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He had really done it. Cyrus had really grown tired of the game and decided to have her killed. It was like throwing out the trash, he had once told her. You had to get rid of the filth in your own organization sometimes. It seemed she had become part of the filth. Tanner’s head tilted to the side, his eyes, unique even among the Breeds, glittered with ice as a satirical smile shaped his sensually full lips. Thick, ropy muscles flexed in his arms as his head straightened and he continued to stare down his nose at her.
“What’s the price for a drink of water?” That look went hand in hand with the art of negotiation.
Amusement lit his gaze then. Just his eyes. A glimmer of it, nothing more before his gaze dropped to the blankets covering her.
“Whatever possessed you to sleep with an assassin?” he finally asked.
“A question is the price?” Negotiation was never that easy.
His lips quirked. “I told you, sweetheart, I have every intention of getting my piece of that tight little body. I was just wondering why your taste in men is so damned lousy. ”
Years of control stilled the flinch that a whiplash of pain brought.
“I’m not that thirsty yet,” she said calmly.
“I’m not that horny yet, but I could get there fast,” he assured her, his smile turning cold once again. “Maybe you’ll be thirsty by the time I’m ready. ”
Her gaze dropped to his hips then jerked back to his face. Okay, he looked pretty damned ready right now. It was almost amusing. Tanner Reynolds was reported to be one of the most docile Breeds ever created. Created approximately thirty-five years before, escaped with pride leader Callan Lyons at the age of fifteen and raised in Sandy Hook, Kentucky, until Lyons revealed their existence ten years before.
The New Mexico lab he had escaped from had been considered one of the most severe. The members of the Genetics Council, as well as the scientists and soldiers who oversaw the Breeds, had known no mercy. Mercy was said to breed weakness, and the Council refused to allow any of its creations to be weak.
All but one. Her mother. Twenty years ago, the only person willing to help the Breeds had been on temporary assignment in New Mexico to run a series of tests on a Breed known as Sherra. The only Breed to have conceived at that point, only to miscarry.
Scheme knew that much for a certainty. Her father had on several occasions pointed out how her mother had paid for her decision to aid the Breeds. She reportedly died of a massive stroke days later. But Scheme knew her father had had her killed. Just as he was willing to have his daughter killed now.
Tanner wasn’t the pleasure-seeking, laugh-a-minute American boy he was made out to be. It was there in his eyes, in the hard curve of his lips. He could fool others, but Scheme had spent her life traversing the dangerous waters of the Council. She knew exactly what she had managed to somehow get herself into here.
She was imprisoned with one of the most merciless, conniving Breeds ever created. As well as one of the most curious. And that was dangerous for her. Extremely dangerous.
“No compromise?” she asked, aware that her voice was weakening.
God, she was tired. And thirsty, the need for water almost torturous. And she needed a restroom. That one was becoming overriding.
“Breeds weren’t trained to compromise,” he reminded her. “I believe that was one of your father’s predecessor’s first orders when he began the training of the Breeds. ”
Yes. Good ole Grandfather Cyrus Tallant Sr. The bastard.
“Is the price lower for a trip to the restroom?” She sighed wearily. There should be a rule that negotiations could only be conducted when both parties were at their best. Or their weakest. The playing field really should be even.
Whatever the hell he had done to her had her head fuzzy as hell.
“Restroom breaks are free. ” He shrugged. “So is the water. Take a bath while you’re in there. It might improve your disposition. ”
Yeah, sure. Why didn’t she just do a few laps while she was at it? She wondered if she would even have the strength to carry her ass to wherever the hell the bathroom was located. Whatever he had used to knock her out with had made her weak as a kitten.
“Where is it?” She forced herself to move. Forced. Focused every ounce of strength she possessed into moving her legs, shifting her body. A person might never realize how much they used their backs, until those muscles cramped with the pain.
She hadn’t been so stiff the night before because she had worked out the soreness through the day. Now, after the enforced sleep, however long she had slept, she had stiffened to the point of agony.
No tears. She blinked back the moisture the pain of movement brought as she slid to the edge of the bed, careful to keep the blankets over vital parts of her naked body.
“Behind the curtain. ” He jerked his head to the rich maroon velvet curtain hanging on the wall several feet from the bottom of the bed.
“Figures,” she muttered to herself. “Of course it couldn’t be anywhere close. ”
“This far underground, pretty girl, you have to put the facilities in the best plumbable area. ” There was a shrug in his voice, but the only thing that really caught her was the underground part.
As she sat on the edge of the bed she turned to stare at him in resignation. “Underground?”
