Page 29 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

But it was his eyes that struck me the most. Those eyes that had always crinkled at the corners when he laughed, that had flashed with righteous anger at injustice, that had softened when he spoke about his passions—they were empty now. Vacant. Like looking through windows into an abandoned house.

A strangled sound escaped my throat—not quite a word, not quite a sob. The noise echoed in the concrete room, bouncing back at me like a cruel reminder of my helplessness.

“Xavier?” My voice cracked, breaking on the second syllable. “Xav, it’s me. It’s Maeve. Your sister. I came here to see you. I came to… ”

The words evaporated in the space between us. He didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. His gaze remained fixed on some invisible point beyond my shoulder. The complete absence of recognition felt like a physical blow.

Something fragile inside me shattered. This was worse than finding him dead. Death would have been final, clean. This was desecration.

“Xavier, please.” I strained against my restraints, feeling the metal bite into my wrists. “Say something. Anything.”

Nothing. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths. Nothing else moved.

Brock watched us with fascination, as if he was truly enjoying the scene before him. He looked proud even, proud of the way he could break a man so he didn’t even recognize his sister.

Desperation clawed up my throat. “Remember the tree fort behind Donna’s house?

When you broke your arm trying to save that bird’s nest?

” My voice turned raw, pleading. “You climbed higher than you should have because you couldn’t stand to see the baby birds fall.

You told me—you told me that sometimes you had to risk getting hurt to do what was right. ”

Not even a flicker crossed his face. The memory that had shaped him—that had revealed his core of protectiveness even at a young age—meant nothing to the empty shell standing before me.

“He can’t hear you,” Brock said, his voice almost gentle, which made it infinitely worse. “Not in any meaningful way, at least. But you’re welcome to try. ”

Tears finally rolled down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back anymore as I stared at the person I loved the most—the person who didn’t even recognize me now.

B circled Xavier like an art dealer appraising a sculpture, his movements fluid and proprietary.

“Asset designation: Blackout. Quinta generation.” Pride colored his clinical tone.

“Exceptional aptitude scores. Truly remarkable retention rates during conditioning.”

My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. “What have you done to him, you sadistic bastard?”

Brock trailed his fingers along Xavier’s shoulder, the gesture intimate and violating.

“We’ve perfected him. Removed the weaknesses.

The emotional baggage. The misguided moral code that landed him in prison.

” His voice softened with genuine admiration.

“Your brother had extraordinary potential, Ms. Durham. We simply… unleashed it.”

“You goddamn monster,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage, tears burning hot tracks down my face. “Was ruining lives part of your job description, or just a perk you particularly enjoyed?”

Brock’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered behind his eyes for just a moment—a glimpse of whatever twisted mind existed beneath the polished exterior.

“Blackout, the woman has disrespected me.” Brock’s voice shifted slightly, taking on a commanding edge. “Slap her.”

Before I could process the words, the thing wearing my brother’s face moved. Three steps brought him directly in front of me. Without hesitation, without a single change in expression, his hand snapped across my cheek with calculated force—enough to sting sharply without causing lasting damage.

The physical pain barely registered. What broke me was watching him return to his original position, resuming his stationary stance as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just struck his sister for the first time in our lives.

“Xavier,” I whispered, the word barely audible even to myself.

The taste of copper filled my mouth where my teeth had cut into the inside of my cheek.

“Xavier, please. It’s Maeve. Your sister.

” I pleaded again as I leaned forward against the restraints, searching desperately for even a flicker of recognition.

Brock waved his hand dismissively, and Xavier—Blackout—turned on his heel and marched from the room.

“The video you saw was from his early conditioning phase,” Brock said conversationally. “That was six months ago. He fought admirably, I’ll give him that. Most break within weeks. Your brother held on for nearly two months.”

Six months. The timeline crashed through me like a wrecking ball. All this time, I’d been searching for him, risking everything to save him. Following trails and leads across continents. Confronting Reaper. And Xavier had been gone before I’d ever started looking.

Reaper. The thought of him sent a fresh wave of pain through me. Had he suffered like this? Had he fought against his conditioning, alone and terrified, with no one searching for him?

“Your brother died in that prison cell.” Brock straightened his already immaculate cuffs. “Blackout is our creation. Quite effective, wouldn’t you say? Just like Reaper was, before you… complicated things.”

The shock crystallized into rage, hot and blinding.

I lunged forward against my restraints, metal cutting into my skin.

I wanted to swear at him. I wanted to tell him he was wrong—that Reaper was a lot stronger than he gave him credit for.

But saying that out loud would’ve only put him in more danger, and that was the last thing I needed right now.

I couldn’t risk him getting pulled any deeper into this mess.

Leaving him behind with Specter had been the right call—at least, I kept telling myself that.

It would stay the right call as long as Specter didn’t betray me, as long as I could trust his word not to hand him over or worse.

My brother, though… he already seemed like he was too far gone.

Still, there was some small comfort in knowing he was alive.

That meant there was still a chance—maybe not for me, but for someone—to break through to him, to bring him back from whatever place Brock had pushed him into.

Brock wouldn’t get rid of Xavier. That much was clear.

My brother was way too valuable to him, too useful.

So in a twisted way, that kept him safe—at least, as safe as anyone could be in a situation like this.

I wasn’t so lucky, though. I was completely and utterly fucked .

“What the hell did you do to them?” I snarled. “What are you doing to these men? What use do you have for them?” When he didn’t respond, my voice became an octave higher. “You’re using them to do your dirty work, aren’t you? Because you’re too much of a coward to do anything yourself!”

Brock observed my fury like a scientist noting the reaction of a lab specimen, but the momentary crack in his composure told me everything. Reaper’s resistance scared him.

“I think it’s time we had a proper conversation about the Marionette Project,” he said, regaining his composure. “You’ve been quite persistent in your investigation. I’m curious what you think you know.”

Tears burned hot tracks down my face as I stared at the door where Xavier had disappeared. No—not Xavier. Blackout . The word made my stomach twist.

“What did you do to him?” My voice broke, raw with grief and rage. I yanked against the restraints hard enough to feel skin break around my wrists. “What did you do to my brother?”

Brock’s footsteps made a deliberate rhythm as he circled my chair, an apex predator enjoying his captive’s distress.

“Quite fascinating, the process.” His tone shifted to something resembling a university lecture. “We begin with targeted pharmaceutical dissolution of identity markers. The subject experiences complete disorientation, followed by the breakdown of memory links.”

He gestured with elegance, his manicured hands sketching invisible diagrams in the air .

“Next comes sensory isolation combined with targeted electrical stimulation to key neural pathways. We essentially reset the brain to its factory settings.” A slight smile curved his lips at his own analogy.

“Then rebuilding begins—chemical rewards for compliance, strategic pain application for resistance.”

His detachment made it worse, like he was describing engine maintenance, not the destruction of a human being. I thought of Reaper’s nightmares, the way he’d writhed in pain when certain words triggered his programming. The violation was obscene.

Another thought entered my mind—sending a chill down my spine. He would be telling me all of this for only one reason. He was sure I wouldn’t say a word. He’d either kill me or turn me into a machine like my brother.

“With your brother, we encountered unusual resilience.” For the first time, a hint of genuine admiration colored Brock’s words. “Most subjects break within the first month. Xavier required… specialized interventions.”

My stomach clenched at the thought of what “specialized interventions” might mean. Bile rose in my throat.

“We came to appreciate the familial connection,” Brock continued, watching my reaction with scientific interest. “When standard methods failed, we found that manipulating his memories of you proved quite effective. Reframing you as an enemy rather than a sister. It accelerated the breakdown considerably.”

The room spun around me. They had used me—my face, my voice, my relationship with Xavier—to break him.

The violation felt intimate, personal in a way that made me want to claw my own skin off.

I fought the urge to throw up. I just wanted one chance to get my hands on this piece of shit.

Just a few seconds. I’d kill him with my bare hands.