Savage Hunger(70)

The sudden silence struck her immediately and she held her breath, her gaze sliding to the door. They were done talking? Sure enough, footsteps sounded in the hall a moment later. Each step made her flinch and she still didn’t draw in a breath as she waited.

Her chest tightened and she grew light-headed as she watched the door handle turn and the door open slowly. Warrick stepped in. She knew it was him without looking at his face. His physique she could recognize blindfolded and by touch alone. But the broad shoulders, ripped chest and tapered waist were easily distinguishable beneath his black T-shirt.

She lifted her gaze slowly, up his neck, then lingering on a mouth that could be so patient and exquisitely torturous in giving pleasure. Her own mouth trembled as she finally lifted her gaze all the way up to meet his.

A ragged sob ripped from her throat, part a gasp for air, but mostly a denial to the blatant shock and remorse that was in his eyes. An expression that told her all she needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Sienna.”

“No.” Her head whipped from side to side, the word no spilling from her lips again and again in a furious mantra.

She wasn’t aware of retreating until the backs of her knees hit the bed. Warrick’s mouth tightened and he strode across the room toward her.

Panic and terror assailed her at once and she shrieked, climbing onto the bed in an effort to escape. Even though there really was no escape, but every part of her fought the obvious. Because she had to fight back. Or everything—everything—that had happened recently would be wiped from her mind. Including making love to Warrick.

More agents rushed into the room, ready to restrain her, and Sienna’s screams turned shrill. Someone grabbed her around the waist, jerking her down from the bed.

Oh God, and it was going to happen now. Now! Not even a few hours to get used to the idea. To have one last talk with Warrick.

She kicked and hit, blind in her need to free herself and stop the inevitable. The agent who held her around the waist pinned her arms to her side while another agent grabbed her legs. She tried to fight, but was rendered almost immobile by their grip as they moved her toward the door.

Her stomach roiled so hard she thought for a moment she might vomit. She twisted her head, searching out Warrick. “Don’t do this! Please, don’t let them do this!”

His lips compressed together, almost trembling as guilt and pain swept across his face. “Sienna…”

“Please!” she screamed, tears rolling down her face, hysteria taking over. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget!”

The agents carried her out of the room and she screamed louder. The sounds guttural, almost animal-like, and raw. The metallic taste of blood flitted across her tongue—shocking her a bit out of hysteria and sharply reminding her that she needed to try and manipulate her way out of this.

“Please,” she begged hoarsely, tilting her head back to stare up at the agent who held her arms. Quinton. “I can tell you more. I do know who was holding the shifters.”

His gaze narrowed, but there was no mistaking the pity there. “We both know you don’t, Sienna. It’s too late now.”

“No. It can’t be. Oh God, please!”

But it was. A wood chair had been placed in the middle of the living room, with what looked like Velcro straps hanging from it. It looked like some primitive, backwoods version of an electric chair. An icy shiver skated down her spine and the contents of her stomach ricocheted around like crazy.

“Come on, Sienna,” the voice of the man holding her legs cajoled. She recognized him after a moment as Rafferty. “Don’t go out this way. Some things are better not remembering. Just think of it like being at a frat party where you drank too much and blacked out.”

“I’ve never been drunk, asshole!”

“Shut it, Rafferty,” Hilliard said tersely. “That was a piss-poor attempt at humor.”

He stood across the room next to Warrick, watching in silence until now. His arms were folded across his massive chest, but his gaze held sympathy. Disappointment. She could see the apology plainly in his eyes. Hilliard felt sorry for her, but he wouldn’t stop it. None of the agents would. Not even the man she suspected she was in love with.

Quinton and Rafferty forced her into the chair, igniting another round of absolute panic. She thrashed and kicked at the two men, but was no match as they deftly strapped her into the chair.

The headphones she’d seen on the police officer were slipped over her head, with cold metal triangles that pressed against her temples. It was going to happen. Oh dear God in heaven, it was really going to happen. Her whole body started to tingle, feel light. Tears burned behind her eyes and her throat tightened.