Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(100)

Sloppy. Or ominous. He was betting on the latter. His tension mounted.

New kill plans generated on his inner eye screen every time he happened to look at one of the prototypes. He was accustomed to the constantly changing display. Multiple kill plans were useful when he needed to kill large numbers of people in a short amount of time, but at the moment, they only served to remind him how much he would enjoy annihilating the slave soldiers.

Who continued to annoy the living shit out of him.

Besides the palpable hostility they displayed, there were serious glitches. Brenner kept blurting out the name of his kid at random intervals, and Raquel was a river of tears, which swelled her eyes and dripped from her her nose. In addition to making him want to smack her puffy, reddened face, the snot and the gurgling and the constant sniffling obliterated her sexual appeal.

He’d been keeping Brenner and Raquel in the freight container, just to prevent himself from acting on the temptation to hurt them. Life had been simpler when he was alone. The other three in the cab up front had the sense to keep their mouths shut.

When he saw the building, he knew instantly that Carrerra’s entire team was dead. There were no live thermals within a hundred meters of the place, aside from some small forest animals. An unmistakable stench wafted through the window. Not terribly strong yet, but his sense of smell was acute, and he had extensive experience with that particular odor.

He stopped the truck, ordered the protos out, and let the other two out of the freight container before starting the damage assessment. The smell indicated that he was going to need the whole crew for the cleanup.

One corpse lay in the gravel driveway, throat crushed. Dead of asphyxiation, judging by the bulging, sightless eyes.

Wind whipped the treetops. A rhythmic creaking led him to the hanged man, swaying over the narrow path that led to the house. The third corpse lay facedown in front of the aluminum steps, his livid face turned at an improbable angle on his neck. He’d soiled himself in death. The reek of terror-shit blended with the developing taint of human decomp made Mark circle the corpse as widely as possible.

He mounted the stairs that led into the small building. The door hung open, banging against the aluminum siding in the wind, letting out a stench of of blood and death that was stronger still.

Brenner tried to follow him through the front door, but Mark spun around. “Stay out, until I call for you!” he snarled.

Brenner faded quietly back outside.

Mark found Carrerra pinned to the floor by the knife stuck through his hand. His face was unrecognizable, swollen and dark, crusted with blood. His eyes were hidden in pockets of swollen, purplish flesh.

Mark catalogued every detail. The bloodsmears, the bullet holes, the broken plastic restraints. Whoever did this had been looking specifically for Caroline Bishop, but she had no friends or allies capable of rescuing her. She’d been all alone, living off crumbs, huddling in dark corners. The closest she’d come to a bodyguard had been that dickwad Tim Wheaton. Easy enough to crack.

Whoever had pulled this off was in another class altogether. Considerably smarter than Wheaton. Someone who knew the potential of the info she held in her head. Probably the same man who took down Carrerra’s last team. Acting alone, by Mark’s guess. Stealthy, highly skilled, and possessing formidable strength.

An extremely gifted professional . . . or else he was modified.

Carrerra looked like he’d fought hard. Mark had hired him for that, and he’d proved to be ferocious. He’d met his match this time.

He walked around Carrerra’s body, peering at it from the other side, and saw the yellow paper poking out of the stiff, purplish lips and fragments of broken teeth. He pried the dead man’s mouth open, and extracted the crumpled, bloody paper, smoothing it out.

Even with AVP, it was a challenge to read. When he did, his combat program surged and seethed. Terms? Arrogant shithead.

He forced himself to study the note more closely. Looked like a woman’s handwriting. Caroline. Had to be. So she was alive, conscious, functional, and under the other man’s control.

She’s mine, the note said. The bastard was probably f*cking her in the ass right now.

He pocketed the note and left the building, looking down at his crew of hollow-eyed, staring supersoldiers. Still glaring at him, in spite of their frequent punishments. They looked like zombies who hadn’t gotten around to rotting yet. Soon, though.

“Take the bodies into the woods,” he told them. “Bury them deep. You get to burn the house before we go. Special treat. Say thank you.”

They stood there, mute and glaring, until he raised the freq wand and gave them all a pain zap. That shocked them into action. Except for Brenner, who didn’t move.

“Callie,” Brenner blurted hoarsely.

Moaning about his goddamn kid again. It was too much. He punched Brenner, sending the big man flying right off his feet. When Brenner crashed heavily to the ground, Mark extended the wand and gave the stupid f*ck an excruciating buzz of neural punishment.

Brenner writhed and screamed for long, satisfying minutes.

Mark pocketed the wand, walked over and kicked the whimpering man in the crotch, hard. The cerebral inhibitor blocked Brenner from defending himself against his controller. He just curled up, panting heavily with rasping, sobbing breaths.

“Say that name one more time, and I’ll take you back to where she lives and make you kill her with an axe,” Mark told him. “And when you’re done, you can set yourself on fire. Got me? Do we understand each other?”