Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 36: Resolve

————————————————————-
Lauren
————————————————————-

Beady eyes dragged over me, slow and predatory. "Your son . . ." Killian grinned, like he had just discovered something astronomical. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Step away from him," my father ordered, his tone clipped and cold. "I'm warning you, Killian. Dodgeson will shut you down the second he hears—"

A short laugh cut him off as Killian's leer swerved to him. "The Lieutenant Colonel? What's he gonna do? He ain't even here," His watchful eyes slid back to my father. "Relax, Everhart. I ain't killin' your kid. He's too valuable. I just wanna closer look." Killian flicked two fingers to the man at his right. "Bring me the boy."

The pressure on my back vanished, replaced by brutal hands yanking me upright. My vision swam as shouts crammed in my ears. The moment I regained my footing, Killian's meaty fist closed around my throat, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.

"Keh!"

A grunt of pain escaped me as I clawed at his arm on instinct, attempting to gain ground as the room spun. Frenzied shouts morphed into distorted whispers, tears springing to my eyes at the harsh pressure.

"Killian!"

"Get the FUCK away him!"

Both my father and Peter were shouting, thrashing against the men restraining them.

The brute cutting off my air supply didn't even blink, his stiff fingers flexing, lifting me just enough that my sneakers scraped uselessly against the cold stone. A squeaked grunt left me as I scrambled for air.

"What makes you so special?" he leered, single-handedly holding me aloft. "I heard there's somethin' in your blood that don't match anythin' in our database. Human, but not." Darkness crept into my peripherals as my nails dug into Killian's wrists. With a grotesque chuckle, he tightened his grip enough to make blacks spots burst across of my vision. "So what the hell makes you so damn important, huh? One tiny squeeze and I could easily snap this puny little—"

"That's enough."

The commanding timbre cut through the hangar, crisp and stoic. A white figure emerged from the corridor, the hazmat suit stark beneath the bunker lights. Behind the clear plastic visor, I glimpsed dark hair, tan skin and wire-frame glasses. Recognition smashed through me like a punch to the gut.

Dr. Marcus.

A cold weight burrowed in my chest cavity, the same fear I'd felt for every needle he'd stuck me with and every painful test that I'd endured. My arms twitched, muscles remembering the cuffed restraints that weren't actually there.

"Put that one down. You can brutalize the others all you want," the doctor chastised. "But if you ruin all my hard work, we're going to have a very different conversation."

The military leader sneered. "He's breathin', ain't he?"

"Barely," Marcus observed, his stare cold and assessing. "And I don't recall authorizing you to test how long it can go without oxygen."

Killian's jaw tightened, a vein bulging against his thick neck. He gripped my neck for another moment before releasing me. My knees buckled at the sudden drop and I collapsed against the floor, air sawing in and out of my lungs, head spinning as I clasped a hand over my abused throat. Fuck, it hurt to breathe. Rolling onto my side, I raised my head just enough to glimpse Peter. He was pinned by a group of armed guards, white-hot fury written all across his face. My shoulders deflated on the next exhale.