Anarchy Chained: Alpha Thomas

  Contents

  ANARCHY CHAINED

  DESCRIPTION

  It’s over all right.

  CHAPTER ONE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER TWO - SADIE

  CHAPTER THREE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER FOUR - SADIE

  CHAPTER FIVE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER SIX - SADIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN - THOMAS

  CHAPTER EIGHT - SADIE

  “Don’t make this hard.”

  CHAPTER NINE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER TEN - SADIE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - THOMAS

  I want her to give in.

  CHAPTER TWELVE - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THOMAS

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - SADIE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - SADIE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - SADIE

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY - SADIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SULLIVAN

  Where did you go?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - SADIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - SADIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - SADIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - SULLIVAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - SADIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - THOMAS

  "I want to stay with you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - THOMAS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - SADIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - THOMAS

  CHAPTER FORTY – SADIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE – THOMAS

  EPILOGUE - THOMAS

  Happy is the only thing that counts.

  END OF BOOK SHIT

  About the Author

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Cover Hand Drawn by: Ambro Jordi

  Cover Design by J. A. Huss

  Copyright © 2017 by JA Huss

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN- 978-1-944475-23-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  DESCRIPTION

  Everyone wants revenge.

  That’s what I tell my new would-be partner in crime, Sadie Scott.

  “You’re crazy,” she says. “Certifiably insane.”

  Just a little. But isn’t everyone a little crazy?

  “And I’m gonna get the hell away from you as fast as I can.”

  She’s so cute when she’s defiant.

  “As soon as I get my memory back and figure out who I am.”

  Yeah. That little problem is definitely working in my favor.

  “So stay away from me, Thomas Brooks. Or I will…”

  She’ll what? We’re perfect for each other and she knows it. But if she needs a little more convincing… Well, there’s a friend of mine she needs to meet.

  He’s very convincing.

  Yes, Sadie Scott, you’re mine now. We were made to be together.

  Body, mind, and soul.

  We were made to be together.

  Just the three of us.

  Together. Forever.

  It’s over all right.

  CHAPTER ONE - THOMAS

  Someone died early this morning.

  I know this because I have his memories, and let me tell you, there are some fucked-up people in this world—people you should never know anything about—and he was one of them.

  I sigh as I gaze out the tall window. The view is looking down at Cathedral City. From where I am, I can see three of the towers I built on the edge of the city boundaries. They are all pushed up against mountains, just waiting for their instructions. The whole city is surrounded by mountains.

  I can’t see the northern tower because it’s behind me somewhere, but I don’t need to see it to know what it’s doing.

  Even though it’s spring, there’s still snow on every peak higher than the foothills. There will be snow on them well into summer. That’s just the way of things up here. Cathedral City is a microcosm of industry, people, and society the world over. But it’s a secluded microcosm and that’s what makes it the perfect place for Lincoln, Case, and me to enact our plan. It’s almost like fate has put us here for this purpose.

  “Are we going to talk?” Yasmine asks from behind me. “Or are you just going to stand there in front of the window all morning?”

  I can see the inner-city towers too. Just the peaks of them because they mark the compass points of City Park in the middle of downtown and are mostly hidden by buildings. But again, I don’t need to see them to know what they’re doing.

  “Someone died this morning?” I say. It’s a question, just to keep Yasmine occupied while I enjoy the view.

  “I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter,” she replies.

  Must be nice to think like that.

  Unfortunately, I can’t afford to be so… laissez-faire about things. Capturing the memories of dead people is a side effect of my superpower. I had it one hundred percent under control until Case fucking shot me with that drug a few months ago. Since then… well, things have gone a little wacky in my head. That’s another way of saying… crazy. I had all this shit figured out until he did that. I had a drug that would last months and didn’t need to be taken daily to keep my mind in working order, but that won’t fix things anymore. Even the old version is useless. I’ve made several dozen batches of new drugs trying to get things under control again, but with no success.

  At least it was still working when we killed the Blue Boar. I can’t even imagine what was rolling around in that asshole’s head when he died.

  Your father’s head, my inner voice amends.

  Right. My father.

  The point is, I say to myself—chastising the inner voice—I’m lucky it was working. I have no idea what it would be like to capture his memories, and I don’t ever want to know.

  This guy who died this morning is bad enough and he’s just your run-of-the-mill crazy. But there will be more. So many more.

  I feel sick just thinking about it.

  “Thomas,” Yasmine says, losing patience with me. “Can you please turn around and look at me?”

  Nope. Not gonna do it.

  My hand goes to my throat to loosen my tie a little. The shirt is new and scratchy. I hate it, but appreciate it at the same time.

  Kind of like my inhibitor.

  Growing up in Prodigy School wasn’t fun either, but I knew how to appreciate the little things back then too.

  “Eventually,” Yasmine says, raising her voice, “you will have to talk to me.”

  Nope. I really don’t think so.

  “We can’t just pretend none of this is happening.”

  She underestimates me.

  “I need answers, Thomas. We can work through this.”

  There’s nothing to work through. I was fine, then Case went crazy and shot me with some weird drug. And ever since then dead memories have been flooding into my head.

  It’s been so long since I had to deal with the effects of what they did to me, I’d forgotten how awful it was. But you don’t shoot yourself up with the kind of drugs I’ve been taking for thirty years and not understand why.

  Drugs that make me numb to everything and everyone. />
  I needed those drugs.

  I still need those drugs.

  “Have you talked to Case?” Yasmine says. She’s really fishing for a way in now. “Or Lincoln?”

  She’s trying to get me to react. I know this. But I’m angry anyway. She has no right to invoke the names of my friends.

  Still, I hold my words and feelings in.

  I can still do this, I decide. I can still shut her out and keep her away. I can still control the feelings. I can still control my reactions.

  But I cannot control the dead memories.

  This guy who died today was a mess. So many things flooded into me. It took me down instantly. It made me weak, and pathetic, and powerless.

  But I’ve got them corralled now. It only took a few minutes.

  Still, in the heat of an important moment, those minutes count. Hell, seconds count.

  “Well, that’s it, I guess,” Yasmine says. “It’s over. I can’t play nice with you anymore.”

  Yup. It’s over all right.

  “Take off your clothes,” she commands.

  This is when I finally turn to face Yasmine. She is tall and, if I’m being honest, very fucking beautiful. Thick, long, medium-brown hair that falls over her shoulders like a soft waterfall. Large dark eyes. Full lips. High cheekbones. And she has one of those shapes that drive men wild. Not too thin, not too thick. Not too straight, not too round. Large breasts, wide hips, big ass, and tiny waist. She’s a cartoon character, I decide. Not real.

  “I’m tired of talking to myself, Brooks. If you won’t cooperate, I’ll make you cooperate.”

  I loosen the tie some more, then bring it over my head and drop it on the floor. The suit coat comes off next. I let that fall to the floor as well. Then I start unbuttoning my shirt. Slowly. Looking her in the eyes.

  She’s breathing heavy. She likes this part. She likes me, I decide. She wants more than I’m offering.

  I’m just using her. But I don’t feel bad about it. She’s using me too.

  She tries to hold my gaze as I undress, but she falters when I take the shirt off and toss it aside. She stares at my chest and then her eyes wander down to my fingertips. I don’t have a belt on, so she watches as I unbutton and unzip my pants.

  I kick off the shoes and let my pants fall to the floor until I’m standing there in my black boxer briefs. She unabashedly—and unapologetically—studies the muscles of my legs, then moves up. Her eyes stop, perhaps checking to see if I’m hard.

  I’m not.

  Then she continues to the flat plane of my abdomen, my chest again, and then—finally—my face.

  “I had high hopes for us, Thomas. We could’ve made a great team, you and I. But our time is up. I’m sorry you decided to waste it.”

  I’m not sorry.

  I pick up the worn-thin scrub pants and pull them on. Then slip my arms into the matching shirt and bring it over my head.

  Yasmine kicks the standard-issue shoes at me, disgusted that I wasted her time. She presses a button on her desk phone. “We’re done here.”

  But I don’t care if she’s mad. I don’t care about anything anymore. I can’t afford to care. I can’t afford to feel. I can’t afford to be weak.

  I slide my feet into the slip-on sneakers and hold my wrists out for the handcuffs when the orderly comes in to take me back to my room.

  “Maybe tomorrow then?” Yasmine says as I walk past her.

  No. Nothing about tomorrow will be different than today.

  “Thomas,” Dr. Yasmine Bates calls, once I’m in the hallway. “I won’t let you wear the suit again until you talk to me.”

  I don’t even bother shrugging. It was good while it lasted. It made me feel normal for a few minutes. It made me feel sane.

  But I’m not sane.

  If I was sane, I wouldn’t be locked up inside Cathedral City Asylum.

  If I was sane I wouldn’t have to worry about the next person to die on this floor.

  Or the memories of madness that will come afterward.

  Or the way my psyche will deteriorate from the capture.

  Or the way I might have to scream my way back to reality.

  Or the real me, hidden away for all these years, dying to break free.

  No. I’m not sane. I will never be sane again.

  Like it or not, I am chained to the anarchy in my head.

  CHAPTER TWO - SADIE

  “Do you understand what to do?”

  I do. One hundred percent. I have no idea who I’m talking to. I don’t know if the voice asking the question is male or female. I don’t recognize it at all. But I absolutely know what to do.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Tell me,” it says.

  “Leave here. Travel through the tunnels to uptown. Exit through the D Street station. Travel one mile northeast to the laundry facility. Secure the truck. Proceed to Cathedral City Asylum. Secure target. Bring him back here.”

  “Yes,” it says. “Do you foresee any problems with the plan?”

  I think really hard about that question. So hard I can feel my eyebrows knitting together on my forehead. “Why would there be problems?”

  “Good girl,” it says.

  Male, I decide. This voice is male. Then I stop that thought. I don’t need to know.

  “When was the last time you were”—it hesitates—“on assignment?”

  I have no idea.

  “A month ago?” it prods.

  I’m still thinking.

  “A few months?” it continues.

  “It’s been two years,” another voice says. “She’s been… in training.” This one is definitely female. She forgot to activate her scrambler before she spoke.

  The other voice rebukes her with a hiss and says, “Then why did we choose this one?”

  “She’s special.”

  I reluctantly smile. Because I am special.

  “She’s the only one who can manipulate her way through the asylum security. Don’t worry, she’s never been a troublemaker. She’s as well-trained as they come.”

  The second voice has still not disguised herself. Her failure to follow protocol unsettles me.

  “You’re not convinced?” the female asks.

  “Not even a little bit. Why are you here? Where’s—” But it stops short of saying a name. I’m not to associate my handlers with anything. Not a name, not a gender, not a face. My eyes are blinded by the mask, my hands and feet secured to the table with tight straps. I have no idea where I am or how long I’ve been here.

  But that doesn’t matter. I have the plan programmed into my head. It’s all I need.

  “Trust me,” the female says as a needle pricks my arm. “This injection should alleviate your concerns. Set her free and watch.”

  I can almost feel an eyebrow rise in response.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be tracking her. We can switch her off any time we want. Right, Sadie?”

  “Yes,” I answer immediately. “I am yours to command.”

  “See?” the female says. “You don’t need to worry about this one. She is the best of the best.”

  Best of the best. I smile.

  “Fine,” voice one says. “Let her loose.”

  A motor whirrs to life and the table begins to slowly right itself. Blood rushes to my head as I become vertical. My body slides down the table with the force of gravity until the soles of my boots touch the floor and I am standing.

  It takes a moment for my legs to remember what to do. But only a moment. The program in my head tells my muscles everything I need to know.

  A door opens with a creak. “After you,” the female says. Footsteps as they leave. A second creaking of the door as it closes behind them.

  Then the straps holding me tightly to the table retract.

  “Sadie,” a scrambled voice says through a crackling intercom. “Take off your blinder.”

  I reach up, pull the mask down my face, and open my eyes.

  The room is nearly dark so my eyes c
an take a few seconds to adjust to light. I feel them focusing, my lenses opening and closing as they find the right aperture.

  “Exit when you’re ready,” the scrambled voice commands.

  I step away from the table, testing my legs. Giving them a few moments to remember what to do. They are a little achy, like they feel the need to stretch. Or run. Something more than stillness.

  I take in the room and the word Exit overlays on my vision screen when I look at a door. There are several other doors in this room but the only one I’ll be able to pass through is the one marked Exit on my overlay.

  I bend over and stretch since I’m unable to run. Touch my fingers to my toes, my forehead to my knees. I wrap my arms around my legs and force myself to stay there for a moment of relief. Perhaps even pleasure.

  “Sadie,” the voice interrupts. “We’re on a deadline, sweetie. Please become ready now.”

  I slowly uncurl from my stretch, take a deep breath, then crack my knuckles.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”

  I proceed to the door, open it up, and step out into the tunnel. A map overlays my vision now. A path lit up in red, for my eyes only, telling me where to go.

  I follow it down the dark, wet tunnel for a long time. Miles, at least. I want to run so bad, but there’s a command on my vision screen telling me to be cautious. Which means I shouldn’t. So I don’t.

  After thirty-three minutes of wishing for something to change, the lighted path points to a metal ladder leading up to the surface. I climb up one level, but the path continues upward, so I ignore the people on that level as I pass through. The next level has no people, but I’m not supposed to stop, so I don’t. When I get to the tenth level the path leads me to a door.

  The trains are loud here. Down below they were just a faint rumble. Now they shake the floor, the walls, me.

  I’m in a small room with a single door with an actual lighted exit sign. There’s a keypad mounted on the wall. I don’t need to touch it or punch in a code. Everything is controlled by my handlers.

  I pull on the handle and it opens. I step through into the D Street station. People see me, but I’m wearing a uniform that makes them think I work for the Cathedral City Transportation Department, so they look away, quickly losing interest.