Just look, Shannon. You wanted the truth. Don’t shy away now.
I took a few deep, reassuring breaths, then lifted my chin and stepped up beside him.
He clicked on a yellow folder with the mouse, then opened a file. “You can start here.” He glanced over at me. “If you have a weak stomach, then you might not want to read this stuff.”
Confusion swept through me. What was he talking about?
“I…don’t understand.”
“I am going to introduce you to the things that will show you who your father was, and in the process, you will learn the truth about who I am.”
I stared into his eyes, searching. What did that mean, exactly?
“No stories,” he reminded, his voice stern. “No reporting. No blog posts. Right?”
“Yes. Right.”
“The things I’m about to show you will probably shock you, sicken you, and you won’t want to believe they are true. But let me assure you, everything you are about to see is real.” The look on his face was so serious that I had no doubt he was telling the truth. A mixture of fear and uneasiness crept over me. Did I really want to know? Maybe it was better that I lived in my little fantasy bubble where my father was perfect and did no wrong. All children wanted to believe their parents were happy and in love, and never fought, never accused each other of terrible things. All daughters wanted to someday marry a man who was handsome and charming and loving like their father…
“Shannon?”
I snapped out of my musings and refocused on Noah’s face. “Yes. I want to see it.”
He rose from the chair and motioned me into it. “Go ahead. Sit. Take a look.”
I slid into the chair and glanced up at him. “Aren’t you afraid I might check out other things on your computer?”
His lips twitched. “You could try, but I’ve locked you out of everything except for the documents in that folder.”
Of course, he had. So much for getting one up on him. I let out a snort, then turned back to the computer, my curiosity shoving my apprehension aside and pulling me in. I enlarged the pdf file, making the font bigger, and began to read.
Recruit Number 1. Name: Alexander. Age at time of recruit: fifteen. Mother: Julia Mickelsen. Father: Edward Waters. Female siblings: none. Male siblings in the program (half): George, Christopher, William, Joe, Austin, Jonathan…
The list of male half-siblings was extensive, at least a hundred names. I scrolled through to the next page, where the list of siblings finally ended. I scrolled on to the next page, which seemed to contain some type of lab results or something. It listed a bunch of drugs and what looked like the amounts of each drug that had been injected into the recruit. There were hand-written notes next to each injection.
Recruit showing no side effects after injection of mixture 3-D.
Recruit experiencing vomiting after injection of mixture 2-A.
Recruit immediately began experiencing violent seizures after the injection of mixture 6-C. Perished within minutes after injection.
What? I let out a soft gasp.
At the bottom of the page was a large red stamp, “DECEASED”.
I glanced over at Noah. What the hell was this?
He motioned back to the computer screen, urging me to read more.
I grabbed the mouse, scrolled down through the files, glancing at the names. Each was titled with a recruit and a number. I clicked on “Recruit Number 43”.
It started out the same as Recruit Number 1. A name: William. An age: fourteen. Parents, siblings, then a list of injections...
Recruit Number 43 hadn’t died from an injection of some type of mixture. Oh no, Recruit Number 43 endured the injection of all the strange mixtures, whatever they were. He was also forced to submit to the injections of numerous different animal DNA.
Recruit Number 43 lost all sight in both eyes within seventy-two hours after injection of chameleon DNA, rendering him useless for this program.
Euthanasia performed at 0700.
What? Chameleon DNA? Was this real?
Horror and disbelief twisted my gut. What was this? It sounded as if these boys had been treated like lab rats. Experimented on. What did the different mixtures consist of?
Euthanasia? My stomach rebelled. What the hell?
Recruit Number 43 had been euthanized after he’d gone blind. How much had the poor boy suffered before he’d finally been “put down”?
At the bottom of the page was the same large red stamp, “DECEASED”.
This was sick. How could anyone treat another human being like this?
I glanced over at Noah, who was watching me cautiously.
“What is this?” I demanded. “Tell me!”
“You’re a smart girl,” he murmured. “Keep reading, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Was he mocking me? I glared at him. “You think this is some kind of sick joke? Tell me what this is. Tell me those are mice, or rats, not human beings.”
“No joke, Shannon.” His gaze hardened. “They’re not mice. It was all part of your father and his partners’ attempts to create the perfect soldier.”
Super Soldiers, LLC.
My stomach roiled in remembrance of the name of the company that had listed my father as one of the members. My breath hitched. Oh dear God. How could my father be involved in something so horrendous? I swallowed hard.
“And how are you part of this?”
He hesitated, indecision flickering across his face. Then he leaned over me, swiping his finger across the monitor. It was only then that I discovered it was a touch screen. His scent washed over me, its subtleness intoxicating in its pure masculinity. God, why did the man have to smell so damn good? And why was my body so acutely aware of his? Why was I so attracted to him?
He closed the pdf, then opened another one. He stepped back. “Here. Read. I was Recruit Number 89.”
What? I recoiled. My blood turned cold. Was he serious? I didn’t want to read any more. I couldn’t. He’d been one of those boys?
“Read!” He jerked his finger toward the computer screen.
I sucked in a breath, lifting my gaze to the pdf he’d opened.
Recruit Number 89. Name: Noah. Age at time of recruit: thirteen. Mother: Monica Andrews. Father: Edward Waters. Female siblings: none. Male siblings in the program (half): Antonio, Liam, Nathan, Logan, Ryan, Luke…
I felt Noah move away from me, whether from shame or embarrassment or for some other reason, I didn’t know. Was this real?
My heart twisted.
I’m so sorry, Noah.
Noah’s file was more extensive than the others.
Because he’d survived.
It occurred to me then that all the recruits had the same father. How was that possible? I glanced over at Noah. “You all have the same father?”
He jerked his head in a nod. “General Waters fathered us all. He was a narcissistic prick, wanting to pass on his ‘superior’ genes to his offspring in an attempt to create the perfect soldier.”
Oh my God. I glanced back at the computer screen. I scrolled through several pages of lab results, some of the notes flashing out at me: Recruit endured injection of mixture 24-A with no side effects. Recruit suffered a seizure after injection of mixture 12-B but recovered with no ill effects.
I scrolled on to the next page, and read about the injections of animal DNA: Recruit showing signs of enhanced vision after injection of leopard DNA. Recruit showing signs of extreme athleticism after the injection of cougar DNA. Recruit exhibiting signs of unusual adaptability after the injection of coyote DNA.
What? My heart pounded. Noah had animal DNA flowing through his veins. He wasn’t all human.
I swallowed and scrolled through to the next page, which was titled, “Strength, endurance, and torture testing.”
Recruit recovered from near-drowning after first round of waterboarding.
My throat tightened. Waterboarding? Wasn’t that where they placed a towel over someone’s f
ace and poured water on it? The water seeped into the person’s nostrils, drowning them. It was a horrific torture technique used to try to make people talk.
But Noah had survived.
Oh Noah. Oh God. I’m so sorry.
Bile rose up my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing it back.
Then I read on.
Recruit sustained three hours of torture training first time around before finally breaking down. Need to work with recruit on pain tolerance to help him withstand torture at all levels.
My stomach roiled in revulsion, bile again rising up my throat. It was all I could do to keep it from bursting free. I skimmed through a few more paragraphs of the torture Noah had been subjected to, before turning my face away. I couldn’t read anymore. This was sick. Vile. Inhumane. I hadn’t realized there were so many extensive ways to torture a person.
Recruit 89 had been tortured in horrendous and disgusting ways, all in an attempt to make him “stronger”, to test his endurance, to see how much torture he could withstand.
A tear worked its way loose, trickling down my cheek.
My heart squeezed, aching for all those boys who had been tortured.
But mostly, aching for Noah.
I wiped at the tear, drawing in a deep breath, then slowly puffing it back out.
I scrolled through a few more pages, pausing on a page titled, “Missions.”
Recruit sustained gunshot wound on left thigh during first mission.
I skipped down a few lines, then skimmed over more notes…
Recruit successfully completed extraction of weapons seized by enemy on sixth mission.
I scrolled through a few more pages.
Recruit sustained severe injury to right eye from bullet. Bullet went clean through the eye, narrowly missing the brain. Recruit to be discharged and executed at next discharge ceremony.
I let out a soft gasp. Discharged and executed? What did that mean?
I spun around in the chair, searching for Noah. He leaned against the far wall, watching me. That was why he only had one natural eye. The other had been shot out by a bullet. My gaze locked on his.
The air filled with tension.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then he pushed away from the wall and strode toward me.
“It says you were to be discharged and executed. What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Just what it sounds like. They hold a discharge ceremony for the recruits who are too badly injured to continue active duty. After the ceremony, they are executed.”
He reached me and halted, staring down at me.
“Then why are you still alive?” I whispered.
“Because on the day of our execution, the dregs fought back. Nine of us escaped that day. That’s why we have bounties on our heads.”
This was too much. No one would ever believe this. I wasn’t even sure if I did. “But this doesn’t explain why you killed my father.”
He exhaled loudly. “That doesn’t explain why I killed your father?” He raised his voice on the last few words. “After all the things he did to me and those other boys? That’s not enough for you?” He turned away from me, paced several feet across the room, then turned and came back. “How about this, then?” He yanked his shirt over his head, stepping closer to let me get a good look at his rock hard chest.
My breath caught. My eyes went wide. To say he had an impressive chest was an understatement, all of those hard, sinewy muscles drawing my gaze and making my breath catch. And those scars…there were plenty of scars, but they didn’t detract from his male beauty. Not in the least.
But no—Jeez, Shannon, snap out of it!—his splendid physique wasn’t what he was referring to. He was talking about the fresh bullet wound in his chest. The one that had come from my father’s gun.
My gaze zeroed in on the wound and I stared at the newly-healed scar just above his heart. My father had died just barely two weeks ago. Noah had been shot on that same night. Wouldn’t a bullet wound in a chest cause a person to spend several weeks or more in recovery? Yet, Noah was walking about as if he’d never been injured. How had he healed so fast?
“You’re saying my father did that to you?”
His gaze hardened. “Yes.”
I didn’t want to believe him. “And then you somehow got hold of his gun and shot him in the head?”
Something flickered in his natural eye before he turned away from me and let out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, my denial swift. “My father would never do that.”
He let out a soft snort. “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, Shannon. But your father was not the man you thought he was.”
I couldn’t look at Noah. What he was saying couldn’t be true. He was a murderer. He’d killed my father. He was the bad guy, not my father.
Noah sighed. “I didn’t expect you would believe me, at least not so soon. I suppose I can’t blame you. No kid wants to know their dad was a bad man.”
I flinched. How dare he? My father was not a bad man! He was kind and loving and…
“If it’s any consolation, my father was a monster, too,” he murmured.
There was a soft whisper of sound.
Then…silence.
If it’s any consolation, my father was a monster, too.
I tried to ignore those words, tried not to feel any sympathy toward him. But he’d been through hell. He’d survived the unthinkable. Recruit Number 89. And he wanted me to believe my father had somehow been responsible.
Was it foolish of me to cling to my belief that my father had never done any wrong? I had been a Daddy’s girl and wasn’t ashamed of that in the least. My dad had been my best friend. And I missed him dearly. What Noah was saying was incomprehensible to me. The man he was describing was not my father.
But what if Noah was telling the truth? What if my father had somehow been involved in what had happened to Noah and all those other boys?
What if Dad wasn’t the man I thought he was? What do I do now? I don’t want to believe this, but I can’t disbelieve the facts that Noah has shown me. I have to see the other evidence. I have to know the truth, and now Noah is the only one who can help me with that.
I jerked my eyes open and spun the chair around, ready to face the truth.
Except…Noah was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Noah
I hadn’t planned on telling her that way. I had planned to gradually, gently introduce her to what being a soldier for The Company had been like, then slowly leak little bits of information about her father’s involvement, so that it wouldn’t be so shocking to her.
But her stubborn refusal to believe her father could do any wrong had flipped a switch in me, pissing me off. Damn her! Collins had been a true monster, a terrible human being, and I’d wanted Shannon to know that. She needed to understand the kind of man her father had been. She needed to know I wasn’t the cold-blooded killer that she thought I was.
And now she knew the truth, whether she wanted to believe it or not. She knew who I was. She knew the horrible things that had been done to me. I prayed she kept her word and didn't reveal this information to anyone else. If she was smart, she would keep quiet. But I had a feeling the reporter in her wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about this. I had a bad feeling that I’d fucked up by letting her see those files.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. I’d left my shirt lying on the floor by the computer chair. I should go back and get it. Put it back on. Hide all my ugly scars from her.
She already saw them.
She hadn’t looked repulsed. Instead, she’d appeared intrigued. Fascinated, even. There had been genuine attraction in her eyes. And I had no idea what to do with that. I had no idea what to do with her.
I should go back and apologize for being so harsh. The girl was probably in shock, and I couldn’t blame her.
I headed back into the room to find her reading something on the computer screen. As I
paused behind her, I glanced at the screen, noting she was reading more of my file.
Without looking at me, she whispered, “You were forced to do some pretty terrible things to people.”
I sighed. “Yeah. We were brainwashed, drugged. We didn’t have free will.” I turned away for a moment. “I didn’t want to do any of those things, and believe me, I’m ashamed of it all.”
She slowly turned in the chair. Her gaze raked over my bare chest before landing on mine. “You’re saying it was self-defense? Killing my father?”
“Yeah. He was trying to kill me, and my dreg partner, Logan.” I slapped the scar on my chest, drawing her gaze to the recent bullet wound. “And you can see that he almost succeeded in killing me. It was only my partner’s quick thinking that saved my life.”
Shannon stared at my chest, at the scar above my heart, then pulled her gaze back to mine. “This Logan, your partner, was he one of the two guys who helped you frighten me the night I came looking for you in the forest?”
“No. He left with his girlfriend over a week ago.”
Her brow shot up. “He has a girlfriend?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. Most of the dregs have girlfriends. We’re not monsters, Shannon. We’re just men who were forced to do things we didn’t want to do.”
She was silent a moment. “And you? Do you have a girlfriend?”
I huffed out a breath. “No.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but she jerked her gaze away before I could figure out what it was.
I cleared my throat. “I want to apologize, Shannon. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.”
Silence stretched, then she gave a slow nod and turned back to me. “I accept your apology.”
Was she starting to accept the truth? It was probably devastating to her. “Were you close to your dad?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “He was my best friend.” Her voice cracked. She lowered her gaze.
I cleared my throat, guilt seeping in deep. Collins may have been a dick, but his daughter had obviously loved him dearly. I’d taken her father away from her. My actions had caused her to suffer the loss of a loved one.
It was something I would have to live with.
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