Sloth
The Deadly Seven
Lana Pecherczyk
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
WHAT’S NEXT?
Characters & Glossary
Also by Lana Pecherczyk
About the Author
"What is right is often forgotten by what is convenient.”
Bodie Thoene
Prologue
Walking down a dark hallway of the Syndicate’s base of operations, Despair was a world away. While her father chatted with a scientist about the progress of their latest project, she found it hard to maintain focus. Memories tugged at the shadows of her mind.
The sound of giggling children swam through her head. The phantom smell of daisies wafted by.
“All is not lost, Julius.” The British scientist stopped outside a lab door barely containing the vicious growls of animals. “We may not be able to stop our human clones expiring so soon after birth, but we may have found another solution.”
“I’m listening, Barry.” Julius’s hands clasped together.
“You may remember the sin serum we made.”
“The one that turned Doppenger into a raving beast before killing him. That one you mean?”
Barry tugged at his lab coat collar. “Yes, that one.”
“Have you managed to control its effects?”
“Not on humans.” Barry opened the door and led them inside. “We’re still waiting on blood samples from the rest of the Deadly Seven group.”
“Eight,” Despair blurted.
“I’m sorry?” Barry frowned. Her father also looked down at her.
Tall, feared and sophisticated, he was a man not many interrupted. But Despair wasn’t one of the many. She was one of eight. The first.
“Eight,” Despair repeated. “There are eight of us.”
“Right.”
Julius pursed his lips. “Please continue, Mr. Pinkerton. A little louder so you can be heard over the din of animals.”
“Right.” Barry pointed at the wall of cages filled with frothing beasts resembling dogs. “It’s the animals we’ve managed to control. To a point.”
Julius’s lip curled. “Animals?”
“Animals injected with the sin-sensing serum, yes.”
“These mindless beasts can track down sin?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“Their instincts force them to eliminate the sin. We might not need to trigger the Deadly Seven after all.”
“Are the animals ready for the field?”
“Not quite. We still can’t keep them from distinguishing the worst of the sinners from those who can be redeemed.”
“We don’t care anymore. We just want the sinners gone. All of them.”
“But....” Barry gaped. “What about the children? They don’t know any better.”
“This is the area where Gloria and I disagreed. She believed evil is a learned behavior.” Julius crouched and peered intently at the beast closest, unworried about the snapping jaws behind the metal grate. A deathly calm stole over him. He cocked his head and studied the animal. Breaking under the scrutiny, the beast broke eye contact with Julius and cowered, whining. “I believe the rot starts in the seed,” Julius murmured, gaze never wavering. “It cannot be unlearned. It is why I stand before you today, and Gloria does not.” He stood and continued, “If they’re not evil, they have nothing to worry about. Are you saying your beasts can’t tell the difference between good and evil, Barry? Are you telling me you haven’t done your job?”
“No. I mean. I have. But...” His protests failed to gather weight.
An itch at Despair’s palm buzzed with a ghostly echo her brother’s blood. Brothers. Sisters. She had seven of them. They’d named her Daisy. They’d thought she was dead.
Maybe they were right. Maybe this emptiness inside her was as good as dead.
Somewhere deep in her soul, emotion stirred but retreated when the scientist’s despair flared, casting a wedge of sin in her gut and blocking all else out.
Hidden danger was everywhere—such was the nature of sin. Even these scientists who boasted and preened to Julius about their latest breakthrough, even they had sin, festering away in their hearts and minds. Their despair revealed more truth than words. None were confident their project would succeed. Rid the world of sin, so those free of it could flourish.
The thing was… it was getting harder and harder to ascertain who was without sin.
Perhaps that’s why the scientist despaired. Perhaps he already feared the future shape of the world.
A world with no one in it.
Let he without sin cast the first stone.
Except...
She looked down at her tickling palm. No one was without sin. Especially not her.
One
It all boiled down to zeros and ones. A no or a yes. That was how computers thought. I was how humans should think. It would make life a hell-of-a-lot easier for Sloan Lazarus, but, no. Humans didn’t think in binary. They thought in the vast gray, messy expanse that laid in between: Life.
And Sloan was about to serve up a bucket load of messy life to one poor, unsuspecting ex-army officer she used to date—Maximilian Johnson.
She snorted. Her sister Liza was right. The guy was a big dick. Giant. But she couldn’t tell him that. He’d probably just wink at her and say thanks. So instead, she pranked him.
Earlier that day, she’d tapped into the closed circuit video feed of Nightingale Securities across the street. It wasn’t hard to hack, considering they shared a network, and the company worked for the Lazarus family. So it was almost like he’d asked for what happened next.
Sloan tapped the “up” button on her keyboard, remotely increasing the temperature on the thermostat in Max’s office. She’d picked this day to exact her revenge because the weatherman had forecasted record summer heat. She’d picked this day because it had been long enough since her previous prank that Max would most likely fail to connect the dots, leaving her open to commit more prank crimes. Any minute, he’d be sweltering.
Nothing to do now, but sit back and wait.
Wait for the suffering to be unleashed.
She grinned and scooted her wheelie chair to the next monitor where a countdown ticked over, tracking her pizza order. Four minutes and it would arrive by drone to her fire-escape. Four minutes. She thrummed her fingers on the desk.
Waiting sucked.
Three minutes and thirty-five seconds.
Waiting.
God. Why is waiting so hard?
Two months ago, she was the queen at waiting. But ever since that jackass turned up, she’d been reinvigorated with the sole purpose of making his life a living hell. Now she had more energy than she could contain. It was almost like she’d been intravenously hooked up to an energy drink.
Sloan wheeled to her third monitor where she
created a program that converted binary code into abstract visual patterns, making a code that took months to crack, decipherable in hours. This kind of project was precisely why she couldn’t afford to waste time on efforts that would give her no gain or pleasure.
She had learned that lesson in fifth grade when her eldest brother, Parker Lazarus, also known as King-Know-It-All, or King Pee, had been caught manipulating another child in his class to sit the history exam for him. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the answers, in fact, he was too smart. While his chosen student sat the exam, Parker had been creating his own experiment in the science lab. He’d recognized his time was precious and more efficiently spent in the lab, so paid someone to do the other.
Now Sloan was the queen of misdirected effort. She wasn’t too lazy. She was too smart. She saved herself for more important things. That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway. There was no one else to tell because she hadn’t left the haven of her apartment in the Lazarus House complex for weeks. No one came in. Only she went out. Sometimes. Occasionally.
Rarely.
It had been two months since Sloan left the security of her room. Two months she’d spent holed up, updating algorithms in her personal computer queendom, tracing money trails left by a recently discovered affiliate of the Syndicate, hoping to crack their investigation. Two months since she’d discovered her ex had somehow weaseled his way into her personal life.
Whatever.
A beep sounded at her fire escape.
Delivery. Yes.
She hopped from her seat, almost tripped on a fallen bathrobe, an empty packet of Skittles and a few other items she’d failed to put away since the housekeeper had been there.
Sloan lifted the window pane. The sound of traffic blasted in, and a wall of heat slammed into her face, making her stagger. Whoa. Yeah, that heat. Sweat prickled her skin and dampened her camisole. She also wore boy-short undies and knee-length socks but, hell, it was hot. She retrieved the pizza box—thank you pizza drone—from her landing and retreated to the icy comfort of her apartment.
A meow came from outside and a black cat with white feet launched onto the metal landing.
“Luna,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be out there. Come in and have some pizza.”
Once the cat scampered in, she shut the window, letting the cooling system do its job.
Glancing down, five levels below to the busy Cardinal City street, the entrance to Nightingale Securities gleamed in the afternoon sun. A small modest place, it housed not only Max, but a collection of ex-military orphans looking for a purpose now their official gig was up.
Turning, she lifted the box lid and wafted steam into her face. Mmm. Ham. Cheese. Best thing ever.
Wait a minute.
Pineapple. On her pizza. Gag. She had deliberately ordered it without.
Max had loved pineapple on his pizza. The great pineapple debate had raged between them for five years, since they’d met during an online gaming tournament. She’d always said that if, when, they’d met in real life, she would shove that pineapple up his ass. He’d always said he’d find a way to make her love it. She would reply that she already loved his ass, and on it went. Of course, being an online relationship, they’d never physically been in the same room to make the other eat the aforementioned pineapple or touch said asses.
Never been in a room together until two months ago.
Suddenly, she frowned at the pineapple with suspicion. Could Max somehow have changed her pizza order to include the pineapple?
Nah.
Sloan picked a piece of pineapple and held it to Luna as she made her way back to her computer desk.
“Here you go, ladyface. All yours.”
The cat scrambled after her. She lifted onto her hind legs and nibbled the fruit from Sloan’s fingers.
“Let’s go see how our thermostat is doing.”
With a wicked grin, she settled into her desk chair and watched the monitor. The camera angled from behind Max on the ceiling, giving her a view of his entire office floor. Four desks with computers, a couch in the corner. Fridge. Kitchenette. That even looked like a flat screen hooked to a gaming console. He was alone in the room. The rest of his staff must be on assignment.
Max’s tawny hair had gone dark around his face—stuck down with sweat. He had that sun-kissed surfer look about him which was understandable. He was from Australia, had lived by the beach and surfed throughout the year when not on tour with his regiment. His perpetual bronzed tan was now turning red, but good ol’ Maxie-boy wasn’t retreating to a cooler place. Nope, the man continued to stare at his computer.
With the thrill of the chase licking up her spine, Sloan checked the temperature. One-oh-four degrees. She chuckled and took a bite of pizza. A chunk fell and landed on her stomach. She glanced down and grimaced at the pudgy pale flesh poking out from beneath her camisole and underwear. Frowning, she flicked the chunk off for the cat, and then returned her attention to the screen.
Any minute now he was going to lose his shit.
“Fuck you, Maxie-Pad.”
A ping on her cell made her jump. Six siblings lived in her building, and without a doubt, one of them was constantly in her hair. It was a message from her brother Wyatt. Today, it was his turn to harass her. She’d missed her last two martial arts training sessions with him. The man had been on a relentless crusade to get her back into shape. At the start it had been awesome. She really did need the extra motivation. But now…
The phone pinged again. She ignored it, instead, settling in to watch the Max Show.
Max fanned his hand in front of his face. He got out of his chair and went to the fridge to pull out a can of soda. Huh. Would you look at that. Diet. Since when did he drink diet?
Another ping sounded in her periphery, but her eyes were glued to the screen, watching Max’s brawny but graceful body as he tipped his head back, chugging the drink. His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Sweat ran down his temples, but he didn’t leave in a huff. No. He went back to his damned desk and continued to work.
“AIMI,” she asked slyly.
“Yes, Sloan,” came the feminine computer voice from speakers hard-wired into her apartment ceiling.
“What’s the highest external temperature a human can sustain before receiving permanent internal damage?”
A pause, then, “This is the entry I found on the internet: Human cells start to die at one hundred and six degrees Fahrenheit, but a healthy person can survive up to one hundred and forty degrees providing he has access to water.”
Max got up from his desk, and Sloan leaned forward. Was this the moment?
“Are you healthy, Max?”
Max retrieved a second soda can and rolled it over his handsome face, a face she knew well. Had seen it virtually every night for almost two years, unless he had been on tour. She knew those cut cheekbones, his cheeky lips, sparkling brown eyes… except they weren’t sparkling anymore, and those lips were often pressed hard together. The man who had recently turned up in her city wasn’t the man she once knew. He was a humorless stranger with haunted eyes.
Movement caught her attention. She gaped, a mouthful of pizza fell out and dropped with a splat to the floor.
Max had taken his shirt off, leaving nothing but a sweaty, sculptured chest. Washboard abs were carved into his stomach from the fine chisel of relentless core work. Veins bulged down his arms from the heat. Another change in him. He used to have a thick, muscled physique. If she had to pick a word to describe him then, it would have been solid. Now his body took the shape of someone who lived in the gym, someone who wouldn’t sit still.
Damn these high-resolution monitors.
Suddenly, Max leaned forward, squinting at his computer screen.
“Shit.” Sloan ducked, as if he could see through her monitor which was impossible. The camera was behind him in the ceiling. It wasn’t a two way. Still, she hid beneath her desk, cheeks heating, heart pounding. Maybe she’d i
magined the tension tightening his shoulders. But… she’d changed the configuration of the CCTV monitor network to include his office. His monitor also displayed the same configuration. There had been no way about it. He’d know a picture of his surroundings wasn’t supposed to be on his interface, and since he was the only one with admin access… he’d know the only person with up-to-par hacking skills was her.
“Shit.” She dared a look at the monitor again.
Max craned his neck to view the camera in the ceiling. Narrowed his eyes. Looked right through her soul.
“Shit. Shit. Shit! AIMI,” she shouted. “Change the user interface for the CCTV on user account—” but she had no time to finish her directive. While she watched helplessly, Max typed with murderous intent, and one by one, all her camera links of footage winked out until only one video stream was left—his office. His muscled arm whipped out in the direction of the camera, then his fist, then his middle finger—aimed at her. The screen winked out to black, reflecting Sloan’s surprised and beet-red face.
“No,” she whined, flopping to the floor dramatically. Backfire! So stupid. He knew she was there. He knew she watched him! He was half naked. He must think…
The front door opened and she rolled to her feet, faster than her cat. Heart thumping in her throat, she looked for something to throw, something to ditch at the head of the jackass, but all she could come up with was a slice of pineapple pizza.
Perfect.
But it wasn’t Max. It was Wyatt, holding a box of personal items in one arm. He ran a hand through the shock of black hair on his head, frowning at her attire.
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