Two cells had been assembled at the end of the largest central conference room.
Krysty had seen this type of setting before. Once, this was a building used for the conducting of military business. Now, a part of it had been remodeled as a brig for those who displeased Poseidon.
“Sit tight, bitch. We’ve got some smokin’ plans for you once Cawdor shows the Admiral where the fireworks are hidden.” The leering sec man gave her a shove, and she half fell, half stepped into the windowless room. The man who pushed her had answered part of her question. Krysty was being held to force Ryan to show Poseidon where something was hidden.
Krysty decided to play dumb. She didn’t turn back or give off an angry retort to the sec man. If she kept quiet, perhaps he would stupidly say more. She merely went over and sat on the small mattress on the floor in the corner of the room. She attempted to wear her best beaten-down expression, the wilted flower, the helpless woman—whatever was most convincing.
Unfortunately for her plans, the sec man chose not to gloat any more, and blew her a kiss as he slammed the heavy door shut.
After the door closed, she waited. The sound of a lock being turned came from the steel frame. A dead bolt. This bit of information was filed in her brain, although she really wasn’t dwelling on the immediacy of her surroundings at the moment. Krysty Wroth wasn’t a passive type of woman. She was ready to go on the offensive. If she could escape, her value as a wedge would cease to exist, and Ryan would be free from his obligation to help Poseidon in exchange for her safety.
Her green eyes closed to slits. She wasn’t seeing the outside world anymore; she was looking within. She drew her long legs beneath her in the lotus position and began to whisper in a soft, breathy voice a string of words, sentence fragments and prayers—a mantra she never relished in calling up from her unconscious because of the dangers to herself and to those around her.
But Krysty was alone now, and there was no one around her but her enemies.
“Earth Mother, help me. Aid me now, Gaia. Help me and give me the strength,” she whispered.
She had been trained since childhood to hone this empathy by being in tune with the electromagnetic energies of the great Earth Mother, Gaia. By tapping into these hidden pools of energy, Krysty sacrificed her humanity to become a creature with the strength of a sheer force of nature, but only for a limited time, and the transformation took a terrific toll on her physical and mental well-being.
She hoped she would be strong enough to free herself now.
“Help me, Earth Mother, I need your embrace. Aid me now, Gaia. Help me and give me the strength,” she chanted, faster now, her face simultaneously calm and urgent. “From the center of the world to souls of your children, give me the power…”
KRYSTY STEPPED UP to the door, a crooked smile of dark amusement on her face. She looked like a living embodiment of a dream, a walking human dream caught up in private songs and hidden thoughts. Her long fingers traced the frame of the reinforced cell door. Even in the near state of delirium that calling on the power of the Earth Mother always placed her mind in, she knew that one or both of the men who had brought her into the building would be outside guarding the door.
Two wouldn’t be enough to stop her. Not even close.
The brutal ballet that was about to begin would be vicious and ugly, and luckily for the two walking dead men assigned to watch over her, blessedly brief.
One of the pair, a fortyish man named Murphy, heard a faint scratching noise come from behind the reinforced steel door.
“What’s that?” Murphy asked, tilting his head and trying to pick out the source of the sound.
“What’s what?” his younger partner, Fade, impatiently responded.
“I hear scratching,” Murphy insisted.
“Probably rats. This building is crawling with the bastards. Screw ’em. Sit down and we’ll play a hand of cards or something.”