"Do you remember what happened after?"

"I woke up in an enemy prison."

"Anything else?" Boyer wheezed. "You don't remember, do you?"

"You stuck me with a needle again," Remy surmised. Fury ripped through him, causing his gun to shake from his unsteady arm.

"Broke through the bindings and took off. The next thing I knew, I was called to the scene. A bloodbath. And it wasn't the enemy. It was one of our guns. Yours. You killed them all."

David thrashed on the table, one arm already free. His vocal cords neared exhaustion as his rants grew louder. Ava wanted to help him, but she had no idea what to do. She just hoped the rest of the bindings held strong. It would keep him safe.

When she gave Mikael the order to evacuate, she didn't quite think how she'd defend herself if it came to that. Right now, she was a sitting duck with a broken wing.

With a growl, David busted one binding after another. They snapped like rubber bands as he tore them away and stood.

Ava kept silent. She didn't know this man who stood before her with red-rimmed eyes and veins throbbing like engorged rivers. Perhaps if she stayed quiet and still, he wouldn't notice her. She actually wondered if he noticed anything at all. It was as if he wasn't focusing. Just a blank stare. Eyes blood-red and dead.

He stepped toward her.

Ava searched for something to defend herself with.

He closed in, reaching out to grab her. Ava instinctively dodged, only to realize too late that she'd used her injured leg. She toppled, screaming with a pain so intense and excruciating that the edges of her vision began to blacken.

Natan crashed through, the door banging hard as it slammed open, tearing David's attention away from Ava.

Natan drew his gun.

"Don't kill him," Ava hollered.

"I have two injured already," Natan said. "I can't risk anymore."

Ava wanted to ask who else, but there was no time. David charged at Natan, knocking him three feet into the air and bashing him into a wall. As Natan fell, he shot, blasting a hole clear through David's shoulder. The back spray rained down on Ava.

David plowed his fist into Natan's jaw, not even slowing from his own wound, then he took off through the open door.

"Wait!" Ava shouted.

If Natan's bullet didn't kill David, the blood loss would. He had no idea he was even bleeding.

"Natan!" she called. When he didn't move, she cried out, "Remy! French! Anyone!"

"Well, I'm glad I come before anyone," French gritted, limping in. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, clutching his ribs. His normally pale skin a touch more so. "Nice job on the makeup."

Ava wiped David's blood away from her face with her shirt collar. "You're hurt."

"I think it might be contagious," he said dryly.

"David-"

"I know. He blew past me."

"He's bleeding. He won't last long out there."

"He might not make it either way," French said.

Ava looked at him aghast. "We have to go after him!"

"How? I can barely breathe, and you can't walk."

"Sit down," Ava said, frustrated. She pointed to the chair she had just tumbled out of. "We're a sorry lot. Does Natan look okay?"

French glanced over and nodded. "He's breathing."

"Where's Remy?"

French flicked an irritated glance at her before easing into the chair. A jagged breath shuddered out. "He went after Boyer."

"By himself?" Ava asked.

"He'll manage."

"You're not concerned?"

"He'll do better than I did."

"Remy might be strong, but Boyer can dig into a person's head. He'll twist fact and fiction until the person doesn't even know his own name."

French's jaw twitched, alarming Ava.

"What is it? What do you know?" she asked.

"Nothing." His jaw twitched again.

"Dammit, French! I know when you're lying. Tell me what you know. I'm sick of being kept in the dark!"

"It's better that way."

"For who?" she demanded.

"You."

Ava scowled at him, wanting to inflict damage with just her eyes since she couldn't very well do anything else. She should've punched French when she'd had previous opportunities.

"Don't look at me that way."

"Then stop treating me like a dumb twit. Tell me what you know!"

"Remy never was in enemy prison."

"Then where was he?"

"Boyer injected him right before the raid. He was as crazy as David is now."

Ava's stomach curdled. "How do you know this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know until days later. I really thought Remy would've died, given all that we discovered about Venom. I didn't want you chasing him down only to discover . . . You know what the desert can do to a dead body." He cleared his throat. "Boyer glossed over the report. I had thought it was to protect Remy's memory. But now I know it was just to cover his own tracks."

"What part of the report?"

"Everyone was killed by the same gun."

Ava shook her head, unwilling to believe what conclusion she was drawing.

"Ava, it was Remy's gun."

Chapter 18.

Remy stared at the shrub. Comprehension of what Boyer said was slowly seeping in like heated tar, coating his limited memories.

"You're full of s.h.i.t!" Remy shouted, though lacking conviction. He didn't remember. But he wouldn't slaughter his men. He'd never.

But with the drugs . . .

"You'll remember sooner or later," Boyer said, gasping.

Remy squeezed the trigger, but held off. It'd only prove what Boyer had said; that Remy was a killer.

A force rammed Remy from the side. He skidded, the soles of his boots biting into the rocky soil as he held onto the attacker.

David.

Remy, at first thankful David was alive and moving, looked down at his hands, b.l.o.o.d.y from David's shirt. Before Remy could register what was happening, David struck out. Remy sidestepped the swing just in time. Again and again, David came at him. And each time, David grew weaker and weaker as red ran down his arm.

A flash of memory caught Remy off guard. It was him fighting with David. The rage that had burned through his body took over his mind. All he had wanted to do was kill the man in front of him. But it was David. He had wanted to kill David.

At the time, David had blocked, never striking back. He took Remy's relentless abuse.

Christ. This had happened before.

It was him.

He was a murderer.

Guilt, shame, and sorrow swallowed him just as David took another swing. Remy fell from the blow, tumbling to the ground.

The bush rustled, gaining David's attention.

"David!" Remy called, wanting David to stay away from Boyer, who wouldn't hesitate to shoot a deadly bullet at pointblank range. But his calls were useless; David was already on the move. "David!" Remy took off after him.

Boyer screamed as David rounded on him, dragging him from his hiding spot. Both men were covered in crimson; Boyer's injuries were worse than Remy had antic.i.p.ated. Not only was he bleeding from deep gashes in his head and both legs, but his right arm was dislocated, making him a left-handed shooter. No wonder he had missed before.

"Help!" he screamed as David continued to drag him.

Remy was reluctant to help Boyer, but he also didn't want David's conscience as murky as Remy's was now. If only someone could have stopped Remy before he . . .

Remy pressed his lips together.

Bang!

A bullet ripped through David's other shoulder. At first, David didn't seem to notice it, but then he fell, trapping Boyer.

Boyer's breath grew labored, almost agonizingly so. He must have broken ribs as well. Remy kicked the gun from his hand and pulled David off. Boyer lay flat, unable to move.

Stripping off his shirt, Remy tied David's fresh wound. G.o.d, there was blood everywhere.

He bent down and picked David up, groaning from David's muscular weight. Christ, with all the blood loss, he should be a little lighter.

"Help," Boyer wheezed.

Remy ignored him. Boyer wouldn't be able to go far, and Remy had to deal with David first.

"Brock," Boyer pleaded.

"I'll be back for you," he snapped.

"Please. The gun. Let me die."

Remy didn't bother answering; he was already on his way back to the lab, hurrying as much as he could with the added weight.

Behind him, he heard Boyer's cries and then a shot.

Silence.

Remy didn't turn to look. There was no point. The coward had taken his own life instead of facing the consequences of his actions.

Remy will have to answer for his own actions; the death of soldiers by his own hand.

Ava would hate him. He wouldn't blame her. He hated himself.