Almost absentmindedly, he ran his hand over the dense hand-sized spot on his ribs—a byproduct of Morales’s little games, the assorted Taser blasts, and the wildly proliferating genes. Genes he held responsible for his anger, as well, although the little voice in his head—his father’s voice—chastised him for the lie.
He had been angry before the experiments Wardwell had decided to do illegally.
Angry at losing the one thing he loved almost more than anything else—football.
Angry about his father and the way he had cut Jesse off from his family, decrying Jesse’s sinful ways.
As Jesse began pacing the narrow width of the cage once again, he considered that maybe his father had been right.
It had been the sin of greed that had started him on the road to ruin. All those millions thrown at him by an upstart pro football team had made him lose sight of who he was and what he stood for.
It had been the sin of pride that made him think he could do whatever he wanted because he was the best at what he did.
Sin had been stronger than him. Stronger than the values his family had instilled over the course of his life. It was the reason his father had cut off contact, warning Jesse not to return until he had changed his ways and embraced a good Christian life once again.
The rattle and groan of the warehouse door snared his attention.
Morales and his creepy little assistant Jack entered the building. As they stepped into their makeshift laboratory, an assortment of howls, grunts, and groans rose up from the other dozen or so captive patients in the cages scattered throughout the space.
Jesse tuned out those almost inhuman noises, stopped pacing, and grabbed hold of the bars of his cage. Rattling them, he called out to Morales, “You promised to let me go.”
A promise that came with a huge price tag—his little sister’s life.
Morales smiled, a tight shift of his lips accompanied by a startling glitter in his eyes. If ever there was a caricature of a mad scientist, Morales fit the bill, Jesse thought. Especially when you put him together with Jack, his sniveling and kleptomaniac assistant. Jack’s lab jacket pocket was filled with shiny tools and pens he had collected in their facility.
Morales strolled over, as casually as if he was taking a walk in the park, Jack trailing behind him, his hand on the precious treasures in his pocket.
“Not yet, mi amigo. We have to make sure everything is in place before we can let you go,” he said, held out his hand, and snapped his fingers. After he did so, he peered around Jesse to the body bag at the back of his cage.
“Good. I see you’ve been exercising. It’s important that you stay fit.”
As Jesse watched, Jack wheeled another heavy bag into the large open area in the center of the warehouse. Then Jack scurried over, bringing with him the cattle prod that Morales seemed to enjoy so well.
There was only one thing the scientist enjoyed even more—the control he possessed over his captives.
“When will I be able to go?” Jesse pressed, fearful that with each day that passed, his sister’s illness would advance until the damage might be irreparable.
Morales raised the cattle prod. “When all is ready.”
“When is that?” Adrenaline began to pump through his system at the sight of the prod, and he felt as if his body was vibrating from within.
Morales must have registered the change in him, since he smiled and motioned for Jack to open the door. But Morales made sure to keep the cattle prod ready and to stay beyond Jesse’s reach.
After so many months, Jesse knew the routine. He stepped up to the other bag and began to pummel it. With each blow, he thought about the many months of his captivity. About his family and all that he had lost, each thought increasing the strength of his punches until Jesse pounded the heavy bag with such force that a seam on the side began to split. Another strike with his rock-hard fists opened the tear even further.
Morales egged him on. “That’s it, Jesse. Destroy it,” the scientist urged as he stood, the cattle prod in hand, just feet away from Jesse.
Jesse remembered the sting of that device. The deadened and hard piece of what had formerly been flesh along his rib cage had repeatedly experienced the bite of the prod. He had first suffered the sting of it many months earlier, when he had been punished for interfering as another patient had murdered Morales’s colleague—Dr. Rudy Wells.
Wells had seen the error of his ways, and Jesse had hoped Wells would stop the experimentation and torture being visited on him and the other patients.
Now Wells was dead and Jesse was still a captive. No one had come to save him and the others trapped alongside him in the warehouse.
At Jesse’s delay, Morales picked up the prod and stepped closer. “Destroy it.”
Jesse needed no further instruction. He marched up to the heavy bag, encircled it in his muscled arms, and, imagining that it was his captor, squeezed the bag in his arms like a python constricting its prey. As the seams strained, he dug his fingers into the gaps and yanked, ripping the bag open and spewing its innards along the floor of the cage much like he wanted to do with Morales.
Releasing the mangled bits of bag, Jesse staggered back, breathing heavily.
As he glanced at the scientist, Morales inched away, clearly aware of Jesse’s thoughts.
“If my sister gets hurt…” Jesse began but didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to for the men to understand they’d better not delay much longer.
CHAPTER 2
Whittaker tracked Mick Carrera through the lens of the binoculars as Mick ran along the boardwalk in the direction of Liliana’s condo. He was surprised that an ex-mercenary like Carrera had become such a creature of habit. It made him and his sister easy marks.
“Follow them. Listen in and make sure we didn’t make a mistake,” Whittaker said to his second-in-command.
“You think she’ll say something to him?” Howard asked, tugging the black knit ski cap lower on his head and slipping on a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes.
“Dr. Carrera is smart. I’m not sure that she’s buying into this completely. If she involves her brother—”
“We’ve got trouble,” Howard said and, with a nod, left the SUV to trail Mick.
The late fall morning was warm, the air refreshing thanks to a westerly breeze blowing in from the ocean. The scent of leaf mold mingled with that of the sea and the dying remains of a rosebush sheltered from the cold by her condo building.
Liliana waited on the corner, watching as her brother approached.
As he came up to her, he smiled and gave her a big sweaty hug. He had already been running for miles.
“Ready?” he asked as he did every morning they jogged together.
“Ready,” she answered and fell into pace beside him. Or rather, it was safer to say he slowed to her pace as they crossed Ocean Avenue and jogged onto the boardwalk.
They were silent for the first few blocks as she settled into the rhythm of the run, but as they ran through the derelict remains of the Asbury Park Casino, Liliana asked, “How is Caterina today?”
“Feeling good. Your new treatment seems to be working well,” Mick replied in between breaths and then glanced back over his shoulder, as if searching for something, before returning his attention to her.
“That’s nice to hear.” And if she accepted Whittaker’s offer, Liliana might be able to improve on the inhibitor even further and possibly find a way to stop what was happening in Caterina’s body due to the illegally implanted genes.
So why was she still having such doubts about the wisdom of joining up with Whittaker?
“Can we stop for a second?” Mick said and pulled up, one hand pressed against his side before he immediately bent over as if in pain.
“Are you okay?” She laid a hand on his shoulder, concern for her brother overriding all other thoughts.
He stood up and grimaced, but as he did so, he watched someone pass by them out of the corner of his eye. �
��Just a stitch,” he replied but didn’t immediately begin to jog again. Instead, he delayed for another couple of minutes, walking in a small circle as if trying to walk out a cramp. After, he surprised her by saying, “Let’s go the other way for a change.”
With a nod she followed as they reversed direction, heading southward, back toward Ocean Grove and Mick’s home in Bradley Beach.
“What’s up?” she asked, puzzled by her brother’s sudden alteration of their months’ old pattern.
“Why don’t you tell me?” he asked, peeking over his shoulder.
“What do you mean?” For good measure she looked toward the ruins of the casino from where they had come, but she glimpsed nothing out of the ordinary.
“We were being tailed. One man. Well built. Possibly dangerous,” he advised and then motioned for them to cross onto Main Avenue and off the boardwalk.
“We’re too visible here,” he explained as she shot him a puzzled look.
As they jogged up the central part of town, it was relatively quiet, devoid of the crowds the summer season would bring. For good measure, Mick peered behind him once more, and as they neared the coffee shop, he pointed to it and said, “Let’s sit and talk.”
Given Whittaker’s “need-to-know” instructions, Liliana was hesitant about what to reveal to Mick, but she didn’t argue. It would only raise more concerns with her ex–Army Ranger brother, who had clearly observed that something was out of the ordinary.
They ordered coffees and then sat down, the table one row in from the window, where Mick could safely see outside but it would be harder for someone else to discern them.
“I’ve been asked to work on a new project, but I think it may be a big mistake to do it,” Liliana said as she shifted the cup of coffee back and forth between her hands on the surface of the table.
“You have to do what feels right here and here,” her brother said and tapped spots above his heart and temple with his fingers.
“It feels as if… What if I told you that it would help Caterina?”
Mick glanced away, picked up his cup, and took a long sip, obviously hesitant at her revelation. When long moments passed, she prompted him again with, “Well? What would you think?”
Mick fixed his gaze on her, his features intense. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“That’s a first,” she teased, trying to dispel some of the gloom she sensed hanging over her older brother.
It worked. A hesitant smile came to his lips, but only briefly. “I have a vested interest, but the bottom line is—you have to do what you think is best for you.”
Mick’s answer was not unexpected. In his entire life, her brother had been selfless, always putting family, friends, and country ahead of himself. He had even been willing to sacrifice his life for both her and Caterina months earlier when a mercenary hired by Wardwell had tried to kill them all.
It was the realization of that selflessness that made Liliana’s decision a no-brainer.
“Don’t worry about me, Mick,” she said. A second passed and a big black SUV cruised past on the street, its presence surprisingly menacing.
Mick nodded but reached out and laid his hand over hers. “You know you can count on me to help with anything. Anything, right?”
“Right,” she confirmed, but she knew she wouldn’t call her brother. He’d already had too much upset in recent months.
It was time for her to take care of things. And that included finding out why Whittaker was having her followed.
“This Bradford deal may be a mistake, Raymond,” Morales said as he stood before Edwards in their secondary lab facility. He enjoyed the annoyance that flared to life in Edwards’s gaze at his use of his first name. The superior Dr. Edwards considered himself above such familiarities, which only increased Morales’s pleasure at goading him.
Edwards leaned back in his chair and ran a long, thin finger across his lips as he considered his partner’s statement. “I know Bradford is one of your favorites—”
“He’s unstable. The genes create rage he’s barely able to control,” he said.
Edwards laughed, the sound a rough cackle of disbelief. “Seriously? Seems to me he’s quite capable of control, and given the incentive—”
“What if he finds out about his sister? That she’s not really ill?” Morales asked, truly unhappy about losing his star patient. There was just something about Bradford’s anger that he enjoyed, possibly even more than his possession of the former celebrity.
Or maybe it was just that—his possession of the jock. For too long he had suffered at the mercy of such muscle-bound idiots. Having Bradford as his plaything seemed like just compensation for all those years of misery, only his partner clearly didn’t think so.
“Bradford has no contact with his family. That distance only makes it easier for us to carry out this ruse. Plus, Bradford is the most stable of all the patients. More reason he should be the sacrificial lamb,” Edwards advised.
Morales wondered how much separation there could be if Bradford was willing to forfeit himself to help his sister, but as he met his partner’s steely-eyed gaze, he realized his say would have no impact. The plans had already been put into motion by Edwards and the new associates he had brought into their venture.
“Whatever you say, Raymond,” he replied.
“Don’t screw this up, Morales,” Edwards warned.
“Of course not, Raymond,” he answered and hurried out, smiling as Edwards’s annoyed gaze bored into his back.
Home, and yet still a prison, Jesse thought a week later.
Located on Ocean Avenue directly across from the beach, his home was an immense Wedgewood blue colonial with a large wraparound porch that opened into a gazebo on one end. Welcoming windows trimmed in white all along the front provided vistas of the beach and sea. Balconies on a second floor also allowed him to enjoy the multimillion-dollar view.
All around the home were inviting lawns and gardens, winter-dormant now, but he could picture their summer glory.
Despite the home’s welcome, he was still a captive, he thought as he walked around his Spring Lake residence, familiarizing himself with the things he had left behind nearly a year ago now.
The place had been kept up in his absence. Surfaces dusted. Plants watered. Lawns mowed. Not even an old piece of mail, newspaper, or magazine in sight to testify to his absence.
Everything was in place as it should be, which saddened him.
The trappings of his life had gone on without him, as if he had been an unnecessary part of their daily existence.
The expensive furnishings; the Game Day room with an assortment of monitors, oversized and overstuffed chairs; shelves filled with his assorted trophies and awards. All just useless accessories in a life that had lost its purpose, Jesse thought, and within him came a dangerous spark of anger. Sucking in a deep breath, he willed away the desire to smash the cabinets and the worthless items within that had cost him so much.
His family.
His freedom.
His humanity, he thought, staring down at his hands and the thick, armorlike skin now covering his knuckles. Rubbing at the similar patch on his ribs, he wondered how long it would be before the rest of him became as dead and hardened.
But the pain in the center of his chest told him there was still something human left. Something that he might be able to salvage with the bargain he had struck with the scientists and Whittaker, their new partner: his cooperation in exchange for help in controlling the bone disease that was threatening his sister’s life. Or at least that they said was hurting her, not that he trusted them. But if what they said was true, he couldn’t allow his doubt to jeopardize his sister Jackie’s health.
The doorbell rang, pulling him from the playroom and back out into the lavishly appointed living area.
Weird, he thought. Whittaker had at least two men positioned on the grounds to ensure Jesse followed their rules. He hadn’t expected any of them to be ringing the bell if they
needed to enter.
Throwing open the door, he was surprised to find a petite young woman there, looking rather prim and proper in a sedate navy suit but impossibly high heels. Fuck-me heels, he thought, thinking them out of sync with the rest of her businesslike attire.
Her irritated sigh dragged his attention back up to her face. A very attractive face, although he had to revise his estimate of her age. Maybe thirty, he guessed. Her petite stature was responsible for that initial appearance of youth.
“Jesse Bradford,” she stated, nervously swinging the black bag she held in her hands. A doctor’s bag. As he examined her features more carefully, he realized there was something familiar about her.
“Do we know each other?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.
She released her death grip on the bag and pointed to his left eyebrow. “Patched you up after a bar brawl while I was on call in the ER.”
He rubbed at the barely noticeable scar and nodded. “Thought you looked familiar. Whittaker sent you.”
She dipped her head to confirm his statement. “I’m here to do an initial exam so we can decide how to treat you.”
He stepped aside to let her enter, but as he did so, he looked around outside.
Stationed at the far end of the large wraparound porch was one of Whittaker’s men. He was dressed casually and sitting in a chair reading a paper, despite the chill in the air. A wire ran from one ear down to what he assumed was a radio. The man had been there all morning. Jesse had been warned that someone would be in close range at all times and that any and all communications would be monitored. Protection against his telling anyone the truth about Whittaker’s operation.
Not that he would.
Without some kind of miracle from Whittaker’s medical team, his sister Jackie’s illness—supposedly a more severe form of his own—might not be cured. Plus, Whittaker had threatened to kill Jackie if Jesse attempted to speak to her or failed to cooperate with them.
Stronger than Sin (Sin Hunters) Page 2