The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Veronica’s pulse raced. She canceled the call to the nurse’s station, and the holoprojection nurse fizzled out. The unspoken threats were clear. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I wanted you to die, but that didn’t work out.” He chortled. “I’m hoping you’ll find it in yourself to be cooperative alive, though. You’re getting a second chance, but it doesn’t come free.”

  Veronica peered at the closed door to her room. She wanted to call out, to yell for help.

  “And this time we’ve got leverage to ensure you’ll be a bit more receptive to what I want.”

  “Don’t hurt my family.” She clenched the comm card with a clammy hand, and her free one balled up in a fist. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m certain they have nothing to do with it.”

  He laughed again. “I know. And it would be a shame to involve them.”

  “Fine. Tell me what you want.”

  “I appreciate your willingness to help,” he said. “But you lied to me last time we spoke. My boys ran your blood in the lab, and we’re fairly certain you did share an intimate relationship with Christopher Morgan.”

  Her blood? Her initial confusion gave way to the onslaught of details forever scorched into her memory. The needle in her arm, the vials in Trevor’s pocket. How could they tell what she had done with Chris from a blood sample? “How?”

  “Ah, that’s a secret I’ll never tell.” His voice seemed playful, as if he enjoyed torturing her mentally as much as he had physically. “But suffice to say we recovered the virus we were looking for.” Her initial suspicions were correct; this was somehow involved with the black-market genetics trade Chris had once been part of. “We need you to keep an eye on Christopher.”

  “Keep an eye on him?”

  “Yes. It seems he trusts you, and we’ve heard from our sources he might still have strong feelings for you. You can use that to your advantage.”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  “I want you to keep tabs on his genetic enhancement research.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” she asked. “What the hell do you need me for? Even if he told me what you wanted to know, I’m not a damn scientist. I can’t understand half the things he’s talking about when he goes on about his research.”

  “Believe me, we would like to work with someone with more technical knowledge than you. Someone that worked with Chris on a scientific level. But I’ll paraphrase a favorite quote of mine: a man who is determined will find plenty of opportunities. Where he doesn’t find them, he’ll make them. Since things didn’t go as planned before, I’m making you an opportunity now.”

  “You want me to spy on him? We never talked about his enhancement work before, so even if he was involved in it now, why do you think he’d talk to me now?”

  “That’s not my concern. That’s for you to figure out...or maybe I can consult with your family?”

  “No, no. Leave them alone,” Veronica whispered as perspiration misted her forehead. “Please, just leave them alone.”

  “That won’t be a problem. We won’t talk to them as long as you don’t talk to the police or Christopher or anyone else about our little chats. Deal?”

  She hesitated.

  “Deal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t go changing your comm card on me, either. If we lose track of you, if you go off our grid, then Mother and Father Powell might also disappear.”

  “I understand.” Her lips quivered. She felt sick and weak. “How do I reach you? How do I tell you what I find out?”

  “I’ll call you.”

  The line went dead. Veronica let the comm card drop from her fingers, and it fluttered onto the sheet. If Chris still resided in Baltimore, she’d need to stay here, too. Stay where her nightmares had broken down her apartment door and thrust themselves into her life. Destroyed the pure, romantic notion that she could spend her life creating art.

  She wondered how these men had found her again. How did they know where she was, that she was still alive? She recalled the second, larger needle Trevor had stabbed into the underside of her arm. With her fingers, she probed the site. She pressed into the muscle until she felt it. Small, almost imperceptible. A hard nodule under her skin.

  They must have placed the device, something to monitor her with, something to assure them she had died. Chris had once mentioned the chip technology criminal groups favored. A biometric chip could serve as a GPS marker to track a victim and would report the target’s vital signs to confirm a kill.

  And when she had gasped for breath again, when her heartbeat had returned, they knew. They were tracking her location. And they would continue to follow her every move.

  She needed to see Chris. Visit him, knowing they stalked her, and hide it all from him. She was a dancer, a studio artist, and now she would need to be an actor. Pretend she was strong. Pretend she’d recovered from her injuries, the ones others could see on her skin and those only visible in her own mind. Pretend to want to see Chris, to talk to him again.

  A nurse entered and checked the monitors beside Veronica’s bed. “Honey, are you okay? You did call us, right?”

  “I’m fine,” Veronica said. But she knew she’d never feel fine again.

  Chapter 1

  June 4, 2059

  Christopher Morgan’s comm card projected a red flash of light, alerting him to an incoming call. He scooped up the card from his coffee table on the way out of his Baltimore condo.

  “Veronica?”

  “Hi,” she said.

  He stepped out of his condo and tugged the door tight behind him. The lock engaged automatically, but he checked it every time he left. It was impossible to shake the feeling someone might still be after him, someone might still want him dead. Instinctively, he massaged the thick scar tissue on his sides. Each sliver of stiff white skin reminded him of how close to death he had come in the Fulton State Penitentiary when he’d found himself on a hit list. “What’s up?”

  “Just calling to say hello.”

  “You’ve been calling just to say ‘hello’ quite a bit,” Chris said. “I can’t say I’m entirely disappointed to hear from you, but if I recall correctly, you agreed we couldn’t make it work again.” She had disappeared shortly after the break-in at her apartment, and he hadn’t heard a word from her for weeks until she showed up at his place unannounced. And when she left him that day, he was certain he’d never see her again. Probably the last time he would ever speak to her. He didn’t blame her. His involvement in the enhancement trade had led to her torture and near-death experience.

  “I’m not trying to get back together with you,” she said. “Besides, that joke’s getting old.”

  Chris bounded down the stairs. The leather shoulder bag he carried bounced against his side. “All right. But it’s seven in the morning, and I’m on my way to work. You’re going to have to give me a good reason why I’m talking to you right now.”

  “I couldn’t sleep again.”

  His heart sank. He knew what that meant. She’d been plagued by the nightmares again, the visions of the men storming into her apartment. “I’m sorry.” Saying it sounded weak and insufficient.

  “You’re the only one I can talk to. No one else understands.”

  “I know.” He paced in the small lobby of his building. The morning sun beat through the expansive windows and provided him a sample of the summer heat he’d face outside. “I’m sorry, Vee.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  She said that same thing every time. And then he’d tell her it was his fault. He was an idiot to ever think he and everyone he knew would emerge unscathed from the world of crazed enhancers and the enigmatic organizations providing them their genetic delicacies. “I wish I could help,” he said. He held the comm card away from his face to check the time. “But Jordan and I have a meeting.”

  “Ah, I wouldn’t want to be the one to keep you from making your company a success,” she said. “What’s going on?”


  “A rep from Caninex is coming to discuss purchasing our technology.” He sighed and stepped outside. As he sucked in the thick air, beads of perspiration formed across his forehead. He didn’t want to ignore her by switching their conversation’s focus to his work. “Look, aren’t there any support groups, anyone that can help you? Hell, couldn’t you use a neuromod therapy to forget about it? A quick pill and all that can be a thing of the past.”

  “Not an option,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t—”

  A hand grabbed Chris’s shoulder. He dropped his comm card, and it clattered on the sidewalk.

  “Christopher Morgan,” an unfamiliar man said. Blood vessels lit up his eyes in red spider webs, and mottled purple stains covered his face like an enormous bruise. “You’re Christopher Morgan.”

  Chris took a step back and scooped up his comm card. The call with Veronica had been lost. “What do you want, buddy?”

  Despite the unrelenting heat, the man wore a baggy hooded sweatshirt and oversized sweat pants. He appeared as large as a mountain, a brute of a man, most likely an enhancer who’d modified his DNA for increased muscle mass and strength. A mix of body odor and a metallic scent drifted from the man. He grabbed Chris’s lapel. “I want you to fix me.”

  Chris swiped the man’s swollen hand off his suit jacket. Catching another whiff of the man’s scent, he stifled a gag. “I’m not sure who you are, but if you want someone to fix you, I’d suggest a hospital.”

  “I can’t,” the stranger said, his eyes wide and his bloated lips quivering. He pulled the hood off his head. Scraps of dry hair sprouted in patches from his scalp. Crimson and purple splotches covered his skin.

  Chris took another step back. “You need a doctor.”

  The man shook his head and trembled. His body convulsed, and he fell to the ground.

  For a moment, Chris froze. He stared at the shaking man until his thoughts clicked into gear and he dialed emergency services. “Yes, I’ve got a guy who looks like...he’s dying.” He knelt next to the stranger.

  The man writhed and moaned on the sidewalk. He grabbed at his chest and pulled on his sweatshirt.

  “What’s wrong?” Chris asked, his voice panicked now. “Did you take something? Did someone hurt you?”

  The man yelled out. A woman leaving her apartment across the street sprinted toward them, her blond hair bouncing in waves. “What the hell’s going on? Did you call an ambulance?”

  “Yes, of course I did,” Chris said, scowling.

  The attack seemed to abate as the man opened his eyes. “This is your fault. You did this.” He panted and coughed.

  “What did you do to him?” The woman leered at Chris.

  He held his hands up to placate her. “Nothing. I don’t even know this guy. I have no idea what’s going on.” He tried to believe the statement, but his heart sank. Was this his fault? Was he somehow responsible? If the man was an enhancer...

  The man arched up on the sidewalk and groaned in agony again. His fingers tore into his sweatshirt, and he pulled the fabric apart as if he ripped a sheet of paper.

  The woman stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, my God,” Chris said. The man must have been an enhancer. There was no other explanation for his inhuman strength.

  As the sick man cried out, he shredded away the cotton remnants of his sweatshirt. His bare chest revealed muscles swollen and bulging like balloons ready to pop. The skin over his pectorals and abdominals shared the same mottled appearance as his face and scalp.

  “What the hell?” The woman shot a frightened look at Chris. “What’s going on?”

  He felt sick. His stomach twisted in knots as he pressed his palms into his forehead. “He’s an enhancer. Something’s gone wrong.”

  “An enhancer? Good lord.”

  The man bellowed. More bystanders trickled out of neighboring apartments. Chris could feel eyes watching the scene from windows all down the street. He shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing. The wail of an ambulance screamed, and the emergency vehicle spun around the corner. An ambulatory drone flew ahead of it, loaded with medical supplies and lights flashing to help clear the way. He flagged the emergency vehicle down.

  The bulbous man coughed, his head cranked to the side, and blood streamed out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes wrenched open, and he caught Chris’s gaze. The man’s nose quivered into a snarl. “You...did...this.” He pointed at Chris. His arm trembled with the effort. “Your...work...your fault.”

  The ambulatory drone landed nearby, opening its shell to reveal a host of emergency equipment. Paramedics rushed past the woman and knelt by the man as another convulsion took him. His entire body shook as if electricity coursed through his bones. Blood vessels dilated and throbbed underneath his skin and over his grotesque muscles. One of the paramedics tried to roll the man to his side and secure the enhancer’s head as he seized. With a yell, the enhancer swung his arm. It collided with the paramedic’s chest and sent her flying backward. She sprawled across the black asphalt behind the ambulance.

  Chris ran to her. “Are you okay?”

  When she didn’t answer, the other paramedic glanced between the enhancer and his compatriot. He grabbed a medical pack from the drone, jumped to his coworker’s side, and checked her pulse.

  “You’ve got to call another ambulance,” Chris said, pointing to the neighbor who had joined the scene earlier.

  Her face still pale, she nodded and pulled her comm card from her purse. “We need another ambulance,” she barked into it. “Yes, I know one was sent. You need to send another! Send the police, too!”

  Chris combed his fingers through his hair. He was not interested in getting involved with the police. If this enhancer accused him of being responsible for whatever the hell was happening, Baltimore PD would certainly have a few questions.

  He knelt by the bruised, convulsing man. In the back of his mind, he’d always wondered if the gene mods he sold had ever caused any negative side effects in their users. Potential evidence of his worst fears writhed in pain before him. He reached out, his arm shaking in trepidation, and he slowly approached the enhancer. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to end up unconscious like the first paramedic.

  The man’s seizure passed, and he lay panting on the concrete.

  “Can I help? Can I do something for you?” Chris didn’t expect a response, but he felt useless watching the man shake uncontrollably. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, where his shirt was torn to shreds. Heat radiated up from the enhancer’s body and into Chris’s palm.

  The man’s eyes bulged. His muscles undulated like ripples of water from a stone thrown into a pond. “Fix me,” he said in a raspy voice. “Fix this.”

  “I want to,” Chris said. “I really do, but I’m not a doctor. Tell me your name, something so I can find you later. I promise I’ll make this right.”

  The enhancer said something, but his words fell flat and weak. Chris leaned in closer. Erupting into a coughing fit, the stranger spewed blood.

  The spray hit Chris on the side of his face. He leapt back. He repressed the urge to vomit and wiped the warm liquid with the back of his hand.

  “God, are you okay?” the blond-haired woman asked.

  “It’s not my blood,” Chris managed to say between gags. He knelt next to the enhancer again and placed a hand on the man’s swollen shoulder. “Stay with us.”

  The now-familiar sound of sirens screamed down the street. Another ambulance tailed a police car. Two officers rushed from their vehicle toward Chris and the quivering enhancer. Another three paramedics bounded behind them. A steady stream of pedestrians gaped and pointed at the scene. Several took holovideos with their comm cards.

  Chris shook his head and tried to avoid showing his face to the cards. He didn’t need this kind of publicity. Not now.

  He pulled his own card from his pocket. Two missed calls from Veronica showed, but that
would have to wait. Scrolling through his contacts, he placed a call.

  “Hello? Chris?” the smooth voice answered.

  “Hey, Jordan. I don’t think I’m going to be there in time for the Caninex client.”

  “Why?”

  The enhancer jolted to his feet and reared back. Every vessel in his body protruded against his reddening skin. He yelled out an anguished cry as his entire body quaked. Each muscle flexed, pulling against the others in contrary movements. It appeared as if the man’s muscles were tearing from his bones. Skin peeled and tore in wide trenches. With another bellow, his head lolled back, and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The enhancer lay motionless, dead.

  Chris let his comm card slip from his fingers, and a hush descended over the onlookers for a brief moment before screams pierced the humid morning air.

  No, he wasn’t going to make the meeting.

  Chapter 2

  The paramedic knelt and examined Chris’s skin. “You’re certain you didn’t have any open wounds?”

  “I don’t think so,” Chris said.

  “You don’t think you’re certain? Or you’re certain you don’t have any cuts or scratches?”

  Chris huffed in frustration. “As far as I know, I didn’t have any.”

  The paramedic nodded and glanced at a handheld scanner. “Great. None of the common blood-borne pathogens showed up on our preliminary on-site assays. It’s likely you’ll have nothing to worry about after you clean yourself up. Just make sure you wash all the blood off with plenty of water. Shower or something if you can.”

  “Of course.” The image of the enhancer’s body decimating itself before him still burned in his mind. Thinking he might have anything to do with the man’s gruesome death made him feel as if he would implode. Shame, regret, a bevy of emotions swirled through his consciousness.