“How long has it been?” Donovan demanded, impatient with the chitchat. He knew his brothers were only trying to distract him. Get his mind off the fact that just below, Eve’s fate hung in the balance. And they were at the mercy of fucking Kyle Phillips and his black ops team.
And yeah, he had to hand it to the young Marine. He was badass in his own right. But he didn’t have a personal stake in this. Donovan did.
On cue, Kyle’s voice came over the com and Donovan covered his earpiece so he wouldn’t miss a single word.
“It’s clear. And Donovan, you need to get in here. East wing. Last room. Make it quick.”
Donovan swayed, his heart nearly stopping. There was uncharacteristic concern in Kyle’s voice. The man was a robot. Programmed to do the mission and only the mission. No emotion. No feelings. Just achieve the objective.
“Oh God,” Donovan whispered even as he broke into a run, his brothers and the team running after him.
He burst through the doors, briefly took in the fact that the personnel were all on the floor, hands above their heads, facedown. He ignored them and got his bearings before sprinting down the hall of the east wing.
He ran through the open door and stopped dead at the sight that greeted him. Tears burned his eyes as he stared at Eve. Or what used to be Eve.
She was restrained in a straitjacket, sitting in a chair in the corner staring sightlessly out the tiny window that overlooked the back garden. Her hair was bedraggled. There was a bruise at the corner of her mouth and dried blood in a line down her chin. Her eyes were hollow and vacant and she was pale as death.
“I couldn’t get her to respond,” Kyle said quietly from where he stood a few feet from Eve. “She’s not there. I don’t know if she’s checked out or if it’s the meds they have her on, but something’s not right. I didn’t even get a flicker of response. She has no idea I’m even here. She just stares right through me.”
Oh Jesus. He couldn’t even muster relief over the fact she was alive. She might be breathing, but how much of her was left? Would she survive this? Would he ever get his Eve back?
“I want to know what the hell has been done to her,” Donovan barked. “Get on it. I want whoever’s in charge down here now, and I don’t give a fuck what has to be done to make him talk.”
Donovan walked quietly over to where Eve sat, still as a statue, her eyes focused on some distant point. For that matter, it didn’t appear that she was seeing anything. She’d withdrawn into herself, a shield to reality.
He knelt in front of her and then saw the restraints, the fact that she was unable to move. Furious, he grabbed his knife, but Garrett was there and gripped Donovan’s hand before he could flash the knife.
“Slow down, man,” Garrett said quietly. “It might freak her out if you brandish a knife as pissed as you are. You talk to her. I’ll cut her loose from behind.”
Knowing his brother was right, Donovan shoved his knife back into the clasp on his belt, and then he reached up to gently touch Eve’s face, hoping for some sign of recognition. But she didn’t react to his touch. Didn’t so much as flinch. Her eyes remained vacant. Empty. Lifeless.
Panic was starting to seize him and he shook uncontrollably. He wanted to weep like a baby, but he had to hold it together for Eve. She didn’t need him to be a wreck. She needed him to be strong. Her rock. The only solid thing in her current existence.
Garrett quickly freed her and they unwrapped the straitjacket until she was finally free. Her arms hung limply at her sides. It was as if she were completely unaware that she was now free. Her gaze remained fixed on some distant point out the window.