Ultimate Weapon

by Shannon McKenna

  “How did you find me?”

  “I have my ways,” Hegel said. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, Janos. And we need to get something straight right now. I’ve got no problem killing you where you sit. You know how I always told you how dangerous it is to get attached? I practice what I preach.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Val muttered.

  “I am not attached to you. Yes, we invested tens of millions in training you, but that’s OK. We got more than our money’s worth by now. And even the most expensive machine eventually breaks down. Repairs cost more and more, you reach the point of diminishing returns, and it’s off to the wrecking yard. Start the car up, shitbird, or the bullet goes into the base of your skull. Nobody’s watching. Nobody cares. We’ve got the woman now. Congratulations, asshole. You are now officially irrelevant.”

  Val revved up all his senses, hyperalert for a split second chance to do something, anything, as he put the car into reverse and backed out of the lot.

  Hegel directed him through the town and out onto a winding, potholed road that wound up the mountainside. They reached a wide spot in the road, with a decayed, crumbling stonework wall. An overlook point at a steep cliff. There was a deep, rocky gully from rain washout behind.

  It was the kind of remote, forgotten place where lovers came to park and junkies came to shoot up. In point of fact, the ground was liberally scattered with condoms and syringes.

  “Stop here,” Hegel said. “Hold out your right hand.”

  Val hesitated. Hegel intended to send him over the cliff attached to the car. He had to play for time. Good thing the car was a stick shift. “How will I change gears?”

  “Shut the fuck up and hold out your right hand. Keep your left on the steering wheel where I can see it or I’ll blow out your brains.”

  Val held it up. Hegel snapped a cuff onto it with one hand, grinding the muzzle of his gun into Val’s neck with the other.

  A cell phone beeped. A text message arriving. Not his.

  Hegel laughed. “The guy works fast.”

  Val’s gut crawled with apprehension. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Georg’s hot to fuck her now. Jealous?” Hegel chuckled. “Fucking asshole. He just texted me his room number. He wants his audience and I’m the lucky winner. My treat, for hunting you two down. Maybe he’ll even give me a ride when he’s done. He likes watching as much as he likes being watched, and he’ll be in a generous mood once he blows his wad. And man, I would like to make that hellcat squeal—”

  Val whipped the empty handcuff back into Hegel’s face, lightning quick, with an explosion of energy from far beyond his conscious mind. He jerked himself sideways without thinking, just as the gun went off.

  It barely missed him. The windshield crumbled. Val wrenched the car into reverse, accelerating hard toward the deep, rocky ditch behind them. Time dilated. Hegel bellowed. Val flinched as the gun blasted again. A hole appeared in the dashboard. Stuffing exploded out of the seat next to Val’s shoulder. They rattled, bumped, sped backward—

  They tipped. Crash, the car landed on its ass in the gully. It toppled onto its side, bouncing, tipping. Glass blew out, metal shrieked. The bones in Val’s skeleton tried to shake loose of each other.

  As soon as he was sure he was still alive, Val shoved open the warped driver’s side door and scrambled out, vaulting over rocks. His legs were weak and shaking. He dropped behind a large boulder, braced for the bullets to start flying from the broken, crumpled car windows. Hot blood trickled down his face.

  Silence.

  The laptop. The footage. Imre. Ah, fuck, no.

  Val crept closer to the car. No movement, no sound. He peered inside. Hegel was crumpled up inside, unconscious. Blood streamed down his face and neck from an impact wound on his temple.

  Val sagged. Pure relief surged through him for a bare second, before he kicked himself into action again. Tamar. He had to save Tamar.

  He climbed on top of the car and lowered himself down into the open door. He collected the laptop first. It looked intact, thank God. Then he slithered into the backseat and groped around for Hegel’s H&K and cell phone. Both were slippery with Hegel’s blood. He fished in the man’s pockets until he found a full ammo cartridge. He stuck the H&K into the back of his pants, and flipped the phone open, looking for the text message.

  348. A room number, unless it was a code. In which case, he would rip each door of the hotel off its hinges until he found them.

  He looked at Hegel’s bleeding face, and pressed his finger to the man’s thick throat. His pulse was strong. He would have killed Hegel without a qualm in a straight fight, but he balked at the idea of executing an unconscious man.

  Fuck it. He would just leave it up to chance. Imre would say he was digging his conscience out from under the two-ton rock where he had hidden it. He levered himself up, vaulted out of the ruined car. It wobbled and swayed. He stared at it, panting. Clutching the laptop.

  He needed clean transportation.

  As if in answer to the thought, a pimpled youth on a scooter came buzzing around the corner. He took in the crumpled car, blood-streaked Val staggering in the road, and skidded to a stop.

  “Hai bisogno di aiuto?” he gasped, eyes huge.

  He sure as hell did need help. “Sì. Your scooter,” Val told him. “Get off.”

  The kid blinked at him stupidly. “Come? Scusa?”

  “The Vespino. Here.” Val yanked a wad of cash out of his pocket, easily five times the value of the thing. “Take this, call it a rental fee. Wait ’til tomorrow, and report it stolen. You’ll get it back.”

  “But I—but—”

  Val shoved the money into the breast pocket of the boy’s shirt, and briskly knocked him off the scooter and onto his ass. He shoved his laptop into the battered portapacchi strapped to the back, and took off.

  The boy ran after him, yelling. The tiny motor groaned in protest. He gunned it as much as he could. Which was not much.

  That dickhead Georg needed an audience to perform? Excellent.

  He was about to get a spectator that he would never forget.

  Chapter 19

  Georg hung his shoulder holster over the antique mirror, and approached her. “Turn around. Slowly,” he directed.

  Tam affixed a seductive smile on her face and did so, spinning sensually in a graceful pirouette.

  Georg reached for her. His clammy hands fastened on her bare skin, groping her breasts, squeezing her ass. They made her nauseous.

  “Change your hair back,” Georg said, frowning. “I liked it better before. Shorter, and curlier, and red. I liked the red.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Anything you like.”

  Georg whipped off his shirt, displaying a wiry, muscled chest, milk white and mottled with twisting scars. “Touch me,” he ordered.

  She moved closer, sliding her fingers over his ribs. She tried to make the gesture sensual, but her shaking fingers stuck to his damp skin. Think metal, stone, gems, she told herself. Cold and hard. Think of needles, poisons. Earrings.

  As always, it was split second timing that would make or break the success of her plan. He clutched her naked body to his sweaty chest, his breath smothering against her face. A streak of foamy spittle hung on his tight, quivering lips. She tried not to focus on it. And to think this man had once been considered handsome.

  He kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, shoved down his pants.

  He was half hard, his pink penis twitching. He reached down, massaged it almost to three-quarters, but it soon dropped back to its previous state.

  Interesting. That could save her maidenly virtue, such as it was, or it could get her killed, depending on how the wind blew. She swallowed, hardened her belly muscles and faced reality. She knew exactly what a good whore was expected to do in these circumstances.

  She began to sink to her knees, smiling seductively even as her gorge rose. “Shall I . . . ?”

  “No.” He yanked her back up. “
No, it’s always like this with me. I need someone to watch. So we’ll just wait until he gets back.”

  “Watch? He? Who?”

  “Hegel.” Georg grabbed his pants and fished a cell phone out of the pocket. He tapped a brief message into it. “The PSS agent. The handler for that rogue agent who’s causing all the trouble, Janos. He wanted to watch today. It’s his reward, for locating you and Janos.”

  She was alarmed. “Watch what?”

  “Us,” he said impatiently, as if she was playing dumb to annoy him. “I need that to make it work. I like to be watched, the way Kurt watched us. We just have to wait a minute or two. Be patient. If he takes longer than that, I’ll call some of my other men to do it.”

  Tam was appalled. She glanced discreetly at his groin and quickly away. He’d lost his arousal completely. His penis was shrinking nervously back against a tuft of blond pubic hair. Part of her wanted to cheer. Yes, go ahead and cower, little guy, she wanted to crow. Hide from me. You’re right. I’m very dangerous.

  But men acted weird when their dicks didn’t work. It made them much more difficult to manage, to flatter, to predict. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  She sank down onto the bed and arranged herself in a sexy pose. Her mind was spinning its wheels, dismayed. This was bad. No moment of sexual bliss when he was distracted to stick him with the earring, at least not until a fully armed PSS operative was looming over the bed, watching every move, gun in hand. Ah, shit.

  She had her limits. She had to kill him right now. No choice.

  “By the way, you will fuck him afterward.” Georg’s eyes had gone beady and hard. “He deserves a treat. For having found you.”

  All the blood in her body suddenly congealed. “But I . . . only want to be with you,” she said, her eyes big and beseeching. “Do I have to—”

  “You must do as I tell you.” Georg’s tone was falsely gentle. “You will rule at my side, Tamara, but never forget who is in charge. I like to watch. And you are the one I like to watch.” His lips twisted into a thin, lopsided smile with a strange flash of hatred in it. “I know you love it. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied every day. After you satisfy me, of course.”

  Her smile tightened into a grimace of disgust. And she thought things had been bad with Kurt. There was always further to fall.

  She had to kill him before Hegel arrived.

  She forced herself to smile and held out her hand. “You understand me so well,” she said throatily. “Most men would be intimidated by that, but not you. It takes complete mastery of self for a man not to be afraid of a woman’s true desires.”

  Georg’s chest puffed. His eyes glowed with self-satisfied vanity. “Yes. I have mastered myself, Tamara. And I will master you.”

  She held out her hand and fluttered her eyelashes. “Y-y-yes,” she whispered. “Come to bed. I’ve been waiting so long.” She held her arms up, pleading. Longing to be mastered.

  His eyelids quivered. A primal part of his brain sensed a trap, but his vanity and madness were stronger.

  He sat down on the bed. Tam wrapped herself around him, legs straddling him, and leaned her head upon his shoulder, arms clasped around his neck. He had an alien, bitter scent to his fishy-textured skin. Her hair stuck unpleasantly to his damp flesh.

  “You are fortunate that I found you when I did,” he said.

  “I wish it had happened sooner,” she murmured softly. “I’ve been alone so long.”

  “I searched harder when old man Novak found out you were alive. He was irritated with me. Sent my emissary back to me in a cardboard box. Some of him, anyway.”

  “How horrible,” she whispered.

  “Not a problem,” he assured her. “It just speeded up an inevitable development.”

  She lifted her head to look curiously into his face and grasp the earring beneath her concealing fall of hair. “What development?” she said automatically, just to keep him talking while she unsnapped the stem and got the hypodermic into position to stab into his throat . . .

  “He’s a walking corpse,” Georg said, with satisfaction. “Rotted with cancer, but he refuses to die. It doesn’t matter. I have plans.”

  Her fingers froze, the mini-hypodermic poised oh-so-close to the skin of his throat. “Oh?” she asked casually. “What plans?”

  Georg laughed. “I could just wait for the inevitable, but my claim to his business interests would be clearer if I assassinate him first. And now he threatens my woman. It’s time to show the world who is the new boss.”

  Imre. The thought was accompanied by a stab of despair for what this meant for herself. Imre’s chance. “When? Soon?”

  His lips twisted in an indulgent smile. “Why so curious?”

  She looked up at him archly through her lashes. “The man wants me dead.”

  Georg stroked her hair, grabbed a handful, and wound it tightly around his fist, pulling until tears started into her eyes. “You have nothing to fear from him now,” Georg assured her. “Not now that you’re with me. Nothing can touch you. Nothing will get near you. You are mine.”

  “Of course I am, but please. Indulge me,” she coaxed. “Can it be soon? Can I come? Can I help? Please tell me you’re going to include me in these adventures. I’m not the stay-at-home type.”

  He laughed. “It’s one of the things I love about you, my bloodthirsty vampire queen. Soon. I can make it soon, if you prefer it.”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed, all excited. “I prefer it.”

  Something inside her screamed in protest at what she was about to do to herself. She let the hand with the hypodermic drop, sliding the tiny device between her middle and ring fingers.

  No, no, no, the fifteen-year-old girl inside her sobbed. Don’t make me do this. Not again.

  But she had to. This was the perfect scenario. A gift of fate—for Val and Imre, if not for her. But having a hateful, foul-breathed goblin jerking and heaving on top of her while another watched, salivating for his turn—that had not been part of the bargain.

  Oh, God, no. She couldn’t face that. Not again. Not now.

  It’s only temporary, she told herself, not for the first time.

  Hah. Temporary was a fictitious concept. Time was not linear, and she was not made of metal or gemstones, much as she wished that she were. Kurt, Georg, Drago Stengl, they had all been temporary, and even so, they had warped her almost beyond redemption.

  For love? Could she? She thought of the look on Val’s face when he talked of Imre.

  Love? Like he’ll love you after this, if he ever really did. He’s just a man. You can’t. There’s only so much a woman can bear.

  But it was the only way. If Rachel was going to have any sort of mother—even one like her—this was her best chance to survive. To be inside the attacking force, provide information to Val from within, create a diversion during a rescue attempt—it was streamlined, it was perfect. It made sense. It beckoned to her as the intelligent, practical solution. And if she managed to kill Georg in the process, so much the better.

  Her arms tightened around him. “Why’s he taking so long?” she complained.

  “He’ll be here soon. He’s dealing with that agent. Maybe Janos is taking longer to eliminate than Hegel anticip—”

  Crash. The door burst open. Val took in the tableau on the bed, and dove toward Georg. His grimace of rage made his face almost unrecognizable.

  Georg flung her away from himself with a hoarse shout. Tam rolled off the bed and thudded to the floor.

  Val leaped on top of him. Crack, a pistol in Val’s hand connected with Georg’s face. Blood spattered and flew, along with a couple of teeth, arcing across the coverlet. Georg’s leg whipped out, his foot connecting with Val’s jaw. Val spun away, bounced off the wall, and came right back at him with a roar, crashing into him. The two men toppled off the bed and grappled on the floor, Val on top.

  A smashing blow to the nose, and Georg lay limp, eyes closed, bl
ood streaming over his mouth and chin. Val raised his hand to chop down—

  “No!” Tam lunged, grabbed his arm to block the killing blow. “Stop! You idiot!”

  He stared at her. “What do you mean, stop? Is this not what we agreed? Was this not the plan?”

  “No! He’s going to kill Novak!” she whispered fiercely. “Soon! In days! This is our chance, Val! To save Imre! Listen to me, goddamnit!”

  Val stared at her, panting. Struggling with the powerful instinct to conclude his kill. His eyes were tormented with confusion.

  “Do not kill him.” She enunciated the words very clearly. “Not yet. Use him first, you fucking idiot! Why do you think he’s not already dead by now? Why do you think I was naked in a bed with that freak in the first place? What, do you think I pull stunts like this for my health?”

  Val stared at the unconscious man, his huge fists shook. “Novak?” He repeated the name helplessly. It was all his mind could take in.

  “Georg has a plan to kill Novak. Soon! We could use it,” she said. “I’ll stay with Georg, and let you know when he—”

  “No.” His hand clamped over her forearm. “You’re not staying.”

  “Calm down, Val,” she soothed. “Be professional. Take advantage of the situation. Don’t be a baby. This way, I can feed information—”

  “No. Shut up, and put on your fucking clothes.”

  The fury in his voice rocked her back. She stared into his hard face, feeling slapped. She knew that look. That judging look that pushed her away from him, and said whore.

  She hadn’t even had sex with that hideous turd, but she would pay the price anyway, just for having been willing to do so. And for Imre’s sake, too. She was such a fool. Such a goddamn fool.

  Well, and so. Fuck him, too, then. Fuck them all.

  She got up, deliberately flaunting her naked body, and pulled on the clothes Georg had made her remove. She grabbed Georg’s automatic pistol and holster from the dresser, checked the cartridge. Full—fifteen shots. Better than nothing. She stuck it in her purse.