The two watched each other carefully for a full fifteen seconds before Farrow broke the silence. “What happens if I refuse your offer?” She narrowed her eyes, testing them.
“We’ll get you safely stateside, then leave you tied up in a motel room, just to give us a head start,” Alik smirked.
“Alik Winter!” Margo swatted him. “This poor girl does not know you’re kidding.”
“Who’s kidding?” Evan grinned. “I say forget the comfy motel. Surely there’s a janitor’s closet at the airport—one with big spiders and hairy rats. That’ll do nicely.”
“That’s enough out of you two,” Margo scolded her sons. The boys kept elbowing each other and exchanging chuckles.
“Sorry about them. The boys can be so obnoxious sometimes.” Meg glared at her brothers.
“You have to appreciate our predicament. We would like to take a leap of faith and trust you to help us. If you choose not to, well, that’s your choice. We would have to think of a reasonable way to let you leave us unarmed and unable to harm us.” Dr. Winter patted Farrow’s hand. “Think about it, dear.”
Farrow stared down at her target’s hand, warm and reassuring and whispered what Meg sensed she had been thinking.
“I was made for war.” Farrow’s voice was barely above a whisper, “He even named me ‘Farrow’ because of the anagram ‘for war’ hidden inside. I would be worthless to peaceful people like you.” She never looked up. She felt so much self-loathing and shame for everything she was, especially now that she compared herself to the Winter family. Farrow saw them as good people and herself as ugly and flawed in contrast. She realized good people healed their enemy and offered friendship.
She couldn’t stand it anymore.
Farrow lay back down on the bed, and rolled over to face away from the kindness surrounding her. “I’m very tired,” she said in a muffled voice.
Margo and Meg exchanged looks.
“Rest, Farrow. When you’re ready to talk, we’ll be here.” Meg said, trying to offer soothing waves.
Chapter 10 Blood is Thicker Than Serum
Watching the Winters drive away from him was the most poignant, gut-wrenching thing Creed could remember living through, and that was saying a lot.
Just when he found them, he had to let them go. He needed to make things right. All he ever wanted was a family and though it was by his own choice that he stood alone to face Williams and the evil he created, it still broke his heart to know he found and lost the most precious people he would ever have the honor of knowing.
Without realizing he was doing it, Creed began rubbing his chest where the pain of heartache was the most piercing. The irony hadn’t been lost on him to know he had the “gift” to turn off his pain—but it only worked on physical pain. Nothing could ease his breaking heart.
Nothing except, Meg, he whispered to himself, even as he ducked out of sight.
“Hello, little brother,” a voice hissed from behind him.
Creed spun mid-step to see Gavil standing, arms folded, lips sneering. Flanking him twitched six hulking metasoldiers who gave off seriously unhinged vibes. Creed realized his moments of nostalgia staring at the taillights of the people he considered his family had cost him dearly. He was outnumbered and caught completely off guard. And besides that, it looked to him as though he was the only sane person around.
Crap.
“Poor little Creedy,” Gavil cooed, “Did they leave you all alone to die?” He shook his head in feigned pity.
“Leave them out of this, Gavil. I have what Williams wants,” Creed blurted, his mind working to formulate a plan even as he spoke.
“He wants them,” Gavil nodded toward the road.
“He wants the serum, and I have it.” Creed pulled his shoulders back and stepped closer to the seven soldiers.
“You expect me to believe they gave it to you?” he spat, pouncing forward to grab Creed by the shirt, yanking him to stand nose to nose.
“They trusted me to destroy it. Right leg pocket. See for yourself. They left me with the remote detonator.” Creed forced himself to hold still under his brother’s hatful glare.
“Oscar,” Gavil barked right into Creed’s face, spewing foul breath, “check his pocket.” Gavil’s order was obeyed immediately when a hulking soldier stepped forward and ripped the Velcro closure on Creed’s camo fatigues with his meaty hands. He yanked out a small black box with a simple key pad and metal antenna.
“Looks like a remote, sir,” the mutant metasoldier growled.
Without releasing Creed from his face-to-face venomous stare, Gavil yelled to another, “Gideon, check him for weapons.”
Out of the corner of Creed’s eye, he saw another muscle-headed soldier walk toward him. Creed was slapped and shoved as the guy disarmed him.
“Well, well. The director is going to love seeing you again, but I figure he can wait a few extra minutes,” Gavil nearly glowed with sick excitement. “Hold him!” he ordered.