Sloth

by Lana Pecherczyk

“Yeah, but I told you it’s a closed loop network.” His chest tightened at the sound of Sloan’s familiar voice. “We can’t get access unless we’re inside the building, logging into a hard-wired computer. And even then we’d have some hardcore encryption passwords and biometric authorizations.”

  A few of the Lazarus clan stood around the central operations table, watching over Sloan’s shoulder to her laptop screen. As he stored his duffel bag next to a wall, he counted heads. Seven in total. Evan noticed Max first and broke away from the group, sauntering over.

  “Yo, bud.” He gave Max a fist bump. “How’s the tatt doing?”

  When Max had arrived in town, and Evan had discovered his virgin skin, he’d busted his balls to get Max down to his tattoo shop. The man was covered in full sleeves himself, so when he’d prompted the issue, Max felt like he couldn’t say no. The man could also fry Max where he stood, with self-made electricity. Sometimes Max was sure he could see lightning gathering in the man’s green eyes.

  Scary as fuck.

  “Yeah, it’s good, mate.” To prove it, he showed Evan the inside of his forearm where the man had inked the nightingale bird and a stunning freehand geometric black line design around the two dates Max had asked for.

  “What’s he doing here?” Sloan’s voice cut through the room with a razor’s edge.

  She sounded different in real life. Over the internet, her voice had a tight, tinny quality, but standing a few yards from her, it held a warm, smooth timbre—even when she was pissed.

  All heads swiveled his way. The room became exponentially crowded.

  “He’s here because I asked him to come.” Parker, the eldest and largest, broke away from the group. Long auburn hair brushed past his collar. The bloke was at least a head taller than anyone else in the room, and when he came to stand next to Max, it was hard not to be intimidated. When he’d first met Parker, he imagined, not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a wolf dressed in a tuxedo, with a cane and monocle. He looked like a smart, rich male, but if you spent too long staring into his amber eyes, there was something wild and daunting staring back at you. Good thing he was a friend.

  Parker shook Max’s hand with a firm grip and then shot his sister a bold look. “I’m not the one who slipped our secret to him. I’m just the one capitalizing on the opportunity. Max is an intelligence-gathering specialist. We can use him.”

  Sloan mumbled something under her breath.

  “What’s that?” Max asked, his voice coming out scratchier than he intended.

  “I said, you’re a specialist asshole, so gather that intelligence.”

  Someone laughed—Liza, the detective.

  Mary slapped Sloan on the head, mumbling for her mija to have respect, then she gave her other daughter daggers for laughing. Mary was a fit, black-haired woman in her fifties with death in her eyes. Her husband Flint had balls of steel to sleep next to her every night. The man, also in his fifties, worked in the workshop behind her, a half-interested eye on his wife’s reprimand to their daughters. He adjusted his spectacles and swung his ball cap around to face backwards before refocusing on the tiny mechanical object on his cluttered bench.

  Max drew his attention back to Sloan. It had been hard to retaliate when he’d first arrived in Cardinal City. She’d been a mess. Ratty black hair. Clothes hung off her bony hips. He’d actually felt sorry for her. But over the past few weeks, the color had returned to her cheeks, and mischief had returned to her eyes. She’d put on weight and looked healthy. She’d once been his only link to the civilian world, and he’d immersed himself in her uplifting presence to help deal with the aftershocks of battle. He’d had no idea she’d been using him for the same reason until she’d confessed about the Deadly Seven.

  She was the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. And now she hated him.

  Yeah. Definitely not friends.

  Max caught Sloan’s older brother Wyatt watching him with the same wariness. Not friends with him either. They used to be once, but the man had changed since his stint in the army. The quick to anger warrior had become invulnerable—literally. Max did not want to get on his bad side.

  Max folded his arms and turned to Sloan. “How would you know what I’m a specialist in unless you looked me up? I’m flattered.”

  “You wish.”

  “Why would I wish? You already did it.”

  A berry stain hit her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Hell yeah, she did. The guilt was all over her face. A satisfied swell bloomed in his chest.

  “Oh, get a room already.” Liza moaned. The tall brunette rolled her eyes, but slammed a deadpan look on when confronted with Sloan’s raging intent. “Ugh. Can we get back to the task at hand? Some of us actually have a real job here and some dickhead’s been leaving bodies in the river. Captain’s asked for me to go canvas.”

  “You need help?” Evan perked up.

  “In broad daylight?”

  He shrugged. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “Nah, we’re good. Thanks though, bro. Maybe tonight if we haven’t had a break. So… back to the task?”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Parker waved Max over to the table.

  As Max approached, he noticed Mary stood with a dagger in her hand, twirling it expertly between her fingers. Immediately, he went on high alert. Muscles locked. Adrenaline buzzed. But the woman didn’t seem to notice him. She was lost, frowning at Sloan’s laptop screen.

  Jeez, that woman freaked the shit out of him. Fifty five and with more kills on her belt than his old squadron. He’d best be staying on her good side, and she already distrusted him because of the bad water under the bridge between him and Sloan. He shifted to stand to her right. The side without the dagger in her hand.

  “So,” Parker started. “Sloan was asked to look into the financial records of a company we recently discovered linked to the Syndicate through Misha’s connection. It took some time, but she’s traced the payments to a location. This is it. Sloan. Bring it up. Sloan.”

  Sloan sat there, hunched and still fuming, hands fretting in her lap. Part of Max preened to see her uncomfortable around him, the other part still felt empty. She grit her teeth and brought up the relevant satellite footage. Zooming in, the map quickly filled with black space.

  “Black site. Military protection,” Parker said.

  “History?” Max prompted.

  “Google Earth dates the restriction back twenty-five years.”

  “That’s about the time we destroyed Biolum Tech,” Flint said, coming from the workshop to stand next to his wife. He placed a steadying palm on Mary’s shoulder and squeezed. “Wasn’t there a military officer who came in to speak with Julius the day we extracted the kids? You think they’re still involved?”

  Mary nodded. “And an Asian business man.”

  Max fumed. He’d dedicated years to the military, and no matter where he was in the world, there were still corrupt assholes using their service positions for power. From what Parker had told him about their history, the Syndicate experimented on children. They manipulated and brainwashed vulnerable people into becoming suicide bombers or members of their Faithful, promising them rebirth as clones healed of their genetic deformities or inflictions. He doubted these people followed through with their outrageous promises.

  “Have you searched the current whereabouts of these old contacts?” Max asked.

  The condescending look Sloan sent his way could melt stone. “What do you think?”

  “I think you did a quick search. But, people change their names. They get sloppy.”

  “Well, Akiko Ito and Amare are alive and kicking. Nowhere near the site. Akito is in Kyoto, and Amare is randomly in Alaska. I have no idea what for.”

  But Max’s gut was telling him something. Not to be dissuaded, he addressed Mary and Flint. “You both worked at this Biolum Tech?”

  Flint’s voice was a deep rumble. “Yes.”

>   “I know it was a while ago, but have you searched for old known associates who live locally to the black site?” Max asked Sloan. “Anyone your parents used to work with. Janitor? Lunch lady? I know the black site is a fair way from the city, but it looks like it’s under an hour’s drive from the closest town. If anyone is living off-site, it would be there.”

  “Like you said,” she replied. “People changed their names. Moved on. That sort of thing. At a site like this, most employees live on base.”

  “How would you know if you haven’t looked?” Hot frustration crept up Max’s neck. How could she expect success if she assumed so many things? “Leave no stone unturned.”

  “I thought you were supposed to check all of them,” Daymo asked Max, deep in the Middle Eastern desert.

  “I checked four out of five containers. None of them held armor-piercing bullets. It’s sweet. Don’t stress. She’ll be right, mate.”

  Max shook the memory away before it took hold of him. He did not need to go down that rabbit hole today.

  “Have you looked, Sloan?” Parker asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Really?”

  She paused. “I checked a few.”

  “Actually,” Flint said gingerly, cutting through the thick silence. “There are some names of technicians and scientists I’ve not given you. Mary and I can get together to brainstorm a few others. See if we can come up with a list.”

  “Good idea,” Mary added.

  “Start with Barry Pinkerton. He was another geneticist who showed promising potential, but he was never allowed into the main lab so I assumed he was ignorant like me.”

  Parker tapped Sloan. “There you go. Start there.”

  Grumbling, Sloan’s fingers hit her keyboard with dizzying speed. She whipped through programs—secure government programs she should have no business accessing—like they were a fourth grader’s computer system. Damn, he knew she was good. Just didn’t know how good. She’d kept a lot from him when they’d dated. If you could call their online relationship dating. They’d never once touched in real life, but online, over video stream, they’d done plenty.

  The memory of her lush, half naked body flashed before his eyes. He wondered what she would look like today under those clothes. How much had changed?

  His cock stirred.

  Shit. He cleared his throat and forced himself to think of footy. Aussie rules. Essendon versus Carlton. Grand Final. Last five minutes. He mentally replayed the match, play for play, until his blood cooled.

  Sloan’s search stretched into minutes. Flint and Mary retreated to the workshop corner where Flint continued to pull apart a small gray drone. Mary spoke to him in a hushed, urgent tone.

  Parker soon retreated to a row of glass cabinets containing their combat suits on mannequins. He had one cabinet open and a soldering iron ready to use on inbuilt tech.

  The Lazarus family was one talented mob.

  Evan was the warrior of envy, so it made sense when he shot Max a quizzical look, and went to stand next to Parker. Max must have let his envy flare.

  “Call me when you get a hit,” Liza said, gathering her leather jacket and slipping it on. She tugged her long brown hair from the trappings of her collar. She also cast Max an odd stare before flicking her gaze back to Sloan, and then to Max. Then she rolled her eyes. “I gotta go to work.”

  No secrets in this family.

  He had to remember to guard his emotions. Conjuring up a compartmentalization technique he’d learned in the army, Max put all his lust, envy and other inessential emotions into a box, locking up tight. He’d unpack later that night. Maybe.

  Soon, it was just Max and Wyatt standing behind Sloan, much to her chagrin, but he’d be damned if he stepped away first. She’d already demonstrated she liked to cut corners.

  Max stood back, hands folded, and watched Sloan do her thing. Wyatt stood arms folded, watching Max.

  The longer the search took, the more his gaze strayed away from the screen and back to Sloan. She still wore the same expression when she concentrated. Her little wet tongue tip stuck out the side of her lips, giving him just the hint of pink. Her nose scrunched up. Black eyebrows flicked up every few minutes, as though she’d come across something surprising, then puckering with a frown when she hit a road block. The only thing he hadn’t seen her do recently was chew her hair. When they used to game together, her hair lived in her mouth. And when she’d shout something, it would pop out. At first, he’d thought it was disgusting, then, he’d come to associate it with her, and everything he’d associated with her back then came with the warmth of dopamine.

  “He’s alive,” she said, screen footage coming to rest on the face of an older man of Indian descent.

  “This the bloke, Flint?” Max asked, waving him back from the workshop.

  Parker and Evan rejoined them.

  Flint came back with Mary and peered at the screen. “Yeah, that’s Barry.”

  “And where does he live?” Max asked, even though he could see on the screen. He just wanted Sloan to say it, to admit she was wrong.

  “Twenty clicks from the black site,” she mumbled.

  Damn straight. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

  Parker rubbed his designer stubble, scratching up the jaw. “What else did you find out about him?”

  Sloan tapped a few keys, bringing up the man’s private email and social media accounts. “Well, you can see he’s a Leftie in public, but—get this—he’s a closet Trump supporter, decidedly right-wing. Barry doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes all the appropriate political candidates’ posts. See?”

  “Something useful, Sloan,” Parker rumbled.

  “What? I thought that was funny. Okay, fine. Here. Let’s take a look at his rsvp’d events.” She scrolled through some information Max was sure only this Barry dude should know. “Looks like he’s going to a charity gala supporting science in the environment this weekend. He’s scheduled to speak.”

  “That’s your man,” Max stated. “That’s your vulnerability. Get to him at the gala. Grab his biometrics. Get into the site.”

  Evan whooped. “All right. Road trip.”

  “No,” Parker said immediately. “You stay behind.”

  “What?” Evan groaned. “Why?”

  “You and Griffin have flashy powers. If you’re not here, and you’re seen there, people will put two and two together. We need a good cover story and stealth. Sloan, you’re obviously in.”

  Her face paled, but she said nothing.

  “I’m happy to help,” Max offered, hoping to piss off Sloan even more.

  “We need you here,” Wyatt replied. He’d been quiet the entire time, but with this, he spoke up. “Misha is three months pregnant. She’ll start to show soon. If the Syndicate find out she’s carrying my child and I’m not there…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “Got it,” Max said. “Security on her will need to be increased.”

  Wyatt gave him a curt nod, but gratitude blazed in his eyes.

  “Does that mean you’ll go?” Parker asked Wyatt. “Having a super on the team will be beneficial in case we run into trouble.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Well…” Parker glanced at the map on Sloan’s screen. “There’s a national park on the east side of the black site. What if we plan a hiking trip there?”

  Wyatt pointed at a spot. “That’s near the mountains.”

  “Base jumping. Nice,” Evan added.

  Even from Australia, Max had heard about Parker’s cliff climbing and base jumping exploits.

  A slow grin formed on Parker’s face, showing a glimpse of that wild beast within. “It’s all coming together. I’ll get Tony on board and we’ll go to the charity gala—show our faces, donate some cash—act like we’re stopping by before heading off on a boy’s weekend.”

  “Boy’s weekend is fine with me,” Sloan said. “I’ll just stay here.”

  “It was a figure of speech. Your pres
ence is not up for debate. You’ll be required to install the back door program into the closed circuit system so we can access the Syndicate data from here. Then we can take our time searching through their files from a safe distance. You’re coming.”

  Wyatt added, “How long will it take to hike to the site from the national park?”

  “Two days, give or take,” Max suggested. “Maybe do it in less if you don’t stop to rest.”

  Wyatt’s hard blue eyes met Max’s. “You’ll have around the clock security on Misha while I’m gone?”

  Max nodded. “Whatever you need.”

  “Good. I’m in.”

  “Great. It’s settled.” Parker clapped his hands. “I’ll go apprise Tony. Wyatt, you make arrangements with Misha. Sloan, you…” Parker’s brows lifted in the middle as he took note of his sister, now with the end of her braid in her mouth. His top lip curled in distaste. “You need to clean up. You can’t go to a high-priced ticket charity gala looking like that. Get your hair cut. Buy an outfit. It’s black tie.”

  She spat her hair out. “You’re an asshole, too.”

  Parker flipped her the bird and then left the room.

  An awkward silence filled the space Parker left.

  Max turned to Evan. “Do you mind if I use the gym?”

  “You gotta stop asking, bro. Just use it.”

  A short nod, and he left, scooping up his duffel bag on the way.

  Three

  The second Max left the room, Sloan rounded on her dumbass brothers. “You let Parker talk to me like that? Ooh, get a haircut, Sloan. Get a life, Parker, right?”

  “You know”—Evan folded his arms, giving Sloan an exaggerated once over—“He’s not half wrong.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Shackles raising, Sloan slid off her stool and straightened her spine. The top of her head came to Evan’s nose. Damned male height. “I’m not that bad. I’ve improved plenty in the past few months. Check it, the tattoo is virtually balanced.”

  He snorted. “No, it’s not. You’ve been sitting on your ass all day.”

  “And you’ve not left your apartment in weeks,” Wyatt pointed out, again.