Poison Ivy Ch. 03

She had killed before, when it had been necessary, when not killing would have put herself or her peers in immediate, mortal danger. Those deaths had weighed heavily on her conscience, even though she knew, logically, that the men she'd put down would have done the same to her, and not lost a moment of sleep for it. In the heat of battle, she hadn't hesitated, allowing her training and instincts to take over and do what needed to be done.

But this was Kentucky. This was the cute boy with the warm amber eyes who'd stayed up late into the night with her when they'd first arrived, when the sounds of Chid forest and the adrenaline of her first patrol had kept her up hours after taps. This was the boy she'd stayed up with after he'd received a particularly devastating Dear John letter from his high school sweetheart. The only one of her medics who hadn't rebelled or lashed out at her when she'd been promoted to Team Leader, and the single person who'd defended her against the dickwads who said she'd only gotten the position by asking for it on her knees.

She had killed, and she had a feeling she would kill again.

But not here. Not today.

Not him.

Slowly, her thumb found the magazine release and the clip dropped to the ground. Looking into eyes so darkened with malice, they'd become unrecognizable, she pulled the slide back and released the round. The gun fell to her feet with an echoing clatter. "Good girl," he crooned. His rifle dropped as he stepped forward and brought his hand up, dragging dirt-stained knuckles down the side of her face. She stood her ground, refusing to step back. She wasn't afraid. She was just fucking pissed.

He leaned down, close enough to brush his lips against her ear, his warm breath curling tendrils of unease around her neck like a pet snake. "I would have protected you, Ivy," he whispered with mock sadness. He straightened, peering down at her with a calculated, clinical look that chilled her.

"How much do you think your Alpha will pay to make sure his Omega isn't gang raped by Torrin Betas during her next estrous?" he asked her, loud enough for the group of men surrounding them to hear, rifles still raised and aimed at her. How fucking dangerous did they think she was, anyway? She was a little flattered, truth be told. A few snickers and lewd comments peppered through the crowd.

"So that's what this is all about? Fucking money? Come on, Kentucky, you're better than this."

His hand shot out to wrap around her neck as he snarled, walking her back with angry, stomping strides until her back hit the side of a corrugated shipping container. "Such an easy thing for a newly mated Omega to say as she lives in luxury, while the Beta scum risk their lives for a fraction of what the big, bad Alphas feel entitled to. How fucking convenient that you don't care about money now that you have more than you even know what to fucking do with." His fingers tightened around her neck, a knee between her legs keeping her pinned in place. His next quiet words were low and menacing, and obviously meant just for her. "How much would he pay to keep you out of a Factory? Hmm? I'm going to milk you for every fucking thing you're worth, Omega." He smirked. The whole speech, she was sure, was supposed to be intimidating.

She was not intimidated.

"Fuck you, Kentucky," she seethed through clenched teeth. The threatened Factory was a particularly low blow. Torrin was infamous for its abhorrent treatment of the female gender, who were so oppressed and tightly controlled that many risked their lives trying to reach a Lostran base, and the promise of a new life in a more progressive country. Factories had been established years ago to handle the growing problem of renegade women, and to serve as a deterrent to any who might dream of a life of more than servitude. Sometimes, small groups of runaways were found by Lostran patrols, their starved and bruised bodies mapping out the sad reality of their lives. Often, those groups were intercepted by Torrin forces and brought to one of several Factories around the country, to be beaten, raped, tortured, and ultimately murdered. Ivy had gotten sick the first time she'd seen pictures of the inside of one of these Factories, taken by an undercover operative and distributed to Lostran troops as a way to dehumanize their enemies. Indeed, even Ivy, a medic trained to save lives instead of taking them, felt the metamorphosis of Torrin soldiers that turned men into monsters. For her, and for many of her peers, including Kentucky, the perpetual campaign against Torrin was justifiable only because of the extrication and deliverance of the women and children, and occasionally men who wanted a better life for their families, who were intercepted during patrols.

Kentucky was posturing, and she was calling his bluff. "Just do what you're going to do and get it over with."

He laughed. "Isn't that the whole point, Poison? I can do anything I want!" he gestured to the men in Torrin uniforms around them. "For once, those Alpha fucks can take a seat and feel what it's like to have things decided for them. Hmm? Sure, he can pay for you, treat you like the little whore that you are. But that doesn't mean I have to give you back exactly how I found you." His fingers trailed down her neck, dipping into the deep V of her (admittedly quite risqué) dirtied white shirt. His thumb curled into a hook, tugging the fabric down lower to expose her (also admittedly quite risqué) black lace bra. The knee between her legs climbed higher, lifting her onto her toes.

She raised her chin defiantly, refusing to be rattled by his gross behavior.

"And when things inevitably go wrong, Kentucky? What happens then?" Somehow, her words came out steady and calm, masking the rage that was slowly replacing the painful sting of his betrayal. She fought to keep her hands loose at her side instead of lashing out to break his nose. "You think you have what it takes to follow through? Can you live with yourself after you do this, Brad? Do you have the strength to bury the recoil?" She lowered her voice and leaned in, her eyes firmly locked on his. "Do you have the strength to bury me?"

The flash of apprehension and remorse that briefly twisted his features back into a face she recognized, there one moment and gone the next, should have brought her a measure of satisfaction or hope. Instead, she felt heartbroken. Her Kentucky was still in there somewhere, trapped inside this insane, bitter villain, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to reach him in time.

"Enough." He said gruffly, grabbing her arm and turning her back toward the massive hangar doors. "We've got a video to make."

..................

The insufferable General had taken to pacing again. Hunter wanted to punch the older Alpha in the face, put him out of his misery. Perhaps he had been a strong, capable officer at one point, but that time had passed. The nervous, sulking creature he now observed, his beady eyes darting anxiously around the room as the slack, ashen skin of his double chin warbled with murmured gibberish, bore no resemblance to a man worthy of his position. And if he didn't start making some fast decisions, Hunter was going to have to step in. The death of Romer had automatically raised his status to second in command. The responsibility, and obligation, of ensuring the successful recapture of the base now rested solely on his shoulders. If the General refused to act, he'd be forced to take command.

"Sir," he started, unable to temper his impatience and frustration. "There are currently seven confirmed recoveries, not including this building. Casualties are minimal, and we have the manpower and the ammunition to make this quick and easy. But we must move now. Give the order, Sir," he encouraged, like an adult providing direction to an errant child. Bloodshot brown eyes the color of mud flew to his. Nelson's jaw trembled, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Hunter was on the verge of losing his shit.

Finally, Nelson snapped his jaw shut and nodded briskly. "I - "

The projector behind them beeped and flipped on, and they both spun to the screen, along with the seven other officers who were strategizing over maps and blueprints scattered across the room. Hunter froze. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, and the air shifted, charged with potent energy. Recognizing the lethal danger of an enraged and aggressive Alpha in close proximity, the seven officers, along with General Nelson, began inching toward the exit.

Ivy's chocolate-colored hair was mussed and wild, like it had been grabbed and yanked. Her lip was split, and her right cheek was swollen and stained crimson. Fingerprint bruises circled her slender throat. Someone had struck her. Someone had choked her. Her wrists were bound in front of her, lengths of thin rope biting into the silken skin he had, just hours before, stroked and suckled as she lay sprawled on top of him, well fucked and knotted. Her eyes were narrowed as she looked to the side, tracking someone offscreen.

Show me your face, motherfucker.

"I am not saying that, ass hole."

He sucked in a breath at the scratchy, raw sound of her voice. She'd been screaming, probably for hours, after he'd locked her in. He hadn't wanted to part with her at all. The anguish of her plea not to leave her nearly broke him, but what choice did he have? Taking her with him was unacceptable. And she had a track record of running away, straight into the line of fire. Turning that lock had been the only way to keep her safe, from the enemy, and from herself. He had left her under heavy guard in the most secure building on base. His mind raced. How had this happened? How the fuck had they gotten to her?

Hunter watched as Ivy rolled her eyes. Her low, feminine growl began rumbling under her breath. If he hadn't been ready to shred the world apart, he would have smiled at the sound. She looked directly into the screen. "I'm being told to say that I'm afraid for my life, and they will kill me or take me to a Factory and please help." Her voice was monotone and decidedly unimpressed. Hunter watched, enraptured, as his Omega smiled. Smiled!

"They also want me to cry, but so far, they haven't been able to figure out how to get me to do it." She snickered and looked to the side again. "Maybe I can get you to cry first, Kentucky. Want to make a bet?"

Someone cursed off screen and the camera tilted. Kentucky. He knew that name. The little Beta fucker who had dared to touch her back when he had collected her from Chid FOB for a second time. He should have killed him right then and there. The Beta would be hanged by his toenails, his appendages hacked off one by one.

He heard a soft thud and a muffled, pained grunt. The camera was righted, and Ivy was there again, white hot fury igniting a fire in her eyes as she twisted and fought the arm holding her flush against a masked Torrin's chest. The barrel of a gun was aimed at her temple, and a strip of duct tape covered her mouth. The low, rumbling growl that had been emanating from the throat of the agitated Alpha since the scene began broadcasting turned into a roar that shook the foundation of the polished office. He fought to control the volume of his rage, so he could hear the rest of what the Beta fucks on screen were saying.

"... time to see how much an Omega bitch is worth. Either way we win. Surrender the base, deliver the money, and you get the female back. Or, we get to take the little whore through her next estrous, and you can pick up her body when we're done with her. Building 22, one hour. Send General Nelson."

The video transmission flickered out. Hunter thought his teeth might shatter from the intensity of his clenched jaw. His palms were marred with bloody crescents from digging his nails into the curled fist. He turned slowly to the eight men now standing close to the door. When he spoke, his words were low and soft, and laced with venomous danger. Every man in the room, fierce Alphas, some with their own mated Omegas, shrank back a little. "This ends now. I don't care what you have to do, or who you have to kill. She will be recovered within the hour, or I will know the reason why." He narrowed storm cloud eyes at General Nelson. "And you. You will man the fuck up and release the order to start shooting on sight. They lost their chance at negotiations when they took my defenseless Omega."

General Nelson nodded and walked to the phone. Hunter didn't stay to hear him give the order. He was already striding to the artillery room. He needed bullets. Lots, and lots, of bullets.

....................................

Ivy's heart galloped. Her hands were going numb. Fucking Kentucky had purposefully cut off circulation as he tied them together behind her chair. He had definitely not been amused by her little stunt back in the cramped office where they had recorded their video. They had taken her to an administrative building across the way where a video projector was set up, she assumed to send messages to loved ones back home. They had a similar set up at Chid FOB, although it was much smaller and rarely worked right. Now they were back in building 22, in a small supply room crowded with wooden crates and ammo cans, screen windows lining the dingy green walls.

The tape covering her mouth was burning her skin. The tight shirt and jeans she had put on this morning felt confining and uncomfortable, and she was furious with how the white cropped v-neck tee and the angle her arms were tied behind her put her breasts on display. The Torrins were circling her, like sharks in chummed waters. One had actually winked at her.What a fuckhead.

Were they actually Torrins? Or had renegade Lostran soldiers somehow procured the enemy's uniforms to invade the main base in a guise of a hostile takeover? Was her ransom the only motivation for all of this death and destruction?

There were so many things wrong with this situation, not the least of which was the lack of actual, sensible clothing in her new wardrobe.

She looked hard at the faces of the men holding her hostage, trying to remember if she had seen them before. Which was pointless, and useless. What did it matter if they were Torrins or Lostrans? At the moment, it didn't matter at all. The various aches and pains from where she'd been struck, manhandled, tied and trussed up turned her thoughts sticky and sluggish. And then there was the constant anger and heartache of Kentucky's betrayal. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. How she was going to get out of this fucking mess?

What had happened to him? Her sweet, compassionate friend had turned almost evil in his treatment of her. How had he become so bitter and just so fucking mean? Had there always been this darkness in him, hiding just below the surface? Had she been so naïve, so blind as to miss his capacity for this kind of fuckery? Whatever. None of that really made a difference. The fact of the matter was, she'd been betrayed, handed over to the enemy by her best friend.

And where was the asshole, anyway? Aside from that initial burst of violence back in the hangar, and tying the too-tight bonds around her wrists, he hadn't touched her. After escorting her to the video conference room, he'd disappeared, leaving his buddies behind to rough her up. By the time he came back, she'd been backhanded, kicked, groped, and tossed back and forth between two especially nasty soldiers who continued to manhandle and taunt her. She had planned those dickhead's painful, messy death in her head as Kentucky pulled her out of their groping, greasy hands and prepared her for that disaster of a ransom call.

She kept getting little glimpses of the Brad she knew. Like when he'd tucked her mussed up hair behind her ear with a sad little smile, or when he'd cupped her cheek and gently ran his thumb over her split lip, compliments of the dickhead twins. It would have been easier if he'd been a pureblooded asshole. Those little gestures were like tiny glass shards digging into her skin. She was furious. She was defiant. She was even a little bit scared.

But mostly, she was just sad.

She shook her head to rid it of complicated and painful cobwebs. She needed a plan, and she needed it quick. Her hour was almost up.

There was almost no chance of getting out of this unscathed, but she couldn't just not try. Kentucky knew her well, and she had no doubt that he'd anticipated her need to act, and would have prepared accordingly. All of the obvious exits were either blocked off by supply containers or heavily guarded by leering Torrins. The room was crowded with 10 or so heavily armed soldiers. There was no way she'd be able to untie herself, cross the room, evade the guards standing watch in front of the exits and dart out through one of them without being followed. Obviously impossible. Which just left...

The bathroom.

The plan was so basic, such an obviously idiotic idea, that they might have immediately dismissed the possibility of escape-by-toilet. But that was exactly what she intended to do. If she was fast enough, it was worth a shot. It might be useless, and she might be punished for trying, but punishment or ill treatment did not frighten her at the moment. Her rage kept her sheltered from the fear a healthy sense of self-preservation surely would have given her.

She began grunting and yelling behind the tape covering her mouth, trying to get attention from one of the Betas around her, locked and loaded rifles slung over their shoulders. After what felt like a full twenty minutes, one of them finally took notice and walked toward her, yanking the strip of tape to the side and freeing her mouth. She worked her jaw a few times and peered up at him. He looked so young, his light brown eyes betraying the fear and unease he felt. Good. The little fucker should be scared. What they were doing was moronic and could not possibly end well.

"I have to use the bathroom," she said quietly, playing the part of the docile, frightened damsel in distress. His eyes darted around the room, looking to his companions for instruction, but no one else offered to step in, and no one seemed concerned about a simple bathroom break. They were all busy casting nervous glances out the one window letting in dingy light.

The clock was ticking. Their hour was approaching, and so far, there had been no sign of the General or the cash they'd demanded.

After a long moment of consideration, the kid walked to the back of her chair and untied her wrists, looping them around to her front and retying the knot, loosening them slightly to give her hands more circulation. In a few minutes, she was going to hurt him, but she was grateful for the nearly-kind act.

Would have been better if he'd untied her altogether, but whatever.

He grabbed her arm and led her to the back of the shabby building where a shabby washroom hid in a shabby corner behind shabby hazmat gear. She climbed over boxes of gear to get to the tiny space and walked in, spinning around to look beseechingly at the young Beta. "You don't have to watch me, do you?" she asked softly, doing her best to give him the widest doe eyed look possible.

He shook his head, giving her a small smile. "No miss, I'll trust you. Just..." he turned to look at the impossibly small window at the top of the cramped wash room. "Don't try anything stupid."

She nodded, smiling wide for the kid. Maybe she wouldn't have to hurt him. How did such a sweet pup get mixed up in this whole disaster?

She shut the door behind her. Her eyes darted around the narrow space, taking in the very, very small window, soiled with rain splatter, bug guts and spider webs. Lovely. The lock on the door presented a dilemma. It may give her an extra few seconds, but the pup would get suspicious immediately, and it wouldn't hold up to more than one or two decent kicks. She turned away from it. The rusty metal sink was very utilitarian and provided, conveniently, a decent foothold on its long, flat surface.