Sloth: A Fated Mate Superhero Romance (The Deadly Seven Book 4)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  This time, her attack sent white stars and black dots clashing behind his eyelids. She hit him on the face, kicked him on the body. She was relentless, unforgiving. He had to lift his arms as well as he could to protect himself, but with the cable-tie around his wrists, he left his sides open.

  “That’s enough, my darling.” A deep masculine voice rumbled from somewhere.

  “God?” Max said, laughing and spluttering through his bloody mouth. “Is that you?”

  “You jest, but as far as you’re concerned, I am God.” The man who stepped into view was tall, pale-haired, and square jawed. You could tell he was used to having orders obeyed from the set of his physique and lift of his chin. His luxury tailored suit complimented his broad shoulders. He was sickeningly handsome.

  And he looked like… holy shit. Max could see Tony Lazarus in this man. And the moment he saw that connection, he saw the familiarity with the woman standing next to him. Then Sloan. The rest of her siblings…

  This man was their biological father. This was the man behind the Syndicate machine.

  “Let’s get this straight, Mr. Johnson.” The man put his hands behind his back. “You’re only alive because we say so. When we decide you’ve outlived your purpose, you’re gone.”

  “Exactly,” Max said. “Why would I give you anything, when you’ll just kill me afterward?”

  “As long as you keep feeding us information, we will keep you alive.”

  “Nah. Think I’m good.”

  “We have ways of making people talk.”

  “Yeah? How’s that working for you?”

  The man leaned forward. It was enough to make Max want to shrink back, but he had nowhere else to go.

  “We’ve barely begun to use our ways.”

  A coldness seeped into Max at the sight of him pulling out a syringe filled with liquid. “Truth serum?” he scorned. “Hate to break it to you, mate, but that shit don’t work.”

  “It’s not truth serum.”

  Max’s jaw clicked shut.

  The man stared at Max for a long time, but Max refused to say anything else. Eventually, the man sighed and held out the syringe in Daisy’s direction.

  To Max’s surprise, she hesitated.

  When the man turned to her with a questioning eyebrow lifted, she frowned. “You didn’t discuss this with me.”

  Both the man’s eyebrows lifted, incredulously.

  Daisy shifted her boots. “I thought we would keep trying to flush her out, test the effect of her missing mate on the public.”

  “We tried that. You know this. Sloth came out once and hasn’t returned. She’s not taking the bait.”

  “But when she did, she sent a busload of people to sleep. Isn’t that worth exploring?”

  “That wasn’t enough for our investors.” The boss’s jaw chewed from side to side. He didn’t like being argued with.

  Max held his breath, trying not to move. Funny what information people gave away in front of a dead man.

  The man waved his syringe. “This will expedite results.”

  “I thought you wanted him to talk.” Daisy flicked her gaze to Max. “You will ruin him.”

  Okay, now Max was sitting up. Ruin him? Ruin him how?

  “If I needed your opinion, my darling, I’d ask it. Now be a good girl and do your job.”

  Daisy stared at the man for what seemed a long moment. She blinked once. Max had the sense he was witnessing a rare thing—her dissent. He wanted to feel triumphant; he wanted to believe that he’d gotten through to her, but when she took the syringe from the man’s hand and turned on him, he could only feel despair… and with that, her lips curved in a cruel smile.

  “Don’t do this, Daisy,” he urged.

  She flicked her finger against the cylinder of the syringe, then depressed the handle to make fluid squirt out. “I told you, my name is Despair.”

  And then she stabbed him in the arm.

  Twenty-Seven

  At the lower end of the Cardinal City Quadrant, bordering the highway separating the haves from the have-nots, stood the tallest southern building filled with shared office space and business corporations.

  Workers had begun to file in for the day, and Despair was among them.

  Dressed in a simple white pantsuit, she held a small potted plant in her hands. Pink Freesias, a perennial flowering plant from South Africa. Family: Iridaceae.

  Acknowledging the security guard at the turnstile simply by looking at him, she pushed through and made her way to the group of three elevators. As she approached, the waiting office workers parted like the red sea to make way for her. There were so many of them that they stretched across the lobby, crowding the entrance to the lifts.

  Their proximity irritated her. She rarely left the building during rush hour, especially morning. Most people hated going to work. She felt it.

  She stared at the closed metal doors of her private elevator, saved only for access to the secret Syndicate floors. Even though none of them knew her true identity, they were still afraid of her. She could see it in their minute twitches and bodily shifts away. She wanted to laugh. To scoff. They all tried so hard to not let their fear show. It mattered not. She wasn’t there to make friends.

  The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. She stepped inside the empty car, heels muffling on the carpet, and hit the button for the top level. She turned to face the front. The doors were still open. The group of workers goggled. Instinctually, she dipped her head until her long hair covered the scarred side of her face. Mouths gaped until the doors closed, hiding her from view.

  Craning her neck to the side, she glimpsed her reflection. Long white hair. An uneventful face. Deep blue irises that faded to purple around the pupil in a way that reminded her of the ever expanding expanse of space, the nothing inside her soul. The only other ounce of color came from the Freesias in her hands.

  This was when she looked most human, and still they feared her.

  She watched the indicator light flash up the levels, going beyond the empty office space insulating their top floors and past the level where her living quarters resided, along with Julius’s.

  On a whim she rarely felt, she’d only left the building to purchase the plant, otherwise she may have dressed in her work leathers and traveled straight to the basement in preparation to administer the second dose of the serum on their captive. But she had all day to action their plan.

  The doors opened, and she stepped out onto the maroon carpeted hall, continuing until she reached her father’s office door.

  When she pushed through, she found it empty. Good. The meeting hadn’t started yet. The elevator and hall were in the center of the building. The office covered the entire floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave them an unrestricted view of the city, from the decrepit slums of the south-side, to the prestigious districts of the Quadrant and further north. She strode to the solitary mahogany desk facing the south-side and put the plant down. There were too many monitors there today for the meeting, and she had to squeeze the plant behind the narrow space before the edge of the desk dropped off. Not ideal, but it would do. The only other item occupying the space was a picture frame of Julius’s first family. The one that came before her.

  With nothing else to do, she switched on the monitors and computer, readying the station for the video conference. Within moments, Julius arrived.

  Mary, her nanny from the lab in her youth, had once described Julius as a tall, sophisticated nightmare on legs. At the time, Despair had only been eight or nine, but she remembered thinking he was just misunderstood. Despair rode the man more than anyone she’d ever sensed. She’d felt sorry for him. Still did.

  Nothing he seemed to do eased his sorrow, and he hid it behind his work.

  Without a word, he sat down at his enormous leather high-back chair and dialed into his meeting.

  While they waited for the connections to click, Despair wondered if she should say something. Whether to greet him, or announce the plant, but
decided against it. Idle conversation wasn’t in their repertoire. Instead, she stood behind him, same as usual, and joined her hands at the front.

  One by one, little squares on the screens winked into existence. Two for each monitor. Six in total. Seven people, if you included Julius.

  An Asian business man named Akiko Ito, a brown-skinned military man named Amare, the blond Brigit Johansen from Norway, and Mr. Andrews—a white middle-aged man from Australia. Roger Kelly from Ireland and José Garcia from Columbia were last to sign in.

  With all seven present, there was a representative from each continent in the world. Seven who made up the Syndicate, with Julius at the head of research and development here in the States.

  “I trust you have some good news for us, Mr. Alcott?” Brigit fidgeted with the bow-necktie on her white blouse. “As you can see, we are not getting any younger.”

  “Yes,” the Australian said, arching an eyebrow. “We’re all waiting for an official report on the fallout of the base being compromised.”

  “That wasn’t our only base. It matters not if we send a cleaner in.” The African waved his hands, dismissing the Australian. “I’m more interested in your latest development.”

  “Agreed.” The Irish man leaned forward, eyes flicking to where Despair stood. “I’d like to have an actionable weapon before I die of old age.”

  All six of them bickered amongst themselves.

  Beneath his tailored suit, Julius’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t take the bait. This had been going on for the decades since Despair’s birth. He was well versed in how to handle the pressure from his investors.

  “First,” Julius said, taking control of the conversation. “Let me address your concerns about the integrity of our base.” He needn’t have raised his voice. It commanded respect simply by being. Conversation hushed. “We haven’t had any indication they’ve successfully penetrated the classified information, and the invasion allowed us to gain another blood sample of an activated soldier. That gives us four. Four complete DNA structures to help us unlock the puzzle to replicate the project once and for all. Even if we are behind in unlocking this puzzle, we now have four soldiers we can control by manipulating the proximity of their mate.”

  “Four is not seven, señor,” José pointed out. “You promised us one soldier for each continent.”

  “Four is over half-way there. We have time.”

  “Time is precisely what we’re running out of.” The Australian shifted in his seat.

  Akiko raised his voice. “Not to mention funds. These latest draw backs have been costly.”

  “I’m well aware of this. I’m not the one who so readily suggested cleaning our base. We can salvage what is there. But all this aside, as you can see, they’re doing half our job for us.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Have you not read the reports I’ve sent through? Of course you haven’t. You leave everything for me to do, and then you whine about results.”

  “You are not funding the operation. We are,” replied Amare.

  Julius ground his teeth. “They have created their own virtually impenetrable armor, and one of them is basically invulnerable without it.”

  “Your point?”

  “Once we have them under our control, we can study them further and replicate. We will save money in our defense department. We can use their intellectual property for our own gain.”

  “And when will that be, Alcott? When will they be in our control?”

  “That day is coming. If you’ve read my report”—he pushed derision into his tone—“then you’d have seen that we’ve captured one of their mates, and the separation is garnering optimum results. One trip into the city, and she sent an entire bus load of people to sleep, simply by riding past.”

  “One bus load?” Roger’s face grew red. “I can rid the world of more than that with a bomb. You’re failing to marvel us, Alcott.”

  “You want to be marveled?” Julius’s voice rose an octave. “Imagine the destruction one of these soldiers will cause, simply by walking through a neighborhood. They can get in and out of airports undetected. They are a person, no trace elements to set off bomb detectors, no physical weapons to alert authorities, just a simple human being with the power to destroy inbuilt. And that is only one. As soon as we gain all activated blood samples, we will have the power to replicate an army of these soldiers. You will have your destruction, and then once the dust settles, you can rebuild your continent to your liking and your control.”

  Silence. Then the woman said, “Yet, we are still waiting.”

  “Well, if you wait just a few hours, you will see first-hand the destruction one of these unbalanced soldiers can create in a city. You will witness a taste of your future.”

  With that final word, Julius cut the conference call. He stood, straightened his tie and jacket, then turned to Despair.

  “I trust everything is in order for the demonstration?”

  She nodded, but something had been bothering her. It niggled at her mind. “You said only seven were needed, but there are eight of us.”

  He leaned toward his reflection on the black monitor and shifted a strand of pale hair from his temple. “You’re not included in the deal.”

  Because she was his most cherished? His most loved?

  Seeing her silence, he straightened. “You’re the first, my darling. The practice run. Gloria trialed and tested her theories on you, then she replicated them in the rest.”

  For some reason, a tightness in her chest constricted. “I thought I was perfection. That was what you’ve always told me.”

  “I would never sell you to the wolves, my darling. It’s you and me against the world.” He frowned, noting her stiff posture. His voice softened. “They left you for dead. They knew you ran back into that fire to save your mother, but instead of saving you, they left. They could have come back, but they didn’t. Never forget that. I came back. They didn’t. It’s you and me against the world, my darling.”

  He’d said that already. He always said it. She wasn’t up to scratch—she was the display model—except, she was beginning to wonder… perhaps that was only his thinking.

  They set a plate for her at their table.

  When he gripped her shoulder in his version of affection, she stiffened more.

  “We have a demonstration to prepare, one that needs to marvel our investors. You have work to do. Put away the monitors and, while you’re at it, throw out that plant. You know I like an uncluttered desk. Then meet me down in the basement.”

  He walked out without another word.

  Throw out that plant.

  You have work to do.

  She blinked, hands trembling as she lifted the small, fragile pot of Freesias.

  If it was the two of them against the world, then why was she the only one getting her hands dirty?

  Twenty-Eight

  It was Go Time.

  Having just slipped on her Deadly Seven combat uniform, Sloan hit the form-fitting button with trembling fingers. She hadn’t worn the suit for a while, and her body shape had changed from all the extra training sessions. Air whooshed out and the special fabric sucked in, molding to her body. She tried to swallow and produce moisture in her mouth. Nope. Dry as dirt.

  She collected her crossbow and synced it between her shoulder blades. Testing the grip, she tugged until she was sure the weapon was secured. Then she attached her quiver to her thigh. For good measure, she also included a few daggers, throwing stars and grappling hooks around her midsection belt. Nothing was going to stop her from getting to Max.

  The inauspicious mood stifled the air in the room—and most of that came from her looming two brothers, Parker and Evan. Griffin and Wyatt were on their way. Tony had been notified, but hadn’t responded and, to be honest, she didn’t expect him to. After they’d trained earlier, she’d left him at Heaven, well on his way to be inebriated. It was better he didn’t come. Liza, as usual, preferred to contribute officially f
rom the precinct.

  “Are you sure this is the location?” Parker stood near the central strategy table, frowning down at her iPad and the digital map she had displayed. He hit the form-fitting button on his own suit, triggering the whoosh. Fabric sucked tight against his musculature, showing Sloan his massive strength. She used to be intimated, but not anymore.

  She walked up to stand next to him. “As sure as I can be.”

  “It’s the best lead we have, right?” Evan strode in from the weapon’s room, the handles of twin katanas peeking out from over his shoulders. He picked up the broken cell Sloan had recently salvaged and looked at it with a frown. “Can’t believe it took me this long to remember Sara had made a call from Wyatt’s cell.”

  She sighed. “Well, we’ve all kinda been busy.”

  Evan looked sheepish. “But if I’d remembered earlier, perhaps we’d have been able to track the location of the call recipient sooner. If it’s a Syndicate base of operations, then we could have destroyed it, and maybe none of this would have happened.”

  Maybe Max would be safe.

  “The road to insanity is paved with what-ifs, Evan,” Parker muttered, still inspecting the iPad like he owned it. Stabbing the screen with his big brute fingers.

  Sloan took her device from him, shooting him a chagrinned frown. “It’s not a piece of meat in need of pulverizing. Be gentle with her.” Jeez.

  Parker grunted, pushed Sloan to the side and cleared the strategy table. Made from glossy mirrored glass, it also doubled as a flat computer screen.

  “AIMI,” Parker said. “Bring up the blueprints for the building mapped on Sloan’s iPad.”

  She steadied her temper, and ignored the fact he wanted to take point. She knew more about this mission but, whatever, the dude had control issues and Max’s safety was the important thing here.