Azami.
There it was again. Her name. But it was Sam, not her father calling to her. It was Sam, still connected to her mind, reading her memories of childhood. That child who had been used for experiment after evil, bloody, torturous experiment. Her body sliced open—usually without anesthesia so the doctor could gauge her ability to withstand pain. So many experiments from depriving her oxygen, forcing her underwater into a cold pool to see how long she could hold out and if they could bring her back. The enhancements that Whitney believed were complete failures. Her DNA tampered with. Forcing the other girls to use their gifts on her to perfect their abilities.
I will not have you destroying my record, Thorn. You are such a disappointment to me and I’ve given you every opportunity—far more than anyone else.
She knew even if she clapped her hands over her ears, she would never stop that voice from telling her that her brain was useless to him, but at least he could dissect her body and examine her so he could avoid inadvertently creating other useless subjects like her again. If she would only behave and cooperate, he could test new medicines and procedures before trying them on his more valuable subjects.
He had operated without anesthesia many times to judge the body’s ability to withstand pain before it gave out. He’d stopped and restarted her heart just as many times. Her heart had grown so weak Dr. Whitney had believed she would die anyway, so he’d finally thrown her away—into the alley of one of the worst streets where human trafficking and sex traders plied their slaves.
Sam knew too much. He knew who she was. If she could hear Whitney’s voice echoing through her mind, so could Sam. He was sharing her mind, her memories, every horrid detail. She swallowed hard, sweat beading on her skin. It never once had occurred to her, when assessing all the risks to her coming to the GhostWalker compound, that someone would share her mind and uncover her childhood shame. Those terrible years of torment and vulnerability.
“You’ll have to give him more. I’m going to lose him.” This time there was desperation in Lily’s voice.
“He’s turning his head, Lily, trying to look . . .” The voice trailed off.
Thorn looked up to see both Lily and the other man looking toward her, following that slow head turn Sam made even in his barely conscious state. They knew he was looking at her. To warn them? They’d probably think that, but he was trying to reach out—to help her. He was every bit as selfless as her father had been.
Mamoru Yoshiie simply appeared from the darkness, a small, almost thin man in a gray kimono and wide leg trousers, split-toed socks, and sandals. Behind him were two young boys, one thirteen, the other ten. Yoshiie had stood over her, shaking his head at the small group of thugs who had begun to gather close to see what he would do to her. Later, she learned, the thugs were the feared yakuza, who ran the sex and drugs in this part of the city. They bowed slightly to Yoshiie and slowly gave way as he bent to lift her into his arms.
Thorn had been so frightened. She was tiny, her weight no more than a feather to the older man. He stared into her eyes and peace descended. She had never felt like that again with anyone—until Sam.
She closed her eyes. She should let Sam go. She should be glad he was slipping away. Her heart slammed hard in her chest. The scars burned like fire. The little girl wouldn’t stop screaming. Even her fingernails hurt where she’d torn them off trying to get out of the small box they’d stuffed her into on the trip back to Japan.
She forced air through her lungs. There was no letting Sam go, not even to save her own life. There might be no chance for them, but Sam Johnson needed to be in the world. She rejected Dr. Whitney’s assessment that he wasn’t worth anything. She wouldn’t throw him away, not when she’d been inside of him and knew he was worth all the gold in the world. Her father would never have thrown him away. Just as he’d saved Daiki and Eiji and his beloved daughter, Azami, he would have plucked Sam from any danger and raised him to know how to take care of himself.
Don’t, Sam. Not for me. It was a long time ago. Let them work on you. Just go to sleep.
I can feel such pain in you.
She took a breath and deep inside, she stilled.
His voice swamped her. Brought her warmth, but she felt that terrible loneliness that echoed through his tone. Sadly she knew how he felt. He’d been in her, all that heat and strength, and when he was gone, she’d been aware of just how alone she’d been for too many years. She didn’t know how it would ever be possible to have him in her life—not when she had no choice but to complete what she’d set out to do—but with him alive there was always a chance. In any case, the world needed a man of compassion and strength and duty such as Sam Johnson.
Don’t leave me. Please just let the doc take care of you. She couldn’t quite stop that small pleading in her voice. He shook her. Crawled inside of her. Moved her when few things—or people—did. She had just left herself raw and exposed and more vulnerable than she’d been in years. She guarded her emotions far more than she did her body. She trusted few people. It had taken years to fully trust her father and brothers and yet she’d just given herself to Sam.
Don’t leave me. To a woman like Thorn, that was the epitome of weakness. She ducked her head and kept her expression perfectly blank.
Warmth slipped into her mind, filling the cold spaces, and shoved hard at the heavy open door of her childhood memories. He was saving her sanity even as he was slipping away. She kept breathing, in and out, stilling the terrible inner trembling. Whitney was gone. His voice. His eyes staring at her. She was alive and she was whole.
Sam. She whispered his name in her mind. Thankful for him. Afraid for him.
“Put him out,” Lily called, fear edging her voice. She sounded almost desperate.
They knew. They all knew about her now. Her gaze jumped to Tucker’s. She forced another calming breath. They knew she was telepathic, but that didn’t mean they knew about her childhood.
Could she put Sam out? She moved into his mind. He was definitely fighting the anesthesia—for her. Because she was upset and he was worried for her. She soothed him, assured him, and pushed him subtly toward acceptance. She knew the exact moment he succumbed, going out, drifting away from her so that she felt a wrenching separation and once again, she was utterly alone.
“Thank you,” Lily called, her voice muffled.
“Just save him,” Thorn said, loud enough for the doctor to hear. She forced air to continue breathing. Breathing in. Breathing out. Presenting that absolutely serene countenance to anyone watching her—and they were watching—even more closely now.