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What had happened to him?
The need to reach up and touch the harsh line of his lips, to draw them to hers, was like a hunger she couldn’t push aside. The need to push away the insane fury in his eyes destroyed her.
“Pity, Cat?” he sneered, flipping the sheet over her bare body. “Is that pity I can feel reaching out to me? For me?” Demonic amusement flashed in his eyes. “Save it. Those bastards downstairs need it far more than I do.”
No, they were beyond pity, but it wasn’t pity she felt. It wasn’t compassion or sympathy. What it was, she wasn’t certain, but it h
urt to see the soul-deep fury raging in his eyes.
Where had it come from? Even in the labs it hadn’t been rooted so deeply inside the essence of who and what he was.
“You don’t want to know what let the monster free, little cat,” the beast snarled. “But you will know the price your enemies will pay for striking out at you.”
A savage growl rumbled in his chest as his lip lifted in a snarl. “And, I hope you can ignore what you don’t want to hear, because I want to hear their fucking screams.” He thumped his chest with one hand. “And by God, I was created with enough balls to make sure they scream loud and long.”
Of course he was.
He was Graeme. Gideon. G. All the parts of the Breed she had adored with every fiber of her being. But she’d never been unaware of the strength and determined savagery inside him. It was the pure mercilessness she’d been unaware of.
Turning, he stomped—Graeme stomped?—back to the bedroom door and slammed it closed behind him.
Graeme stomped? Oh God, that couldn’t be a good thing . . .
What, she wondered, would happen when he returned? Once he’d heard the screams, spilled their blood and rendered them lifeless?
Where would the madness go then? What would its focus be once he’d killed . . .
She couldn’t allow it to happen, not here, not for her or like this.
Raymond Martinez needed to answer for his crimes, not escape them so easily. And the Bureau needed to know about the existence of the Jackals. Graeme needed to let Jonas take care of this, build a rapport with the Bureau that would protect him should suspicion of who he was ever come to light.
Dammit. When was that fucking drug going to ease so she could move?
So she could stop him. Because he damned sure wasn’t listening to her anymore.
• • •
Damn her.
Fucking damn her.
Those bastards were going to rape her in her own bed while she was paralyzed by that crazed Council drug and she didn’t want to hear their screams?
Well, he did.
He wanted them to scream until their voices broke, until they were rabid with the fucking pain, insane from it. They were fucking Jackals, they might actually make it worthwhile to torture them.
Raymond Martinez would scream for a long time, he was sure. That bastard wanted to live. He wanted to live a long time. Long enough to spend that fucking case of cash and gold those Council misfits had given him as payment for Cat. And he knew. The son of a bitch fucking knew his daughter lived in Cat. That Claire Martinez’s spirit was still a part of Cat. And he didn’t care.
Moving back to the living room he crouched next to the two Jackals first.
Bastards.
He’d taped their lips to keep them from screaming and distracting him before he was ready to deal with them.
Damn her. Damn that woman . . .
He ripped the adhesive from their lips, smiling at their grunts of discomfort.
