Page 94 of Scorned
I tapped again. “Marcus?” No answer. “Can anyone hear me?”
Unsure why my earbuds weren’t working, I yanked my cell from my pocket and when I went to text Winnie, I saw three little dots, alerting me he was already sending me something.
Winnie: 207948. I can hear you. Don’t know why you can’t hear me.
A small hint or worry filled me as I pocketed my phone and punched the numbers into the keypad, causing the doors to open with s swoosh.
Each muscle I had began to tremble as I stepped into the new area. This mission had been nerve-racking and the thought of getting caught lingered in the back of my mind the entire time I’d been inside VRC, but I was unsure why my body decided to alert me of something now.
The corridor I entered was empty of any lingering personnel. To my right was an alcove, a fifteen-foot-wide area containing metal racks filled with medical supplies. To my left was another recessed area with two vending machines, one with snacks and one with drinks, and a small white table with two matching chairs.
The hallway ahead of me was shorter than the others, with four doors on each side of it and led to a dead end. My gut instincts pulled me to the right side first, so I decided I’d check the rooms there, then go down the left side and end up back where I started. A perfect way to clear an area.
The first room I came to I went to tap my badge and there wasn’t any security panel for badges, only a keypad. I typed in the only code I had and to my surprise, it unlocked. Not wanting to look suspicious if someone was hanging around, I barged in like I belonged there.
The room was empty of people, the walls the same bright white as the rest of the facility. On the left side was an empty metal platform bed with enormous lights hanging above it, reminding me of a surgical room. To my right, a rolling pedestal with a laptop on it, the screen dark.
In the back right corner was a large cabinet and I moseyed my way toward it. I flung open the door, expecting something shocking or dreadful and found pure white scrubs sitting on the shelves. I rolled my eyes at the amount of white this place had, then shut the cabinet.
One last glance around, then I headed back into the hall and entered my code for door number two. The door unlocked and I pushed it open, not surprised the room looked exactly the same as the other. I sighed, shutting it and moving on.
The pulling of the bond twisted my stomach as I stepped up to room number three. My breaths became choppy, my heart speeding along with them. I shoved the feeling aside, brushing it off as nervousness before entering my code.
The door unlocked and my hands felt stiff as I rotated the handle, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Despite the eerie resemblance to the other rooms, this particular one had an icy chill as if death himself lingered in the corner, ready to claim a soul.
And this . . . this disgustingly white, cold ass room . . . wasn’t empty.
A shiver of dread jolted down my spine and my body betrayed me, locking itself in limbo. Being the only part of me able to move, I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the naked man in front of me.
Empty skin clung to nothing but bone, the sight of him causing my breath to hitch, refusing to enter my lungs. Once my brain realized the man on the table looked like a skinny version of Luka, time stood still. Nothing in this world existed as silent cries ripped themselves from my throat, coming out in muted sobs.
Panic coursed through every cell of my body, the heaviness in my chest suffocating me—my windpipe tightened, the air around me threatening to take my life instead of sustaining it.
Needing desperately to hear his heartbeat, I lifted a foot, ready to bolt toward the table, but the fear was like a poison that now owned my stiff, uncooperative bones and muscles.
This can’t be him. He can’t be dead.
Still unable to budge, my gaze locked on his torso, waiting to see if it moved, pleading for him to still be breathing. When his chest expanded a slight bit, my fight-or-flight response kicked in.
And I was ready to fight.
My entire body trembled when I forced myself to take a step into the room, the door swinging shut as I stumbled my way toward the table. My unwavering gaze darted over his body, taking in his features, and a shocking pain burned its way into my heart.
This person looked like Luka, yet it didn’t. He was frail and thin—nothing but literal skin and bones. The wounds covering him weren’t healing and it didn’t take me long to realize they’d starved him.
My frantic eyes landed on the very recognizable goat skull tattoo in the middle of his chest. A tattoo I had once run my fingers across.
This . . this almost lifeless soul . . . this tortured man . . . was Luka.
Terror coursed through me and I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, his skin ice cold against my palms. “Luka. Luka.”
His eyelids drifted open and I sucked in an audible gasp that staggered into my lungs, choking me. His once beautiful eyes were empty, hollow. The blue irises were now pale, almost white, and surrounded by bloodshot veins.
“You’re here . . . again,” he mumbled, his cracking voice barely above a whisper. “Not . . . real.”
“I swear, it’s me,” I cried out, begging for him to believe me. Perhaps, after many months of pleading for this moment to happen, I’d attempted to convince myself this was real.
