Gina watches as Manny searches out scientist number seven, charging the man who has woefully fallen asleep on the job, his chin resting in his palm leaned over the table. There is no sound from the monitor only a visual of Manny screaming in the man’s face startling him awake. As if that were not enough, Manny grabs the scientist by the collar of his white lab coat, morphing into Hell Hound, his eyes and skin glowing a demonic red. The man’s feet dangling beneath him his face nearly pressed against Manny’s, the forked-tongued one slithers his raw serpent-like smell detector from his mouth winding it around the nose piece of the petrified man’s glasses, pulling them from his face. He barks at the scientist’s neighbors who stare a little too long for his taste. Their heads whip back into position, busily occupying their stations. Hell Hound further reprimands scientist number seven, hoisted in his punishing grip until the front of the man’s trousers grow increasingly wet, running down the front of his leg. Gina looks away, having seen enough.
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for them,” Lon snaps. “After what they did to us.”
“What they did to us!” Her shackles grow noisy as she attempts to talk with her hands. “What about him? Dirty, rotten, vile piece of human excrement,” she spews, looking at Manny Briggs through the monitor. “That bastard should be buried six feet under!” She kicks at the cloudy glass encasement, its thickness resistant. Her chest heaves up and down, her eyes beginning to water as she looks at Lon, a complete stranger. “Have you forgotten what he did to me? To you? Our son!”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” his voice distorting and thunderous, his eyes flashing a sequence of emerald green, steel blue and hungry red. He turns from her regaining his composure. “Do you not see the irony of Briggs’ position? Hell Hound will spend the rest of his life rotting in hell, Brianna, a slave to my cause. Do you think it’s a pleasant transformation? You see his skin when he morphs, equivalent to being burned alive...every time he changes.”
“Well, he sure does it enough,” she defends. “Doesn’t seem to bother him.”
“That’s the point.” Lon eyes him through the video monitor. “He has a choice. I do not require him to morph. He does it at will. A true show of his greed. It’s worth it to him to cause himself immeasurable pain in delivering to others not even a tenth of what he feels. A true glutton.”
She scans the hand-shaped scar on his neck. “That’s what happened. Briggs did that to you.” She shakes her head. “If he did that to you, what makes you think you can maintain control of him?”
He grins. “We had a test of wills. In the beginning.” He straightens his broad shoulders, puffing out his chest. “Briggs learned his lesson. Ask him to show you his scars.”
“Maybe you won that one, but it’s only a matter of time before he tries you again, Lon. You cannot control a demon like Manny Briggs.”
“Again, you give me too little credit.” He calls on his Vigilare powers, the room filling up with emerald green, steel blue and burning red luminous light.
Gina hides her eyes, the magnitude of the rays blinding.
“I am the alpha and the omega. He cannot breach me.” He zaps the reflections from the space allowing her to open her eyes. “Not even you as the bequeathed Vigilare could breach me.”
“Modest much,” she huffs.
“Modesty has nothing to do with it. It is by design. ETNA wanted the supreme Vigilare. To be responsible for creating a divine species,” he says with disgust. “Dr. Godfrey and Dr. Ryan.” He shrugs his shoulders. “They did the best they could. Child’s play compared to ETNA’s aspirations.”
“What exactly can you do, then? What separates you from the rest of us?” Her voice trails off with the recognition that she is no longer included in that category.
“You name it, I can do it. You see my eyes...the trifecta. You’ve seen Maxim’s capabilities. Experienced your own. Witnessed your friends,” he references Aubrey and Emily. “Even the great detective,” he snarls. “The three of them an extension of you. That snake…” He looks loathingly through the monitor at Manny Briggs. “What you see in him is only a minute portion of my fire capabilities.”
“So, you’re saying what all of us,” she stops herself, “all of them have together, you have in your one arsenal?”
He nods.
“No weaknesses?” she further questions.
“You.” He looks at her beguilingly. “You are my only weakness.” He pulls his attention from her, quickly rebounding. “But we took care of that, now didn’t we?” he references her Vigilare blood, its scent hypnotic to him.
She ignores his goading, staying on track. “And Braydon...Max. Where does he fit into this?”
“One day it will all be his. When he is ready.”
“And what if he doesn’t want it? Will you force him, too?” Gina scans the newspaper clippings, a youthful photo of her son under the obituaries section. Subconsciously she reaches to stroke the picture, her hands meeting the resistance of her shackles. “He’s good and kind...Max. Like our Braydon.” She appeals to him, his eyes devoid of emotion.
“Was I not good and kind?” His voice softens.
Gina steps closer toward him. “You still are,” she says knowingly, assuming resentment and anger have momentarily enslaved him.
He clears his throat taking a definitive step back from her. “Don’t kid yourself, Brianna. I am in no way the man you married.”
“Funny you should say that,” she divulges, a smile gracing her lips without her consent. “I was just thinking about our wedding the other day.” Her voice humming at a whisper, attempting to reach him. “‘Jolie Blonde, jolie fille, tu m’a quitté pour t’en aller.’” He watches her, modestly stepping into the easy waltz, her black leather boots shuffling across the concrete floor. Her attempt at a Cajun accent as unfluent and comical as ever, Lon’s lips begin to turn up at their corners. “‘Jolie Blonde, jolie fille, t’es partie, oui pour longtemps.’”
“Stop,” he demands. His heart engaging, the air heavy as he breathes it deep into his lungs. His hands rest at his sides itching to touch her. His body aching to feel hers against him.
“‘Jolie Blonde, jolie fille...’” she continues.
“Stop it!” his voice distorting. He lunges at her, pinning her against the wall, his frame aggressive and towering. Although startled and scared, she presses against him, her eyes bold and daring as she looks into his. He groans with her contact, his head falling between his shoulders, the side of his face resting upon hers. His inhalation and exhalation labored, keeping perfect rhythm with the rise and fall of her chest. “Brianna,” he whispers, his breath against her ear. “Don’t you see? This could all be ours. You and me. And Max. Against the world. We could have it all.”
The moisture from her lips tenderly caresses the side of his face causing his knees to buckle. “Not this way,” she laments.
He growls, pushing off the wall and returning to his table full of monitors. The intercom sounds. Manny Briggs’ voice beckons, “Still got that visitor, Boss.”
“Bring her to me,” Lon replies.
Gina maneuvers a steel metal chair to the wall nearest the door, taking a seat, securing her vantage point.
“Always thinking,” Lon comments on her refusal to box herself into the room, strategically placed nearest the exit.
“I knew this guy once,” she eyes him, longing to know that man again. “Handsome, strong and tall. Sweet and protective as they come. He was adamant I make myself aware of my surroundings at all times, taking note of any and all entrances, exits and passersby.”
“A smart man? Or a fool in love?” he comments with a huff and questioning raise of his brow.
Her ears hone in on the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, accompanied by those that are swift and light.
Knock! Knock! Knock! goes the
door.
“It’s open,” Lon calls.
Manny Briggs enters first pulling Emily Truly by the arm into the room, her hands cuffed at her waist much like Gina’s. Emily jerks away from him eyeing her fellow lair-mate, quickly diverting her glance. Gina continues to inspect her, not the least bit surprised with her presence.
“Release her,” Lon demands. Manny obliges, removing the shackles, pushing Emily further inside the room. She rubs her wrists with her hands, soothing her abraded skin, talking herself down from teaching the wretched Hell Hound some manners.
Manny then turns to Gina grabbing hold of her briskly, his intention to remove her from their company. Lon takes one large step in his direction blasting him across the face with the back of his hand. Manny’s body clears air, his back slamming up against the door. “Umph,” he expels.
“Don’t touch her!” Lon’s voice distorts, his hand further gripping Manny’s neck. His eyes ablaze, Manny attempts to return his stare. A tiny orb of fire forming, Manny cannot release it. Lon bares down, pulling the pitiful excuse of a fireball from Manny’s gaze. Opening his mouth, he swallows it. “Don’t touch her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her. You got it?” Lon roughly pats the side of his face, releasing him.
Manny backs up into the hallway, running the back of his hand over his split lip, his face twitching angrily. “Yeah. I got it, Boss.” He turns, walking away.
“Pardon the interruption ladies,” Lon apologizes nonchalantly, his neck rolling from ear to ear giving into a subtle crack. He adjusts the cuffs of his blue pinstripe pearl-snap shirt, refolding them to his elbows, tucking the waist into his casual cargo pants. “Now, where were we?” Gina takes sharp note of his lean, athletic frame, not to mention his residual protective nature where she’s concerned. “Ms. Truly,” he addresses Emily, extending his hand.
She looks at him cautiously, meeting his gaze.
“Please, have a seat,” he invites, sitting down at his table in full view of the monitors. “Come to join the winning team?” He beams proudly.
“You could say I’m entertaining the notion,” Emily returns keenly.
“What’s in it for you, I suspect?” Lon cuts through the red tape. “I can guarantee you’ll never feel inferior again.” He motions toward Gina. “Your days of being a sidekick will surely be through. Never set well with you, did it? You don’t strike me as a woman who’s content with scraps.”
“Now you’ve got my attention,” she replies.
“First thing’s first.” Lon claps his hands together. “What are your intentions with the young Maxim Kiesel?”
“What would you like them to be?” she fires back.
He smiles. “Good answer.” Addressing Gina, he says, “Not sure why you have such a strained relationship with this one. I find her quite charming.” Gina does not look at him, her eyes fixed on Emily. “Max’s happiness is of utmost importance to me, as well as his cooperation. You keep him content, we’ll get along just fine. However, if you were to become a distraction, we would have to address the future of our relationship.”
“His cooperation? Am I to assume that has yet to be determined?” Emily pries.
Lon shifts his hand from side to side. “You could say it’s up in the air. But,” he pauses. “If he had a reason to stick around, I’m certain he would. He has a loyal heart, my son.” His response solidifying Emily’s suspicions, she refrains from glancing at Gina understanding she is putting herself in the dangerous position between a mother and her cub.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how does one age ten years in the span of one year?” Emily inquires about the transformation from the ten-year-old Braydon to the now twenty-year-old Max.
“I would consider you a buffoon if you did not question such.” Lon momentarily scans the monitors before returning his attention to Emily. “The astutely wise and moral ETNA,” he spews sarcastically, “altered Braydon’s DNA...his cellular growth...because it would have been unethical to make a Vigilare out of a child. A rather painful process, I might add.” His breathing increasing, he grinds his hands together. “Do you have any children, Emily?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Then you are not accustomed to the torture of watching your child in pain. We’re not talking about a simple common cold, a broken leg, a cut to their flesh that will heal. You remember growing pains, Emily? As a child, the aches of the body growing appropriately, slowly over time?”
“Vaguely. But, yes, I think I can recall.”
“Now imagine that times a hundred.” His gaze shifting back to the monitor. “They were impatient. Challenging his delicate frame. His bones...muscles...organs...growing, maturing overnight.” His strong, squared jaw twitches. “He called for me. I could hear his screams. But I could not get to him. They had me shackled, in the same manner he was tied down.” He turns to Gina, the apples of her cheeks glistening with tears. “And you ask me how I came to be this way?” He clears his throat, looking back to Emily, her violet eyes smoldering and apologetic. “It was then that I discovered they could not contain me. Braydon’s cries initiated my Vigilare instinct.”
“Why isn’t he here with you now?” Emily questions.
“I took him to my father. Where I thought he would be safe. He is a man now...Maxim. A man should be free to make his own decisions. I would never propose to make him choose me.”
“But, you would propose to entice him,” Emily points out, with her participation, of course.
He grins, impressed with her respectful yet courageous brevity. “A man without motivation is no man at all.” He eyes Manny Briggs through the monitor taking out his frustrations on the jumpy, meek scientists.
“May I?” Emily asks.
Lon extends his hand in the trajectory of the television screens. “Please.”
Emily eyes the surviving members of ETNA frantically at work, her brows furrowed intensely. “What are they doing?”
“They are creating a subspecies of Vigilare. One that is moderate and militant. Beholden and self-sacrificing to me, my cause.”
“Terminable?” Emily concludes.
Lon nods, again impressed with her instincts.
“How very Hitler of you.” She grins.
“Hitler was a deranged wretch, his target the innocent. I assure you, it is not the righteous I am after.”
“And where do you propose to find such an egregious army?”
“Look no further,” he says, eyeing the white coats. “They wanted to be immortalized, and so they shall.”
“I do say, I enjoy such irony.” Emily marvels at the proposition of the unsuspecting, crooked souls creating their own demise. “And their first assignment?”
“I hear New Orleans has quite the mob situation on their hands. The Gambini Family.” He looks to Gina, searching for any sign of a response at his primary target, the mafia she inadvertently targeted in her case against Manny Briggs and Angelo Tulane. She gives him nothing.
Emily takes note of his gaze, responding, “You must have the Midas touch. She’s usually not this quiet.”
“Don’t let her fool you. The wheels are most definitely in motion. A true sign of an intelligent life form, a leader,” he comments, maintaining his glance in her direction. “First, listening.”
“Well,” Emily expels. “I believe I’ve heard enough. Where do I sign?”
Lon claps his hands affirmatively. “Off we go to the transfusion room.” He stands. “Ms. Truly, I hope you are not afraid of needles.” He eyes Gina hopeful of a rebuttal, which she does not deliver.
CHAPTER 19
“Whew,” Officer Sam Marks exclaims, wiping the sweat from his brow as he struggles to keep up with the rest of his mates, their feet swiftly clicking off the familiar New Orleans cobblestone street. His torso is wrapped in a soft cast,
protective of his fragile ribcage after the previous eve’s run-in with Hell Hound.
“You shouldn’t even be here,” Aubrey scolds tenderly. She wops Tony on the back, he and Max paving the way in front of them. “Nice move. Sending me to the hospital cafeteria while you and your accomplice broke him out.” She braces Marks’ frame, attempting to help him move along.
“Never leave a man behind,” Tony pipes proudly.
“Apparently someone forgot to tell Emily that.” Max ponders her betrayal.
“Gotta let that go, Max. Keep your eye on the ball,” Tony coaches, pointing out the Blues Bar, one of many clubs owned by Vincent “Vinny” Gambini.
“Let it go?” Aubrey huffs. “I know she’s always had it out for Gina, but to sacrifice all of us like that. She led him right to us. Compromised the entire compound.”
“With any luck, he’ll lead us back to her. And Gina,” Tony remains hopeful.
“An ambitious little thing, isn’t she?” Max growls, upset with himself for not seeing through her manipulation. “Played me right into her hand.”
“Marks, how’s your hand? You still play?” Tony diverts.
“Ah, it’s been a while, Sarge.”
“Gotta be like riding a bike, eh?” Tony smooth talks their way past the bouncers into the Blues Bar.
A local blues band pumps a raunchy beat out through the speakers as scantily-clad dancers keep perfect rhythm. Lining the tops of bars and perched strategically in corners, their toned physiques gyrate inside retro Go-Go cages. Pseudo-businessmen swarm the facility sporting flashy pinstripe suits, cubans hanging from their mouths, tumblers of liquor filling their hands. The dance floor hops. Poker and roulette tables are appropriately camouflaged along the back wall of the club.
Vinny Gambini makes an easy mark surrounded by a few of his closest acquaintances. They look straight out of 1960s Vegas—The Rat Pack. The five of them sit at a Blackjack table, two Zeus-like men dressed in black from head to toe, their hands crossed at their waistlines, stand at an unobtrusive, yet secure distance behind the men. The dealer is a voluptuous woman wearing a Bunny-esque costume, complete with a fuzzy tail and a headband of pink fluffy ears, and enough makeup to shellac five faces.
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