Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Inside, things weren’t much warmer or fancier, but they didn’t have to be. The arching interior space was all raw concrete blocks, caged lights, and exposed electricals and duct work. Then again, the main attraction was inanimate. The floor space was almost completely taken up by a mobile surgical unit that had always reminded Xhex of the one from Stripes: The vehicle looked like an upscale RV, but inside, it had been retrofitted with everything Manny Manello or Doc Jane might need to save a fighter who’d found the wrong end of a gun. Dagger. Rocket launcher.
Vishous stepped out from around the front bumper. The Brother was strapped up under his own black leather jacket, his already powerful body padded by the bulk of the holsters under his armpits and the ammo belt around his waist. In the center of his chest, strapped handles down, were the deadly black daggers he used against the enemy with such skill and ferocity.
“Come on,” V said. “I’ll take you downstairs.”
As her mate nodded, Xhex had an out-of-body experience as they were led over to a steel door in the far corner. After V entered a passcode, the locking bolt retracted, and she caught a flash of copper as the Brother stood aside and she was the first to enter a well-lit concrete and steel stairway.
When they got to the lower level, V stepped forward again and did his business with another keypad. The corridor that was revealed was a short-and-sweet, and she did not have to ask which of the doors was the morgue’s.
It was the one that was a meat locker, all stainless steel once again, with a righteous latch and a system of flexible aluminum cooling ducts around the jambs that made it look like an octopus was trying to eat the entrance like a piece of metal toast.
No passcode this time, and no talking. They all knew why they had come and the reason for this visit was nothing that lent itself to casual chatter like how good Fritz’s turkey dinner had been back at the mansion, or what anybody wanted to do for New Year’s, or when Deadpool 3 was coming out.
V did the honors with the release, and there was a hiss as the vaper lock let go. Inside, a shallow receiving room was tiled on three sides by gray and white stone squares. The alternating pattern was anchored by brisk white mortar that burned the eye under the glare of the fluorescent ceiling panels. Then again, the facility had been installed, only what, like, six months ago? No wear and tear, yet.
But as this visit proved, such a depreciation would come.
The bank of refrigerated units took up the whole of the rear wall. Three levels up, six across. Eighteen slots. Which seemed like a lot of vacancies? Then again, at the rate she was killing people, it might only take her a year—
“Fuck,” she heard herself say.
“Manny told me it’s this one.” V went over to the second in from the left in the middle level. “You ready?”
No, not at all. “Yes—wait,” she cut in as he went for the release. “I want to do it.”
V nodded and eased back.
Unlike all the other individual doors, the one Vishous had indicated had a label sitting in the holder above the latch. Somebody had printed an address on it in black pen: 17th and Market.
Right. Time to…
Reaching out, she watched from a great distance as she pulled the lever. There was a sigh of air releasing, and she smelled the flesh immediately, even though the remains were being kept cold. Under her hand, the slab rolled out smoothly, and the body was covered by a white sheet.
Feet first. Was there a toe tag?
Standing by the head, she pulled the covering off the face slowly, and though she had the urge to recoil—maybe so she could throw up on her hellren’s shitkickers?—she forced herself to stare down at what she’d done.
He’d had blue eyes. Which she’d wrapped in that red bandana.
And the sockets were clean as a whistle.
Neat job, indeed. Then again, she’d had practice—
In quick succession, she saw other faces, just like this. All male. All without eyes. All… dead. But they hadn’t been dressed in club clothes. They’d been in lab coats.
Scientists. Humans who had wanted to understand her kind.
Sadists who had enjoyed making things that screamed and begged for mercy suffer.
In the end, she had slaughtered them all at that lab she’d been imprisoned in: The ones who had pumped her full of TB, Ebola, leprosy, and polio to see what a vampire’s body was susceptible to. Who had tested her reproductive organs. Who had operated on her again and again, just so they could measure the healing capabilities they could not comprehend.
They hadn’t used anesthetic.
And neither had she as she had taken their eyes.