Chapter Twenty-Seven
General Lawrence
Lieutenant Colonel Brock West is on his way to being the first GTECH controlled by Red Dart.
“The subject is assimilating Grade 2 serum well, despite the rapid introduction into his system,” Dr. Chin reports, with West lying in bed a few feet away.
I receive the report with limited enthusiasm, regardless of the scientific progress that has now modified the three-month transformation from soldier to GTECH to a mere few days. I’d watched two hundred and nine soldiers transform into GTECHs at Groom Lake before the White House axed the program.
Creation is necessary, but creation alone is not success. I’ve stockpiled enough serum for hundreds of new GTECH soldiers to be created. And alignment with the government has allowed me access to the soldiers worthy of conversion, but it’s Jocelyn who’s been the golden apple, the one who’s given me the missing element that allowed me to use my new GTECHs—control.
“As it stands,” Chin continues, “he’s at 70 percent absorption. We should have—”
Suddenly, West jerks, his eyelids peeling back so wide it’s as if needles threaded the lashes and stretched them outward.
It’s a chillingly familiar look, one I’ve witnessed on the battlefield moments after a soldier is injured, seconds before death. I lift an eyebrow at Chin.
Jocelyn rushes to West’s side, reaching for the face mask on the portable table. “It’s the light.” She leans toward him, and he jerks again.
“Holy hell, Jocelyn,” I chide. “You’re going to get hurt. You’re not a damn nurse.” I cut Chin a warning look that demands he act. I don’t give a crap if West is in pain, but contrary to what one would think about someone who builds weapons of mass destruction, Jocelyn is sensitive to such things. The truth is, her company hasn’t been the same since her husband died, but as a plus, she’s far easier to control than he had been.
Jocelyn can justify a lot for financial gain, but she doesn’t do well when the inevitable death that comes with war is staring her in the face. She’s annoyingly female, but I humor her sensitivity simply to avoid any last-minute soul-searching on her behalf over what is before us.
“Put the damn mask on the man before he ends up hurting her.” Indignation flashes in Chin’s face, the look saying he isn’t a damn nurse either, but it only serves to agitate me. “Do it.” My command is low, curt. Chin launches into motion, placing the mask over West’s face, blocking out the light. Instantly, West calms.
Jocelyn’s brows furrow with concern. “Conversion is painful to watch.”
“The cornea is hypersensitive to seeing everything with a crisper, more intense clarity,” Chin reminds her. “He’ll fully adjust in the next few hours.”
Jocelyn’s concern shifts to excitement, and she pushes off the bed. “Does that mean we can implement the Red Dart application in a few hours as well?”
“The transformation period is the serum’s super-powered effort to rid his body of all weakness,” Chin says, again reminding us of what we already know, but he seems to believe she’s forgotten. “We have no idea how adaptable it is during that time. We don’t want to risk it building up immunity to the formula you’ve created. Let the transformation fully complete.”
“How much time?” I press.
“Twenty-four hours.”
“Make it twelve,” I state, no give to my voice.
Chin shifts uncomfortably. “There’s still a question—”
“Then go find the answer,” I snip, uninterested in where this is going. “ Now .”
Chin nods sharply and heads for the door.
Good. He needs to get to work. I’ve provided him with every resource known to man. The facility we’re standing inside might be small, but it’s nothing shy of state-of-the-art. As a bonus, it’s safely hidden beneath Jocelyn’s home, with military-grade technology in every facet of its creation.
Up to a point, I’d kept things all business with Jocelyn, but when you make a woman moan, you control her, and along the way, I’ve found we share a mutual pleasure. Hatred for one person is quite intoxicating.
Creed Taylor is the source of our hate.
The soldier who disgraced me—by sleeping with my daughter and damn near killing me. Creed turned his back on his country as he had on his mother.
My gaze rakes over her curvy but slender figure, tracing the line of her hips and the swell of her breasts, then back to her lovely face. “I do believe it’s time we open that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving to toast our success.”
“I thought you didn’t consider us a success until Red Dart was implemented.”
“Then we’ll toast the years of brilliant collaboration it took to get us to this point.” I hold out my hand to her. “What do you say?”
She hesitates an instant, but her resistance slides away, her features softening with the promise of submission. Her fingers settle against my palm. Our eyes meet, simmering with our familiar shared attraction and a carnal need to fuck.
Now.
Here.
I lead her past her desk to a leather couch and chair in the corner of the room. This is her personal workspace, and unlike the adjoining rooms down the hall, I’d taken care to add comfort here.
I urge her to sit on the couch. Tentatively, she perches on the edge, watching me with a heavy-lidded stare, her black slacks hugging slender thighs. I walk to the hutch against the wall and pull out the bottle of champagne I’d chilled a bit ago, filling two glasses. Joining her, I sit down beside her and offer her a glass.
“To us,” I murmur softly, and what my words do not say, I ensure my eyes do.
Her lips part and her cheeks flush a pretty pink. She touches her glass to mine. “To us.”
We sip the bubbly liquid, savoring it, but not for too long. I take her glass and set both on the table. “Tell me, Jocelyn,” I say, my hand resting on her leg. “Does saving the world turn you on as much as it does me?”