Cursed Angels

But this time, he can’t.

Nothing can steal the agony that’s clawing its way through my chest. My heart bleeds as I recall the emptiness in Archer’s gaze. When he looked at me, he didn’t even recognize me. It was as if he’s an empty vessel, filled with anger and hatred and the need to kill.

It took me a while to break through his walls, that barrier they’ve made him put up. I know I can do it again. But Hunter’s right. What if the next time I come face to face with Archer, he kills me before I have the chance to make him see?

Chapter 14

Archer

“How could you let them get away? You walked in on them killing one of our doctors, and they escaped?” Rebekah angrily stomps her high-heeled foot while I sit sewing the cut over my eye. All soldiers are trained to take care of themselves medically. You can’t always rely on a doctor being available when you get shot, stabbed, or beaten. “You’re supposed to be a trained soldier.”

“Well, it would seem that your training failed on this occasion.” I dig the needle into my flesh, pull it to the jagged edge on the other side of the cut, and bring the thread through.

“Don’t be facetious, Archer. This is not a joke. There are killers after our doctors. You had them in your hands and let them go.”

“Maybe they’re better trained than we are,” I bite back and tie the ends of the surgical thread together. “Besides, the doctors are killing themselves with their constant disregard of the rules I’ve put in place. They think they’re invincible but are finally being shown that they aren’t. If the last two want to survive the next week, then I want them brought into the main compound and put under twenty-four-hour guard.”

“Nobody is better trained than the team I’ve put together.” She puts her hands on her curvy hips and pouts at me.

“Arrogance is a downfall, Rebekah.”

“And a soldier who doesn’t do his job will be one as well. You have five days to get their dead bodies in front of me. If you don’t, there will be dire consequences for you.” Rebekah spits her venom at me and leaves with a vibrating slam of the door.

I groan while checking my sewing handiwork in the mirror. I take an antiseptic wipe and clean off the congealed blood from the cut in my lip. The wounds will heal and leave me with another scar on my body. Another indicator of a memory I’ve long since forgotten. This time, however, I’m not going to forget. Pushing to my feet, I make my way over to my safe and enter the code. It’s six numbers which I’m sure should mean something to me, but I’ve no idea what. One, zero, two, nine, nine, three. The door clicks, and I open it. The laptop rests inside on a pile of papers that are probably important, but at the moment, the only thing I’m interested in reading is what’s on this laptop I decided to take.

I tuck it under my arm and leave the bedroom. My butler instantly appears. It’s like he materializes out of thin air whenever I leave my room.

“Do you need anything, sir?”

“No,” I snap in response and go straight to my computer room. I slam the door behind me, so he knows I don’t want him to enter with yet another cup of tea. Damn British and their tea. Since I returned from Dr. Monroe’s, he’s forced two cups of the disgusting stuff on me. When will he learn I like coffee, black and strong, enough to send me into a hyperactive fit?

I throw the laptop onto my desk, slump down into my chair, and swipe the mouse for my own computer to turn it on. I bring up Dr. Monroe’s files. She’s known as the butcher of women. A nasty piece of work with absolutely no morals. I locate what I’m looking for, the password to her laptop, and swivel my chair around to open Monroe’s laptop.

Computer technology is new to my arsenal of weapons. I like it. Having picked up superior techniques quickly, it’s like it was programmed into me. I mainly use it for surveillance on The Factory, but intelligence on my enemies is also extremely beneficial in my position. A few taps on the keys and I’m into the laptop. The file in front of me takes my breath away.

“Samara Eldrige”

That’s the name I’d written on the laptop. I spin back to my computer and set up a search on that name. While it’s running, I turn back to the file on Samara. I scan the document, reading the notes about her being a resident of The Factory until the age of seventeen when she disappeared. There are arguments between different doctors as to whether she should be a soldier or a whore for them. I can’t find any decision being made, but there are notes to say that Dr. Monroe took her womb.