Surviving Doctor Vincent: The Good Doctor Trilogy Book 2 (20 page)

A rear door to the room opened and snake lady, now wearing a full robe, entered pushing a man in a wheelchair. She moved one of the chairs out of the way and wheeled the man’s chair next to the surface, so that he sat with everyone else.

“X, have your subject take a seat.” An old man with wavy, white hair and deep laugh lines commanded.

Xavier pulled out a chair for me. I didn’t hesitate, knowing that his control of me was required for their approval.

They all eyed me as I sat with my hands folded in my lap. The activities taking place on the screens were hard to ignore.

Dr. England took a seat in a chair at the opposite end of the table. A wicked smile crossed her lips. “She’s common.”

Xavier clasped his hands in front of him, still standing beside my chair.

She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Meaning, if you were hoping to bring her here to grant her asylum as your subject, she doesn’t qualify. She is not one of us. You, Xavier, were created. I remember the day you were born. I almost had second thoughts about giving you up. I knew you were special, but they,” she nodded her head to the left, “would have killed me, and where’s the fun in that?”

I stared at my lap, willing the shock from my face. Snake bitch was Xavier’s mother.

“So you’re my mother? And whom shall I call dad?” The amused tone to his voice surprised me, Xavier’s ability to transcend the bizarre never ceased to amaze.

Dr. England all but cackled. “Lydia was truly a shitty keeper. Didn’t she teach you anything?” She sat back and took a deep breath, releasing a sigh laced with annoyance. “The Society is your father, Xavier.” She opened the collar of the robe, revealing the tattoo. “The viper is capable of virgin birth. I’m the eldest breeder. When I conceive, the child is of the collective—there is no mother, no father, only possibility.”

The bitch was crazier than I thought.

He crossed his arms. “Fair enough. So what do we do now? Lydia wasn’t created. Charles picked her straight out of his daughter’s bedroom. Yet, you accepted her as Charles’s subject.”

“Yes, but only after he gave her to us. He had to prove his detachment as I had to prove my detachment from you. You were the hardest. The first always is. But look at you...so much more than I could have created alone. For unaware subjects, the rules are simpler, but for those with knowledge of us, we need to take precautions. So give her to us, prove you don’t need her. Prove that she will not be a distraction that might cause you to compromise your commitment to the greater good. After all, your loyalty should be an easy choice.”

No fucking way.

“Either that...” She slid the knife with the long red handle that she’d used on the man downstairs, across the table. “Or you have to kill her. She knows too much.”

I started to shake and clasped my hands tighter.

Xavier stopped the knife with his palm and paused. His gaze focused on the glossy surface of the table.

Dr. England laughed. “You didn’t think you could just march her in here and we’d grant her protection? No questions asked? You can thank Charles for the rule change. We never used to have to stand on ceremony, but when he attempted to build an army, we had to take some precautions. And since you come from Charles’s line, we need to make sure we can trust you.”

“I may have been Charles’s subject, but I’m your child. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Her piercing gaze fixed on Xavier. “No, it doesn’t. You never belonged to me.” She leaned forward placing both hands on the edge of the table. “So what will it be? Give her to us, allow her to prove your worth, or kill her and prove your loyalty.”

Xavier spun the knife on the table a few times and stopped the blade mid spin with the point directed at her.

“Keep it.” He shot the blade across the table.

She caught the handle in both hands before the tip pierced her robe.

He placed his hands on the table and leaned down, making eye contact with each of them, one by one as he spoke, “Do what you need to do with her. Lydia taught me everything about detachment. But you don’t get to keep her. I know what she’s capable of. She’s going to secure my spot at this table.”

A bald man with a long, drawn face, commented from the other side of the room, “Very few have been successful when they know the plan. Never underestimate the power of self-doubt. She’ll sabotage herself and end up dead anyway. Are you sure you want to prolong the inevitable?”

Xavier smiled. “I’m proof positive that she can do it. I have a high degree of confidence that her fate will never come to that.”

Dr. England rested against the back of her chair. “I don’t know. Tell us what you see in her.”

He expanded his hunched form and shook his finger. “No, Mommy dearest, that’s not how the rules work. My plan is my plan, Lydia taught me that much. The best player never tips his hand. I assure you, I will make you very, very proud.”

A sudden wave of insecurity washed over me—perhaps brought on by the talk of my death, the possibility of being handed to these people, Xavier’s confidence or a combination of all three. I knew Lydia kept him in the dark, but his lies were so convincing. They didn’t seem to have a clue that she’d never told him about them. Without her journals, he would have never known, but his delivery was compelling. His words—trust me—kept echoing through my head, but minute-by-minute I was losing my battle to fear and doubt.

When I looked up and saw the look on Dr. England’s face, my stomach knotted. The smirk was pure evil. “Room six looks empty. Why don’t you take her down and introduce her to one of the ushers?”

I glanced at Xavier.

He met her gaze with an equally suspicious smile. “Ushers?”

The man in the wheelchair spoke, “The bouncers, enforcers, they make sure that things don’t get out of hand. Since this is our theater, we call them ushers.”

My gaze connected with the man. I knew his voice—the witness. The wheelchair was necessary because of the gunshots he nursed in each leg. Son of a bitch.

The man continued, “Victoria likes to toss them a tidbit here and there, since they have to watch all the fucking and aren’t allowed to indulge. She has a twisted little game of taking convicted sex offenders and making them behave in this environment. She calls her methods treatment. A testament to her skills as a counselor. But she’s a big fucking joke. It doesn’t count if they know they’ll be rewarded.” He laughed.

He had to be joking. Nobody was that sick. My hands trembled in my lap. In my chest, my heart raced. They were more insane than I thought.

Victoria’s head snapped to the right, and her eyes narrowed on the chair-bound man. “Perhaps it’s best you hold your tongue. You do have something Xavier wants. You wouldn’t be the first council member to have an unfortunate accident.”

He chuckled. “You don’t scare me Victoria. I’m sure Xavier will be plenty busy with his own plans.”

Victoria interrupted. “Fine. No harm to me if you’re wrong. Go ahead and call the usher since he’s not going to kill her.”

I broke. “What? No. This is fucking crazy.” I stood. “Xavier, please no.”

“Elaine, you have to. Don’t make me kill you; you mean too much to my cause.”

He wouldn’t get over it? I tightened my arms around my chest. “What? No. No. This can’t be happening.”

“Remember what I told you. For this to work, you have to trust me. For us to achieve our goal, you have to do what I say.”

“This is bullshit.” I glanced around the room, assessing my exit strategy. I stumbled, tripping on the leg of my chair as I made my escape.

Xavier slammed his hand against the wooden panel, stopping me in my tracks, and whispered, “Trust me.”

The door opened, forcing me backward into the wall. Xavier stepped aside. Dr. England called out from her seat. “Take her to room six. Pick one of the new recruits. Let him know tonight’s his lucky night.”

An enormous man, dressed in a tuxedo, grabbed me by the wrist.

Panic tightened my chest. My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. “Xavier, please. No. Help me.” Desperation laced each word.

“Trust me. This is all part of the plan, and I need you to reach your potential. You’re no use to me dead. This is just the beginning. Trust...me.”

The man in the wheelchair laughed. “I, for one, am thrilled with your choice, Xavier. This will be most entertaining.”

“Thank you, Oscar, I’m glad you approve.”

He knew the man in the wheelchair? The one Sebastian shot?

I was such a fucking fool.

The man in the tuxedo picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

I let out one last plea before the tears began to fall. “Xavier, please...”

Xavier watched through a crack in the door as the man adjusted me on his shoulder. He mouthed, “Trust me,” one last time before sealing himself inside.

My heart all but stopped as blackness engulfed me.

Imposter

T
he light in the compact room was dim. The pain in my wrist demanded my attention. And the white band. Shit. The memories came rushing back. I must have passed out. I prayed a silent prayer that I’d slept through the whole ordeal. The churning in my gut continued as flashes of Xavier’s betrayal slipped through my mind. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to sleep. In that moment, I wished he had killed me.

An image of the box, with all his things sitting on my kitchen floor, flashed behind my eyes like a cruel joke. I should have walked away; it could have all ended there, in my kitchen. I could’ve stood with my sister at her wedding, made a new life in Alaska. Instead, my life would all end here. There was no way I was letting anyone rape me. I wasn’t going down without a fight. Either way, he was destined to kill me.

I searched the room for anything I could use as a weapon. There was nothing besides the sheet on the metal frame bed. I backed into the corner; silently reviewing self-defense moves I had seen on the Internet in my mind. Throat, groin, solar plexus? Was that the right order? If I did manage to best my assailant, would they just bring another? I couldn’t afford to feel defeated before I even began to fight. Perhaps this was psychological warfare. Perhaps it would never happen—I mean crazy or not, the situation was horrific. Did people like that really exist? Just then the door clicked and slowly opened—all welcomed doubts silenced.

Instead of a tuxedo or the long black robes like the council, my would-be rapist wore red. Those symbolic assholes. The hood hung low, covering his face with the rim. Did I even want to see his face? Would I be better off, if I survived, to spare myself the image?

He closed the door behind him, and the lock clicked.

My heart pounded in my chest. Anger reddened my cheeks. Adrenaline caused my arms to shake. I clenched and unclenched my fists. An offensive approach was best.

I ran past him and yanked on the door handle. It didn’t budge. I pulled, using all my body weight, hoping my full-force strength would be enough to open the door. Nothing. I spun, putting my back to the door. Threats were all I had left. “If you touch me, I will kill you.” I scanned the room again. “Maybe not tonight. But I will find you.”

He had turned to face me, but his features were still obscured. He stalked toward me—tall with broad shoulders. Besting him would be impossible.

I took a deep breath and held up my fists as he closed in on me, and readied my knee to strike.

He moved fast, snatching my wrist mid strike, pinning me to the wall, so my knee would not reach the intended target.

With my wrists trapped, his leg wedged between mine, I struggled against him. Tried to get at least one hand free.

He pressed his body hard against mine, smothering me. I don’t know why, but I expected him to smell bad—cigarettes and sweat, but he didn’t. Instead, a familiar cologne assaulted my senses. Yet, another thing to haunt me.

His hips pinned mine in place.

I kicked, trying to dislodge his legs. Tears formed in my eyes. Since I knew that even the greatest monsters sometimes had another side, I pleaded with it. “Please, don’t do this. Please. Let me go.”

His answer was to press the hard bulge in his pants against my stomach.

I heaved, before drowning in tears.

His lips kissed my neck. He groaned.

I trembled and flung my head forward, trying to bash my skull into his in an effort to dissuade him, but he didn’t stop.

I cried out, “No, no, no.” Gulping in a deep breath, I willed myself to relax. I needed the element of surprise. If he thought I’d given up, perhaps, he’d let his guard down.

He sucked the skin of my neck into his mouth while rubbing his cock against my stomach. He moaned.

I unleashed my last effort. I pulled one hand free of his grasp and pushed him, managing to wedge my knee between us.

He wavered but in an instant, had me pinned against the door again.

My chest rattled with sobs as he restrained my arm again.

He whispered in my ear, “Will you please stop trying to knee me in the balls? You’re giving a spectacular performance, but could you please ease up a bit?”

I froze. I would have known that thick Italian accent anywhere—Marco.

“No, don’t stop struggling. They have to believe. Just lay off the balls please, you’ll just make my job harder, or less so as the case may be.”

Confusion rushed through me, then anger and the fight I resumed was genuine. “You son of a bitch.” I bit his shoulder.

He cried out, “Fuck.”

He nipped my neck, causing my turn to yell. “Ow.”

He tightened his hold on me and tossed his head back, causing his hood to slide back enough for me to see his beautiful face.

His brow furrowed and something akin to terror laced his features. He must have registered the fear on my face—the authenticity of my tears. “Oh God, Elaine. What have we done? I’m so sorry.”

He leaned down, rested his lips against my ear, and whispered, “I can’t explain everything now. Xavier had this all planned. He would never toss you to the wolves, but we need to play their game. Your reaction has to be genuine. They need to think Xavier is so detached from you that he’d allow this to happen. But he knows I’m here. That you’re safe.”