Page 10

In which we learn the worst host you could possibly have is a Nazi.

Arabella…

I’m watching as blood bloom on the white gauze they’d slapped on my foot when the door opens yet again.

The woman who walks in should be strolling her way through Paris Fashion Week, not my neutral-colored prison. Tall and regal, she has blonde hair in a perfect French twist and glacial blue eyes, which flicker up and down my disheveled self with well-bred distaste.

Aye, I’m wearing a long skirt and a comfortable green sweater, but I’m a school teacher, for feck’s sake. When I got dressed yesterday morning, I would have picked something more formal had I known I’d be kidnapped and taken for extensive blood work at some billionaire’s compound. Slipping my hands in my pockets, I raise a brow as haughtily as I can.

“Miss Blair, I’ve been sent to bring you dinner.” She looks physically pained to have to say the words.

My left hand closes over something sharp and I nearly yelp before remembering what it is, the obsidian arrowhead Meera gave me for protection. They must have missed it when they drugged me and brought me here. It’s small, but it’s sharp as hell, and right now, it’s all I’ve got.

She’s waiting impatiently and I shrug. “Aye?”

Eyes narrowed, she snaps, “Follow me.”

Sliding my boot back on over my wounded heel, I fight back a grimace and follow her.

My second trip through the mansion would be awe-inspiring if I dinnae hate everyone in this place. Magnificent, enormous modern paintings and sculptures line the soaring hallway as she leads me into a room that’s bigger than your average city block.

It’s all glass.

An enormous glass cube that extends out from the house and over the ocean below. Looking down at the clear floor beneath me and watching the waves crash against the rocks is disorienting, and I have to close my eyes for a second to keep my balance. Heads turn to watch my progress, women with smooth, botoxed faces and men with cold eyes and silk ties.

“Ah, there she is.” The words carry across the room, but I dinnae think it’s for my benefit, I think he just likes the sound of his own voice.

The man could fit any central casting call for Handsome, Blond and Expensively-Suited Scandinavian. He’s smiling, but it’s so unpleasant that I wish he wouldn’t. Gesturing with two fingers, he cocks his head like I should be scampering over to him. My supermodel guard nudges me and I reluctantly allow myself to be pushed forward.

“Come stand next to me, dear. Thank you for fetching her, Astrid.”

She nods politely, “My pleasure.”

The man is smiling, but his eyes are flat and blank, like a lizard’s. “My friends, allow me to introduce Patient 1518.”

What the actual feck?

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Several of the men nod with approving noises. “She is the prime example of the new business model we’re integrating. Young, healthy, and according to her profile, an exceptional donor option. Our screening process is superior because not only do we find the perfect donor, we make certain their health is excellent and the client will receive a pristine genetic match.”

He nods to a large monitor on the wall filled with facts and figures and numbers with an insane number of zeros behind them.

Did my hearing get worse overnight? I could not have heard that correctly.

But I’m looking right at this bastard’s face and he’s even shaping his words well, precisely, like he’s looking forward to my response.

“In the past, even the most deserving of patients found their progress hindered after organ replacement because there was no true way to be certain the donor was the proper match. Basic determinations like blood and tissue type compatibility, physical size… These bare minimum standards don’t protect the patient against inferior genes, poor nutrition, and the lack of information about the donor’s background and breeding.” Anselm pauses for effect.

“We must protect the patient against dirty blood.”

There’s a low murmur of agreement from the crowd as I stare at them, aghast. They’re nodding like everything this bastard is saying is perfectly acceptable.

“We all agree, I’m sure, that the Third Reich were visionaries in many ways when it came to their genetic research, and I intend to expand our findings based on theirs.”

He dinnae just say that. This freak just praised the Nazi’s sick eugenics research? I’m reading his lips, I’m close enough to hear him. I know what he said.

I just dinnae want to believe that anyone could say such a thing.

“A donor must be more than simply an acceptable organ,” he continues. “They must come from a superior bloodline, DNA that shows a family history of good health and strong intellect. Our research shows that the risk of organ rejection is less when these factors are considered as part of the determination for the right match.

“Of course, confidentiality is key for our clients who require the utmost privacy. The extensive pre-testing and questionnaires we’re using for the ‘research trials’ not only determine an exemplary organ match, but also candidates that no one will look for, should they go missing.” He puts a hand under my chin, lifting it and examining me like I'm a particularly interesting species of rodent. “A person of no consequence.”

“Feck off, ye smirking Nazi prick!” I slap his hand away and I see the monster hiding under his skin suit flare to life. His upper lip curls like a tiger’s, as if he’s desperate to take a bite out of my face.

Astrid, my model-perfect captor, gasps in shock, pushing me away from him. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Anselm!”

He pulls his pocket square from his suit jacket and wipes his hand, as if grabbing my chin has somehow soiled him. “Are you certain she’s a teacher?” He looks over to the man I recognize as the doctor who’d taken all my blood this afternoon. “She doesn’t seem to understand the difference between Germany and Denmark.”

“I know the difference, arsehole.” I cut in before the doctor can open his sniveling mouth. “The German people are aware of their history and horrified by it. You’re a Nazi because you’re a eugenics freak and madly in love with the Third Reich. What the hell is wrong with ye? I’m sure when you’re finally arrested, the Danish government will be just as disgusted by ye as I am.”

“I’m hardly a Nazi, though their intentions were good.” He leans closer, carefully shaping his words again. “You really should keep your mouth closed, Subject 1518. I am fine with cutting out everything we want from you without anesthetic. I have heard the patient’s screams as we’ve harvested their organs, I imagine it is excruciatingly painful.” A convulsive shudder rips through me and he chuckles lightly, smoothing his tie.

“Astrid, put the girl out of our way, but keep her close.” He smiles at me, but I can see the monster inside him pacing again, waiting to be let out of its human cage.

Astrid may be a skinny bitch, but those nails of hers can really dig in. I let her pull me over to the corner of the room before she draws blood with her claws.

“Mr. Anselm, I am needed for that video meeting with the Pan-Pacific investors, I must absent myself.”She’s all things hospitable and demure, that one.

“Of course,” he says, “I’m sure you’re already prepared for the meeting.”

“I’ll instruct your security detail to attend to her.” She doesn’t bother to grace me with another look as she sashays out of the room.

Sitting in my chair in the corner, I look at every face in the crowd, trying to memorize them. I’m going to get out of here, and when I do, I’m going to make sure everyone in law enforcement knows who was at Anselm’s little Aryan Nation soiree tonight.

It takes maybe five minutes for my thoughts to skitter back to what he said to me, what my brain refused the register at the time.

Patient 1518.

Young, healthy, an excellent donor option.

Oh, sweet Mother Mary and all the Saints. He’s really going to harvest my organs.

Tucking my shaking hands under my thighs, I blink rapidly. I count to fifty slowly, then backwards to one. I’ve been through worse things than-

No.

Actually, this is the worst thing I can imagine.

It dinnae matter. I’m not going to lose it. Sucking in a deep breath, and then coughing it back out, I try to think. What would I tell my kids, my students right now? Keep sharp. Stay focused. There’s always another way out.

I learned a long time ago not to depend on other people to save me. But right now, I’m hoping with every fiber of my being that Logan MacTavish is coming to rescue me.

Childishly, I cross my fingers and I hope.