Eight (Angels of Wrath #6)

Prologue

Twenty years ago.

Project: Blood Assassin

Subject: Eight

Subject Eight was born for this.

Eight is responding superbly to the methods I’m applying. Nearly better than any other subject before him.

Losing the majority of them was deeply troublesome.

Especially Seven, being Eight’s monozygotic twin—which was the main reason why we chose them for this project.

The experiments we were doing on both subjects reaped quite thrilling results.

Furthermore, the possibilities of having identical assassins were widely popular with our investors.

Nevertheless, I did it. Today, Eight killed for the first time. No hesitation. No remorse. Not even a speck of emotion.

I’m far from done, but I’m one step closer to success.

Tomorrow, we’ll move to a new location once again. After what happened last year, I need to be extremely cautious.

I’m not going to lose Eight and my legacy.

I put the file down on top of the others on my office desk.

“You were right, Meg. There was one more kid.” Linda lets out a long, grievous sigh as she drops into one of the two armchairs in front of me.

A year ago, we uncovered an unsanctioned secret government project called Blood Assassin.

A group of kids with psychotic traits had been kept imprisoned and experimented on by scientists.

Their aim was to turn them into skilled, unemotional hitmen—machines under their control.

However, Subject One had escaped and was found by a sheriff. Thanks to him, we rescued the others.

The scientists kept files—very detailed ones—on each subject, seven kids in total.

An empty box labeled with the number eight was also found, which made me wonder if one more subject was out there.

Now, Linda is confirming my terrible suspicion.

She discovered the empty facility subject Eight was moved to just before we got to the others a year ago.

“Eight wasn’t there. They left in a hurry, a few days before we arrived, judging by the dates on those disturbing files the asshole in charge left behind,” she adds. Linda’s techs were able to recover them from the computer they left, even though they’d deleted them.

“Were they tipped off?” The way they ran just a few days before Linda got to them is too convenient.

“Maybe. But it’s only normal for them to be extremely cautious after we found the first facility and almost shut down the project. Nevertheless, I’m looking into the possibility that there might be a whistle-blower in my squad.”

“At least now we have proof that there’s another child. And that he is Uriel’s twin brother,” I say.

Uriel, Subject Seven, is one of the kids we rescued and subsequently fostered.

They were all kidnapped by those scientists or sold to them by their own families.

After experiencing such a traumatic event and having shown psychopathic traits, no other foster family would have wanted them or been able to give them what they needed.

That’s why Linda and I decided to welcome them into our home.

We have the means and the skills to help them—me being a forensic psychiatrist and Linda an Intelligence Asset.

The government was only too happy to make the whole incident disappear—since it would have created severe repercussions if the news of a senator and two military generals financing an unsanctioned project that experimented on kids saw the light of day.

Twelve months have passed since we started this tough journey, and although every day is a battle—taking care of six kids with different conditions is a full-time job—I feel grateful and hopeful.

“Even if we found Eight, time would keep passing, time he’d spend with those devious fuckers. He has already killed, Meg. You read the file.”

Linda is afraid he is too far gone already. But I’m not. Not yet.

“I did read them, and I still have faith.” I look straight into her beautiful blue eyes. She is more than my work partner. She is my other half, the only person I trust with my own life. “He’s a child, utterly alone, pushed on the wrong path by fear and his survival instincts.”

“A child with psychotic traits.”

“Yes, and a superior IQ of 134.” He’s incredibly smart. All these children are—their superior intellect is another reason why they were chosen for the project.

“He’s following their orders,” she cuts me off, springing off the armchair and moving toward the unlit fireplace. “Do you remember how hard it was to pull the others back from the brink of devastation and havoc?”

“They got better.”

“Barely. Sari is unresponsive to anything but Uri, who’s always plotting something, and Raph barely talks because of Michael’s…absence. Bez rarely gives Gabe time to come out, and Rami’s senses are still numb.”

“Compared to a year ago, their improvements are incredible,” I argue, smacking the desk with my open palm.

She takes a long breath. Her tone softens. “Meg, the road ahead of us is still long and filled with obstacles. I love those kids,” she states vehemently. I know she does. I see it every day. It’s in her infinite patience, her persistence, and her desire to give them all they need.

“They are ours,” she continues. “And I’ll fight with and for them always. But can’t you see that we already have our hands full?”

“I know, but…Uriel. It’s for him, Linda.”

“He never asked about his brother.” She frowns at me. “All he does is hover over Sari and scheme.”

“You are wrong. He asks about his twin every day,” I counter.

“When?” She still looks confused.

“When he knocks on that door.” I point at the heavy wooden door of my office. Like clockwork, he comes every evening.

She huffs and then mutters toward the fireplace something that sounds like, “Mind reading? It’s a psychological parlor trick.”

“Will you keep looking for Eight?” My voice has a pleading tone to it.

I already let one of the kids go. Subject One, Michael—he was adopted by the sheriff who found him.

It seemed the best thing to do for him at the time, but I keep going back to that decision, taking him away from Raphael. I regret it sometimes.

She sighs, pulling me into the present again. “Of course I will. But when I find Eight, we need to decide if he’s fit to stay with the others. I won’t jeopardize the future of our kids for anything or anyone.”

Linda can turn into such a protective mama bear, and that’s proof enough of how much she loves our unconventional family.

I leave my chair to go hold her hand in both of mine.

“We will decide what’s best together. But please find him.” I regret my words as soon as they come out. “It’s not right to put such pressure on you, I know. You are doing your best.”

Her hand cups my cheek as she lifts my head up. “I am the best. But the people who took him are professionals. They know how to disappear without leaving any trace.”

I lean my cheek against her palm, and she slides my glasses to the top of my head. It’s such a familiar gesture, it makes me smile.

“But you are better than them,” I push out a little flattery.

She snorts. “You know it.” Her face moves down toward mine while I feel her fingers threading through the hair on my nape. “Some pampering could help me improve, though.”

Her lips brush over mine when two firm knocks resound in the office, halting our movements.

“Right on time,” I breathe on her mouth.

“Who needs contraception when you have six kids?” I hear Linda muttering as I make my way to the door. Very funny.

When I open it, Uriel is on the other side. He’s growing so fast, reaching my chin now. His wavy hair is shoulder-length, and his ever-scrutinizing hazel eyes are on me for a moment, then land on Linda.

“I interrupted,” he states a few seconds later, not sounding apologetic in the least. Sociopaths never are.

“Not really,” I respond, moving to the side to let him in, but as always, he doesn’t.

Instead, remaining on the threshold, he says, “Your cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated, suggesting an elevated blood pressure. Linda looks annoyed, her right eyebrow pointing up. Your glasses are on top of your head. Linda must have done it. You only remove them when you go out or kiss her. I stand corrected. I did interrupt something.”

“That’s my boy! My teachings are fruitful.” Linda sounds proud.

“Did you think they wouldn’t?” I tease her.

“Never.”

His deep gaze moves back to me. I can see the question in his eyes. I slowly shake my head. I see no sign of emotion, except for the trembling of his eyelashes—being a psychiatrist, I know very well how to read someone even without Linda’s teachings.

“Something wrong, Uri?” Linda asks.

He hums. “Rague set the rug and the curtains in the music room on fire.”

“Was it put out?” Linda is calmly walking toward the door. Six boys under one roof means constant chaos.

“Ferdinand was using the fire extinguishers when I left the room,” he explains in a bored tone as Linda goes to check the damage.

Six months ago I put a fire extinguisher in each room of the house as a precaution.

“The smoke detector didn’t go off, nor the fire alarm.

” I bought the best ones on the market after I realized Raguel’s fascination with fire.

Just last week, I told him to limit his flammable experiments to the outside of the house and under close surveillance from an adult.

His urge to set things on fire serves him as a way to cope with built-up anxiety and hurt caused by his uncontrollable red haze spells.

“Uriel, did you have anything to do with it?” I turn to him.

“I just wondered out loud if the rug would be more flammable than the curtains. The answer was the velvet curtains.” He shrugs, unfazed and unashamed. “Rami shut off the alarm and the detector.”

Of course it was Ramiel. He has an incredible understanding of high-tech electronic devices.

I sigh, seeing exactly how Uriel manipulated both brothers into doing it.

He must have challenged Ramiel since he never backs down from a dare.

He also knows Raguel’s fixation with fire and uses it to entertain himself, just like he did last week with Bezaliel when he provoked him to jump from the second-floor balcony.

Thankfully, the juniper bush cushioned the fall.

He toys with his brothers on a regular basis, except Sariel.

Uriel’s obsessed behavior toward him is a clear trait of a sociopathic mind.

Just like his lack of empathy, remorse, and guilt, his manipulativeness, shallow emotions, and unresponsiveness to punishments.

I wonder if his brother has the same traits Uriel shows.

From the files, it seems like the scientist believes Eight is a psychopath.

But such traits can be mimicked by trauma or other disorders—I found with some of my kids. At this moment, only Raphael and Uriel show psychotic and sociopathic tendencies.

The development of both conditions is influenced by a complex interplay of genetic predispositions and environmental factors.

Genes do not solely determine the outcome.

Traumatic experiences, abuse, or neglect during childhood are major environmental risk factors for developing sociopathy and psychopathy.

Studies show that the risk is significantly higher in identical monozygotic twins, though. If one has the condition, there’s a higher concordance rate for antisocial and sociopathic or psychopathic traits to be found in the other.

That’s why I’m aware that there’s a strong chance Eight is a psychopath. And if that’s the case, will I still be in time to help him? Or is Linda right and he’s already too far gone?