Trap bent his head to the lock. It was a triple lock. One that required a code and two that required sheer strength. The babies had been in a cell exactly the same, but the locks were different, only requiring two keys. That told him Cayenne was feared far more than Pepper or the little viper babies.
"Can you do it?" Anxiety tinged her voice.
"Yes." He still wasn't certain he wanted to open the locks. There was something about her still eluding him. How responsible was he, thinking of opening the cell when he didn't know the first thing about the woman behind the bars. Just because Whitney had discarded her didn't mean he should rescue her.
He was jaded and cynical. He knew that. He thought with his brain, analyzed everything, probably far too much, but still. The need to open the cell was strong. He feared it was that part of him that needed a challenge both physically and intellectually. He was as driven as Whitney in his own way. The need to know.
He placed his hand on the plate of numbers and let his body absorb them all. Numbers melted into his skin, entered his bloodstream and found their way into his bones. He felt them there, knew them intimately. Numbers made sense to him. They were logical. Always progressive. Infinite. On the plate, the keys moved, following the long sequence of numbers his body recognized. The first lock slid open.
Cayenne's eyes widened. Clearly she was shocked that he was actually going to free her. She watched intently as he wrapped his fingers around the second lock. It was a combination of numbers as well, but the slider was a double bolt and along with the code, one needed a key. That, he didn't have.
Trap moved closer to the cell bars, leaning against them, letting the numbers take him, so that his mind worked just like a processor, seeing the numbers tumble into place, one after another until the lock clicked and all they needed was the key. He used brute strength to rip the bolts back.
Cayenne gasped. Hope leapt into her eyes. "You weren't kidding. You really can get the cell unlocked."
Trap didn't bother to state the obvious. His hand closed over the third lock. It was more complicated in that along with the combination, one steel bolt slid right while two slid left. The key that unlocked the round, solid bolts would have made it much easier. He wasn't feeling his best and the way she smelled was just a little bit too heady. She was disturbing his senses and playing tricks with his mind.
Every breath she took was like a breath of air drawn into his own lungs. He didn't want this woman around anyone he knew. She was well aware she couldn't play him, and that left her frustrated. She didn't know that the closer he was to her, the harder it was to get her out of his mind.
He took refuge in the familiar logic of numbers, pushing her away, grateful he could. His world was one of reason and rationality. This woman was so far outside that realm, he didn't know exactly where to place her - and that disturbed him - but he knew she was dangerous. Lethal even.
A part of him wanted to stop before he could open the third lock, but there was the male in him, the alpha that drove him to accept challenges and not back away from a fight. There was the GhostWalker that didn't allow for one of their own to be left behind. This woman had been created, enhanced and then tossed aside. She'd had no life but that of a soldier. She knew little of the outside world, and he could tell she felt nothing but contempt for men. Who could blame her?
The worst of it was, he very well could have been like Whitney, pushing the envelope to see what he could do without asking whether or not he should, because some things were simply morally wrong. He always had to consciously remind himself of that. He kept emotion out of it, but still, he surrounded himself with others he admired, such as Wyatt, who knew right from wrong.
Wyatt, from the moment they met, had become somewhat of a moral compass for him. He'd cultivated the friendship deliberately, both because Wyatt had an amazing mind and a rivaling intelligence, but also because Trap knew he lacked the things Wyatt had. Trap was too controlled and needed to control everything and everyone around him. His world had to make sense. He didn't fear much and he could be extremely violent when a situation called for it. Wyatt had always provided a way to judge his own morality and he'd been wise enough to allow himself to let the man fully into his world.
He wasn't certain Cayenne knew the difference between right and wrong, but he wasn't going to leave her there. The lock clicked free and he wrenched, first left and then right, destroying the bolts. He stood there a moment and lifted his gaze to hers. Her eyes went wide.
Chapter 17
The door to the cell swung open and Cayenne simply stood there, staring at Trap with her amazing green eyes, almost as if she couldn't believe he had actually done what he said he would. He stepped back to give her room. She inhaled, drawing the first taste of freedom into her lungs. Still, she didn't step out of the cell.
They stared at one another. Trap realized she was waiting for something. Long lashes veiled the expression in her eyes, but she appeared wary. He took another step back. There wasn't a lot of room in the holding area, just enough for each of the three cell doors to swing open. He backed all the way against the elevator doors and held his hands away from his sides to show her he wasn't armed.
The moment he moved, she thrust her palms outward and rushed toward him. Long thin strings of spun silk rained down on him, nearly smothering him. Within seconds he was wrapped up like a mummy from head to toe. She jumped back, flattening herself against the wall.
"If you really are who you say you are, then I'm sorry, but I can't take a chance. I've been experimented on enough for twenty lifetimes. I made certain the wrappings were loose enough that you should be able to get out of them."
Trap glared at her. Beneath the silken filaments, he splayed his fingers wide. He was a man who rarely felt strong emotion, but now, it ran through him like an erupting volcano. Hot blood surged through his veins. His gut churned with absolute fury. He'd risked his life to help this woman and she was leaving him tied up like a chicken for the soldiers to find?
She gasped, and he knew she saw the killer in him for the first time. His cat sprang forward, all roped muscle and sinew, sharp claws, ripping through the silken cords as if they weren't even there. In a fury the beast in him shredded the strings into tiny pieces. She turned and sprang for the wall. He sprang after her.
Trap was on her before she could get up to the ceiling, not that it would have done her any good. He was cat, and he could jump and leap long distances. He dragged her to him and she turned her head, her small white teeth heading straight for his arm.
"Don't." A single word. A command. He bit it out between his own teeth, his fingers tightening around her throat. She stilled, her incredible green eyes moving over his face. "I'll fucking kill you if you bite me. It will take me one second to snap your neck and whatever venom you have in you won't be that fast acting. Don't think for a minute I won't."
They stared at each other, both in a fury. "Do it then," she challenged him. "They're going to kill me anyway."
"I'm trying to help you, but you're not quite bright, are you?" Trap didn't like the fact that her body registered with his. He was suddenly too aware of her shape. Of her soft skin. Of the fact that she was every bit as lethal as he was.
"Insult me all you want, cat man. You don't scare me."
He leaned in close to her. "I terrify you," he clarified. "You can't manipulate me. You can't do a damn thing but wait to see if I'm telling you the truth or not."
She didn't flinch or back down. "I still have choices."
"And what would they be?"
"I could kill us both, you ass. Right now. Sink my teeth into you, inject you with a lethal dose of venom and let you break my neck."
As a rule, he knew black widows rarely caused fatalities with their bites, although they were reputed to have fifteen times the venom strength of a rattlesnake, but without a doubt, Whitney had seen to it that she could kill. Trap believed her. He just didn't care.
He dragged her closer to him, his mouth inche
s from hers. "Then do it. Fucking kill us both. Die without ever walking free. Be that stupid."
Cayenne's resistance only added to his awareness of her. Her breath. The rise and fall of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled. The length of her lashes and the way her skin was so soft it seemed to melt into his. He refused to acknowledge his awareness of her. He glared down at her, waiting for her to submit.
"Now who's being stupid?" she asked, and relaxed into him. "You would have died just to prove you're all manly."
"I'm going to let you go, but you hear what I'm saying to you. If I find out that you're hurting innocents for any reason, I'll hunt you down and kill you without a qualm. Do you understand me?"
She didn't look away. She didn't flinch. She stared him straight in the eye, her small white teeth inches from his face. All the while she smiled at him as she nodded her head slowly. He wanted to slap her. Or kiss her. He wasn't certain which.
He flung her away from him, using a little more force than he meant to. "Get out of here, then."
She turned at the last moment in midair. Her hands and feet met the wall and she clung there for a moment before racing up toward the vent. Her small fingers slid into the screen and she wrenched it loose, screws and all. Clearly she had a spider's strength. Her hair fell in clouds of black silk down her back, the streak of red very prominent, reminding him of the hourglass on a spider's belly. Cayenne disappeared into the duct.
Trap swore under his breath and dusted off the last bits of silk. She was ridiculous. Seriously flawed. She had really considered killing them both. He'd seen it in her eyes. She hadn't wanted to submit, not for a moment, to his will. He couldn't imagine the havoc she would have created in Whitney's labs. He still wasn't certain whether or not he'd just let a serial killer loose on the world, but he meant what he said. If he learned she harmed an innocent, he would find her and kill her.
The woman is making her way out through the air ducts, Wyatt. I'm giving myself a couple of minutes and then I'll be out of here. Is Pepper out yet with the babies?
It's slow goin', Wyatt reported. She's tryin'. We're pullin' everythin' off these computers as fast as we can.
He sounded as weary as Trap felt. Trap slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He needed just a few minutes to collect himself before he went through the concrete again.
I'll need help once I'm out. He despised admitting it. Despised having to tell the others he would be too weak and sick to make it back to the airboat on his own.
I'll meet you outside the wall, Malichai said. Ezekiel can cover the others as they retreat. Pepper and the children will be coming out on his side. Is the woman coming back with us? Where is she meeting us?
Hell no. She's gone in the wind and good riddance, Trap said. That one is more trouble than she's worth.
Wyatt laughed softly. You really liked her then?
Trap swore at him. No one could like that woman. Not even a saint. He took another deep breath as he stared at the wall. He didn't like the wall any more than he liked the woman. He swore again just for the hell of it.
How much longer, Wyatt, Ezekiel asked. Draden says you need medical attention immediately.
I gave myself medical attention, Wyatt snapped back.
Wyatt, Trap cautioned. It's not like we can do without you. Any of us. It was an admission of his weakness. One he rarely admitted to.
I can do this, Wyatt said. Just get out of there, Trap, and everyone stop worryin' about me.
Oh, yeah, Malichai said. He's hurt or he wouldn't be so grumpy. Bayou Bear has joined us and he's never any picnic.
Shut the hell up.
Now Wyatt really sounded like Trap felt. Before Trap could think much more about it, he pressed both hands into the wall and gave himself up to the properties, the mixture of components that made up concrete. His entire body shuddered. He felt the terrible pull on his skin and his stomach lurched. He nearly pulled away, but knew if he did he wouldn't be able to force himself to face going through the wall again.
He cursed the woman all over again. She wasn't worth this torture. So much for being the white knight. Darkness descended. Bitter cold. He felt lost and alone, afraid he wouldn't make it through. He tried to project a forward motion, tried to stop the mind-numbing terror from taking him over completely, but there was no way out and no one to save him.
Something moved in his mind. Just for a moment. Something or someone. He felt the connection as if a hand reached for him, fingers brushing across his face, and then he was through the wall and out into the night. He collapsed onto the ground, going down hard, unable to catch himself. His hands dug into the soil for an anchor. Anything real. He needed to feel the heat of the night and the dirt and vegetation in his hands.
I'm here, Malichai said, and pressed his hand hard into Trap's shoulder as he crouched down beside him.
Trap nodded and managed to let loose of the soil with one hand in order to cover Malichai's with the other. Tremors wracked his body. It was impossible to move. He had no idea how he was going to make it back to the airboat.
I've got you, Malichai said as if reading Trap's mind. I'm taking Trap back to the boat. Wyatt, tell Pepper to move it.
Wyatt sighed. He knew what it cost Trap to go through a wall, and going through one that thick had been dangerous. There was no way he could have shaken a hole in the wall without bringing down the building, but he still felt guilty when he realized just how bad Trap's condition was. All of them felt it.
He touched the pressure bandage and his palm came away smeared with blood. Pepper, we're all waitin' on you, now. How close?
You can get out of there if you have everything you need. I'm pushing my way through to the outside right now.
Relief was tremendous. He had gotten as much information off the computers as he believed he was going to get.
Let's shut this thing down. They may have heard the shots fired on the floor below us. No one's come to investigate yet. Likely they were ordered to stand, but someone will come eventually.
Wyatt turned. The motion caused pain so severe he doubled over. The action saved his life. The blade of a knife missed his neck, swishing through empty air where his head had been. Wyatt dove forward instinctively, somersaulting and coming up to his feet. He groaned aloud when he saw his adversary.
"Not you. What the hell are you?"
One eye was gone and part of the skull, and he could see the abnormally thick skeletal structure beneath. Aside from the bony armor, the man still seemed human, so why hadn't he bled out?
His opponent didn't waste time answering. He rushed Wyatt, racing toward him, going up over one of the desks and leaping on a table, scattering bottles and glass in every direction with a kind of clumsy speed. He hit Wyatt with a solid left to the chest, right over the stab wound, even as the two bodies crashed to the floor. Wyatt's chest seemed to disintegrate under that blow.
The only answer was, like Wyatt, he could somehow repair himself. Or... Whitney had found a way for the body to repair itself. He knew that some of the soldiers, before going out on a mission, were given a drug to speed up the healing process. The drug also could kill them. That was the more likely explanation.
Even with the super soldier raining blows on him, Wyatt's brain refused to shut off. He was in survival mode, knowing this soldier could easily kill him. Each punch felt like a crushing blow. The man's fists were battering rams, slamming into his ribs and the wound on his chest. Wyatt blocked as best he could, with pain ripping through his chest.
Fire burst through him, a dark, ugly place Wyatt rarely allowed himself to go. The surge of adrenaline through pure rage allowed him to heave the soldier off of him with enough strength to send him flying. Wyatt leapt to his feet and raced up the wall, launching himself at the soldier. He caught him in a flying scissors hold around the neck, taking him down hard, punching low, trying to find a way to disable him.
He hit the soldier twice, two hard punches to the groin and then leapt away, using his s
peed to keep the man from getting his hands on him. He knew he had to end it fast. Once the rage-driven adrenaline drained from his system, he was going to be in bad shape. He had to find a way to end the maniac once and for all.
Supersoldier turned to face Wyatt, as Wyatt moved back, his body coiled and ready for action. The soldier spit blood and grinned at Wyatt as he drew another knife from his belt. He ran straight at the Cajun, the knife low, going for the soft parts of the body.
Even injured, Wyatt was faster, his body a powerful machine, with the roped muscles and speed of a cat. He eluded the attack by side-stepping, spinning out of the soldier's path to come in behind him and grip his neck. He wrenched hard, using his enhanced strength. The thick bone protecting flesh and muscle held.
The soldier stabbed down at Wyatt's leg. The blade sank into his thigh as he wrenched at the soldier's neck a second time, this time putting every bit of strength he had into the motion. The crack was loud in the room as the thick plate broke along with the neck. The man slumped in his arms, the dead weight nearly carrying him to the floor.
Pain washed over and through him. He swore softly and sank down to the floor beside the dead soldier. Whitney's experiments were getting out of hand. Or perhaps this was one of his earlier projects he had nearly rejected and then kept for himself. Clearly the doctor wasn't acting alone. He had set up several laboratories in various parts of the world, not just the United States, and he had others running them - others like him.
Draden's hand pressed into his shoulder, holding him down. "Is it safe to pull out the knife? Did it hit anything vital?"
Wyatt felt a little light-headed. He was already leaking blood from the first wound. He forced the fuzziness out of his head and placed his hands around the blade, feeling for the wound. He shook his head. "He missed. Too busy worryin' about me breakin' his neck to see where he was stabbin'."
"Malichai is packing Trap out, I guess I'll do the same with you. Get out a pressure bandage. I'm pulling that knife out of you."