Page 71

Stella

Hyperion Black Site

Outside Roanoke, Virginia

S tella was running out of patience. In his haste to touch her, the perv doctor hadn’t started the IV drip on the new drug.

The bag hung from the stand, but the liquid wasn’t moving down the tube.

She was still seeing double, and her mind was clouded, but at least “Phase Two,” whatever that was, hadn’t begun.

Dr. Feely was too interested in molesting an incapacitated woman to do his job properly. That was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

Stella’s arms, legs, waist, and torso were all bound with thick straps. She recoiled and faked fear as the man above her released the binding that covered her breasts and lifted her T-shirt.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

She needed him closer, and he complied, pressing kisses to her forehead and cheeks.

If Stella hadn’t been nauseous before, this would have done it.

She turned her face away from his wet lips and rancid breath, and the good doctor climbed above her on the chair.

He cupped his hand between her jean-clad legs, undid his pants, and bent over to whisper in her ear. “Just let go and enjoy it.”

Stella lifted her head as her captor continued to massage between her legs. She found what she was looking for in his breast pocket and clamped her teeth around it. A second later, the doctor reared back with a girlish scream.

Stella smiled around the blood-soaked pen in her teeth and watched as the man stumbled off of her and tried in vain to stem the flow of blood from his neck. She used the pen tip to burrow under the velcro strap on one arm and was free in under a minute.

The doctor knocked the tray of tools onto the floor and futilely searched for some life-saving measure in the clutter. Stella placed her bare foot on his extended arm. Then she squatted down as blood pumped from the wound and said, “Just let go and enjoy it.”

Stella grabbed a scalpel and a full syringe from the floor beside the body.

She didn’t know what was in the injection and didn’t care.

When she jammed it into the neck of the guard at the front door, he went down like an elephant.

She refilled the syringe from an ampule on the floor, took care of the goon at the back, and then searched for her shoes.

When she heard the distant buzz of a helicopter, Stella cast an alarmed glance to the sky.

Stella didn’t bother searching the guards’ pockets; she knew from past experience visiting black sites that all cell phones would be locked in a Faraday box to prevent signal detection.

The guards communicated with short-range walkies.

After checking to see if maybe one of the unconscious men had a small shoe size—neither did—Stella sprinted barefoot into the woods.