“Mr. King?” They look at me with concern. I run my finger over my lip, and it gets covered in blood.
“They got a lucky hit, I guess,” I respond. I remember a man and woman in here but nothing about how they escaped from me. Their faces are a blur. Why can’t I remember them?
“Dr. Monroe is dead.” One of the guards checks out the poor woman on the floor.
“They cut out her womb,” I say. “I want Dr. Kingsley and Dr. Chamberlain brought into protection at the compound. If they argue about freedom, tell them they can come of their own free will, or I’ll bring them tied and gagged.”
I look down at my feet. A silver laptop sits there but I notice writing on it in blood.
“Samara — take this, Archer.”
I pick it up.
“Do you want me to take that?” one of the guards asks.
“No,” I command. “This is mine. I think it might hold clues as to what is going on here.” I rub my head where a headache lingers. It’s time I got to the bottom of what is going on here.
Chapter 13
Samara
“He remembered me, Hunter,” I plead once more as we weave our way through the dark streets. He doesn’t respond. I know he’s angry. There’s frustration ebbing from him like a crashing waterfall. It’s drenching me in its cold torrent, and I have no way of calming him. His foot is heavy on the gas, and we’re speeding wildly toward the cabin we’re staying at.
Sighing, I sit back and watch as the dim streetlights flit by. My mind is still on the man I love. Archer is still in there. I can get through to him, I just need time. He needs to give me something. Just an hour, and I know I can break the shit they’ve done to him.
Closing my eyes, I recall the day we saw them with Gabrielle. She was one of the older girls. A beautiful brunette with big hazel eyes. Her tanned skin and full lips were every boy’s wet dream at the time. And when Dr. Monroe found out she had her first period, she was taken in.
By then, I had just turned sixteen. It was just months before Archer actually left.
“Listen,” Arch whispers in my ear. As we near the door, I hear it. We’ve been coming down here when one of the kids goes missing in hopes of saving them, but each time we try, we fail. Instead of freeing them from the bed, we only see more horrors than the time before.
It’s not every day that they take one, which only serves to confirm that they plan their operations. There’s nothing we can do but watch each time a girl or boy comes down here. There’s no hope of them coming back the same way.
Gabrielle is their latest victim. She’s just turned sixteen, my age, but they haven’t brought me in here yet. She’s bound to a hospital bed with thick leather straps which are cutting into her flesh because she keeps tugging and pulling at them.
Monroe is here; she’s one of the doctors who oversees the operations they perform on the girls. She’s dressed in her standard white coat. Her hair is pinned in a severe bun at the back of her head, pulling the skin on her face taut. It’s as if she’s made of plastic.
She doesn’t smile. What it looks like is an evil sneer. What you’d probably picture Cruella De Ville to look like if she were a real person.
“You’re such a beautiful young woman,” Monroe utters with contempt at our friend. “Girls like you cause trouble in here.” Her words seem to drip with jealousy and rage. I don’t know what she means. Gabby is one of the sweetest girls.
“Please, just let me go. I’ll behave.” Tears blur my vision when I see the fear etched on Gabby’s face as she pleads with the doctor.
“You will,” Monroe confirms with a nod. “When we’re done, you’ll be able to live in The Factory without any threat from the boys in here. When they lift your pretty dress, they’ll be so horrified, they won’t come near you again.”
The doctor lifts the silver knife — a scalpel, I think, but longer and more vicious-looking. She slices Gabby’s dress from her body. It’s only then I notice her curves, her breasts. I’ve never seen a girl naked like that.
I cast a glance at Archer, but he’s not looking at her hungrily, the way he looks at me. He’s as horrified as I am. I turn my gaze back to the scene before me, finding Gabby now completely naked. Her underwear lies on the floor in a heap.
Just then, another doctor enters. Dr. Kingsley.
“Monroe. She’s a pretty one,” he says in a tone that causes ice to run through my veins. He lifts a hand, trailing it over the dips and curves of Gabrielle’s body. “You’re going to learn girls are made for pleasing the soldiers,” he utters. Leaning in, he sneers down at her shaking body, “It was why you were born.”