Unlocked

  Contents

  Title Page

  A Note From the Author

  Chapter 1 (Sophia)

  Chapter 2 (Sophia)

  Chapter 3 (Sebastian)

  Chapter 4 (Sebastian)

  Chapter 5 (Sophia)

  Chapter 6 (Sophia)

  Chapter 7 (Sophia)

  Chapter 8 (Sophia)

  Chapter 9 (Sebastian)

  Chapter 10 (Sebastian)

  Chapter 11 (Sophia)

  Chapter 12 (Sophia)

  Chapter 13 (Sebastian)

  Chapter 14 (Sebastian)

  Epilogue (Sophia)

  A Little Bonus

  About the Author

  Unlocked

  (The Alpha Group Trilogy #3)

  By Maya Cross

  Copyright © 2013 by Maya Cross

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A Note From The Author

  I just wanted to give you all a little advanced warning that, while the first two books were purely from Sophia's perspective, Unlocked moves between both Sophia and Sebastian. It was something I wanted to do earlier, but I couldn't make it work without giving away too much. I hope you enjoy being in Sebastian's head as much as I did!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sophia

  The first thing that I remembered was that I was cold. Everything was still black and my body wouldn't respond, but I shivered nonetheless. Then, gradually, things began to swim into focus, as though I were floating upwards from the darkest depths of the sea.

  I coughed. Then again. And then sucked in several great breaths. One by one, I could feel muscles spark back to life. They were like dead weights, attached to my body, but at least I could move.

  It took a few minutes for my mind to drag itself out of neutral. My first thought was that my lunch with Ruth must have turned into the bender to end all benders. It had happened before, and the cotton wool sensation in my head was at least a little reminiscent of my nastier hangovers. But then I remembered the following morning. My walk through Newtown. My newfound resolve to start getting things back on track.

  The broken back door.

  The stabbing pain in my neck.

  The strong hands catching me as I fell towards the floor.

  Oh Jesus. Oh fuck. What the fuck had happened? Where was I? And how long had I been out?

  I flung myself into a sitting position, a move I instantly regretted as it sent a powerful coil of nausea twisting through my stomach. Right, then. No fast movements.

  Drawing a few calming breaths, I steadied myself and surveyed my surroundings. At first glance, the room around me appeared fairly ordinary. Sparsely furnished, with just a bed, table, and bookshelf, the cream coloured walls and smooth wooden floor boards made it feel a lot like the guest bedroom in my parents' house. However it didn't take long for the differences to become apparent. Firstly, there were no windows, just a small space above the bed that looked to have been painted more recently than the rest. Similarly, the door looked somehow out of place; a giant slab of thick timber with a heavy iron lock.

  Battling a bout of vertigo, I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled over to it. I knew what I'd find, but my chest still tightened when the handle refused to budge. The room may not have looked like a traditional prison cell, but it would hold me just as effectively.

  This time, the nausea came on more strongly. It clawed at my insides like a wild animal. I tasted bile, sharp and hot, at the back of my throat. Somehow I managed to stagger to the corner of the room before my stomach emptied itself on the floor.

  When it was over, I dragged myself back to the bed and curled into a ball. I knew I should try and approach the situation logically, but all I could focus on was the terror that was running like ice water through my veins. How could I possibly react rationally in the face of something like this? I'd been kidnapped from my house by unknown assailants, shot full of God knows what, and was now being held prisoner, for reasons I didn't understand. It was straight out of a horror movie.

  Even through the haze in my mind, I knew that this had something to do with Sebastian. It was the only explanation that made sense. The fear I'd seen in that final letter told me all I needed to know. Whatever he was involved in was extremely dangerous, and now I was in the thick of it. And I had no idea why.

  Take a deep breath, Sophia. Crying isn't going to do you any good.

  I started with what I knew. They hadn't killed me outright. As horrifying as it was to consider, they could easily have done so. That meant they wanted something. Was someone trying to extort Sebastian? He certainly had the wealth for it. If that were the case, they'd probably already told him they had me. The ball was in his court. Would he do what they asked? It pained me to admit, but I didn't know. I had no doubt that he loved me, but the stakes were obviously much higher than I'd imagined. Perhaps they were too high.

  Of course, extortion was probably the best case scenario. There were much darker possibilities. If Sebastian's secrets were as large as they seemed, it made sense that he'd have enemies, enemies who may be under the impression I knew something important. I suspected that if that were the case, they wouldn't be gentle about extracting the truth. My mind filled with terrifying visions; knives and saws and long iron pokers, heated to a glowing red.

  Deep down I knew there was a third possibility too. Maybe my kidnappers weren't strangers at all. No matter how I approached it, I couldn't see Sebastian having anything to do with this, but I couldn't say the same for his colleagues. We hadn't exactly kept our discussion in his building private. I knew Thomas had overheard and it certainly wasn't unreasonable to think that others might have as well. I had almost no idea what went on at Fraiser, a few scraps at best, but perhaps it was enough to make them feel threatened. And if that were the case, my gut told me that they wouldn't hesitate to do anything to rectify the problem.

  I tried to convince myself that Sebastian was just moments away from tearing down the door and riding in on his white horse, but the truth was he had no way of knowing what had happened. He'd been very clear that all our ties were severed. Even if my captors had told him they had me, they wouldn't have been stupid enough to give away their location. For now, I was on my own.

  Gradually, whatever they'd shot into me seemed to wear off and I began to feel more human. My mind ran in a constant circle, my body surging with some powerful combination of fear and anger. I paced the room, testing the lock over and over, searching for breaks in the plaster, anything that might hint at some chance of escape. I knew that it was all but impossible — this wasn't some hasty, spur of the moment snatch and grab — but I couldn't simply sit there and wait for what came next. It felt too much like admitting defeat.

  I had no idea how much time passed. It's funny how quickly you lose sense of the hours in a room with no clocks or natural light. Eventually though, during one of my circuits of the far wall, there was a rattling at the door. Steeling myself, I took a few steps towards it and poised there. I wasn't sure what was coming, but I wanted to be ready, should an opportunity present itself.

  The door flew open and a burly looking man in a suit walked through. He had dark olive skin, darker than Sebastian's, and heavy black curls that were cropped close to his head. He was carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of juice resting on it.

  "Dinner," he said. He spoke with a sharp accent; Russian maybe, or Middle Eastern.

  I had no doubt he wasn't the only one on guard duty, and judging by the easy confidence with which he moved, h
e wasn't particularly concerned about me escaping. But as he walked closer, I caught a glimpse of the open door behind him and all my survival instincts kicked in.

  "Thank you," I replied, amazed by how little my voice was shaking. I reached calmly for the orange juice and began raising it to my lips, then with a flick of my wrist I tossed the liquid into his face and darted for the door.

  In my head, it worked flawlessly. I saw him collapse to the floor as the citric acid set his eyes burning. I saw myself finding the guard outside sleeping on his chair and, after stealing his gun and handcuffing him in place, making a daring escape. Unfortunately we weren't in a movie. This was real life.

  Instead of falling, my captor let out a short hiss, and one hand flew up to his eyes, but he was obviously well trained because despite his temporary blindness, he moved to block my path. In retrospect, it was a pretty stupid plan; there was only one place I could go and he knew it. But desperation is a powerful emotion and I only had two words running through my head at that moment. Get away.

  I ploughed right into him. He must have weighed at least double what I did, but that didn't stop me from trying to fight. I let loose with everything I had, pounding his chest, his stomach, his neck. I landed a few good blows, but they barely seemed to register. It was like punching a mattress. The heavy muscle that coated his body absorbed everything. I shifted my focus, trying to strike him between the legs, but by that time his eyes were open once more and he blocked my attacks with ease, seizing my arms and pinning them together with one giant, meaty hand.

  "Nice try," he said with a smirk. "Now, my turn." And then with almost derisive casualness, he flicked back his arm and struck my face with a colossal backhand. I spun through the air, my vision flaring white as I slammed into the floor. The impact knocked all the breath from my lungs.

  "Eat," he said. "The boss wants to talk to you, but it may be a while." He glanced down at the now empty cup. "I guess you're going thirsty until then."

  And with another smirk, he pulled the door closed behind him.

  I crawled over to the wall and propped myself up against it. My whole head was ringing, and my cheek felt like it were on fire. It would be a lovely shade of purple in a few hours. Great plan, Sophia. Just beat up Mr Universe over there and make a breezy escape. That'll work a treat.

  I knew I should probably eat, but just glancing at the sandwich made my stomach turn. How could I think about food at a time like this?

  I desperately wanted to retain my composure, but that encounter had really driven home the hopelessness of the situation. I began to cry; fat, salty, desperate tears that flowed like a river down my face. I was utterly helpless. Escape was not an option. Whatever they wanted from me, they were going to take. The only question was how they would go about it.

  * * * * *

  Somehow, I managed to fall asleep. I don't know if it was the lingering effect of the drugs, or my body's way of trying to cope with the situation, but the next thing I remember is waking up to some sort of commotion in the hall outside.

  I had no idea what it meant; the walls were thick and the sounds indistinct, but at this point, I assumed that any activity was probably bad. It signalled that we were progressing on to whatever happened next. I desperately wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go. My chest felt impossibly heavy, and my heartbeat was like gunfire in my ears.

  There was a brief lull, but after about thirty seconds of silence the lock jangled once more. I braced myself. The door flew open...

  ... and in stormed Sebastian, a sleek black pistol in his hand.

  My stomach turned a cartwheel.

  His face was a picture of desperation, fear etched into every line on his skin. Seeing him again made my whole body ache, the wound left by his letter tearing open inside me once more.

  His eyes were wild, almost insane, but they lit up as they fell upon me. "Sophia," he cried, taking three quick strides and lifting me into the fiercest hug I'd ever experienced.

  As he wrapped his body around mine, everything surged inside me. I finally let myself feel the full magnitude of the situation. I found that I was crying again. My chest shook with great heaving sobs, incoherent thanks spilling from my mouth. He was warm and strong and radiated control, and I buried myself deeper against him, as if his body could somehow shield me from everything I was feeling.

  He took my reaction in his stride, holding me close and stroking my hair softly. "I know, I know. It's okay. I've got you."

  His touch was soothing. His presence washed over me, filling me with that primal sense of security. I knew things were a long way from being okay, and I still had more questions than I knew what to do with, but at that moment, I'd never been more relieved to see another person in my life.

  After some time, the flood finally began to ease and I found myself able to speak again. "Can we get out of here? I can't be here anymore."

  "Of course."

  As I pulled away, he caught sight of my face and his expression hardened. "Did they hurt you?"

  "Well they did this," I said, gesturing to my cheek where I assumed a bruise was blossoming, "but that was mostly my own fault for trying to do a runner."

  "None of this is your fault, Sophia," he said, sounding impossibly sad.

  He led me out into the hallway. Somehow, I'd gotten into my head that Sebastian had done this alone, James Bond style; but, of course, that was ridiculous. Waiting for us outside were five hulking men, sporting earpieces and stubby black guns. Their crisp suits and grim expressions made them dead ringers for my visitor from before. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have guessed they were on the same side. Maybe all the world's evil organisations shop at the same rental agency. Rent-A-Thug.

  But even my inner monologue's attempt at wit couldn't bring a smile to my face at that moment. Seeing them all standing there, alert and armed to the teeth, really drove home exactly what kind of shit I had embroiled myself in. They had guns, for Christ's sake. I'd never seen a drawn gun in real life before. Australian firearms laws are notoriously tough, so it's just not the kind of thing we are exposed to. But here were five men, carrying pistols as casually as if they were newspapers; and judging by the way they handled them, they were perfectly comfortable putting them to use. I couldn't see any sign of struggle in the hallway, but I doubted my captors had just invited Sebastian and company in for afternoon tea. Blood had been spilt here somewhere. Blood that, in a roundabout way, was on my hands. I shook my head rapidly, trying to clear the image. That kind of thinking would do me no good.

  Several men scouted ahead while the rest walked with Sebastian and I to the front door. It was dark outside, but judging by the suburban buzz in the air, it wasn't too late at night.

  My prison turned out to be nothing more than a large, two-story house. Obviously some significant changes had been made, but to the casual observer, nothing would have stood out as strange.

  There were several cars waiting for us. Sebastian guided me into one and followed me into the back seat, and in a matter of seconds we were turning the corner and pulling out into the night-time traffic.

  Safety.

  With every meter we put between us and the house, the tension in my muscles eased just a little more. I still felt like I might break down again at any moment, but at least the sense of sheer terror was subsiding. Now, I just felt exhausted, vulnerable, and utterly utterly confused.

  Sebastian seemed to be almost ignoring me now. He was staring out the window, the initial relief on his face gone, replaced by a kind of heavy thoughtfulness. For my part, I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. I was so ill-equipped to deal with the situation. Part of me just wanted to throw myself back into the comfort of his embrace, but now that we were making our escape, the questions began to come again, piling up in my head almost faster than I could process them.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, figuring that was as good a starting spot as any.

  He looked over at me. "Somewhere safe."

  "S
afe from who?"

  There was uncertainty in his eyes, that innate defensiveness he'd spent a lifetime fostering. "Can we not do this now, Sophia? You've just been through one hell of an ordeal."

  "Exactly, and now I want to understand what happened. So who the hell were those guys?"

  His jaw worked wordlessly for a few seconds, but eventually he let out a small sigh. "Honestly, I'm not sure."

  "Seriously? No idea at all?"

  He shook his head wearily. "We're working on it."

  "Then how the hell did you find me?"

  He hesitated. I could see what looked like guilt on his face. "After I sent you that letter... I know this looks bad, but I was worried about you. So," he drew a deep breath, "I left someone watching your place. It was just a precaution, but thank God I did. They saw the whole thing go down."

  My eyes widened. "You mean you expected this?"

  "No. No! Of course not." He ran a hand through his hair. He looked utterly distraught. "Like I said, it was a 'just in case' measure, that's all. Some of the people we deal with...well, there's not much they're not capable of, and things are a little unstable at the moment. I just wanted you to be safe."

  "So why didn't your guy intervene?"

  "There were three men that took you, and they were good - professional. He didn't think he could stop them by himself, so he called it in and followed, instead."

  "I see." I couldn't say I wasn't thankful he'd had someone there, but it was a little like handing someone a fire extinguisher after you'd set their place alight. Also, it drew my mind to the elephant in the room. Last time I'd gotten too curious, Sebastian had offered me nothing but heartbreak, but this was different. I was no longer merely a spectator. My life had been put in jeopardy. That entitled me to know a few things.

  "How about we cut to the chase then. You may not know who they were, but you sure as hell know who you are. What kind of man are you, Sebastian? And what the hell is all this?"