Hidden (Book 3 of the Immune Series)

Lucky

Sakir

The man and I hit the ground hard, scattering leaves around us. Before the other three can move, my fist slams into his face at least twice, muscles pulsing with the motion.

Hands grip my shoulders, ripping me away from him and sending me stumbling backwards towards two others. They pull at my shirt, wrapping arms around my waist as I pull away.

"Get off me," I growl, throwing an elbow  back into the nearest person's stomach.  He recoils, gasping for breath. I break out of the other's hold easily, spinning on my heel and swinging at them. One ducks, but the other doesn't have time and blood pours down his nose the moment I pull my hand away.

I grab the remaining man by both shoulders, throwing my weight into slamming my forehead into his nose. The impact sends us both reeling, but after swaying for a moment, he leans against the same tree I was hiding behind, eyes closed and hand on his swelling head.

I'm just about to turn and go back to the woman when I feel cold metal against my lower back, pressing through the thin tan shirt I wear, the one that's covered in sweat, bits of oats, and leaves.

"Don't move," the feminine voice hisses, followed by the click of the gun as she cocks it. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will."

"Are you sure you can? You missed the first time."

She brings the gun up, hitting me hard against the head with the hilt. I close my eyes against the pain. Where did I make my mistake? Fighting four people shouldn't have been that hard; I've done worse.

"You're lucky Ashford wants you alive, maggot," she says, bring the gun back to where it started. In my peripheral, the first man I took down stands back up, face red and swollen. He pulls a pair of cuffs out of his jacket pocket, reaching for my arms.

In one swift motion, I bring my elbow down on his face, and several bones crack in unison. He breathes a string of curses, spitting blood.

"Seriously," he says, "get him under control. You're holding a loaded gun. Act like it, woman."

She scowls at him, hitting me once more across the head.

The ground tilts under me, and I shift my footing, afraid I might fall over.

"Is that all you got?" I whisper, blinking to correct my blurry vision.

"Dan, gag him," the first man says. "I'm tired of listening to him."

Bloody nosed Dan picks himself up off the ground, pulling a long string of black fabric out. The woman and red-faced man work to keep my hands away from him as he wraps the strap around my face, fitting it inside my mouth.

The coarse, wool-like fabric tastes of dirt and mothballs, filling my nose with the stench of moldy bread. I position my tongue below it, wriggling my jaw to prevent it from chafing the corners of my mouth.

"There," Dan says, smearing blood across his face. "Try and talk now."

I feint towards him, and he skitters back, throwing up his fits. Smirking around the gag proves hard, but the message must come across he glares at me.

"If I'd known he would be so hard to take down, I wouldn't have volunteered," the woman says under her breath, clamping the cuffs on my wrists.

"Yeah, Ashford told me it would be easy. One eighteen year old Indian kid. How hard could it really be?"

The man I headbutted grabs my shirt by the fistfuls, jerking me close to his face. They black hair of his filthy beard is slick from the grease build up, and pieces of the leaves scatter like confetti throughout it. His eyes turn into slits; the pupils dilate smaller as he glares at me.

"If we didn't have a job to do, I would kill you now," he whispers, sending droplets of spit towards my face. His breath smells like the oats I served his this morning, a mixture of apples and cinnamon. "Lucky for you, Ashford told us that we have to take you to Dr. Julien. Not that you really win in either way. I've heard some nasty things happen in that woman's hideout."

Panic sinks deep in pit of my chest, and I jerk wildly at the restraints. I'm not about to be tortured or turned into a lab rat.

The man just laughs, pushing me away from him.

"Have your way with him, guys," he says. "Leave him on the edge of death for all I care. Meet me at the truck in thirty minutes."

With that, he walks away, whistling the national anthem as he swings his arms back and forth.

"Ready to have fun, boys?" the woman purrs in my ear, and the hairs on my neck stand on end. Her breath runs down my neck like hot water, and I shudder. Even I can't fight back with my hands tied behind my back.

The two men bring themselves around to face me. One cracks his knuckles, and the other turns his neck with a hand. I swallow hard against the gag, setting my face into indifference.

Like lions, they descend upon me, all fists, grunting and growling as they force me to the ground. Pain erupts through my body, a volcanic eruption that originates from my abdomen. The lava spreads as their hits do, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to relax. My body fights against my mind, though, until the pain becomes unbearable.

My vision blacks, following by every other sense I have, until I'm wrapped in darkness, numb and deaf to the world around me.