carving a crescent beneath my cheekbone. I whimpered. “Can you be more specific?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  “Did. Your. Mother. Reveal. Any. Information?”

  I shook my head, and a rivulet of blood trailed down my face.

  Mr. Fletcher sighed and scooted the chair back a bit. I started to exhale when he grabbed my hand and jabbed the scalpel beneath my thumbnail. “No!” I screamed. “Not unless finding out I’m a freak of nature is sensitive. I already knew that. We all do,” I said, panting.

  I watched helplessly as he lifted my pointer finger. Scrambling to think of something to stop him, I blurted, “She said my DNA was altered. That’s it.”

  Not really, but that’s all Mr. Fletcher needed to know. The SCC wasn’t the only one who could keep secrets.

  He looked thoughtful, as if weighing my response. “I don’t believe you,” he said with an eerie calm. I held my breath for what that might mean for me. “Did she say anything about getting you out of Lansing?” he asked.

  “What? No. Why would she do that? I was nothing to her.” The truth of the words tasted bitter on my tongue.

  “Then why would she keep your dad alive?”

  My answer came immediately. “Because he was the one person in this world she actually cared about,” I choked out.

  It took everything in me to hold the tears at bay. If one fell on the area he’d cut, Mr. Fletcher would know I’d been lying to him. Worse yet, he would know precisely how my father had been healed.

  “Hmm.” Mr. Fletcher’s eyes searched mine as he appeared to consider this. I wasn’t sure what there was to think about. He’d known my parents once upon a time, so if anyone knew I was telling the truth, it was him. “And what did your dad tell you?” he asked.

  It was pointless to dwell on the fact that he’d just confirmed that my mother didn’t love me. But I needed this line of questioning to end. Holding back tears was becoming more impossible by the second.

  I screamed as he sliced beneath another nail. “He told me he was sorry,” I cried. “That he hadn’t been there for me.”

  And that’s all this devil of a man was getting out of me. Every moment with my father was etched into my brain, but they were my memories, not his.

  “Just know that you kids were the future. You were supposed to save us all,” he’d said.

  Those were the words Dad told me and Xander mere minutes before we were caught trying to leave.

  Even though it pained me to do so, I maintained eye contact with Mr. Fletcher, He needed to at least think I was shooting straight with him.

  He sat back, contemplating me. I released another small breath. “Your dad was going to help you escape,” he said. “Did he ask you to contact anyone, or tell you what you would do after you left here?”

  I shook my head. “We hadn’t gotten that far. And we were trying to get him out of here, not the other way around.”

  The doubtful expression on Mr. Fletcher’s face made me feel panicky inside. If my father were still alive, he needed to be on this man’s good side.

  Mr. Fletcher heaved a sigh and picked up another finger. “He was confined to a bed!” I said. “In what world would you think he was the one trying to help us?”

  My sass cost me. He twisted my middle finger until the bone broke, and I cried out in agony. “I’m looking forward to seeing how well your injuries heal,” he stated.

  Through the pain, I began to panic. Did he know about my healing tears? How? No one knew I was a chimera except my mother, father, and Xander. My mother was dead, and my father’s status was yet to be determined. That left Xander, and he would have never told. I knew that as sure as I knew my name.

  While I was freaking out, I missed the moment when Mr. Fletcher replaced the scalpel in his hand with a syringe. I only saw it as he jammed the needle into the side of my neck. “That’s all for now,” he said. “I wish I could say you’ve been helpful, but you haven’t.”

  I swallowed, praying my death would come quick. “If your answers had been satisfactory, maybe your father wouldn’t have to suffer,” he taunted.

  It was the single best and worst taunt I’d heard in my life. “So he is alive?”

  Mr. Fletcher stood, tossing the syringe on the tray. “For now.”

  The poison was working its way through my system. As my heartbeat slowed, I whispered, “I don’t know anything.”

  “Last chance, Phoebe.” He leaned over, his face inches from mine. “To save your father, I need to know. What are you not telling me?”

  My tongue, thick and heavy as a wool blanket, wouldn’t work. I shook my head, my vision darkening.

  The last thing I heard was Fletcher’s sigh and, “Pity.”

  The last thought I had was that his spitefulness kept him from learning my secret.

  When I woke again, Mr. Fletcher was gone. But I wasn’t alone.

  And because I couldn’t catch a break, the one guard I did not want to see right now was sitting beside my bed. “You know you drool, right?” Wolf asked.

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mouth was so dry it felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton. Which was why I knew he was lying through his teeth.

  Plus, it wasn’t as if I’d been dancing merrily through dreamland. I was dead, and now I wasn’t. There was no naptime in between. Not that I remembered anyway.

  Looking down, I saw the restraints were gone. Too bad I didn’t have the energy to go anywhere. Not to mention, my head throbbed like there was a woodpecker going to town on it. Dying twice in a matter of hours really did a number on my body.

  I managed to lift my hand and point to my neck. “Yeah, you got your throat torn open,” Wolf said, and I grimaced. “What of it?”

  Shaking my head, I tried again. This time I mimicked holding a cup to my mouth.

  “You want me to get you water?” he asked incredulously.

  I could hardly believe it myself. But my throat was so parched, I was afraid I might damage something if I attempted to speak. Even more unbelievable was Wolf standing and walking to the sink to actually get me some water. Of course, he huffed and puffed the entire way there, but he still did it.

  While he filled the cup, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth in case I really had drooled. Maybe that’s why my mouth was so dry. Or more likely, it was whatever toxic substance Mr. Fletcher injected into my body.

  As Wolf neared, I grabbed on to the rail with my left hand and pushed myself up with the right. Then I took the cup and drank greedily.

  “Leave some for the rest of us, will ya?” he said, sitting back down.

  I had the feeling he was trying too hard, but I didn’t know why. Nor did I care. He might have been a guard, but he was still the same guy who’d wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed the life out of me.

  He waved his hand in my direction. “How long does this take?”

  “Wh-what?” I managed.

  “Whatever it is you do to recover.”

  I swallowed. It was sand-paper rough, but at least I could talk now. “I don’t do anything.”

  Wolf looked dubious. “So what, it’s all ‘she’s alive.” He waggled his fingers for emphasis. “And then you go on with your day like nothing happened?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  His gaze flicked to the open doorway. After a pause, he said, “No, I guess you don’t.”

  When he didn’t speak again, I asked, “Where is he anyway?”

  Once again, he glanced toward the door. “If by he, you mean Mr. Fletcher… he’s not here. Some people have better things to do than sit and watch you drool all over yourself. Me, on the other hand...” Wolf put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world.

  Except I didn’t want to spend any more time with him.

  Wolf murdered Oscar, and now he roamed free while the rest of us were locked up and terrorized on a daily basi
s? The injustice of it all made me want to vomit.

  A loud gurgling sound emanating from my stomach seemed to agree with this idea.

  “Whoa, when’s the last time you ate?”

  I had to think about it. “Breakfast?”

  He paused, and then, “Well, you already missed dinner and kitchen’s been closed for hours. Think you’ll survive ‘til tomorrow?”

  Then he laughed. And not a chuckle, but a full-bodied belly laugh. He laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

  Did Wolf just make a joke? I eyed him warily. The last time I was alone with him, he killed me for kicks. Now I felt as though I’d come back to an alternate reality.

  Wolf snorted. “Quit looking at me like I’m going to beat the crap out of you. Trust me, if I wanted to I could, and no one would stop me.”

  And there he was… the Wolf I knew and feared had gone nowhere. He was probably delirious because it was so late.

  I scooted to the edge of the bed and slowly swung my legs around. “I’m ready to go.”

  He looked slightly taken aback. “Okay, let’s go then,” he said and rose from his chair.

  On wobbly legs, I stood and walked to the door.

  “Guess I’m rusty,” Wolf muttered as we started down the narrow hall. It must have been late, because the corridor was empty—as were the rooms we passed by.

  “Guess I don’t like jokes that revolve around me dying,” I shot back.

  So quietly I barely heard him, he said, “Try being half animal for a day.”

  I paused as we turned a corner. Somebody made fun of Wolf? I wondered… was it the other guards? If so, they must have had a death wish.

  “Move it, Phoenix.”

  I caught up to Wolf, and we continued down another hallway.

  After a minute or so, he said, “So were y’all surprised to see me?”

  Looking over, I saw he was smirking. Then I saw red.

  He was talking about the fact that he was here when he should have been dead or locked up for life. It was the reminder I needed that this guard was also a murderer.