“I know much about you, Julian. I know you'd do anything for your team. I know more about the people you work for than you do.” Montaña's voice lowered.
“Think of it. Instead of all of this nonsense, you could work with us. Why continue to help a government that tried to kill you? Dr. Pearl had the full sanction of the Department of Defense to experiment on sailors and soldiers, and he sold you out to the highest bidder.” Montaña spread his arms out. “At least here, we're honest about our means and methods.”
Silva had been trying to sell Jules this same bullshit since he'd arrived—when the good doctor wasn't taking his blood or shooting him up with something that fogged his mind. Jules remained quiet, his gaze on the doctor so intense that the men near him grumbled and stepped closer.
Montaña yanked his head back by his hair and snapped, “You look at me when I'm talking to you! I'm willing to make you a part of my team. Just show me what I want to see. Make yourself disappear. I know you can do it; I saw you and Delancey moments before his death. Video captured it all. Show me, Julian.” Montaña leaned close, the scent of evil so strong, Jules couldn't help growling in warning.
“There's a hint of the animal, eh? Good. You're still in there, even after all of Manoel's tinkering.”
Montaña released his hair and laughed at the doctor. “You see, Manoel? You just need to know how to push his buttons.”
Silva shrugged. “I've been trying. He hasn't responded to the controls that work on the other Circs. He doesn't seem to care about his own life, and he's not too worried about his teammates' lives either. I don't think he believes we can get to them.”
Jules noticed the grim line of Montaña's mouth and stifled a smile. I know you can’t, or you wouldn’t be so obsessed with me. Take that, motherfucker.
“But then, you always were too soft on our prisoners, Manoel. Perhaps we are feeding Julian too much. Making his life too comfortable here.” Montaña waved at the room. “He has a toilet, a bed, chains long enough to allow him room to move. Get rid of the bed.”
Hell, the cot was too small to fit Jules's frame anyway.
“And tighten the chains. I don't want him to be able to sit or sleep without feeling pain.”
Jules kept silent, though he gave Montaña credit for trying to make his life more miserable. Sleeping on the floor, going without food or water—those things didn't matter. Being chained without the ability to move freaked him the hell out, but he refused to show any concern.
He simply stared at Montaña, plotting how to kill the bastard in the most painful way possible.
Montaña frowned back at him in uncertainty, as if feeling Jules's malice. With a push of energy he really shouldn't have used, considering his weakened state, Jules studied Montaña's aura—a dark, cloudy energy of wrongness—and allowed himself a smile.
His fangs peeked through, and Montaña's fear smelled sweet.
“You stink of terror,” Jules rumbled, his voice hoarse. He smiled wider, ignoring his cracked lips and burning blood, now completely polluted with whatever Manoel had given him. “I can't wait to suck the marrow from your bones.” As if he'd lower himself to touch more of Montaña than he needed to kill him. But the threat worked all the same.
Montaña's brows rose, and his eyes widened. “You think to threaten me?
You've got balls. I'll give you that.” Montaña sneered at him and nodded at his groin. “Perhaps I should cut them off, make you less a man?” Jules continued to smile, letting his beast memorize the features of the man he planned to break in half.
Montaña must not have liked his expression, for he muttered something in a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese before he slammed a fist into Jules's face. When Jules failed to turn away or even flinch from the broken nose, Montaña hit him again. And again. And then the colonel went crazy. He screamed and swore, pummeling Jules everywhere, on every part of his body he could reach.
When Jules next blinked into consciousness, it was to see several of the guards and Dr. Silva holding Montaña back. They swam in and out of focus like psychedelic balls of color on a black- velvet frame. But the pain returned, and with it, Jules's vision.
“You cannot hurt him like this!” Silva yelled. “You're killing our only source, Ricardo. Por favor, amigo. Stop.”
“Dose him with the formula.” Montaña's evil smile didn't bode well for Jules.
“Then we'll do this all over again tomorrow. And the next day. As often as it takes.
Being nice doesn't work. We'll see how tough this Circ really is after I have a go at him.” Montaña waved a knife and pushed past the doctor. He snarled at Jules,
“How does this feel, amigo?”
He stabbed Jules squarely between his legs, and Jules passed out, no longer able to function past the pain.
Sheridan hustled down the corridor, knowing she didn't have much time before someone spotted her. This whole trip had been one unpleasant surprise after the other. Working for the Vida Verde organization had been a dream come true, until she'd found out that the scientific environment she now worked in was a haven for questionable scientific activity. Despite Jaime and Belinda Esteves's agreement that she would fare much better doing her research deeper in the jungle, Sheridan couldn't help wondering if they'd been pressured into sending her to this particular establishment.
Hell, she couldn't even pinpoint her location on a map. She had no idea where she was. She only knew that the flowers she needed for her experiments were suddenly plentiful and at hand. Eager to continue with her work, she'd tried to ignore her misgivings. The research facility had, at first glance, looked legitimate.
The few scientists she'd met and spoken with had credentials. Some were botanists or chemists, and like her, they'd been closemouthed about their work. At least here, being antisocial was the norm. A place where she finally fit in, she thought, on the verge of hysterical laughter. She looked around nervously.
Man, I have got to get moving before they see me.
Ricardo Montaña was a problem and had been for years. Living in Quebec, far away from South America, had ensured that she dealt with him very little. She'd had a bad feeling about Ricardo from the beginning. The way he looked at her, as if she were his next meal, made her more than uncomfortable. For years he'd been watching her, visiting out of the blue, bringing her gifts she always, nicely, returned. Instead of upsetting him, her refusals spurred him to bring something even better each time he returned.
Her parents tolerated him because he helped fund the labs where they worked.
Successful scientists couldn't be too choosy when fighting for grant money. Her parents were the best of the best. The Keyes name meant something in academia, even if she hadn't yet put her own stamp on it.
Her work meant everything to her, which was the only reason she'd accepted the last gift Ricardo had given her—a precious and unique flower that met the requirements for her botanical research. He'd named the fragrant gem the Sheridan Rose, though the rare bloom had little in common with the perennial flower.
Sheridan huffed. The Sheridan Rose is the reason I’m in this mess in the first place. Maybe it’s time I put work on the back burner and tried to get a handle on my life, like finding a way to live without all the danger and drama I’m currently in.
Some way to fit into normal society instead of constantly being that freak on the outside looking in.
A small chime sounded on her wrist, and she stifled the noise by pressing a button on her watch. She ran through the jungle, past yet another gap between the aboveground shallow caves, into a section of the compound she wasn't supposed to know about. Then again, if Pedro hadn't mentioned the caves, she still wouldn't know about them.