He hadn't seen her in nearly three months. Except for the techs who dropped off his food and picked up his tray, he'd been alone with his thoughts, and inside his head wasn't a pretty place to be. Where had she been? Companionship, even hers, was better than being left by himself. It was nonsymmetrical, not spread out enough to be from a fist, and looked a day old. Jory blinked, studying the pattern of the bruise. She'd piled her dark hair up on top of her head and had applied perfectly layered makeup that failed to mask a brutal black eye that extended to her temple. At around fifty years old, she appeared much younger. Madison clicked inside the room, wearing her customary white lab coat over skirt and dangerously high heels. Heartbeats had signatures, as did breathing rates and bodily scents. He stretched to his feet and grabbed a ripped towel to wipe off his face, knowing full well who stood on the other side. The click was off to a slight degree, as if the woman wearing them was limping. High heels clicked several hallways away, and he kept punishing his biceps until the sound neared the outside door. Something was about to happen, and he was ready. His body had taken more time than his brain to repair, and the senses that once had been merely superior now thrummed with additional power. To flee this hell and finish what they'd started. The second his captors gave him an opening, he'd create the opportunity. But now, after three months of intense training in the freezing cell, he was back to normal. For the briefest of time, as he'd escaped a two-year coma, his blood had pumped slower than normal. He turned inward to listen to his heart rate and lung capacity. But when he was sure he was strong enough, he ruthlessly pushed himself, knowing he'd need to be in top condition to get free. His mind would save him, but he'd need speed and strength first.įor months, fighting insanity in the small quarters, he'd forced himself to behave like a good prisoner.

Yet he pressed on, aligning himself for maximum effect, strengthening each muscle in turn. Sweat dripped onto the cement floor, and steam coated the bulletproof glass wall. I N A COLD and dismal cell, surrounded by concrete blocks, Jory Dean counted out push-ups, his brain shutting down pain receptors in his body.

Total Surrender by Rebecca Zanetti