Page 2 of Brax (Voodoo Guardians #36)

Stephanie stared at the people around her as they peppered her with questions about complex math and science equations. She knew the answers, but she’d also learned that these people didn’t intend anything good to come from her knowledge.

They thought they were being clever by speaking behind the clipboards. She neglected to tell them that her hearing was exceptional, probably another side effect of their little experiment. The experiment being her.

The other children at the school, all girls, were undergoing the same types of treatments. A barrage of constant testing, quizzing, reading, and computing. It was utterly exhausting.

Some of the girls had been told that their parents dropped them off, making them believe that they were there because of their exceptional minds. Others were told that they were orphans. Many had arrived as infants, barely a few weeks or months old. She knew that wasn’t normal.

Still others arrived by the time they were four or five, some a few years older. Everything seemed wrong about the school. They were all different. Even Stephanie.

She knew that she was different.

They made sure to tell her that she was different. A failed experiment created in a laboratory. She wasn’t a sheep or a dog. She was a human. A cloned human who was supposed to become an exact replica of the individual used to create her but with even greater intellect, emotion, and IQ.

Exact physically but superior intellectually, her laboratory parents believed that they’d succeeded in creating a compliant genius. Compliance was key to their whole experiment working out. If she didn’t readily, agreeably do whatever they asked then the whole thing was going to work out.

Insisting on greater intelligence, they’d injected her with a strange substance repeatedly, constantly pushing information into her tiny brain.

While the other girls were allowed some interaction with one another, she was forced to keep her distance other than for thirty minutes a day at lunch.

Unsure of how to speak to the others, not taught basic social skills, she struggled to connect with any of them. Only a few young women showed any kindness to her at all.

Katelyn, Chelsea, Victoria, and Marilisa always spoke to her, asked her to join them for lunch, and laughed about everything. She wasn’t sure why they laughed about everything, but she determined it was normal, so she joined in.

Eventually, Victoria, Chelsea, and Marilisa disappeared. Taken in the middle of the night, she had no idea where they were taken. Just that they were gone.

But while they were there, they treated her like everyone else. Whether they knew it or not, Stephanie wasn’t real.

Yes, she had a heartbeat, and blood flowed through her veins. She used the bathroom like they did. She ate and expelled food like they did. But she wasn’t a real human, at least not in her own mind.

She understood all too well what these people were doing. She used her exceptional intelligence, the intelligence they shoved at her every moment of the day, insisted it become more and more, to find the information about the school, and she knew that the CIA was running a factory for children, boys and girls, intending to use them for horrible things.

When the agency deemed the entire thing a failure, without warning and without fanfare, they packed up the children, sold them or discarded them, and left the school.

Stephanie saw this as her opportunity to run. She didn’t know where. She didn’t know how she would live in society. She didn’t even know where she was. But she knew that she would no longer be a puppet and prisoner for anyone.

When the guards took her to the van where they were no doubt going to drive her to her demise, she took the opportunity to run. When they were certain that she’d run off, neither wanted to chase her down. In their minds, it wasn’t worth the effort, and they damn sure wouldn’t be rewarded if they found her. She was too much trouble.

“It doesn’t matter. No one wants her anyway. She’s a freak, and the docs already said we were to kill her. She won’t survive out there without the medications, and she can’t get those, so she’ll just lay down and die one day. She has no fucking clue where she even is,” said the guard.

Stephanie crouched low behind the overgrown garden shrubs, holding her breath with the small knife in her hands.

“She is a fucking freak,” laughed the other man. “Have you seen her face when she’s reading? It’s like looking at a damn computer absorbing information. Who would want to fuck that?”

The two men laughed and went back toward the others being loaded into vans. Stephanie waited for hours to be sure the school was empty. She had to break into the building, but she was able to find a few blankets, some warm clothing, and a few dozen cans of food in the pantry. She would need to be careful with her provisions, but she could make it until she figured out where she was and where she wanted to go.

It was weeks later before she finally knew her exact location. Living in fear for the first few months, she hid inside the school and refused to leave, even when the racoons and other animals started to make their way inside.

The problems were too many to count. She couldn’t drive. She couldn’t tell people who she was because, technically, she didn’t exist. She had no job, no skills other than her brain, and almost no social skills whatsoever.

Brave enough to venture off down the road one day, she found herself in the small little village a few miles from the school. Everyone that she met, she would question about their business or their job to learn more. Finding the woman at the resale shop was a God-send for Stephanie.

When she absolutely had to, she snuck into the small village and would sell anything that was left behind at the school. She would simply tell the woman at the resale shop that she was a thrifter. The woman didn’t care.

For Stephanie, her health situation was getting worse. Headaches, occasional seizures, and the loneliness were killing her. Which is exactly what the school wanted to happen. She was going to die by herself.

That is until the day she heard the voices of the men. She hid until they walked by her, then followed. Armed with an old pistol she’d found in the basement, she wasn’t going to allow them to take her again.

“Nothing. No appliances, no pots, pans, dishes, nothing.”

“This was a stop-over,” said Saint. He held up a syringe, the needle still on it with the needle cover. He wrapped it in a bag and tucked it in his backpack. “They kept those kids drugged until they could get them to where they wanted them.”

They heard shuffling behind them and turned to see a young woman wrapped in an oversized coat and stocking cap. She held a weapon in her hand, rusted but damn sure loaded. The pistol looked to be older than she was.

“Leave us alone,” she whispered. They all held up their hands, shaking their heads.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” said Mav. “We’re here to help you. We have a company where three girls who were here at one time now live. Do you remember the names Victoria, Chelsea, or Katelyn? Maybe the name Marilisa?”

The girl frowned at him, her brows knitting together. She didn’t appear to be any older than fourteen or fifteen, but it was difficult to tell with all the clothes on her.

“Listen, I swear to you, we don’t want to hurt you. We want to keep you safe. This school and the one a few miles from here was run by the CIA. They were training geniuses to do their work,” said Saint softly.

“They weren’t training us. They were creating us,” she whispered.

“Creating you? Creating you to do their work, right?” She shook her head.

“Are you with them?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“No. No, we’re not,” said Mav. “My name is Maverick. These are my friends, Saint, Pax, and Brax. Did you know the names of any of those girls?”

“K-Katelyn,” she whispered. Her hands were shaking, and she looked at them, almost pleading for help.

“What’s your name?” asked Brax, taking a step toward her.

“Brax,” whispered his brother. He held up a hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” he asked again.

“S-Stephanie.”

“Stephanie. That’s a beautiful name. We don’t want to hurt you. You’re cold, and I bet you’re hungry,” he said calmly. “Are there others with you?”

“No. No, they all left. I-It’s coming,” she stuttered.

“What’s coming, honey?” asked Brax.

He didn’t have to ask again. The pistol fell out of her hand, crashing to the floor. They were lucky it didn’t fire. She began seizing, her head hitting the hardwood floors. Brax immediately slid toward her, bracing her head against his thighs.

“Chipper? We need you now!” yelled Mav. “I need you to land behind this damn building. We’ve got an injured girl.”

“Stay with me, honey,” whispered Brax. He’d turned her on her side, gently holding her. When the others signaled that Chipper had landed, he easily lifted her, cursing beneath his breath.

“What’s wrong?” asked Pax.

“She can’t weigh more than eighty pounds,” he frowned.

Chipper turned to see the ashen face of the young girl. When they were on board, he closed the door and immediately took off at top speed. Mav grabbed the medical kit while Pax extended the seat to a bed. The coat was so pathetic Brax took the scissors to it to open it. He stared down at the prone body, then pushed back her ski cap.

“What’s wrong?” asked Saint, walking toward him with water and towels.

“This isn’t a child,” said Brax, staring at her. “She doesn’t weigh more than a child, but she’s an adult.”

There was no doubt. The curve of her body, the full sweeping roundness of her breasts, told them everything they needed to know. This was an adult woman. A tiny, frail, under-nourished adult woman.

By the time they reached Belle Fleur, the medical team was waiting at the runway. Cruz lifted the girl and took her down the steps, laying her gently on the gurney.

“She hasn’t woken,” said Brax, staring at her. “She convulsed, had a seizure, and didn’t wake.”

“She’s alive, honey,” said Gabi. “Let us figure this out.”

Stephanie could hear the strange voices. She couldn’t respond, but she could hear them. Whisked away to the clinic, she remembered nothing about the entire episode other than the man who’d carried her to the helicopter. She only hoped she hadn’t jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

Katelyn, Marilisa, Victoria, and Chelsea all came to the clinic immediately, wanting to know if they recognized the young woman. While Ajei and Kelsey got her clean, Cruz and Doc ran blood work, x-rays, and everything else that Gabi and Riley ordered.

Five hours of waiting, only to see the most somber faces they’d ever seen walk toward them.

“Is she alright?” asked Brax.

“She’s alive. She’ll live,” said Gabi, unsure of what to say next. She’d never had to deliver news like this before.

“Good. That’s good. What aren’t you telling us? I didn’t see any injuries other than the obvious. I mean, she’s just a young girl who needs to eat and maybe take some meds, right?”

“Yes.” Gabi stared at him. “No.”

“Well, what is it, Gabi? Yes or no?” asked Saint. Gabi, Riley, Doc, and Cruz stared at one another.

“She’s a clone.”