Free Warrior's Heart: Iron Portal Series (Paranormal Romance) by Laurie London

girl, my daughter was irreparably harmed. That was forty-seven years, three months and fourteen days ago, Palmer. From that day forward, I committed myself to doing whatever it took to make sure no one else suffered like Nancy did. Those with Talents are abominations. They need to be controlled and monitored.” He gave a little laugh that chilled Palmer to the bone. “If I were in charge, I’d kill them all. But I’m not, so I’m doing the next best thing.”
    Palmer hated Talents too. Freaked him the hell out to be working so closely with them. At least the drugs suppressed their abilities and the pay was good. By the end of the month, he’d have enough money saved to buy that fucking awesome flat screen he’d been looking at. A mammoth sixty-incher. Just in time to watch the biggest MMA event of the year. He planned to invite his hot neighbor over, a big, beautiful woman with curves that went on forever. And during the commercial breaks, if he was lucky, maybe she’d let him feel her tits.
    He cleared his throat. “So what can I do for you?”
    The doctor looked up, made eye contact with the guard. “Bradford,” he said with a nod, then gave a tight-lipped smile to Palmer. “A few things, actually.”
    “Can you help me with this?” The guard—Bradford—grabbed a roll of black plastic. It had been leaning against the wall near the bathroom, but Palmer hadn’t noticed it before.
    “Yeah, sure.” Palmer took an edge and stepped backward, unrolling a tarp. Were they going to be painting? Guess it shouldn’t surprise him that the doctor wanted to make the room nicer for his daughter, given how he doted over her. A bright yellow would be nice. Or maybe purple. Didn’t all women like purple?
    The doctor adjusted some of the woman’s tubes, including the urine bag. Scratch what he said about yellow. He glanced around the room and didn’t see any painting supplies.
    Oh Jesus. They didn’t want his help with the woman, did they?
    Bradford pointed to the center of the tarp. “Can you step there and flatten it out?”
    Palmer hesitated. His boots were dirty. Filthy, actually, now that he looked at them.
    The guy must’ve noticed his reluctance. “It’s okay. We’re just going to be throwing this away when we’re done.”
    Palmer stepped onto the plastic and started to flatten out the creases, glad to at last be doing something. Whatever it was. The plastic rustled and Bradford bumped into him, making Palmer stagger. The man gripped his elbow to steady him.
    “Hey, watch where you’re—” He felt a wetness on his shirt and frowned. Had the idiot just spilled coffee on him? He glanced down and saw a growing red stain. It didn’t register what had happened until the man pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket and wiped something he was holding. A knife.
    Adrenaline shot through him. This was bad. Really bad. But before he could make a move, his knees weakened, and he sunk to the plastic on all fours. “You…you stabbed me,” he sputtered.
    His mouth had a metallic taste, like he was sucking on a bunch of copper pennies. The throbbing in his left side turned into a stinging pain. He touched the wound, and his hand came away covered in blood.
    This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.
    Above the sound of the beeping monitors, Palmer could hear the drip drip drip of his blood hitting the plastic.
    The plastic. How could he have been so foolish to think he’d been called here to paint? What a damn idiot.
    The doctor spoke up from the bedside. “Incompetence and carelessness do not belong within my organization.”
    “What are you…talking about?”
    “You let one of my most valuable prisoners escape.”
    “It wasn’t…because of me.” His breathing was labored. God, he was tired. He just wanted to sleep. Uttering each word was like climbing a mountain. “Dog…should’ve…tracked him.” He coughed up blood and collapsed. The plastic was cold against his cheek.
    “Always the