Poison Ivy Ch. 04

Maybe do a little reconnaissance inside of the medical building.

She felt slightly guilty for what she planned to do to the medic who had been tending to her shoulder so skillfully. She looked down, touching the place the bullet had torn through her the first time the Alpha had dragged her off Chid FOB. It would scar, but thanks to him, the scarring would be minimal. Her claiming mark, however, was another matter entirely. Apparently, Sir Alpha had forbidden the medic from tending to that monstrosity at all, apparently intending to leave the half-crescent teeth marks he had given her in the middle of her first mind-numbing estrous (gross) with as ugly a scar as possible. It was a sign of his ownership of her, his claim over his mate.

Bastard.

She heard the first lock unbolt, and then the second, and the third, and the fourth. She smirked. He was absolutely right to be so thorough in his entrapment. Not that it would make a lick of difference.

The Beta opened the door and stepped in, looking around the empty room. She would have liked to have seen his expression as he searched for her. No time! With a grunt, she swung the heavy silver tray just as he ducked, knocking into his shoulder instead of whacking him over the head like she had intended. He stumbled back, giving her just enough time to dart out into the ridiculously decorated hallway and slam the door shut behind her, locking him in. She was gone before he knew what hit him.

Well, figuratively. He most definitely knew that she had been who had hit him, and by now, he certainly had an idea as to the what.

It wasn't like she hadn't been outside the Alpha barracks before. Twice, she had been able to sneak out, the first time on her own before she hitched a ride back to Chid FOB (before the asshole who called her his mate began locking her in), and the second time following Kentucky around like a puppy dog, straight into the trap he had set for her. She might not have the entire layout memorized, but she knew enough to get to where she wanted to go.

The base was laid out like a huge U. Alpha barracks was almost in the exact center of the connecting arm. Administrative buildings spanned all the way down the road to the right, supply buildings and the expansive medical building to the left. The northern arm of the road perpendicular to the one she stood on now was flanked by hangar bays and two runways that extended a ways out into the further reaches of the base. Her eyes were involuntarily drawn toward that area, toward the massive hangar bays, and she shivered, scenes from her abduction pulling a dark cloud over the aura of her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to rid herself of distracting thoughts. After a moment, and a few deep breaths, she looked back up to her target building.

Willing herself to melt into the side of the barracks, which was more of a mansion than any of the steel painted buildings surrounding her, she scoped out the medical center directly across the way. Sir Alpha didn't want to tell her anything about the Torrins who had somehow recruited Kentucky, and then staged their ultimately unsuccessful attack? Fine. If there were any survivors, she'd find them, and make them talk. Kentucky had left her with a shit-ton of questions, and maybe she could conjure up a few answers.

The medical tent was set up like a make-shift hospital. Tent was really the wrong word for it, although she was sure it had started off as exactly that during the first years of the Torrin campaign. Now, though, the front side spanned the length of one of the massive hangar bays, and two halls broke off on either end away from the main road. Like everything else on this base (except, of course, for the Alpha barracks), the structure was coated with drudgery. Washed out army-green paint chipped in disillusioned flakes, and the lettering identifying it as Building 22 had almost completely dulled into non-existence. Looking in both directions for signs of any Alphas who might recognize her, she scooted across the way when she gave herself the all clear. They might have taken her fatigues and her guns away from her, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten all her tactical training.

She fell back down the exterior of one of the hallways and found a side door. Glancing around, she twisted the handle and snuck inside. A deep inhale brought with it an undeniable sense of tranquility as she leaned into the drab grey wall at her back. This was where she belonged. The familiar smells of antiseptic and clean linen nearly overwhelmed her. She had almost been homesick for it.

Tucking her long hair into her hood, she started down toward the main hallway, peeking into the sterile rooms as she walked, looking for any familiar faces among the patients laying on crisp white bedsheets. They couldn't have killed all of the Torrin Betas. And Kentucky couldn't have been the only Lostran soldier among them. Somehow, they had recruited soldiers from Chid base, and maybe some of the other satellite bases as well.

She couldn't entirely fault them for wanting to take action against that fucking asshole, General Nelson. The bastard had kept them all in a war that could have been over with who knows how long ago, deciding it was more prudent to line his own pockets with kickbacks from the companies who made the weapons, vehicles and supplies that drove the war effort. How many lives had his nebulous actions taken? Betas who could be home with their families right now were instead feeding the worms six feet under. It frustrated her too. No, it infuriated her. But that didn't excuse the damage Kentucky had done. The lives that had been lost on both sides as a result of a few well-armed, wayward soldiers' attempt to make a statement was, at best, seriously misguided. Furthermore, the idiots had tried to use her as a hostage. She'd have rather died than allow herself to be used as a pawn. Literally.

There was one other thing she'd been puzzling over. Kentucky had threatened to take her to one of the several Factories in Torrin. While a good chunk of Lostran society had clung to outdated, misogynistic attitudes, seriously limiting the roles females (of any dynamic) could take, they were still decades ahead of the way Torrin treated its female population. Since the start of the war, scattered groups of women and children, sometimes entire families, had been risking prosecution, bodily harm and death to find their way to one of Lostra's military footholds. These fugitive men and women, desperate for a better life for themselves and their daughters, were often found deep in Chid forest by one of their patrols. She and Kentucky had both shared the opinion that, if nothing else, the lives they saved while on those patrols made their presence in this hostile country tolerable, if not justifiable. Intercepted fugitives were given food, water and medicine, and were sent on to one of the several countries with programs specifically developed for these vulnerable refugees.

Once Torrin government officials caught on to what was happening right under their noses, their response was to establish several Factories throughout the country. Now, the groups that didn't make it to a Lostran base and were instead captured by military patrols of their own countrymen were taken to one of these insidious establishments, where they were imprisoned, tortured, raped, beaten, and eventually, executed. Ivy had seen the obscenely disturbing photos taken inside a Factory by an undercover operative. So had Kentucky.

Which was why it made no sense for Kentucky to have not only aligned with the enemy, but threatened to dispose of her in this appallingly cruel way. It was impossible to reconcile the Brad she had known with the dickhead that had tricked her, abducted her, threatened her, and treated her so abhorrently. She needed answers, and she was going to get them with or without Hunter's help.

Lost in ominous thoughts, she almost missed it. Almost. The room was so dark that she would have, if she hadn't been looking hard at the faces of sedated patients.

His face was illuminated only by the glow of the monitors and machines displaying his vitals. Multiple IV drips hung from hooks above the bed, several others ran through pumps to deliver controlled rates of fluids and medications. An intubation tube was taped to the corner of his mouth, and the rhythmic hum of a ventilator synchronized with the fall and rise of his chest.

"What the actual fuck?"

There, laying on a thin metal cot, unconscious and in a perilously critical condition judging by the quick glance she spared at one of the screens, was the man himself.

Motherfucking Kentucky.

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

Hunter paused outside the mess hall and checked his watch. He had a meeting with base officials in 30 minutes and wanted to check in on Ivy before a videoconference with General Maverick later that afternoon. This had to be quick. He pushed through the double salon-style doors and looked around.

Six long tables with connected benches ran down the hall crowded with Beta soldiers, three on each side. A lengthy line snaked around from the end of the room almost all the way past the doors and to the other side of the serving window. The interior was grey and drab and for some reason, he was reminded of a parking lot after a heavy rain. Unlike the Alpha café where he took his meals, there was no soft lighting, no circulating servers carrying pitchers of ice water and coffee, no gold-framed paintings adorning upkept walls. A constant undertone of bored chatter melded with the clank of cheap silverware on hard plastic dinnerplates. The sound put him on edge.

Moving clockwise around the periphery of the room, Hunter found the last Beta in line, a short, pimply faced kid who couldn't have been older than eighteen with wide, thick wire-rimmed glasses. During one of their many conversations about Alpha/Beta inequities, which seemed to be Ivy's favorite topic of discussion, he had heard her refer to these glasses as BCGs. Birth Control Glasses. The memory made him chuckle under his breath. He tapped on the Beta's shoulder.

The kid spun around, his magnified eyes going wide at the sight of the broad-shouldered Alpha towering over him. "S-sir?" His stringy body went to attention instinctively. Hunter winced.

"At ease. Relax. Name?"

"PFC Warren Sykes, sir."

"Afternoon, PFC Sykes. How long does it take to get through?" He thrust his chin toward the rest of the line and watched the kid turn to look. It seemed to take him a moment to process the question. Hunter had that effect on people. Being around him somehow seemed to make coherent thoughts sputter and stall out like a jet engine in a freefall.

"Usually forty-five minutes, sir, unless it's a holiday or a supply day." Sykes chuckled. "Those are the only days there's a chance of finding fresh food on the line." He paused, the color draining from his face, as he realized what he had just said, and to whom. "Not that there's anything wrong with the food here, sir! I'm not a complainer, no sir!" Hunter flinched at the high-pitched squeak that escaped during a word or two. What the fuck was this kid doing here? He hadn't even grown into his own balls yet. His mind snagged on something the PFC had said.

"How long does it take during holiday meals?"

Sykes shrugged. "At least three hours, sir. I usually just skip it, even if I'm not on watch. It's not really worth it for an extra helping of mystery meat." He glanced up cautiously. "My squad is short two bodies anyway, so we're always limited on time. No point wasting it in line, sir."

Hunter was silent for a moment, considering. "Thank you, PFC. Get out of line. If anyone else in your squad is here, pull them out also. I'll have lunch delivered today." Hunter made a mental note of the insignia on the soldier's right wrist that identified where he worked. Sykes thanked him with an enthusiastic salute and rushed off. Hunter looked around again, not surprised to see he had gained a small audience. Ignoring several wide-eyed stares, he stalked across the room to where the wall opened up to a wide window, metal grates running along the edge where trays could be slid across as food was scooped onto plates that looked about ten years past old. Hunter suspected that no amount of hot water and detergent would get rid of the greasy orange and brown stains that covered the majority of the dishes he could see.

A male soldier, wearing camouflaged trousers buckled over a nondescript green t-shirt, pushed through a door at the end of the food line, carrying several containers of steaming forks and knives, seemingly fresh from the dishwasher. Hunter watched as the kid reorganized what was already out, taking several empty containers back into the kitchen. He reached out to grab a fork, cursing under his breath as the hot temperature scalded the skin of his fingers. He grabbed a plate and tray, glancing behind him at the Beta he had cut off who was staring at him in stunned, silent dismay. "Pardon me," he said gruffly. The Beta tried for a shaky, unsuccessful smile, and gestured for him to go ahead.

He turned around and held out his plate to a server who was scooping what looked to be warmed cat food onto each soldier's plate. Hunter looked at it with disgust. "What the fuck is this?" he snarled, chiding himself when the soldier behind the line looked about ready to piss himself at the displeased, growly resonance of his tone. "Ah... That's, uh, it's Beef stew, sir," the server stammered. Hunter grunted and moved down the line to receive the next scoop, laughing humorlessly at the measly portion of crispy, burned white rice a girl significantly taller than Ivy scooped onto his plate.

She wasn't kidding.

Hunter looked down, entirely displeased at the sight of the unsatisfying amount of sloppy mush that apparently passed for lunch in this sad place. He shoved the tray into the hands of the next Beta in line and backed up, looking around. "You," he barked to the girl doling out sorry scoops of rice. She looked terrified, pale blue eyes going wide in her round face. "Who's your commanding officer?"

"First Lieutenant Parsons, Sir?" she said, the upward infliction at the end turning it into more of a question than an answer. He nodded once and spun around. "Stop serving this shit," he called over his shoulder. "Parson's will personally be bringing food over from the Officer's café. Tomorrow, you'll have a new boss."

Absolute silence followed him as he stalked out, intent on locating the ill-fated Lieutenant.

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

"WHERE IS HE?" Ivy bellowed, tearing like a hurricane through the only place she knew to look for the lying bastard. The Alpha administrative building that housed the offices belonging to the dominate dynamic was yet another shamefully decked-out setting, with rich mahogany gracing almost every inch of every office she passed. A few officers stuck their heads out to investigate the commotion, and a Beta assistant scurried out of her way as her fingers curled into tight, angry fists. The looks on their faces would have been comical if she had stopped to think about it, but she was on a mission to find the biggest fucking liar there ever was and scratch his goddamn eyes out.

Kentucky was alive. Frankly, she didn't see how it could have been possible. She had seen his lifeless body riddled with bullet holes, watched as his blood saturated the pavement of the main road. She supposed it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was alive.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry. To kill him or hug him.

She was leaning toward killing him. For real, this time.

As for the other manipulative piece of shit in her life...

"DON'T even pretend you don't know who I'm talking about!" she roared at the closest Alpha standing in the doorway to his office, a blank look of shock on his face. "You get on the phone right now and tell that motherfucker he has some fucking explaining to do!"

The Alpha blinked as she jabbed a finger up into his chest, straining her neck to look him straight in the eye. Apparently, he wasn't accustomed to having a female less than half his size giving him commands, and he stood there frozen, with a look that clearly said, "Who the fuck is this crazy chick?" She narrowed her eyes. "I'm giving you ten seconds before I lose my goddamn shit!" If the stunned Alpha thought she was crazy now, he had no fucking clue.

"Ivy." A deep voice rumbled behind her, and she spun to look up at the man of the hour. "You," she seethed. "You lied to me! After everything you put me through, you fucking lied to my face!"

He stood stoic, looking down at her with his trademark stony expression that gave nothing away. "I did not lie. I never told you he was dead."

"That's a pretty big fucking piece of information to just leave out, Hunter, isn't it?" She bit her lip. She hated using his name. The few occasions it slipped past her typically uncensored mouth always made her cringe. It was entirely too familiar. Never mind the fact that they fucked several times a day, or that he could make her come so hard she saw double. Addressing him by his first name suggested an intimacy she wasn't quite ready to accept. "You fucking ass --"

"ENOUGH." The word was an explosion of rumbling sound, the command in his tone undeniable and absolute. It stilled her for a moment, just a moment, before she stormed toward him, totally intent on clawing her way past his lying teeth to tear out his throat. Before she could get that close, she was thwarted by a callous-roughened hand curling around her neck and squeezing lightly. Storm-cloud eyes to match the thunder of his growl seared her skin as he walked her backwards until her ass hit the wall. She clutched his forearm with both hands, scratching at the sliver of bare skin just above his wrist like a frenzied alley cat. His thumb pressed against the angry pulse of her neck, gentle but firm, as the fingers of his other hand gripped her chin to tilt her head up.

She froze. Every muscle in her body went rigid, and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She hadn't truly been afraid of him since those first few moments he came storming toward her that day in her medic tent, back when she thought he was intent on squashing her like a bug.

But this, this paralyzing terror? This was completely different, entirely unfamiliar, manifested from thin air. She shook violently, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

A memory tugged at the corner of her conscious mind. Short bursts of remembered panic. A big hand wrapped around her neck, thumb pressed against the thready pulse of her carotid, squeezing tighter and tighter. The sound of a woman screaming. The smell of smoke. Menacing black eyes narrowing at her, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't see past the smoke, she was sure she was... He was going to...

Hunter's hand fell away, cursing under his breath as his arm snaked around her waist and lifted her to his chest. "Shh, Ivy," he whispered. "It's okay. Hush now, precious girl. I've got you."

When had she started crying? She shook her head and tried to push away, but it only made him grip her tighter. He scooped his other arm behind her knees, cradling her against the brick wall of his chest like a child. Feeling ridiculous, she curled into him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck where his soothing scent flushed away the remembered (imagined?) smell of smoke.