Mark hated the place. It was a bizarre choice. Parts of it had collapsed and been taken over by invasive trees, or covered with a strangling ivy. Too big, too rambling. Full of potential hiding spots.
The drones were equipped with cutting edge visual tech, but watching the scenes through inferior mechanical eyes irritated the hell out of Mark. The drones and the slave soldiers could both detect heat signatures, but no one besides Mark could read and analyze an energy sig. The Eyes Guys had been anomalous, developing that unique skill amongst themselves in the Midlands hellhole. Brain training by brute necessity.
He saw no human thermals other than those Ty had already specified in the crumbling building or in the woods. Just small woodland animals. Still, he was uneasy.
Brenner careened toward the main entrance on a motorcycle. He’d been the obvious choice of canary for this coal mine. His annoying verbal glitch made him Mark’s least favorite slave soldier. Thirty million dollar investment or not, Mark was hoping Brenner would die on this mission. It would save Mark the hassle of killing him.
Brenner slowed to a stop. His vidcam image jerked and bobbed as he dismounted, but it soon steadied, allowing Mark to see the man who walked out the front entrance. His appearance matched the sketches and descriptions that Mark had unearthed about the mysterious Asa Stone. Mark had found no obvious explanation for Stone’s connection with Obsidian, though, and the blank spot bothered him.
Stone was subtle, arrogant, and fearless. A bad combo. He did not give a fuck how many crime bosses he inconvenienced. He appeared to have a death wish.
Today was his lucky day. He’d come to just the place to get it granted.
Stone was a big, thick-muscled brute. Buzzed-off dark hair and cold gray eyes. Mark was sure he’d never met him before, but something about his face was naggingly familiar. He would need to see Stone’s sig to pinpoint it. But he’d satisfy his curiosity soon enough.
Stone gave Brenner a once-over, dismissed him, and focused on the vidcam attached to Brenner’s coat. “Who’s this clown?” Stone said, addressing Mark directly.
“Olund wants to see the girl before he comes in himself,” Brenner said stolidly.
Again, Stone’s level gaze reminded Mark of something, or someone. The way he was so absolutely convinced that he had the upper hand.
Mark looked forward to teaching him how things really stood. Guys like that were always so surprised.
Stone jerked his chin toward the entrance. Brenner followed him into what had once been a grand entrance hall with a vaulted ceiling and tall windows, most of them broken, letting the weather in. Drifted leaves, dirt and moss were scattered across a filthy floor barely recognizable as marble. Birds swooped and fluttered in the ceiling and a snake slithered into a pile of smashed masonry. Brenner walked alongside the man down a long gallery with broken windows. Mark could hear glass crunch rhythmically beneath the two men’s boots.
“We’ll talk in the chapel,” Stone said. “It still has a roof.” He pushed open a creaking door.
Mark surveyed the room with distaste as Brenner followed Stone into the room. He hated churches. He had childhood memories of extreme unpleasantness in churches. Life on the streets, with all its squalor and danger, had been preferable to that. And then came the Midlands freak parade. He never caught a break.
Unless he carved it for himself. With a bloody knife.
Many more broken windows encircled the base of the domed roof. A bolt of bright winter sunlight poured through the remnants of a red stained glass window, spotlighting a metal cage protected by clear bulletproof panels and casting the rest of the room into ominous shadow.
The place was a shambles. Dirty, piled with rotten wood, broken furniture, upended pews and garbage. Its moldy walls were covered with scrawled graffiti, in stark contrast to the jewel-like perfection of the glass cage. Mark smiled thinly as he looked at it. So they thought they could protect her with a bulletproof box.
Stone lifted his wrist to his mouth. “Bring her out,” he said into the comm.
A door in the back of the glass box opened. A slender figure emerged. A big, helmeted man in heavy armor stood behind her, loaded down with lethal weapons.
Mark’s body tensed with raw excitement at the sight of her. She wore some black, skin-tight thing, stretched to the max over every curve and hollow of her body. Her hair hung loose, a mane of ringlets framing her face, flowing down to her ass. Her shadowy green eyes stared straight ahead. Her mouth was tight with tension.
She stood as if awaiting the firing squad.
Mark swallowed a rush of saliva. He ached to see her beautiful sig again. And then gobble it up, after he taught her what a bad girl she had been. He was so hungry.
“Why the box?” Mark waited, teeth grinding, as Brenner repeated his question.