Chapter 15
Vincent
He looked up from the video he was watching on his tablet as the door opened.
Ah. His sister, Nicole. Back home to be punished for her latest fuckup.
He looked back down, letting Nicole stand there and wait as he finished an inspiring YouTube video that had just been posted by Mia Wilkes, an attractive female neuroscientist. She was a popular viral sensation, having released a series of documentaries and a very well-received TED talk, which already had millions of views.
She’d released a bi-weekly flurry of YouTube videos since then.
Mia focused on motivation, not that Vincent lacked it.
She promised life-transforming results from following her recommended routines.
He liked her low, velvety voice, the way he felt when she demonstrated the explosive energy in her thigh muscles in her burpees and squat jumps.
Exercise was an important component of Mia’s secret sauce for success.
He spared a quick glance at Nicole. The controlled anger in her face.
Their father had made him team leader after Nicole’s shocking fuckups, and had given Vincent full control of this operation.
About fucking time, after being under that snotty bitch for years.
Vincent could finally get back at her for her many cruelties and humiliations, small and large, over the years. Ever since they were kids.
The video ended, and he sighed, contemplating how he might gain access to the dick-tingling Mia Wilkes. Large sums of money were an unbeatable strategy. And he felt oh, so motivated by her exquisitely defined ass.
Once they got SmokeScreen, after the Event happened, he’d be able to summon any woman he pleased. Any woman on earth would open her legs or her mouth for him, on command. That was how it was for Vincent’s father, Owen Halliwell, with his almost inconceivable wealth.
Not that Vincent had ever benefited from his father’s wealth.
Vincent was just one of Halliwell’s illegitimate brood, just like Nicole.
Halliwell had groomed and molded them all into tools to serve his empire.
Disposable tools. Because if one of them failed, he or she was disposed of, usually in front of the rest of them.
Owen Halliwell considered it very important that they all fully internalize the price of failure.
This was Nicole’s last chance…and it would take place squarely under Vincent’s grinding thumb. Sweet.
He wanted to punish his father and Nicole both.
Vincent would show that arrogant old goat Halliwell what he was made of.
Nicole would regret having bullied and tortured him.
His father would regret not recognizing his true potential.
After the Event, Vincent would be exponentially wealthier than Halliwell ever had been.
Not that his father would live to see it, of course.
But he could watch from the fiery pits of hell.
Thinking of the pits of hell reminded him of Nicole, still waiting for his attention.
She resented being placed beneath him? Good.
Let her squirm. She deserved it, after her mistakes.
And when he’d used her up, she’d join their father in hell…
and both of them could watch Vincent rule.
While they writhed and shrieked in the flames.
Vincent had been a member of her team last year, when she’d been tasked to get SmokeScreen for Halliwell, and to secure one of the Masters brothers to unlock it.
She’d almost pulled it off…until she didn’t.
She’d captured Shane Masters, but she had let their fall guy, Jed Clearwater, get away clean, which meant that all their complicated, expensive, exhaustive months of prep work had been for nothing.
She’d let the meathead she’d partnered with, Wex Boer and his band of idiot mercenaries, fuck everything up.
Halliwell had been so furious, he’d taken Shane Masters for himself, since Nicole clearly could not be trusted with him. Not that the man was of any use, to him or anyone. Then Nicole failed again, in Oregon. She’d had Freya Masters and Jed Clearwater right in her grasp…and she’d lost them. Again.
The incompetence boggled his mind. She’d barely stayed ahead of Jed Clearwater and the other Unredeemables’ relentless hunt ever since. Vincent had expected Halliwell to have her shot on sight, but oh no. Little Nicky had gotten yet another chance to win back her status as Daddy’s fucking favorite.
The only way Nicole could get out of the doghouse now was to get her hands on another Masters brother, and once again this morning, she had failed. The debacle at the Fletchley Building was another expensive preparation, wasted. A huge, embarrassing clusterfuck.
Therefore, Vincent was swooping down to take the situation in hand.
Halliwell had explained Vincent’s new role; to control and manage Nicole’s excesses while continuing to make use of her remarkable abilities.
In a nutshell, to make that naughty bitch behave, by any means necessary…
even if he had to punish her severely. He’d gotten explicit permission from Halliwell to take that punishment as far as he liked.
And oh…he liked. He liked, very much.
When he finally had Ethan Masters in his grasp, he would have not only the key to using that algorithm, but also the mind that had dreamed it up.
Vincent would keep that mind for himself.
If he controlled it, it was almost like being as brilliant as Masters himself.
Ethan Masters, his own personal possession. Like a gerbil in a cage.
And speaking of personal possessions…he turned with leisurely slowness to study his latest toy. Nicole, still standing by the door. She wore black silk pants and a white silk blouse, and her hair was swept into a low bun. Her face was unrepentant.
“I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face,” he said.
“You wasted still more of our money and precious time this morning. You put us out there, in danger of discovery. Three men died. Five more are so injured, they’re now useless.
And we have nothing to show for it, other than putting Ethan Masters even more on his guard.
I’m team leader now. I have the final say.
You’re done costing us money, time, and lives.
You’ve outlived your usefulness, Nicole. Congratulations. You’ve been retired.”
Nicole’s face had turned a dull, ashy color. She knew what “retired” meant, in the context of their lives as Owen Halliwell’s unlucky bastard spawn.
“Let me fix this,” she said. “I’m already working on an even better plan. Our plan, Vincent. Not Halliwell’s plan. You can’t execute the Event without me.”
“You think not? I’ve been doing this for years, Nicole. Just like you. You’re not so fucking special.”
“I came up with the Event. I put everything into place. I’m the only one who can troubleshoot for you in real time. I know every moving part of it intimately.”
He considered that for a moment. What she said was literally true, not that he would ever admit it to her. But she still needed to be put in her place.
“What do you know about the blonde woman who fought beside Masters in the parking garage?” he demanded.
Her eyes flashed. “Everything,” she said.
“I got her name, address, and social security number from the temp agency who sent her to Clemens’ office.
She lives in Rainier Beach. Her name is Katrin Banner.
My men have been to her house, and the dump of a martial arts school she runs for neighborhood kids.
She’s a wild card that we don’t understand yet, but we will, if you let me do my work.
If you retire me, I won’t be able to tell you if her identity is real.
No one gets the dirt on people like me, Vin. ”
“Don’t call me Vin,” he said. “Call me ‘sir.’”
Her face twisted. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You?”
“Have them bring in the portal,” he told Maynard and Lopez, two of his men, both of whom had been present at the Fletchley disaster this morning, and had lived to tell the tale.
Both of whom had reason to be disgusted with Nicole’s leadership.
They had disposed of three of their colleagues’ bodies in the incinerator this morning.
They moved quickly, and soon they and two more men, the guards who had been stationed outside the room, wheeled the big machine inside.
It was one of Owen Halliwell’s own security designs, made to protect himself from his many enemies.
Its battery of intensely sensitive sensors would sense any electronic device, explosive, or poison present on or inside a human body.
Vincent gave Nicole a thin smile. “Strip,” he commanded.
She hesitated. “But I—why would I need to demonstrate—”
“I don’t trust you, Nicole. You have proven yourself unreliable. I can’t let you near me unless I am sure you are clean, and as you know, the device gets a more reliable reading when the subject is naked. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “But I would never—”
“No, ‘sir,’” he corrected.
Nicole stopped, swallowed. “No, sir,” she forced out. “But…” She glanced around at the four men in the room, who were paying very close attention. Their eyes gleamed with hot anticipation, despite their blank expressions.
“The men are here to protect me from you, Nicole.” Vincent kept his voice soft and mocking. “And you have no one to blame for that but yourself. Now strip. Do not make me tell you a third time. You won’t like what happens then.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice had taken on a robotic tone.
She quickly and mechanically removed her shoes and then clothing, carefully draping each piece over the back of one of the desk chairs.
The portal looked like something straight out of a science fiction tale. A gleaming chrome door, the inner frame winking and blinking with colored lights. A magic door, leading to nowhere and everywhere.
“Take your hair down,” Vincent instructed. “You know that already, Nicole. No hairpins or jewelry or any foreign objects can go through.”
Nicole lifted her arms, unfastened her hair, and shook it down, holding herself very straight, jaw clenched, gaze straight ahead. He enjoyed watching her struggle.
“Turn, slowly,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” That robotic voice was beginning to annoy him, but he was distracted from it by the spectacle of her spinning around.
He’d seen her naked before, of course, during their training modules over the years.
He always enjoyed the spectacle of a naked girl, whether she was one of his half-sisters or not.
Nicole’s body was fit and beautiful, as was her perfectly made-up face.
But he was disturbed by the unsightly raised scarring on her cheekbone that makeup did not entirely hide, ruining the smooth texture.
And that ugly red, puckered scar in her shoulder, too.
Relics from her adventure with Freya Masters and Clearwater.
Flaws that urgently needed to be dealt with.
“After the Event, organize cosmetic surgery immediately to correct those disgusting scars,” he said. “They’re repellent. They lower your value.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Well?” he said sharply. “What are you waiting for? Go through the portal!”
She moved very slowly through the portal. Maynard stepped forward to study the readout on the screen embedded on the outside surface. It took him a few minutes.
“The portal did not recognize any frequency, toxin, or other substance that is in its database,” Maynard announced. “Shall I integrate with a physical cavity search?”
Vincent was taken aback by Maynard’s bold question, but it was understandable. Maynard was angry, and eager to intensify Nicole’s humiliation. Vincent was tempted to agree. And Maynard had an erection. All the men in the room but himself had one.
He could order Nicole to put her sexual skills to work to service his men.
That was clearly what they were hoping. She’d done worse to him in the past, when she was team leader.
But it would make it more difficult for her to exercise authority with those men thereafter.
Nicole was flawed, but still quite useful, he mused regretfully.
It was difficult to effectively give orders with a dick shoved up one’s throat.
“Bring in Dr. Silvano,” he said. “And the chair.”
Nicole betrayed herself by turning to stare at him, wide-eyed. “What? Who?”
“I require a demonstration of loyalty,” he told her. “I decided Halliwell’s system was a good one. Streamlined. You’ll get a loyalty tooth today…keyed to me.”
She stared at him in stark horror. Dr. Silvano was the oral surgeon Halliwell had used to implant the loyalty teeth. He was also an icy-blooded sadist.
If one of Halliwell’s bastard children failed him in some significant way, he or she was compelled to get a loyalty tooth, as a final trial before execution.
A molar was pulled, and a fake one implanted that had three components inside it; an electronic receiver, a tiny charge of explosives, and a fast-acting poison.
Halliwell had an implant that monitored his vitals.
If he died, a signal was sent to all of those implants.
They would burst open and release the poison.
His erring children would die instantly.
So, of course, would all the others with a poison tooth that was keyed to his vitals, those who had not erred. But no system was perfect.
Halliwell had given Vincent permission to implant a loyalty tooth keyed to her brother. It was fortunate neither of them had one that was keyed to Halliwell…at least, not yet. But it could always happen.
Yet another reason to be sure the Event took place as soon as possible.
“No, Vincent,” she said. “Please. You don’t have to—”
“Call me ‘sir.’ This will keep you honest. Now our fortunes are forever linked, Nicole. You know the drill. Anesthesia won’t be necessary.
Neither will painkillers afterward. Halliwell even shipped me the special chair, the one he always uses for the loyalty teeth.
I’m supposed to send it right back, because the old pervert is attached to it.
Fond memories, and all. Try not to piss yourself, Nicky. But you know they always do.”
Dr. Silvano walked in. A tall, cadaverous man with sunken cheeks, dead eyes.
Dyed black hair in a strangely lacquered comb-over.
He looked at Nicole’s naked body with casual appreciation, but Nicole looked far less beautiful now, having gone a gray color, which made her heavy make-up stand out grotesquely vivid.
They wheeled in the chair, which was an old dentist’s chair with a few extra leather buckled straps attached. Wrists, ankles, throat, waist, forehead. Dr. Silvano had insisted on it. Dental work was difficult to perform when the patient was writhing.
“Maynard, strap her in,” Vincent ordered. “You can all stay to watch.”