Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(17)

“You took enough of her blood,” Ken objected. “She’s been used as a guinea pig for Whitney’s experiments all of her life. I don’t think it’s necessary for us to do the same to her.”

As always, Ken sounded mild, but Eric heard the warning note in his voice and glanced at Jack, who simply shook his head. Eric settled back in his seat. “We need to really understand what’s going on with all of you,” he pointed out. “If she heals faster and can push drugs through her system faster, we need to know. We wouldn’t want to be in the middle of a complex operation and have one of you wake up on us.”

Eric sank down onto the bench and gripped the seat as the helicopter took off. He’d never liked flying, Ken remembered, and they should be grateful that he was always willing to come when one of them was injured, but instead, Ken felt an unreasonable wash of emotions he couldn’t quite identify.

He clenched his teeth at the unbidden images that rose the moment Eric planted the idea of waking up in the middle of an operation. Was that the kind of experiment Whitney conducted on a regular basis? From all accounts he loved science and lived for little else. Was his mind so twisted that he might subject a human being to that kind of torment again and again just to see the results? Ken had been tortured—he knew what it was like to feel the slice of a knife going through his skin while he was wide awake and unable to fight back. The idea that Whitney might have done the same thing to another human being in the name of science made him ill.

A tremor went through him and he had to fight back a wave of nausea. Why was it all coming back after all these months? His belly throbbed, and lower, much lower, he could feel the mind-numbing pain, an agony crawling through his body, hear laughter echoing insanely through his head. Was he finally losing his mind? The rage inside of him, kept so carefully bottled up, surged up through his belly and into his throat until he wanted to scream and tear someone apart with his bare hands. Beads of sweat dropped from his forehead onto his arm. He never saw blood as red anymore, so he couldn’t tell whether the droplets were sweat, simply an illusion, or real blood the way his mind wanted to see it.

“Ken.” Jack said his name sharply.

Their eyes met across the gurney as the helicopter vibrated, shaking them as they flew through the air, just skimming the treetops. Ken could hardly bear to see the knowledge and compassion in his brother’s eyes. His mouth went dry, but he managed to pull off his slight grin, the one that he kept in reserve for moments like this. He was all right. He was just fine. They’d taken his skin, his looks, even his manhood, and made his body into something out of a horror movie, but he was just fine. No nightmares, no screaming, just a flash of a grin, telling the world a monster didn’t live and breathe inside of him, raking him with claws, demanding to get out and annihilate everyone around him.

Sometimes Ken thought that monster would rip open his belly from the inside out. Jack thought he wanted to talk everyone to death. He was the good twin. The easygoing twin, the one that got along with everybody. His fingers curled into two tight fists and then, aware of what he was giving away to his sharp-eyed brother, he spread his fingers out in front of him. Steady as a rock. He could always count on that. His hand might be scarred, his fingers not as flexible as they should be, but Ekabela and his sadist friends had made the mistake of mutilating them but not taking away his ability to shoot. They were too eager to get down to the real pleasure of cutting him in other, much more painful and frightening places.

He shifted his gaze away from his brother. Jack could read his mind. Hell, they’d been slipping in and out of each other’s mind since they were toddlers. Even then it had been self-preservation. They learned at an early age to count only on each other. Jack knew him too well. He knew that the monster that lived inside of both of them was all too close to the surface these days. Jack had to be worried that Ken was not going to able to keep it contained. Insanity was a very real possibility he had to face.

Dr. Peter Whitney was a man with far too much money and power. He didn’t believe the rules were for someone like him, and unfortunately he had the backing of some very powerful men. Jack and Ken, like several other men in the military, had fallen for his enthusiasm over his psychic experiments. It made perfect sense at the time—to take men from all branches of the service with Special Forces training and test them to see if they had potential to use psychic abilities. The doctor would enhance the inherent talent and create a unit of men who could save lives with their abilities.

Whitney hadn’t said a word about gene therapy and genetic enhancement. He hadn’t mentioned cancer or brain bleeds or strokes either. He certainly had never admitted he would pit the men unknowingly against one another. And never once had he mentioned a breeding program, using pheromones to pair a supersoldier with a woman.

Ken rubbed his pounding temples. Whitney hadn’t screened them very carefully—or maybe he had. Maybe he knew about Jack and Ken’s father and how he was so jealous and obsessed with their mother he couldn’t bear to share her with his own children. Obsession was a very ugly word, and Whitney had certainly compounded the demon the twins fought on a daily basis. They had vowed they would never chance becoming the man their father had been, yet they had both been chosen, without their knowledge, to participate in Whitney’s breeding experiment.

Of course he knew about the old man, Jack said. He’s the reason Whitney chose us. We’re twins. He’s paired us with twins and he’s kicking back waiting to see the results.