The door opened and she all but fell out of the room. Even though she was afraid, she risked one last look back. Thirteen was staring after her, his jaw locked tight. He did look hungry. Only not for food.

For me.

The door slid shut and she remembered how to breathe. She sucked in a deep breath as she looked up—right into Dr. Wyatt’s too sharp green gaze.

“Problem?” He asked softly, the barest hint of a southern drawl sliding beneath his words. Since the Genesis facility was hidden away in the Blue Ridge Mountains, many of the folks working there had a slight drawl that spoke of roots in the South.

The guards, anyway. Thirteen hadn’t possessed any accent that she could hear.

Yanking back her control, Eve shook her head and pushed Thirteen’s chart toward him. “No problem at all, sir.”

Liar, Liar.

She could still feel Subject Thirteen’s stare on her body. Worse, she could feel him.

“Good,” Wyatt said, “because it’s time to begin.”

Uh, begin? She’d rather thought her job was done.

He motioned to the guard. She’d already learned that guy’s name. Mitchell. Barnes Mitchell. As Eve watched, he pulled out his gun and checked the clip.

“The first shot shouldn’t be to the heart,” Wyatt instructed as he cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “We want a comparison shot. Wound him first,” he said with a nod, “then go for the heart.”

What?

But Barnes just nodded and headed back into Thirteen’s room with his gun ready.

Eve lost the breath she’d taken as horror nearly choked her.

Cain O’Connor drew in a deep breath. The air smelled of her. A light, sweet scent. He could almost taste the woman—and he wanted more of her. So much more.

What were the bastards thinking? Sending in a little morsel like her. Didn’t they know what he could do to her? What he wanted to do? After all these months . . .

Maybe they’d wanted to tempt him. He pulled on the chains, testing their strength. They weren’t made of any metal he’d ever come across. Reinforced with who the hell knew what. The Genesis pricks thought they were so smart with their inventions. “Supernatural-proof” as that ass Wyatt had gloatingly told him when he’d asked about the chains.

The chains wouldn’t hold him forever. This prison would end. Their nightmare would begin.

Soon.

The door of his cell opened. He caught a glimpse of her—Eve—as she glanced back at him. Her blue eyes were wide, afraid. She should be afraid. She should run as fast as she could from this place. Before it was too late for her.

It was already too late for the others. He’d marked them for death. Especially that bastard Wyatt. The doctor got off on torture.

How will you like it when you’re the one screaming, Wyatt? Will it be so much fun then?

The guard stepped inside. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. The door closed behind him. No more Eve.

But Cain could hear her footsteps. Hers and Wyatt’s. His senses were far more acute than he’d let on. Why give the enemy any advantage?

Why give them any f**king thing at all?

The guard, a stocky bastard with shifty eyes and a definite taste for torture, had his weapon out. Cain’s jaw locked. He knew what the gun meant. This time, they were going to try old-fashioned bullets.

Would they take a heart shot? Or a head? Maybe the guard would shoot him right between the eyes and blow his brains out.

“What are you doing?” Eve’s voice. Drifting lightly to his ears like a whisper. They thought they’d soundproofed his room.

They were wrong. He couldn’t hear the voices perfectly, but he caught the whispers. Knew so much more than the not-so-good doctor realized.

Cain glanced toward the mirror. He saw right through the reflection and into the room. All it took was a little focus, a slight push of power . . .

There she was.

Her dark hair was pinned at the base of her neck. Her face—so damn pretty. Glass-sharp cheekbones, red, plump lips that made him think of sin and sheets.

And her eyes . . . f**king lethal.

Perhaps one of the few things that could be lethal to him.

“Why does the guard have his gun out?” Eve demanded, and he heard the fear shaking in her words.

He didn’t like the sound of fear in her voice. Didn’t like the smell of it on her, either. When Eve had gotten close to him, she’d been afraid.

Poor Eve. She probably didn’t know who she should fear more . . . him or Wyatt.

Cain looked at the gun that Barnes held. “Hardly seems fair,” Cain muttered, “shooting me when I’m chained.”