In the Blood (Metahuman Files Book 4)

by Hailey Turner

  “Sitrep,” he ordered, only dimly aware of several security personnel hurrying to catch up to him.

  “ETA ten minutes,” Katie immediately reported.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Facial recognition of anyone on the premises of the parking garage tower and the surrounding streets got a hit. Pair of college students who may or may not be full-fledged members of the Sons of Adam, but they were in deep enough to help out with the kidnapping.”

  “Phaedra managed to get us a general location,” Kyle added.

  Jamie let Kyle’s voice wash over him, finding comfort in the sound. “She’s a minor. We legally can’t request her help.”

  “Yeah, we know, but we didn’t ask. She offered.”

  Jamie wasn’t going to argue the legal ramifications of letting it happen, not when it looked like it was turning out to be their only chance to rescue Alexei and Sean. “I’m leaving Boston Common and heading to the docks.”

  A man Jamie recognized from his family’s private security caught up with him. Corey Larson’s gaze was direct and serious as he jerked his thumb to the right. “This way, sir. We have a vehicle on standby. Sergeant Ovechkina said yesterday you might need what’s in the trunk.”

  The tension in his shoulders loosened, even if it didn’t completely disappear. Jamie had no doubt Katie must have somehow sent his gear into the field in advance of him coming to Boston on a just-in-case basis. Trust his second-in-command to know what he needed.

  The Secret Service wasn’t so obliging.

  “You’re not leaving us behind,” Burwell stated flatly when he caught up to them.

  Larson held open the SUV’s front passenger-side door for Jamie, signaling to his own men to get in the vehicle as well as the one idling behind it.

  “I don’t need your protection,” Jamie snapped.

  “I don’t care what you think you need. You’re our protectee and we’re going to do our damn job whether you like it or not.”

  Jamie didn’t have time to stand around and argue. “Then get in, but from here on out, you follow my fucking orders or I’m throwing you out on the street and won’t bother to stop the car while doing so.”

  The SUV could comfortably hold six; it ended up carrying eight, as did the one behind it. Larson took the wheel over the protestations of a Secret Service special agent, who ended up in the far back seat.

  “Where to, sir?” Larson asked.

  “Seaport District,” Jamie ordered. “Dockside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hope you brought more gear than just mine.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Larson put the SUV into drive and gunned the engine. He made a sharp U-turn, the seatbelt digging into Jamie’s chest. They were heading in the direction of the protesters and would have to circumvent the crowd. Jamie wasn’t sure how big of a detour they would have to take considering even three streets over they were met by a heavy police presence facing off with protesters.

  “He should’ve canceled the fucking rally,” Jamie said as he stabbed his fingers at the control screen embedded in the dash. “Rerouting.”

  “Yes, sir,” Larson replied calmly.

  The new route popped up in bright blue, cutting through the streets of Boston, as Jamie’s comms buzzed with an incoming call. He answered without looking to see who it was.

  “Callahan,” he said.

  “Time’s up,” Stanislav replied in greeting. “It’s been a week.”

  Jamie’s lips peeled back from his mouth in a silent snarl. “I’m aware of the passage of time.”

  “And yet, we’ve received no information from you.”

  Jamie stared out the windshield, grinding his teeth so hard he was afraid he’d crack a few. He had the list of names Stanislav wanted memorized; he could call up Katie and have her transmit the names of people he thought would be easier marks for the Pavluhkins. But that would undercut his family’s business in such a way that could destroy Empyrean if word got out they sold private information for personal gain at the behest of the government.

  Nearly a year playing a role built by the MDF had put too many people in the crosshairs of the Pavluhkins and their Presnenskaya Bratva. Yes, they’d gained information which had enabled the MDF and its foreign affiliates to destroy several Splice labs, but it had put numerous people at the mercy of a criminal enterprise. The Saunders & Associates aspect of the mission had endangered wealthy targets who might never escape the hole Jamie and his team had helped dig for them.

  In retrospect, they were naïve to think they could win against someone who could see the future. Jamie wondered if they’d been dancing to Stanislav’s tune all along while believing they could outmaneuver a precog.

  The bitter taste of failure in the back of his mouth was difficult to swallow. Jamie knew what answer he should give to Stanislav, what the director expected him to say. But the words wouldn’t come. All the ties they’d uncovered, all the shell companies and money-laundering and quid pro quo political gifts to turn a blind eye to reality in some cases—all of that wasn’t worth the lives of two of his teammates.

  The Pavluhkins, rogue CIA agents, the Sons of Adam—there would always be an enemy. Whatever void of leadership was made in a short-lived win? It would be filled with someone new, reigniting the us versus them mentality that led to an endless supply of bloodshed. Jamie was reminded of what his father had said once, a year and a half ago, before Jamie truly knew what waited on the horizon.

  The war would never be over. At some point, you had to stand down before they put you down.

  The path going forward was impassable. They needed to regroup, reassess, and figure out a new plan of action that didn’t require people dying.

  That didn’t require his teammates to make the ultimate sacrifice.

  It was selfish of him, Jamie knew, to say that this, right here, was his line in the sand. Not when they’d ruined multiple lives in dozens of countries, or when they’d done the dirty work required to make nice with the enemy. All the lies they’d lived and told—worth it until the moment Jamie decided they weren’t. The arrogance in that line of thought wasn’t lost on him, but Jamie didn’t care.

  All Jamie cared about was his team, his family, and surviving this mess in one piece long enough to offer up a ring to the man he loved.

  “I’m not handing anything over. We’re done, Stanislav,” Jamie said.

  “You should have given me the list.”

  Stanislav didn’t sound angry or surprised, which was oh so telling. Jamie could no longer ignore the question he’d bitten back too many times since London and their game of words in the Victoria and Albert Museum. “I’m sure there’s a future where I did give it to you. Are you saying you never saw it?”

  “I see what’s important, Apollo,” Stanislav said, stressing Jamie’s code name. “And I will always see you coming. The question is, how well do you see me?”

  The call cut off, leaving only silence behind.

  Jamie wasn’t a precog, but his instincts had been honed by war for over a decade. Every single one of them was screaming at him to—

  “Brake!” he barked out, the word tearing at his throat.

  Larson slammed on the brakes without questioning him, everyone lurching forward against their seatbelts. The strap locked tight and dug in hard against Jamie’s shoulder as he braced himself against the dash. They’d been about to cross through an intersection, traffic minimal because of detours and police presence, when a van sped through from the opposite direction, running the red light.

  The vehicle drove past at high speed, nearly clipping their front bumper. The world slowed down in a surreal way, mind sharpening in the way only a battlefield could enable, as the van careened down a narrow street toward a line of riot police and the protesters shouting to be heard.

  Jamie watched, a shout of warning dying on his lips, as the riot police and protesters reacted too late to the threat barreling toward them. Even if they had a war
ning, it still wouldn’t be enough to outrun the devastation that followed when the van exploded with a deafening roar. Fire, smoke, and shrapnel burst into the sky.

  Amidst the explosion, Splice rained down on the unsuspecting crowd, altering the trajectory of their lives forever.

  12

  Danger Close

  Sean was in that strange, floaty headspace where everything happened at a distance. The agony that stabbed through his jaw every time his tongue touched the exposed nerves in his mouth or air blew over the raw holes where teeth used to be felt muted. The dress shirt he wore was ripped open down the middle, exposing his heavily bruised torso streaked with dried blood. Moving even just to shift position slightly made bile crawl up his throat that he struggled to force back. He’d vomited enough already, the smell of it mixed with urine almost normal at this point.

  Worse was the numb feeling throughout his body, filling his skin, that stemmed from trying to break through the Faraday cage. Sean didn’t know how long he’d spent struggling to reach for his power through the synaptic-disrupting barrier erected around his brain. For all the hours he’d fought against it through watching Alexei get tortured and being tortured himself, Sean hadn’t been able to succeed in circumventing the Faraday cage.

  He needed to. God, how he fucking needed to.

  The sound of something heavy being dropped on the floor made Sean flinch. He worked to blink open his one good eye, his eyelashes stuck together by dried blood from the deep cut above his left eye courtesy of Cillian’s handgun. The light in the basement room made him wince, aggravating the migraine that had taken up residence in his brain over the last however many hours.

  “Cillian said to water you while he oversees the test run upstairs. Figured we could have some fun with that.”

  Just the thought of water had Sean licking at his swollen, cracked lips, gagging against the pain that streaked through his jaw. They’d been given water only once before, but nowhere near enough to quench his thirst. Staring at the large, sealed canister of water sitting beside Alexei’s bruised feet and the towel draped over the man’s shoulder, Sean’s stomach immediately tried to crawl up his throat. He gagged, eyes watering as air cut over the holes in his gums.

  A test run only meant one thing for Cillian, and that was seeing how a new type of bomb worked in the field.

  But Sean couldn’t worry about that, not right now. He wasn’t in any position to stop whatever Cillian had planned. All his attention was on the way the man carrying out Cillian’s orders punched Alexei in his bruised-black stomach in an effort to wake him up. Both of Alexei’s eyes were mostly swollen shut, but the broken-sounding moan he let out was enough to satisfy the man as to his level of consciousness.

  Sean wanted to scream at them to stop, had been wanting to beg Cillian to leave Alexei alone for hours now, but the words never came, even now. Cillian’s order to stay silent or add to Alexei’s suffering was like a vise of sorts gripping his vocal cords and chaining his thoughts. Sean clung to silence with the will of the desperate after he’d lost some of his teeth and couldn’t hold back his screams, resulting in him choosing Alexei’s torture.

  Sean didn’t know if he’d ever get over being responsible for the pain Alexei had suffered through. He didn’t know what Alexei would think of him after this was over—if he’d even want Sean around at all—but Sean knew the guilt would never go away.

  “You watching?” the man asked as he shoved Alexei’s head back and wrapped the towel around his face. Alexei barely fought him, a testament to how worn down he’d become in their time down here. That, more than anything, worried Sean.

  The man smirked when Sean didn’t respond, the hardness in his eyes unchanged. He’d been one of the few Cillian had allowed to work over Alexei and Sean when the mood struck. Alexei had taken the brunt of the beatings and the torture, insulting and mocking and pissing Cillian off enough that the Irishman focused his rage on Alexei rather than Sean.

  All so Sean wouldn’t be hurt as badly, so he could try to get them out of this mess.

  Real good job there, Sean thought disgustedly, hating himself for his personal failure.

  Looking at Alexei now was difficult, but Sean knew he couldn’t look away without making things worse. Though how much worse things could get, he didn’t know. He watched, numb and tired and aching in a way that left him feeling hollow, as the man bent over to pick up the water canister.

  Sean knew what was coming. He knew how this process went.

  “Come hold his head steady,” the guy said, waving a hand at the guard in the corner.

  “One of us needs to stand watch,” was the lazy response.

  “For what? These fuckers aren’t going anywhere. Get over here and help me out.”

  The man in the corner came forward to assist, no hesitation beyond his initial, meager protest. Cillian had set the tone from the beginning with a careless, casual cruelty that had left Alexei maimed in ways Sean could only hope a regen regime would fix.

  Cillian had left only the two guards down here, a downgrade from the initial four or five he’d had in the beginning. The Irishman had pulled more and more people from guard duty to work whatever job consisted of the test run, while the last two helped continue what Cillian had started.

  The click of the water canister opening sounded loud in the windowless room. Sean flinched from the noise, and then from the jarring pain that snapped through his face as he unconsciously clenched his teeth and remembered why that was a terrible idea. Sean bit down hard on his tongue to cut off the cry that wanted to leave his lungs. The pain wasn’t enough to distract him from what was happening to Alexei.

  Sean knew he’d always see this moment in his nightmares—the glint of the canister, the way the water looked, pouring over Alexei’s covered face to soak the towel. How Alexei twitched against the rope and handcuffs tying him to the chair, pushed so far past exhaustion that he couldn’t fight the simulated drowning.

  Looking back, Sean would see the edge for what it was, that second of incandescent fury fueled by the hours of hell they’d endured at the hands of the enemy acting as the spark. Sean didn’t recognize what the buzzing in his brain meant until he heard something clatter on the floor. The sound was enough for one of the laughing bastards to eventually look over his shoulder at Sean, a slow dawning horror filling his face. Sean clenched his hand into a fist, surprised when the rough arm of the chair didn’t scrape another layer of skin off his raw knuckles.

  Oh, he thought hazily as he watched his fingers pass through the synthwood. I’m free.

  Sean moved on instinct, reacting without knowing what he was doing in those few precious seconds where Cillian’s men didn’t know what the fuck to do with a metahuman who’d escaped his bonds. He just trusted in his years of training to react and lurched forward on shaky legs, feet sinking through the ground as his phase power sputtered back into existence. Sean fell through the man holding the water canister, managing to solidify his hands just in time to grab Alexei’s cold, wet shoulders.

  Then he expanded his power through Alexei’s battered body and didn’t let go.

  The whine of a neuro-jammer gun filled the basement room, the electric bolt passing harmlessly through them. Sean breathed through his nose in quick, painful gasps, trying to get enough air into his lungs to last as he carried Alexei’s limp body forward, falling through the floor and the wall into the foundation of the building. The sudden utter blackness felt too much like sensory deprivation after everything they’d gone through. Moving through it was like swimming through molasses—how much of that was the location and how much of that was Sean’s fractured concentration and near-burned-out power was anyone’s guess.

  The only thing that mattered was the man in his arms as Sean maneuvered them through the earth and foundation as fast as he could, finally breaking into sunlight. Sean had to close his good eye and duck his head, arms shaking from holding onto Alexei as he phased them fully onto the street. After so long in dimly l
it darkness, the bright daylight nearly blinded him.

  Sean’s lungs burned and he struggled to ignore his own discomfort as he pulled them free of the solid ground. Alexei was deadweight in his arms, head lolling limply against Sean’s shoulder. Sean hadn’t phased the Faraday cage nor the towel when he’d freed Alexei, but shedding the power inhibitor hadn’t been enough to wake him.

  Sean was worried about water in Alexei’s lungs, worried that while it hadn’t been long enough to drown him, dry drowning was still an issue. Considering the extent of Alexei’s injuries, Sean knew getting him to a hospital was priority number one. That was easier said than done, especially since Sean couldn’t seem to find his voice to shout for help.

  “Oh my God, what happened to you?” someone exclaimed loudly.

  Sean blinked open his eye, vision swimming from exhaustion and stress, as he stared numbly at a pair of joggers who stood several feet away in shock. Legs shaking from standing for the first time in what felt like days and holding onto Alexei, Sean turned his head as much as he could, trying desperately to get a sense of their location.

  A cold wind blew off the expanse of water to his left, broken up by the large docks protruding from the mainland. In the distance, the tall, layered seawall barriers were open to let the tide through unhindered. Tall buildings lined the other side of the busy street, a mix of waterfront hotels and eateries. The waterfronts of most major cities had restrictions on outside holographic advertisements to protect the view, winning the fight against consumerism through long court battles.

  But after trauma, nothing looked or felt familiar. Sean didn’t recognize where they were, brain sluggish in the wake of freedom, waiting to pull him under with the pain of backlash he knew was inevitable.

  “Call the cops,” the guy said as he approached. The accent was thick and easier to place than the city view.

  Boston, Sean thought numbly, swollen fingers clutching at Alexei as he struggled to keep them phased.