Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(43)

It occurred to him, staring down at her, that Zoe might do for Reginald’s contract, assuming they would accept a female. Zoe’s skills were formidable, and her flaws were easy to downplay. He gazed at her dewy, writhing body. Zoe could offer frills to the Amesbury Group CEO that Reginald could not. At least not to this client, who favored women.

King had been acquainted with Michal LeFevre, the CEO of the Amesbury Group, for years. In spite of LeFevre’s three hundred pounds of quivering bulk, his greasy comb-over, liver spots, and his seventy-four years, the man had an insatiable appetite for beautiful young women.

King wondered if the man knew how it would feel to have the young woman’s passion be unfeigned, the orgasms real. If LeFevre had Zoe’s DeepWeave sexual imprint commands, he could experience that wonder firsthand. Zoe would be his adoring slave.

LeFevre would never be able to refuse. In fact, King might even up the price. He’d never factored his operatives’ sexual programming into his contracts. It was risky, uncertain, and he preferred to keep the Levels Eight, Nine, and Ten mortal control commands, such as the one he’d just issued to Reginald, strictly to himself. But Zoe might not work out in the long run anyway. Her overheated sexuality and helpless sobbing hinted at deep inner instability. It might be best to use her up all at once. Recoup what he could of his investment. Cut his losses.

But first, Zoe would rid the world of Lily Parr and Bruno Ranieri.

Fury flared afresh. Reginald, Cal, Tom, Martin. Four of his mature male operatives. Two from the special series. It was a staggering loss.

Watching Reginald blow his own brains out had not even begun to soothe his anger. He only wished he could kill that incompetent piece of shit more than once. King looked down, noticed that he was erect. Anger often had an energizing effect on him. He stroked his penis thoughtfully as he approached the sobbing woman on the floor.

But Michael had left scarcely ten minutes before, sweaty and spent, and Zoe had not even washed. It would be unhygienic.

The com buzzed. Nadia. Too soon to be reporting on the successful completion of her task. Which meant there was a problem.

“What is it?” he barked.

“Sir, I’m outside the Wygant Street house,” she said. “The police were here when I arrived.”

King was so appalled, he had nothing to say. “How . . .”

“It seems that the bullet Reggie fired went through the bedroom window.” Nadia’s voice was apologetic. “It also went through the bedroom window of the neighbor’s house across the street. The woman who lives there called the police. She’s being treated by the EMTs for cuts from the broken glass. They’re wheeling Reggie’s body out now.”

King closed his eyes. His blood pressure was climbing, his ears roaring. Reggie had managed to f*ck up, even in death.

“What do you want me to do, sir?” Nadia’s voice swam through the haze of red with a few seconds of delay. “Sir? Are you still there?”

“ to headquarters. I’ll send you a new team leader tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. I am so—”

He cut off the connection, uninterested in whatever else she had to say. He nudged Zoe with his toe. “Get up.”

She gazed up, tear-blinded, nose running. “But, sir, Reggie—”

“Shut up, and get on your feet. Or are you too emotionally destroyed to take Reggie’s place as team leader?”

Zoe gasped and scrambled to her feet with gratifying swiftness. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice suddenly clear as a bell.

Finally. The attitude he liked to see. “I want Parr and Ranieri gone. Vanished. No trace. No witnesses, no publicity, no bodies. Fast.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stared at her, panting with rage. On impulse, he swept the table clear. Dessert plates, coffee service, wineglasses, burning candles, all crashed to the floor. He wrenched his pants open, shoved Zoe back against the table. She draped herself back eagerly, opening wide.

It was a relief at first, but after a while, the pounding began to bore him. Zoe’s moist, quivering body was so wet, so eager, so yielding. She perceived his brutality as pleasure. If he lashed her with a whip, she would beg for more. He needed resistance tonight. Conquest.

He was losing his erection. It made him want to strangle her.

He pulled away, leaving her whimpering, on the verge of her fifth orgasm. And he had not even used the programmed phrases to elicit them. This was pure spillover. Innate sexual heat and emotional excess. Typical of Zoe. Dirty little slut. “Get dressed,” he ordered her.

She jerked up onto her elbows. “But I . . . but please, can’t I—”

“No.” He buttoned his pants, did up his belt. “You’ve had enough for tonight. You must earn your treats.”

“Yes, sir.” She struggled into her tight dress as he entered commands that would give her a higher level of access to relevant files.

“Go wash,” he said. “The car will be waiting in twenty minutes to take you to the airport. Study the files en route.”

Zoe was looking confused. King manufactured a smile to settle her nerves. “If your assignment is a success, we will dine again, and I will give you a full Level Ten reward sequence. The whole thirty verses.”

Her eyes went wide, dazzled. “Oh, sir,” she whispered. “Really?”

It was a bit iffy to overuse sexual rewards. In fact, such an overwhelming experience could actually damage her. But sex seemed to be Zoe’s most powerful motivating force. And matters were very urgent.