Savage Hunger: Savage, Book 1 (26 page)

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.

Rafferty stepped away to stand next to Warrick, and soon it was just Quinton who held the remote that would activate her memory wipe.

“Quinton, please.” She knew it was hopeless, but the words slipped out anyway. Resigned, weary as she met his gaze solidly.

Quinton opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. His gaze slid down to her neck, before jumping back up to her eyes. He stared at her long and hard, but she got the feeling it wasn’t her he was seeing.

The color slowly leached from his face and his hands that gripped the remote began to tremble. Suddenly he shook his head and thrust the remote into Rafferty’s hands, before stepping back.

“You get to do this one,” he muttered, his gaze averted from the other agents.

Rafferty stepped forward, no longer smirking with amusement, but suitably somber now.

Resignation took over, killing any shred of hope that remained, and leaving a heaviness that invaded every muscle in her body. The ache in her heart grew, consumed her. Sienna’s gaze slid to Warrick and she saw the frustration and pain flickering in his eyes.

I’ll never forget what happened between us. What you mean to me.
It was a promise she had no control over. A vow that she knew had basically no chance of being kept.

Even though she hadn’t said the words aloud, Warrick seemed to hear them. His face suddenly contorted and he lurched forward with a roar. But the agents flanking him must have expected it, because they grabbed his arms and hauled him back. Restrained him from reaching her.

“Dammit, let her go,” Warrick shouted fiercely, struggling against the two agents. “She won’t breathe a word about what’s happened or the shifters. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And so will we.” Rafferty gave a soft sigh and shook his head. “I guess we should just get this over with.”

Memories raced through her head at light speed, slamming into her in a blur of color and action. The discovery of the shifters. The last few days in the safe house. Making love to Warrick. And they would all be gone in seconds.

“And here we go,” Rafferty muttered. “For the record, it was nice getting to know you, Sienna.”

She couldn’t even muster a bitter laugh in response. She was too frozen with a mix of horror and helplessness. Sienna watched in slow motion as Rafferty’s finger descended toward the black button on the remote. A small humming began and a tingle started at her temples where the triangles touched.

One last time, Sienna jerked her gaze back to Warrick. Her last conscious thought would be of him. It was the only thing she could control right now. Their gazes locked. Held. His face twisted again with rage and his muscles flexed.

“Goddammit, no!” Warrick roared, flinging Quinton and Hilliard off him and to the ground as if they were rag dolls.

Sienna watched him charge toward her, heart in her throat. Everything grew fuzzy. Her mind seemed to be swirling into some kind of vertical funnel cloud toward a black abyss.

If it hadn’t been for the sharp, sudden pain slicing through her cheek, she might not have noticed the window behind the agents exploding in a hail of glass and gunfire.

Chapter Sixteen

Shit!

Warrick launched himself the last few feet, tackling the chair Sienna was strapped to and knocking them both to the ground. The headpiece slipped from her head as he spun her away from the window, making sure her body wasn’t exposed to whomever outside was attacking them.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rafferty screamed, reaching for his weapon.

“The hell if I know.” Quinton already had his gun out and was crouched against the wall next to the blown-out window. “Return fire, agents. Donovan, get Sienna the hell out of here.”

As if he needed fucking permission, Warrick thought savagely as he ripped the straps free from Sienna’s body.

Bullets pinged around them, shattering lamps and making deceptively safe-sounding, muffled noises as they pierced the cushions on the couch.

Sienna fell free from the chair, her body almost a dead weight and her eyes half closed. Son of a bitch, had the memory wipe gone through? Blood trickled down her cheek where it looked like a piece of glass from the window was still embedded. Grinding his teeth together, knowing there wasn’t time to consider the possibility, he slid his hands beneath her armpits and, staying low, dragged her across the living room floor and into the hallway.

The sound of gunfire was still prominent, but the immediate danger seemed to be diminished. He sat down on the floor and pulled Sienna’s head into his lap. He removed the tiny shrapnel from her cheek and immediately blood spilled heavier from the wound.

Gathering his T-shirt hem, he pressed it against her skin to stop the blood flow.

“Sienna, baby, look at me.”

Her lashes fluttered and all he saw was the whites of her eyes for a moment. But then she made a murmur of pain, before she seemed to slip into alertness.

“Warrick?” Her brows drew together, shock flaring in her gaze as if she were just seeing him for the first time in years.

His gut twisted and sharp pain knifed through his heart. No. Oh God. He’d been too late. Everything that had happened between them was gone now. She’d never remember the shifters. What he was. Remember how he’d made love to her—taken her innocence. Everything from the past few days was gone. The memory wipe had taken.

“I can’t believe it.” She shook her head and lurched upward, flinging her arms around his neck. “Thank God. Oh thank God! I was so scared they’d make me forget you.”

Dismay rushed through him, followed swiftly by relief. She remembered. Warrick inhaled raggedly as he wrapped his arms around her. Oh thank God she remembered! He could feel and hear the furious beating of her heart as she clung to him. She hadn’t been wiped. By the grace of God—and an unplanned assault—he’d somehow gotten to her in time.

“Did I see that right? Is someone shooting at us?” Her voice trembled.

“You saw it right.” He brushed the trickle of blood from her cheek and his mouth tightened. “We’re under attack.”

“By whom? Why?”

“Damn good question. But I’ll bet the answer has to do with your former employer,” he muttered thickly. And if any of the agents ended up dead from this little attack, someone was going to pay fucking dearly. “I need to go out there and help the other agents, baby. Will you be okay?”

Sienna bit her lip, fear momentarily flashing in her eyes, before she gave a small nod. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

Torn between wanting to stay and protect her and the need to kick some serious ass, Warrick gave a swift nod. He set her aside gently and reached for the gun that was strapped to his ankle.

“Stay in the hall. Don’t move a muscle until I tell you to come out. And you scream bloody murder if anyone comes in through a window.”

Her eyes widened but again she gave a small nod.

Warrick started down the hall, then stilled. Turning around, he strode over to her and crouched down. Cupping her face, he crushed his lips against hers in a hard, searing kiss.

When he lifted his head a moment later, her eyes were closed as she was breathing heavily.

“I couldn’t let you forget, Sienna. I refused to let you.”

Then he straightened and jogged back out to the living room. The gunfire hadn’t lessened, and Hilliard was returning fire from his spot near the window. Rafferty was nowhere to be seen, and Larson apparently hadn’t come back since this morning when Quinton had sent him out on an errand.

“Where’s Sienna at?” Quinton asked as Warrick crouched down beside him behind an overturned table.

“In the hallway. Told her to stay there and scream if anyone comes her way.”

“Good. She should be safe there.” Quinton nodded and slapped a reloaded magazine clip into his Glock. “Rafferty shifted and took off outside to hunt down the shooters. This mess should be over in a few minutes.”

Warrick nodded and hardened his jaw. “I won’t let you wipe her memory, Quinton.”

Quinton stilled, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “When the smoke clears, I want you to get Sienna the hell out of here.”

Warrick’s pulse jumped and he drew in a sharp breath. “So you agree with me?”

“I didn’t say I agreed with you, Agent Donovan. I said get her the hell out of here.”

Interesting. Not really an answer to his question. Warrick narrowed his eyes, but wasn’t about to argue.

“You got some place in mind where you want me to take her?”

“Head to Boston. Find her dad. She was right, he’s the only man capable of breaking this damn drug they’ve been given.” Quinton glanced over his shoulder toward the window where the gunfire had ceased. “I’ve got samples of the ferals’ blood in the fridge. Bring it on ice. Take the jump drive with you.”

“Any chance we can get a P.I.A. plane to fly us out?”

“I’ll arrange it.”

“I think we’re clear,” Hilliard called out cheerfully. “Rafferty must’ve caught up with the bastards. Hope he ripped their fucking hearts out while he was at it.”

Warrick waited a few minutes, his training too engraved to jump up and throw himself into the line of fire before it was guaranteed to be safe.

The front door burst open and all agents swung the barrels of their guns at the figure who then strode in.

“Easy, boys.” Rafferty raised his hands in surrender and grinned. “We’re good. They’re gone, whoever they were.”

“They’re gone?” Quinton snarled, holstering his gun and rising to his feet. “How the hell did they escape?”

“There were three of them. They started shooting at me when they realized I was there. But they didn’t get away unscathed. I took out a good chunk of one guy’s calf.”

“Did you recognize anyone?” Hilliard asked, lowering his gun.

Rafferty shoved his hand into pants that he’d obviously put back on outside and shrugged. “I don’t have a damn clue who those ass-clowns were.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

Warrick cursed and glanced—along with everyone else—at Sienna, who stood at the end of the hallway.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Agent Hilliard replied. “Looks like you got cut one helluva break, missy.”

Rafferty looked sharply at Quinton. “The memory wipe didn’t take?”

“Apparently not,” he drawled.

“Want me to hook her back up? We should still follow through with the orders from HQ.”

Sienna was across the floor in an instant, sidling up to Warrick and gripping his arm. He knew she was thinking of what he’d said in the hallway. And he still meant it. He would go down fighting before he let them try a memory wipe again. She was his mate, and he’d spent so long worrying about what that meant, that he’d almost lost her.

When he’d marked her he’d made a choice, conscious or not, and he would live with the result. Sienna was his to protect. And dammit, from this point out he’d do a helluva better job.

“We’re going to hold off on any memory wipe for now.” Quinton averted his gaze from the agents as he picked up large fragments of a broken lamp. “In case you haven’t realized it, boys, our safe house has been compromised. We probably should’ve relocated yesterday after that officer wandered onto the property.”