Blood and Bone (Royal Blood #6)

by Amity Cross

  His hand shot up at lightning speed, and his fingers wrapped around my wrist. He slammed me against the wall, dislodging my grip on the gun, and it fell to the floor, clattering across the concrete. Instead of lunging for it, I brought up my left fist and hit Gruber in the face. I favored my right, so the punch had little force behind it, and all it did was make him stumble.

  Pushing off the wall, I shoved him off me, and we fell to the floor. Rolling, he landed on top of me and brought his fist down on my temple. It slammed into me hard, causing stars to burst through my vision, and the fight bled from my limbs for a split second. It was enough time for Gruber to make a break for it.

  Dazed, I rolled onto my side, but it was too late. Gruber had disappeared into the containment chamber, the door closing slowly behind him with a hiss as the hydraulic mechanism engaged. Pushing to my feet, I lunged, but it slammed home just as I reached it, and my shoulder collided painfully with the solid metal.

  Through the glass window, Gruber flipped me the bird before turning to the device to begin working on it. To what end, I didn’t know, but I had to get him and the bomb out of there before something awful happened.

  Turning to the control pad by the door, I thumped it, but it wasn’t worth the effort. It was activated with a code and biometrics. There was no way I was getting around it. Useless.

  “Jackson?” I said, activating the coms stuck in my ear.

  “Here,” he declared, presenting himself.

  “I’m at the facility. Gruber’s locked himself inside a containment chamber with the bomb,” I said. “Can you get it open?”

  “Have you got the remote router?” he asked. “Stick it onto the system controlling the locking mechanism, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sliding the tiny disk—which was no bigger than a ten pence coin—out of my pocket, I slapped it onto the tiny computer operating the containment chamber’s security protocol.

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Okay, give me a second.”

  “I don’t have a second,” I shot back, watching helplessly as Gruber fiddled with the bomb.

  “I can’t deactivate the door remotely,” Jackson replied.

  Thumping my hands on the glass, I cursed loudly as Gruber disengaged the chemical from the device.

  “He’s going to get away with the bomb,” I exclaimed. Glancing around, I tried to find something that could short the panel beside the door but came up empty handed. I clawed at the plastic covering, trying to pry it off. When I got my hands on that son of a bitch…

  Klaxons began to wail and orange lights flashed as I glanced around, my heart pounding. “Jackson…”

  “A biohazard protocol has been activated in the chamber,” he explained, the sound of him tapping furiously on his keyboard filtering over the coms.

  Biohazard? That could only mean that the chemical had been deployed, right? Turning back to the chamber where Gruber had closed himself inside, my mouth fell open as I realized his hands hadn’t been as steady as he’d hoped.

  The chemical that had been released was invisible, and to the naked eye, nothing looked out of place…except for what was happening to the sole human trapped in the enclosed space with no way out.

  Gruber had spilled a tiny amount of the clear liquid residing inside the bomb, and the results were disastrous to say the least.

  The skin on his hands was turning red and blistering…then those blisters popped, blood oozing from the wounds. The container slipped in his grasp and dropped to the floor, shattering on the hard surface. The chemical went everywhere, coating his exposed skin and clothing, and began to eat through anything it touched.

  Gruber stumbled forward and slammed his fists against the glass before me, leaving bloody handprints behind. He screamed as the chemical began to blister his skin, but that was only the beginning of his problems…and the beginning of what this unknown chemical was capable of.

  Gruber’s face began to redden as his mouth opened in an agonized wail. Then his flesh began to melt—it literally began to sag and pull away from his bones like wax dripping from a burning candle.

  Stumbling away from the glass, I slapped my hands over my ears, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sound of his agonizing wails.

  The sounds that came from him were the most horrific thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. The pain and agony of slow death. The pain that innocent people would have endured if this bomb had found its way into Moltke’s hands. Falling to my knees, I just willed Gruber to die so I didn’t have to hear his pain. It echoed through every nerve ending in my body, lodging itself into my soul.

  Human suffering… Why, why, why?

  “Mercy?”

  I heard Jackson’s voice over the coms, and I shook myself off.

  I took a deep breath before replying, “I’m here.”

  “Are you okay? The chemical should have been contained in the chamber…”

  Like I had a death wish, I turned and laid eyes on what was left of Ulrich Gruber. He was nothing but a puddle of blood, bones, and gore. Casting my gaze away, I fought the urge to throw up.

  “I’m fine. It’s just…” I swallowed hard. “Gruber… It wasn’t pretty.”

  “You better get out of there,” Jackson said, prompting me into action. “I’ve managed to hack into their server and download a ton of their files. Enough to be able to find a lot of useful stuff. Don’t forget to grab the transmitter.”

  I swallowed hard. “So I just leave him here?”

  There was silence for a moment. Then Jackson replied, “I’m not sure what we can do, Mercy. There really isn’t anything you can do but come back to the apartment.”

  “X?” I asked, reaching out for the transmitter.

  “Mr. Blood hasn’t checked in yet, but I’ll reach out to him.”

  “Okay,” I said, backing away from the containment chamber. “I’m on my way. I’m going radio silent from here on out.”

  “Be safe.”

  Chapter 9

  X

  I couldn’t remember the last time I crossed out a face.

  The compulsion that drove me to scratch Xs on everything had subsided over time as my conditioning deteriorated, but I did remember the last photograph I’d been given.

  Alison Crawford, aka Mercy Reid.

  I wondered how she was faring with Gruber and his bomb. Knowing Mercy, she’d have made it a colorful affair.

  Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I tailed Bateman through the market, making three men who had been his eyes while he’d met with Gruber. They were stock standard heavies. Tall, broad shouldered, and wearing casual clothing to blend in with the crowd. It hadn’t been until their boss had given the signal that they’d revealed themselves.

  Following them, I wondered if they’d lead me to Moltke…if he was here at all. There was a high possibility he wasn’t in Germany, and he had employed Bateman to do his bidding so he wouldn’t have to cross international borders. If that was the case, it might be pertinent to snatch the go-between in his fancy suit and shoes and wring it out of him.

  Bateman paused, retrieving his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket. He answered and listened, hanging up the call without responding further. Then he gestured to his heavies, and they moved off, their pace increasing.

  Shit, had they made me? I lingered, letting the distance between us increase before moving off again.

  They turned down the next street, Wilhelmstrasse, where a black town car was waiting, its driver poised to open the rear door as Bateman approached. The guards turned and scanned the street before piling into a back SUV that sat behind the town car.

  Glancing around for something I could hot-wire before I lost them, I spied a motorcycle propped on the footpath. It’d been a long time since I’d ridden. Last I’d seen of my bike was where I’d left it in the parking garage underneath my old apartment. The apartment Royal Blood had given me for services rendered. I wondered what had become of it.

  Glancin
g up and down the street, I was in the clear from prying eyes, so I sidled up to the machine and pried off the casing around the starter motor. As I was about to strip the wire to get the engine going, I was pulled back into the blind alleyway behind me.

  Thrust against the brick, I came face-to-face with a woman. Of all the likely scenarios this tail could’ve ended in, this was not what I was expecting.

  Her hair was an unnatural shade of black—much like Mercy’s—her eyes cool and calculating, her skin flawless and pale…almost translucent. Everything about her said she was skilled, but how skilled remained to be seen. She’d avoided being seen by me up until now, so she had that going for her.

  For the moment, I had a little more to worry about than her skill set. She pressed a knife against my throat, the steel pricking my skin, her green eyes blazing into mine.

  “Who are you?” she snarled.

  “I should be asking you the same thing,” I drawled, not fazed by the fact six inches of sharpened steel was pressed against my jugular.

  Thrusting my right arm up, I slammed my palm against her throat and grasped her wrist with my left hand, forcing the knife away. Her eyes widened in shock as she doubled over, her breath wheezing. The knife clattered to the ground before I could twist it out of her grasp, and I shoved her back against the opposite wall.

  Her head cracked against the brick as she snarled in frustration. She’d obviously met her match.

  “Let’s try this again,” I snapped, forcing my forearm against her throat and applying just enough pressure to make it uncomfortable to breathe. “Who are you, and what do you want with Bateman?”

  She struggled against my grasp. “You know, I could pull that same trick on you.”

  Lunging, she attempted to turn my technique back on me, but I was too quick. I dodged her blow, but she wriggled her way free and twisted. I was fast but not as light on my feet as she was, and her fist clipped me on the corner of my mouth.

  “He’s not here,” she said, backing out of reach. “If he was, I would’ve found him by now.”

  “Who? Bateman?”

  “Bateman is just the messenger.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know who else you’re referring to.”

  “Don’t play stupid with me,” she hissed, her accent slipping. So, she was maintaining an alias. Was she Intelligence? Certainly not British. Folsom would have mentioned if another agent was in the field.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked, wiping my bloody mouth with the back of my hand.

  “You cost me,” she snapped, ignoring my question.

  Moltke wasn’t here at all. Not that it fucking mattered since I’d already lost Bateman’s tail because of this harlot. I hoped Mercy’s endeavor had been more successful.

  Quicker than I thought possible, she drew a gun she had hidden at her back and fired. Twisting to the side, I dodged the shot, and it sailed harmlessly past me. Not breaking form, I brought up my right hand and slammed it into her wrist, knocking her off balance. Bringing up my left, I wrapped my palm around the barrel and forced it out of her grip.

  Flipping it around, I aimed it at her head, but she ducked low, ramming her shoulder into my stomach. The air rushed out of my lungs, and my body instinctively bent over at the waist. The woman kept pushing, knocking me on my ass.

  Rolling, I shoved to my feet and jammed the gun against her head as she was about to strike again.

  Her lips curved into a smirk, and she pressed harder into the barrel. “Boom.”

  Her hand shot up so fast I missed my chance to counter. Her left curled around the muzzle of the gun, and her right slammed against my wrist, disarming me…then her fist came back and landed a blow to my face with surprising force.

  I stumbled once and pulled myself back, but the split second it took to realign myself was more than enough for her to slip away. There was only one way out of the alley, so I rushed forward and glanced around the corner, trying to spot her retreating form, but the street was empty.

  Fuck! It was a cold day in hell when I was bested, and right now, I was fucking freezing.

  Deciding I had nothing to lose by canvassing the streets for a sign of the mystery woman, I began walking, conscious of the city at my back. There was no doubt a lot of people would be out hunting the same man we were, but the look in the woman’s eyes suggested her stake had a personal flair to it. Either that or she was so ingrained in the job she took everything to heart.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been searching and not finding a fucking thing when I finally heard from Jackson.

  “Mr. Blood?” His voice came over the com, breaking through my brewing rage at having lost Bateman and the woman.

  “What is it?” I snapped.

  He hesitated a moment before saying, “Gruber is dead.”

  I straightened up and began to move back through the streets, retreating from my position. “What? Mercy…”

  “He locked himself in with the device,” he explained. “The chemical deployed…”

  “Mercy?” If anything had happened to her…

  “He was locked in a containment chamber, and the biohazard protocol sealed him inside. She’s fine.”

  I blew out a relieved breath. Mercy was okay, but Gruber was toast. I’d lost Bateman, and any leads we had were dissolving faster than we could find them. Moltke was slipping through our fingers.

  “We have intel from the facility,” Jackson went on.

  “Good,” I said. “We’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 10

  Folsom

  I remember the day I first met Mei Akiyama with perfect clarity.

  It involved four million pounds worth of blood diamonds, a deep cover operation, and a pooling of resources…in more ways than one.

  I’d pegged her as Intelligence early on in the piece but not British. When she and my true allegiance came out, she was furious. The shit we’d gone through could’ve all been avoided and the blood diamonds acquired much earlier, but that was the risk we ran in our business. Secrets, subterfuge, violence…sacrifice. It all came with the package.

  I’d been recruited by MI6 out of the ranks of the London Police when I was still on the beat. Like everyone who’d been interred into this life, my profile had many of the markers the agency used to find its field agents.

  MI5 handled domestic threats, and MI6 took care of the international ones. If we were talking in analogies, we were the cool kids at the back of the bus while those other guys were the nerds down the front.

  Driving through the dark London streets, I pulled into the parking garage underneath the small block of modern apartments in Bayswater. A stone’s throw away from Paddington Station, it was prime real estate in a pocket of the city that was still affordable on an agent’s salary.

  I was going to ask her to move in with me.

  Killing the engine, I sat for a moment, grief beginning to overwhelm my usually solid exterior. Agent Mei Akiyama had entered my life in a blaze of gunfire, saved my ass from a bullet to the heart, and had imbedded herself in there instead.

  She’d denied herself happiness for so long in the wake of Agent Cassel’s disappearance. She’d carried the weight of blame and hope on her shoulders like a reminder of the things she’d lost, but she’d never stopped to allow herself to move forward. She’d just stood still…until the night I’d forced her to face her future as her past collided with her present.

  I was fairly certain I’d loved her from the first moment we’d clashed, but I didn’t realize just how much until the morning of the explosion at Section Seven, and by then, it was too late to tell her.

  Knowing I’d never see her beautiful face again tore me apart.

  Her lean, athletic body against mine, her soft lips, her forceful commanding of my body. The moans of pleasure as I drove my cock into her. Her taste, her scent…her fucking heart and soul.

  Now it all culminated with the empty grave her family was burying her memory in on the weekend.

&nbs
p; Smashing my fist against the steering wheel, I pulled myself together and slid from the car. She wouldn’t want me to let my grief define my actions. That wasn’t who Mei was. She would be in my ear, chewing it off trying to get me to bring Moltke to justice.

  Climbing the stairs to my flat, I wondered how Blood, Reid, and Jackson were doing in Berlin. They’d approach me when they needed assistance. It was imperative the details of their operation were kept secret…even from my own agency. Mei had vouched until she was blue in the face for the new incarnation of Agent Cassel and his partner, and if she went to those kinds of lengths, I believed her.

  They were the only three to make it out of Section Seven alive, and they foiled an assassination attempt on Jackson and his family with little to no effort—all on the same day. They were the real deal, and if we had any chance of apprehending the monster, those three were it. Any advantage I could give them, I would not hesitate.

  For Mei.

  The flat across from mine was quiet, the door closed. My neighbors were hardly ever home, and I rarely spoke to them, but I knew the woman worked in advertising, and the man ran some kind of financial advisement business. He’d accosted me on more than one occasion in the parking garage trying to sell his expertise. Right now, silence was the only thing coming from the other side of their door.

  Sighing, I slid my key into my lock and turned, then moved to the deadbolt. At first, I thought it might’ve been my emotional state of mind playing tricks on me, but out of habit more than anything, I hesitated.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The deadbolt wasn’t engaged, and I always made sure it was in place before leaving every morning. Without fail, I went through the procedure in securing my residence as my training dictated.

  Someone had been here…or still was.

  Drawing my gun, I raised it and clicked off the safety. I pushed the door open with the toe of my shoe, and it creaked as it moved inward into the darkness. Tracking the barrel of my weapon in front of me, I swept the hallway, leaning into the adjoining kitchen.