by Harte, Marie
Then the Feds had ruined everything. After a few years in jail for running guns, they’d rebuilt themselves. New names, a new career in the underground fighting circuit. They’d gone straight, mostly, except for the gambling. And all for what?
He hated this. Hated the pain, the reminder that though he’d come far, he’d ended up a victim all the same. It was like he’d never left home.
On the verge of real death, that beast inside him forced his body to heal. Unable to stand it, Gideon screamed at the pain. He tried to hold back, but third degree burns and the poisonous serum racing through his system made suffering in silence impossible.
“Loud one, isn’t he?” One of the guards cracked a smile.
“Gotta take a piss,” another said.
“Go. In fact, why don’t you and Yates take your break?” Palmer suggested, his voice deep, authoritative. “I’m hungry. I don’t want to wait ‘til midnight for dinner.”
The guard checked the clock on the wall and nodded. “Will do. You and Pratt got this?”
Pratt nodded. “He’s burnt to a crisp. It’ll take him at least thirty-six hours to be ready to do any kind of real damage again.”
“Give him twenty-four to be safe,” Palmer disagreed. “The last time he recovered from damage this severe, he healed in thirty-six hours. But they’ve been giving him more serum. For all we know he’s getting faster. So we err on the side of caution.”
Yates and the guard left, leaving Palmer and Pratt remaining.
Pratt snorted. “Smith is fucking crazy. Burning the guys balls? Who the hell does that?” Then he ruined any semblance of empathy. “I say waterboard him. Shoot him full of more of that EL13 shit and watch him drown in his own blood.”
“Did you try the serum?” Palmer asked, not concerned in the slightest that Gideon continued to rage, growl and scream as his body healed itself despite the pain making him want to die.
Pratt’s brows went up. “Are you kidding? No way in hell I’d volunteer for that crap. I don’t care what they pay. Becoming a supermerc isn’t worth dying over.”
“Not even for fifty grand?”
Pratt grinned. “Not even. Fifty thou, just to take a few injections?” Pratt laughed. “They said if it didn’t work, I’d get to keep the money and the effects would just wear off. Yeah right.” Pratt was smarter than he looked. “Nothing’s ever free. I figured anyone offering that much to try an experimental drug had to be giving me a line. Have you seen the sorry rejects who took that deal?”
“No, why?”
Pratt’s voice lowered. “They’re all wrong, man. I heard from one of the scientists downstairs that Lang dumps them on an island up north. Imagine being stranded with all those freaks. Jesus.”
Palmer shook his head. “Bad scene.”
“No shit.”
They watched as Gideon healed. He felt their stares, and his inner beast—for lack of a better term—watched them watching. It waited, biding its time. Because what the guards didn’t know was that the creature had helped heal Gideon from the inside out, leaving an outer layer of scorched and burned tissue to fool them into thinking he couldn’t escape.
But he had more strength now than he’d ever had. Gideon curled his fists to hide his emerging claws. Both saddened and furious over his friends’ passing, bewildered at how his life had come full circle, he resolved never to be a victim again. It was time to escape this hellhole.
Or die trying.
Alex Palmer studied the poor bastard hanging limply on the upright table, making sure to keep his expression wiped clear of anything resembling emotion. He had to appear impartial to anything the doctors did. Katie’s life depended on it. But God, it wasn’t easy.
The shit going down at U-Ground Services boggled the mind. The transportation company was a front for an experimental laboratory funded by some of the richest, most immoral people in the world. Man, it just figured his sister would find her dream job here, at this front for hell.
On paper, U-Ground seemed perfect. In reality, it used previously-funded government projects that had been scrapped years ago and made serious cash with a security force that couldn’t be beaten. Instead of the psychic supersoldiers the government had planned to create, they’d make super mercs. Mercenaries who could withstand bullets, heal themselves, and kill with the swipe of their claws or blast of their minds.
Except the government had abandoned their projects because too many people had been harmed in the process.
Originally called Project Dawn, the operation had involved military folks injected with a serum that recombined their DNA and accelerated new cell growth. Unfortunately, only a small percentage reacted favorably to the serum. The Circe’s Recruits squad had successfully turned into hulk-like beasts with toughened skin, fangs and claws. They helped save lives.
The unfortunate majority of the initial subjects of Project Dawn had denigrated into violent, mindless creatures who killed for sport. And so the failed test subjects had been hunted down and destroyed after their rampages came to light.
To make matters worse, the original doctor who’d headed the project, Elliot Pearl, had ventured off on his own and started over. He’d created new batches of monsters, what he called Circs. The new Circs had seemed to fare better, getting most of the benefits of the serum with few drawbacks. Until the mutations started.
Uncle Sam had finally realized they needed to permanently shut down the horror they’d helped build. According to the classified documents Katie had gotten her hands on, the illegal lab and head scientists had been shut down and disposed of.
It should have been the end of it. Except Dr. Edwin Lang, one of Elliot Pearl’s interns so many years ago, had decided to start his own lab.
What were the odds Katie would find all this classified information and let him know? A coincidence? After four months searching for her and still not finding her, only receiving the occasional text, he didn’t know what to think. But he knew one thing—it was time to end this charade.
“Hey, Pratt. I need to make a call.” He leaned closer, his eyes on the cameras mounted above, and whispered, “I’m in the doghouse with my lady. If I want to see any pussy when I get home, I need to do some smooth talking. I’ll just be a minute.”
Pratt smirked. “Go ahead. God knows you need to get laid. Take that stick out of your ass, finally.” They both glanced at Gideon Spencer, who remained unmoving. “He isn’t going anywhere.”
Though it went against protocol to only have one guard present at a time, Alex chanced it. He punched in the code and stepped right outside. Then, instead of using the company phone, he texted his sister on the cell phone he wasn’t supposed to have inside the compound.
Katie, enough. You’ve done all you can. Get your ass to ground. I can’t wait any longer. Honey, please. Disappear. It’s going down now. Call me when you get this.
He heard nothing. But then, she only communicated on her timetable, whatever the hell that was.
Then he sent another text, knowing this one he couldn’t take back. Once he sent it, all hell would break loose. 23:30. A go. South gate. 2-4-5-5-8. Extract for 4. Pocketing his phone, Alex walked back inside, only to see Pratt fucking with Gideon.
“Hey, get away from him.” Alex frowned.
Pratt pushed a button to slide the table back to a horizontal plane. Then he pushed another, rocking Gideon up and down, and no doubt screwing with the guy’s already frazzled brain.
“Pratt, come on. He’s got to heal so the docs can work with him later. You know how pissed off they get when the subjects aren’t functioning.”
Pratt sighed. “Whatever.” Then he smirked and withdrew a large knife from a side sheath strapped to his leg. “But this guy heals awful fast, and I don’t—” His eyes grew wide. His lips parted, and a gurgle of shock escaped.
Alex noticed something sharp poking through Pratt’s left side.
“Oh, shit.” Alex leapt forward, but it was too late. Gideon Spencer had one of his hands free from th
e supposedly unbreakable restraints. That hand was tipped with claws and buried deep in the small of Pratt’s back.
Gideon’s fist pushed through, gripping a mass of bloodied guts, then he ripped it back and laughed.
And the sound was anything but human.
Chapter Two
It’ll be the best job you’ll ever have, they said. You’ll never want to leave. U-Ground is an employee’s paradise. Yeah, right. Bailey Duncan rolled her neck, wondering why she always had to work the night shift. Though she’d been deemed U-Ground’s Service Rep of the Quarter, she felt like the lowest peon on the totem pole lately.
The phone rang, again, and she sighed at the myriad lights blinking on her display. She put her current call on hold, answered the next guy in line, rattled off his dispatch, then returned to her current problem child.
“Seriously, this load isn’t worth my time.” Joseph, her biggest pain in the ass since taking on a second board of U-Ground drivers, started to complain. “And what the hell am I transporting? You have any idea how heavy my crates are? I barely made it past the last DOT weigh in.”
While she talked him off the constant ledge he seemed to be perched on, her headache returned. No doubt her own fault since she’d forgotten to grab a coffee from home. She loved her java but could do without the caffeine withdrawal.
Bailey dealt with four more calls before needing a break. “Hey Steve, can you take the rest of my calls? I need a break? My head is killing me.”
Her supervisor smiled. “Sure thing, Bailey. Go ahead. You’re due for a lunch anyway.”
More like a midnight snack. “Okay. See you in half an hour.” She rubbed her temples and walked away from the maze of cubicles into the staff room.
When she’d majored in communications in college, she’d never imagined she might put that handy degree to work talking on the phone eight hours a night. But then, jobs were hard to come by, and she made an excellent salary at U-Ground. So what that she felt as excited about work as she would about a root canal? Or that she basically read details off the computer—what any unskilled sixteen year old could do.
U-Ground was only a starting point. You can do this. Your student loans need you. At the thought of how much longer she still had to pay them off, she groaned and headed into the upper management lounge.
Since making Rep of the Quarter, she’d been given a few perks she loved. One, a parking spot not located three states away. And two, access to this schwanky manager lounge. They didn’t just have a coffee maker. They had an espresso machine and milk frother. Gourmet food machines, a microwave and mini cooktop, as well as a fancy electronic kettle and a selection of teas and coffees for the taking. To her delight, the place was empty. She normally only shared it with a few night owls working the late shift anyway.
Just as she headed in the direction of the coffee pot, desperate for her daily fix, trouble walked in the door. Myers and Yates, two of her least favorite people on the planet. They worked security on one of the lower levels in the building, where they made the super secret stuff they transported. Some kind of hybridized electronic and steel plates that the government used for…something.
Bailey had been told the material would be used in construction to protect government buildings from new threats. The security had to be tight at all times. Heck, just getting a job in the place had been like jumping through a bazillion hoops. But for the pay, she’d jumped like mad.
“Well, well, Myers. Our lucky night.” Yates didn’t so much grin as leer at her.
“Hello, sweetness.” Myers gave her a smile that made her shiver.
“Good evening.” So much for hanging around the lounge. She’d take her coffee to go. She poured herself a large mug and doctored it with enough creamer and sugar to be palatable. But when she turned to leave, the monstrously large guards surrounded her.
The security teams on her floor looked normal enough. But the men from the lower levels took pumping iron to an extreme. Yates and Myers were a fair representative—buff, menacing, and enjoying their power. They were interchangeable, Yates with blue eyes, Myers with brown. Both major assholes.
“When do you think we’re going to have that dinner?” Myers asked.
“Or a drink?” Yates added. “I’m free after work in the morning.”
“For a drink?” She took a hasty sip of coffee and nearly scalded her tongue. “Well, I’d better get back before—”
Myers stepped closer, almost on top of her. She stared at the center of his chest, taking particular note of the breadth of muscle there. Then she raised her gaze to his mean eyes and hard, unsmiling mouth. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Talk about sexual harassment. The two men had been bothering her for weeks. She’d complained, to no avail. None of the higher ups had done anything about them. Odd, considering the sensitive climate these days concerning harassment. Her boss had talked to HR on her behalf, but even Steve didn’t have much pull. Not compared to the people who worked in the secured environment on the lower levels. In addition, Myers and Yates had standing with the company. She didn’t. Six months of her time compared to three years of theirs.
She didn’t think they’d do more than verbally taunt her, not in a company environment. But she’d taken care not to go to her car alone after work, even in broad daylight.
“Look, I—”
Yates pushed Myers back. “Hey, man. Back off. You’re scaring her.”
“I’m not scared, but—”
“She said she’s not scared.” Myers glared at his supposed friend and shoved Yates. “See? She wants to go out with me.”
“No, I don’t.” She tried to edge away, but Yates closed in on her.
“She wants me.” He plucked the coffee from her hands and placed it on the counter behind her.
“Hey.”
Before she could grab it, Yates kissed her. More like mauled her. His slimy mouth made her want to gag. She hadn’t noticed more than his bland aftershave, but now pressed up against him, she smelled body odor, tasted the too sweet cola he’d consumed earlier, and felt as if spiders were crawling all over her. Her senses went haywire, and she bit down, hard, piercing his lip.
To her horror, she tasted blood.
Yates sprang back and glared at her. “Bitch bit me.”
“That’s cause you were doing it wrong.” Myers chuckled and dragged her to him, resisting her fists with ease. “How about my way?”
He leaned down to kiss her, nearly suffocating her with his fat mouth and bruising hug. And she went crazy.
Bailey tore into his face, his arms, gouging and screaming, hitting and flailing. A haze of out-of-control rage—not fear—consumed her. As did an inhuman sense of strength. She’d kill him. How dare he touch her? She’d tear him apart, bathe in his blood, then—
Bailey blinked up at the ceiling.
Confused to find herself sprawled on the floor, all alone in the room, she took a moment. She didn’t see anything, but she tasted copper. A bad taste, and what exactly did that mean? She picked herself up off the floor, baffled, scared, and no longer suffering a headache.
“What the hell?” Shaky, she ran her hands over her clothes, her head, her body. Nothing felt out of place. No lumps on her head to prove they’d knocked her out. No disarray to her clothing to show she might have been violated after being—what? Drugged?
How had she been assaulted one minute, alone and on the floor seconds later, with no recollection of escaping the attack?
As she tried to still her shaking legs and gripped the counter, Myers and Yates entered the break room.
She froze.
Yates frowned. “You okay?” His lip looked fine. No bite mark.
“I-I, uh—you…”
“Hey, Bailey, you want to sit down? You look pale.” Myers nodded to her cup, still on the counter. “That yours? Maybe have a sip and relax.”
Neither man looked bruised or mussed.
What the hell?
She grabbed her coffee
, gave the pair a wide berth, then darted out the door. Great. Another blackout. I’m going to have to see a doctor. Three times in one week? If this is the new normal, I am seriously screwed.
Myers shared a glance with Yates. He moved to the phone mounted to the wall and dialed.
Dr. Lang answered. “Yes?”
“She’s showing definite signs.”
Yates nodded, his hearing as enhanced at Myers’s.
“You’re sure?” The excitement in Lang’s voice irritated him. Myers had had enough of Lang’s plans. He’d put up with a lot for the crazy bastard. The money had been good, but not enough that he should have to deal with a loony bitch who said no when she really meant yes. Good thing he healed fast.
“Her pheromones were all over the place. She wants it bad, even if she’s not aware of it.” He shared a grin with Yates. “I think it’s time we introduced her to the team.”
“Hmm.” Lang paused. “Not yet. I need more data.”
“Then when, Doc? The boys aren’t doing so well.” Understatement. He’d had to hide a body this morning. Not the way he’d planned to spend his time with Jane Doe #4. Unlike Sheer, he liked his bed partners alive.
“Yes, yes. I know it’s getting worse. I just need a little more time. Trust me. Once she’s fully developed, she’ll suit. Right now, too much rough handling will kill her. I’ll have to start over. And that won’t help anyone.”
“He’s got a point,” Yates said in a low voice.
Myers agreed. But he couldn’t say the same for Pratt or the other guys. Which reminded him. Yates and he needed to deal with Palmer. Maybe the doc had a few ideas. “Okay. We’ll wait on Bailey. But about Palmer. He’s a little off.” They’d all denied taking the drugs that made them special, because Lang had told them to keep their abilities a secret. But Myers had a feeling Palmer really hadn’t been given EP13.
“I’m aware. I’ll take care of it.” That tone in Lang’s voice.
