In the Blood (Metahuman Files Book 4)

by Hailey Turner

  Reaching up, Jamie grabbed the machine gun’s barrel, stopping it from moving. He could feel the vibrations of the constantly feeding magazine through his gloved fingers as he hauled himself up toward the roof of the MRAP. The driver swerved yet again, but Jamie kept his balance. He scowled behind his mask as he reached over the protective plating to get a hand on the body of the weapon itself.

  If he broke the barrel, he risked possibly losing his arm in the middle of the fight from the machine gun backfiring. While regen regimes could regrow limbs, Jamie couldn’t afford to be taken out of commission right now. The MRAP could withstand explosions, but sheer brute force was another thing entirely. So Jamie went with the second option.

  With a grunt, Jamie used his enhanced strength to rip the remote gunner station off the top of the MRAP. Metal plating, bolts, and electrical wire all ripped free as every connection to the vehicle was severed. The machine gun stopped shooting, the magazine hanging limply from the feeder as Jamie tossed the thing off to the side, watching as it crashed onto the street. Madison dodged around it as Jamie threw himself off the MRAP.

  “All yours, Nova!” Jamie shouted as he hit the ground running.

  Part of the roof to the MRAP had gone with the remote gunner station, opening up the once-sealed interior to the elements. At close range, Madison was as accurate as Kyle with his guns, throwing another of her energy blasts at the hole Jamie had made before sprinting for cover.

  The MRAP was blast-resistant on the outside, just not on the inside. The explosion ripped through the vehicle, cracking the front windshields and forcing the vehicle to a juddering, fiery halt in the middle of Tremont Street.

  Jamie flashed Madison a thumbs-up. “I’m going after the senator. Keep position, Nova. Tank, do you copy? I’m gonna need your eyes.”

  “On my way,” Donovan reported.

  Jamie turned his back on the street and headed into Boston Common, tossing aside a couple of police crowd control gates to clear a path.

  He needed to find his family.

  Kyle came off the bridge and veered right on Atlantic Avenue, the body of the motorcycle leaning hard into the turn as they passed underneath an aerial pedestrian walkway. Both he and Katie adjusted their weight, moving with the motorcycle as Kyle straightened it out again. Maneuvering through Boston’s notorious traffic was easier on two wheels than four, but it took a little more concentration than if they’d been in a car. The X-17 Hermes combat jet hovered high in the air over Boston up ahead, tracking Cillian in real time.

  Looks like they’re hitting traffic, Katie said telepathically to keep their conversation off comms.

  Kyle had minimized everything on his HUD except the route that would lead them to Cillian. They’re not the only ones.

  Boston had released a citywide warning to shelter in place in the face of Splice chemical bombs going off. The traffic was terrible, but Kyle knew it wasn’t just because drivers were ignoring pretty much all traffic laws to reach shelter. This was just how Bostonians drove. He’d grown up jaywalking like a pro and learning that merge was a dirty word when other people tried to do it.

  Traffic like this was easy for him to drive through, especially when he ignored the road in favor of turning onto the greenway that separated Atlantic Avenue from John F. Fitzgerald Surface Road. The greenway was broken up into small parks, with pedestrian pathways winding through the dull winter greenery and plazas overlooking the waterfront. Crisscrossing overhead were aerial pedestrian walkways that linked the waterfront to some of the buildings on the other side of the street. On a Thursday afternoon, the greenway wasn’t horrendously crowded, but Katie still used her telepathy to clear Kyle a path.

  He pushed the motorcycle as fast as it would go, cutting a direct route through the pathways and dried winter grass. Loud honking and yelling voices whipped past them as they stayed on course. They were rapidly closing the distance between their position and the red dot on his HUD that was Cillian’s location.

  The buildings and docks on the waterfront flashed past in a blur to their right as Kyle expertly navigated them closer to their target. Some of the cars on the street looked like they’d been sideswiped by another vehicle, and part of the ground near the curb was torn up from tire tracks. It seemed as if Cillian had gone off-roading like they were to get clear of the traffic.

  How do you want to play this? Kyle asked. Do you want to get control of everyone in the SUV and walk them out?

  They’ve picked up an escort during our teleport back to base. Too many on the field for me to control completely.

  Complete control meant getting mental hooks into every aspect of their mind, down deep even into a person’s subconscious thoughts. It took effort and power, something they couldn’t spare right now for every enemy they crossed paths with.

  Then how about you strip what you need from Cillian and relay it to Apollo? I’ll deal with the fucker afterward.

  It would be cleaner if Kyle let Katie rip Cillian’s mind to shreds and leave him a blank-eyed, mindless piece of garbage for Kyle to take care of. Bringing Cillian in alive wasn’t an option for him. Kyle would gain no satisfaction from that, and he wanted his pound of flesh.

  I’ll leave him for you, Katie replied, easily reading Kyle’s surface thoughts.

  He didn’t mind, because he had nothing to hide, and Katie was on his side.

  Which meant she had his back when he drove off one island and crossed an intersection, missing getting clipped by a car by mere inches. A historic, red-bricked building to the left touted kitschy trolley tours on a holographic advertisement across the face of the building. Cillian’s SUV with its escort was passing an open-air pavilion on the greenway in a pedestrian plaza just up ahead. Kyle could see people moving sharply out of the way in jerky movements, courtesy of Katie’s telepathy.

  She shifted her weight, grabbing at the back of his tactical vest and coming away with the handheld grenade launcher he’d borrowed from Madison’s weapons locker in the ready room when she wasn’t looking.

  She’s going to be mad you took it without asking, Katie said as she aimed over his shoulder.

  Like she needs one. She’s a walking demolitions factory.

  I’m telling her you said that.

  Joking aside, Katie had most of her attention on the SUV to the left that wasn’t carrying Cillian. Kyle slowed their speed just a little, keeping room between them and their target. Kyle felt her arm bump against his shoulder and he tried not to jar her.

  The thin, rectangular explosive jettisoned away from the gun and went spinning through the air to attach itself to the SUV. Not even a second later, the vehicle exploded, rising into the air from the blast as glass and metal erupted outward. Nearby cars on the street swerved away from the explosion while the SUV carrying Cillian careened through the mostly cleared plaza before crashing into the historic Greenway Carousel Kyle remembered riding as a kid with his biological family before they died.

  No one was riding on it now, Katie’s telepathic pushes having moved people out of the line of fire. The SUV came to an abrupt stop against the ride, several broken carousel animals falling onto the hood with a loud clatter, front wheels spinning uselessly in the air. Doors were shoved open and five Sons of Adam fighters staggered out, weapons in hand.

  One of them was Cillian.

  You get what you need from Cillian? Kyle asked, clenching his teeth.

  Yes. I’ve relayed it to Apollo.

  Kyle would ask for details later, knowing he wouldn’t like what put that heavy echo in her mental voice. He hit the brakes, the motorcycle’s back wheel skidding out to the side as momentum kept them moving forward. Kyle kept them upright, one boot dragging against the ground for support as they screeched to a stop in the pedestrian plaza. Katie flung herself off the bike and ran forward, firing as she went.

  They were out in the open, with little cover, but Katie’s telepathy helped with that. She couldn’t hold all of them, but she slowed their reflexes enough that she could
take them out with quick, precise shots.

  Go, Katie told him as she advanced.

  Kyle didn’t need to be told twice. Cillian was trying escape, but his run was more of a stagger akin to a drunk man. Kyle wouldn’t pretend to know what Katie had done to his mind to put him in this state, but it got the fucker within his reach and that was all that mattered.

  Kyle dropped his AKR-75 assault rifle on the ground, breaking the cardinal rule of a Strike Force soldier of never letting go of his weapon in favor of revenge. He trusted Katie to watch his six.

  “Hey, asshole!” Kyle snarled.

  Cillian turned, raising his arm with a gun in hand, but he never got a shot off. Kyle came at him, gripping the gun and wrenching it out of Cillian’s hand while he savagely punched Cillian in the face with his other fist. The gun went off at the last second as Cillian desperately tried to keep hold of it. Kyle had the gun aimed at the damaged carousel to diminish the chance of hurting any bystanders. He ended up breaking Cillian’s finger as he got the gun free and tossed it aside. Kyle rammed his knee into Cillian’s stomach and used the grip he had on Cillian’s arm to twist it into a stress position before breaking his wrist.

  Cillian screamed, heaving against Kyle’s hold. He twisted in Kyle’s grip, using his free hand to try to pummel Kyle in the chest. Kyle easily sidestepped the blows, twisting aside and putting some distance between them. That gave him just enough room to slam his boot into Cillian’s right knee. The crunching sound the joint made as it bent in a way it shouldn’t ripped another scream out of Cillian’s mouth.

  Kyle shut him up with a spinning kick to the jaw.

  Cillian’s head snapped around as he staggered backward, falling against the fencing that encircled the carousel. Because of the earlier crash, it wasn’t stable, and went down underneath his weight. He groaned, flailing around as much as he could with broken bones.

  “Get the fuck up,” Kyle growled as he stalked forward.

  Blood flowed out of Cillian’s mouth from a split lip and broken nose, giving Kyle the fleeting impression of the wounds he’d seen on Sean, to say nothing of Alexei.

  “Th’ fuck did ye do ta me head?” Cillian slurred, dazed blue eyes blinking rapidly.

  “That was all Viper. As for me? I haven’t done enough.”

  It wasn’t a fair fight by a longshot, but Kyle didn’t care about fairness, not after what had been done to Alexei and Sean. He hauled Cillian off the ground by way of his broken wrist, feeling the bone grate together beneath his fingers. Cillian choked on another scream and kicked out with his feet, trying to land a blow. It was pathetically easy for Kyle to dodge them. His Strike Force training against a man who learned his fighting in the streets and leaned on his notorious reputation as a bomb-maker to get people to toe the line meant the fight was laughably uneven.

  Kyle was fine with that. He needed to vent his rage in an appropriate way, and this was as good as any he’d find in a gym.

  He punched Cillian in the face hard enough he lost teeth, a thin stream of blood mixed with enamel arcing through the air to splatter on the ground. Cillian sagged in Kyle’s grip, trying to breathe around a mouthful of blood.

  “Thought about making this last, but I need to get back to my team,” Kyle said.

  In a perfect world, he’d get a week—one week to carve Cillian down to the bone, bit by bit. To give back what was done to Alexei and Sean twice over. He wanted to give Cillian every moment of pain his brother endured, but he’d settle for sheer brutality. Kyle unsheathed his combat knife and flipped it between his fingers, the serrated blade exactly what he needed.

  Cillian spit out more blood as Kyle slammed him back against one of the trees planted near the carousel, grown tall and wide over the decades.

  “Ye need me alive,” Cillian said, trying to bargain his way out of death.

  Maybe that was true, especially if word got back to Stanislav that Kyle had taken out one of the Russian’s associates. But in the grand scheme of things, Kyle was fucking tired of the lies they’d been living. The Pavluhkin mission was untenable, had been since the beginning, if he were honest. Being unpredictable only got them hurt, or worse.

  Kyle was absolutely fucking done with all of it.

  His comms switched on, Stirling’s voice ringing through his ears in a commanding tone. “Reaper, we need Halloran alive. Disengage, now! That’s an order!”

  Kyle ignored the deputy director in favor of shoving his combat knife into Cillian’s stomach.

  The scream Cillian let out nearly deafened Kyle as he pushed the knife in all the way to the hilt before cutting sideways through his body. Cillian jerked hard against Kyle’s ironclad grip and the combat knife digging through his intestines.

  The MDF could yell in his ears all they wanted about bringing Cillian back alive, but that wasn’t happening. Not on his watch. They could slap him with a reprimand and a black mark in his personnel jacket; Kyle didn’t care.

  He wanted Cillian dead.

  Kyle leaned forward, ignoring the way Cillian grabbed weakly at his hand, keeping him pinned against the tree. Stirling’s voice was a buzz in his ear he refused to listen to as he ripped open a hole in Cillian’s gut large enough to shove a small hand grenade, already primed, inside his body. The bleeding edges of the messy gut wound swallowed the rapid flash of the timer counting down.

  “You shouldn’t have touched my brother,” Kyle ground out.

  He made sure the grenade was in so deep Cillian wouldn’t be able to claw it out. Kyle let go of the Irishman and didn’t watch him fall to the ground. He sprinted away, scooping up his discarded rifle with bloody hands as Katie stood watch by the motorcycle. Kyle had nearly reached her when the small grenade went off in a messy explosion that sent blood and body parts flying through the air.

  Something small and wet smacked against Kyle’s shoulder before sliding off and falling to the ground. He kicked the bit of flesh aside and kept going. Katie lowered her weapon as he approached and jerked her thumb at the motorcycle.

  “Need you to drive. I have to scan the crowds,” she said.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “You’re lucky Viper culled what information she could get from Halloran before you disobeyed orders,” Stirling interrupted, soundly coldly furious over the line.

  In no world would Kyle ever be sorry for what he’d just done, so he kept silent in the face of his CO’s anger.

  “Cillian did something new with his bombs,” Katie told him as they got on the motorcycle.

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?” Kyle said.

  “Three Sons of Adam fighters are carrying Splice in their stomachs along with micro-explosives. Cillian told the man doing the implanting not to tell him who volunteered. They’ll self-destruct when they’ve reached their target.”

  Kyle didn’t have to think very hard about who that target would be. “We need to get Senator Callahan to safety.”

  “Why do you think I told you to drive?”

  In response, Kyle revved the motorcycle’s engine and sped forward, tires squealing a little on the blood-speckled ground.

  14

  A Wild Game Of Survival

  Sean heaved against the hands trying to pry Alexei out of his arms, unable to phase due to the constriction around his mind that was similar to the Faraday cage, but far more gentle in the restraint.

  Sean! We need you to calm down. Gracie can’t look after you if you stay phased.

  It took far too long for Sean to recognize the echo in his mind as Katie’s telepathic voice. By the time he did, the pain had ceased to exist in his body, and its absence was almost a different kind of pain.

  Sean opened his eye as much as he could, vision blurry, barely able to make out Gracie’s dark face leaning in close.

  “I have you, Agent Delaney,” she said in a calm, soothing voice that matched the healing in her touch. “And I have Staff Sergeant Dvorkin as well.”

  At Alexei’s name, the panic came back, b
ut by then, a different telepath was in his mind, rendering his power null and void by whatever means necessary. Mercedes’ mental touch wasn’t as easy as Katie’s had been, but she was relentless in keeping Sean from calling up his power.

  We can’t treat you if you’re phased, Mercedes told him.

  Someone gently grabbed his hand, pulling his arms away from where he was clutching at Alexei. Panic was a sharp, knotted thing wrapped around his chest, clawing mercilessly at his throat. Sean wanted to scream at everyone to let them go, but the words wouldn’t come. They remained locked behind his teeth, swollen tongue unable to form a syllable. His breathing ratcheted up as he made a grab for Alexei, but a pair of nurses pulled him out of reach.

  Sean’s vision wasn’t all that great, but the limp way Alexei hung in their arms, the way his head lolled heavily as they placed him on a stretcher, was impossible to miss. A high-pitched sound cleaved itself from his throat, sending Sean deeper into panic, because that was a noise. He was supposed to be quiet.

  Sean fought against hands that might only want to help, but he’d been in that dimly lit room for too long to feel safe right now. It didn’t matter that the smell of blood, wet cement, and brick no longer filled his nose, because the metallic tang of blood was everywhere, and always would be.

  Then a hand touched his shoulder, the other gently curving around the back of his head as a familiar face ducked down into his sight.

  “Sean, honey, I need you to stop fighting,” Dr. Naomi Delaney told him.

  As a child, when he was hurt, his mother would tend to the bruises and cuts he’d accrue with bandages and kisses if the nanny weren’t around. For all the time his mother spent away at school, following her dreams of becoming a surgeon, she’d always been there for her sons when they needed her most. Sean didn’t know how badly he wanted his mother until she appeared before him.

  He was a bloody mess, riding a high from the lack of pain that would end soon enough, sending him crashing down into the agony that was his body. But as badly hurt as he was, Sean knew Alexei was worse off, and he knew he had to watch, had to keep his eyes on Alexei, had to stay quiet, had to—