I head to the small kitchen, skirting the table. Sam doesn’t move a muscle, his perfect face illuminated by the screen. He really is beautiful, for a man. Almost perfect bone structure. And his muscular body-flawless. Except for the scars.
For once in my life, I have something other than my research to live for. I’m not a virgin-I didn’t really date in high school and college, but I did enough to check sex off my very short bucket list. But I’ve never felt anything like what I have with Sam. Maybe I shouldn’t feel this way about someone I just met, but I want to see where this goes. Just a little further, and then I’ll pull back. I’ll tell him about Barrington’s. He’s already made it plain he can’t be in a relationship, either, so no harm, no foul.
Images flicker across Sam’s computer screen.
“What are you watching?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He pauses the video but doesn’t look at me. “Footage from Data-X experiments. The Alpha Project.” I’ve never heard someone’s voice so empty, yet so filled with pain.
I swallow. “May I see?”
He rises and waits until I take his seat. The still shot shows a camera’s eye view of a room, with a blurred figure inside. I grip the edge of the seat, bracing myself as he pushes play.
A man stands rigid in a small space, bare-chested and barefoot. The way the camera’s angled, the frame catches three corners of the room. There’s a cot and bare concrete walls and floor.
It’s a cell, and the man inside is a prisoner. The way he holds himself still and straight-he looks like a soldier about to snap to attention.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Brian Nash Armstrong. Goes by Nash. Lion shifter,” Sam murmurs.
The door opens, the man’s shoulders tighten but he doesn’t move. Three men in black enter the small room, weapons trained on the half-naked man. Two more appear, holding a woman wearing a white sort of garment between them.
I suck in a breath as the two guards push the woman forward, yanking her garment-no more than a sheet-off at the same time. Naked, she stumbles into the man, who snaps his arms around her, steadying her as she huddles against him. Her thick, tawny hair hides her face as she presses it against Nash’s bare chest. He angles his body, hiding her from the men in black. His mouth moves, saying something just before the men in black retreat, shutting the door and leaving the woman alone with him.
Sam reaches around me to stop the clip.
“What was that?” My voice wobbles.
“That was one of the branches of the Alpha project. The breeding program.” He taps at the computer and pulls up another video. The same man, Nash, strapped to a table with wires patched to different parts of his body. The man looks thinner, his face pale and gaunt. “Here’s the other branch.”
The words “Endurance Test 173” appear on screen and disappear a second before Nash’s body tenses, tremors running through his legs as whoever’s off screen pumps some sort of current through him. Claws tear from Nash’s knuckles, convulsions wracking his body as his lips curl back in a silent scream.
“Oh my God,” I turn away. Instantly, Sam shuts off the clip, leaning down to lift me into his lap. I huddle against him, much like that poor woman clung to Nash in the cell of a Data-X lab.
The cells from the Alpha project. The people tortured and forced to breed. What have I done?
“It wasn’t you, Layne,” Sam says, and I realize I’ve spoken aloud. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.”
I push my hands under his shirt, seeking the warm comfort of his flesh. I trace the scars under my fingertips. He holds still, letting me touch him.
“They hurt you,” I whimper.
“Shhh,” he soothes. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago.” He slips an arm around my waist. “You’re shaking.” Sam’s voice carries shock.
Shit. It’s not just from seeing the torture clip. It’s the Barrington’s.
“I’m just… hungry. Is there anything around here for breakfast?”
Sam lets out a low curse and releases me, striding to the cabinets. He swears again as he surveys the canned goods.
“It’s okay.” I don’t know why I need to soothe him, but he seems upset about not having breakfast food for me. “I don’t usually eat much for breakfast anyway. Just a granola bar or piece of fruit.”
He whirls, expression incredulous. “You’ve been killing yourself for that research.”
I draw back, stung by the accusation.
Pain shadows his eyes before he curses again and slams his fist down on the countertop. “Come on,” he clips and strides toward me, grabbing my hand.
I shake it off. “No, I’m fine. I don’t know why you’re getting so uptight.”
He stops and turns. Regret etches over the lines in his youthful face. “I’m just mad at myself for forgetting your needs. And I’m mad at Data-X for sucking the life out of you. Please. Let me take you to breakfast. I owe you that much, at the very least.”
Damn him for turning tortured into charming. I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips. “You’re crazy.”
He flicks his eyebrows up. “No question about that, sweetheart.” He extends his hand, not presuming to pick mine up this time, just offering his.
I take it. “Fine.”
His smile is a stunning reward. He grabs his phone and the keys to the van and leads me outside.
I breathe in the scent of pine and cool mountain air while he locks up the mobile home. It’s delicious-so fresh and invigorating. When was the last time I even paid attention to my natural surroundings? I can’t remember a time. Maybe before my mom died.