Courts and Cabals 2 by G.S. D'Moore (best novel books to read .txt) 📕

yowzah that snapped me out of the blackness. I was intimately familiar with smelling salts, but their sting was always tempered by the face of a pretty imp with a killer right hook. This time, when I opened my eyes, I was face-to-face with an ugly mug that didn’t give me flashbacks of fucking in a school gym.

“Good, he’s awake,” the UN agent, whose name I struggled to remember, announced to a room full of people. All of those people were in medical scrubs and white, doctor coats.

“This isn’t good,” my mind was still getting itself together, but it was never a good thing to be awakened by an army of doctors.

I turned my head to examine my surroundings, and my neck gave a loud pop of complaint. “Ow,” I groaned, as the dull, painful sensation spread through my entire body.

It felt like I’d spent hours in an uncomfortable position; like when you fall asleep in the car like a contortionist. All my muscles were locked up, and I could use some WD40 on my joints. My neck continued to complain as I swiveled it to look at my surroundings.

“Shit. This really isn’t good.”

Red flag number one, if you don’t count the doctors salivating over me like I was a T-Bone, was that I was tied to a table . . . naked. My dick was hanging out for everyone to see, and it was a little chilly, so it wasn’t my finest hour. The table was a giant, stainless steel X, with my legs space shoulder-width apart, and my arms stretched over my head. It made me think that someone had modernized a medieval torture device, and I was the test dummy. I was secured by metal restraints built into the chair, and I could feel the cold iron worked into them. That really limited my options.

I started to panic, “Shit . . . shit . . . shit,” I hyperventilated. Everything I’d been trying to avoid was coming true. All my worst nightmares were playing out right in front of my face. “Who the fuck are you smiling at you cocky son-of-a-bitch?”

“Vernon, you shot me, fuckin’ asshole,” I put a name to the face, but my insult was muddled by the worst case of cottonmouth.

“That’s Special Agent Dud to you,” a beautiful, statuesque woman, who looked mildly familiar, stepped out from behind me. I jumped in surprise, which completely undermined the tough-guy impression I was trying to build. She’d been standing there the whole time and I hadn’t even noticed.

“Wake the fuck up, Cam!” I gave myself a few mental slaps. I was balls deep in the lion’s den, and I wasn’t doing myself any favors.

“It’s fine, Becky,” Vernon replied as he crouched down to look me in the eye. “We’re going to peel you apart and discover your secrets, Dupree. I tried to do this the nice way before. I brought you donuts, sat down with you, and tried to have a conversation man-to-man. Now, people are dead, families have been ripped apart, and officers of the law were gunned down by kids who think this is a fucking joke.” His face was inches from mine, and I could smell what he ate for dinner.

“Why does your breath smell like pussy?” I asked, trying, and failing, not to grin.

One of the nearby doctors tried to cover her laugh as a cough, and epically failed. Vernon shot her a glare, and turned back to stare directly into my soul.

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon,” he grinned, and I gulped as he turned to the docs. “Get what you need.”

With that, the experiments began. Doctors descended on me like bloodthirsty hyaenas on a wounded wildebeest.

“Needles,” I shivered as I was stabbed again and again. I’d nearly been run through with a fucking broadsword, but I was still scared of needles. Weird.

IVs and tubes went to and from me like I was the interstate system around LA. I just hoped some clumsy nurse didn’t trip on the miles of cables and cause me to bleed out. A fat man with a Q-tip on steroids appeared above my head and yanked my mouth open. He roughly swabbed the inside of my cheek, capped the specimen tube, and then stuck the next one all the way up my nose so it tickled my brain. He yanked it out and I jerked in a fit of sneezes.

I caught a doc sitting down on a chair next to me and plugging a vial into the contraption sticking out from the crux of my elbow. By the number of empty vials sitting on a cart next to me, I was going to look like a dried-up raisin by the time this was done.

“Deep breaths. Woo sa . . . I’m on a beach, Xamira is feeding me grapes, Dani is fanning me with a palm leave, and Lilith is pulling a Lewinski,” I tried to escape into a fantasy world.

I tried to think of anything other than what was happening to me. I still didn’t have a clue where I was. Everything was orderly, smelled sterile, and had the look of anal-retentive bureaucracy. I doubted my new family was here; which meant I was flying solo.

“I hope they’re okay,” I spared their well-being a little thought. Whatever was going on with them, it couldn’t be worse than the lesson in invasive anatomy 101 they were giving me

Eventually, the vials were filled, my blood pressure was taken, my reflexes checked; but the Kevorkian wannabees didn’t stop there.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is that?” I caught sight of the biggest needle I’d ever seen.

Vernon worked some contraption, and the X-table turned me so I was on my side, perpendicular with the floor. To add insult to injury, my restraints tightened as gravity exerted itself, and I gagged on the throat restraint.

Vernon appeared