Page 25 of He is… Creed: Part Three

Abruptly, Caleb does something I have never seen him do. He loses it. Totally, completely loses it. He curses and then flattens one fist against the cavern wall beside the viewing glass, his big body tense, thundering frustration rushing off him.

I cringe as blood oozes from his knuckles and quickly back away, hugging myself, unsure of what to do. Not sure there’s anything I can do. Caleb holds the lives of his soldiers as his responsibility; perhaps he even represents the future of the world as we know it.

The pressure had to be immense.

“Julian’s soldiers on our perimeters,” he growls. “Waiting to unload those damn bullets in every one of my men. And what do we have to beat them back? Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

“We can fix that,” Creed offers. “We can even the playing field. Let’s go get Lawrence’s stock of Green Hornets now, tonight, and claim them for our own.”

Caleb runs his uninjured hand over the back of his neck, slowly calming himself. “Too much of the data on the hard drive is still encrypted. We don’t know enough to move forward. Can you get stock direct from Taylor?”

A muscle flexes in Creed’s jaw; his discomfort at Caleb knowing those bullets were his family’s creation, is palpable. “Obviously, Jensen updated you on my mother’s involvement.”

“He did. This is not your fault, Creed, but it might be a blessing. You have insider knowledge of their operation.”

“If I’m right about her involvement, and I show up and do what I have to do to get those bullets, then we’ve alerted her and Lawrence that we know what they are up to.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve done that already,” Caleb says, his hands settling on his waist, blood dripping down his wrist. “We need those bullets.”

Long, tense moments pass, Creed’s expression indecipherable, but I can feel him through our bond—feel the emotion rolling off him, the tension eating away at him from the inside out. His mother is a problem for him in all kinds of ways none of us understand, I decide.

But he’s a soldier, as he’s reminded me oh, so brutally today, and he will do what is necessary. Proving I’m right, he says, “I’ll need a team at the Taylor facility ready to go the minute I deliver the coordinates. If they leave with me now, I’ll get them out of the canyon under the cover of wind.” Caleb offers a short nod of approval, and Creed’s gaze shifts to me, coldness in the depths of his stare. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

A futile desperation rises inside me. I want to beg him to stay, to wait one more day, to allow his closest allies to heal. But I know why this is necessary, and I know what my role is in this, too. And it’s not to be a problem, not to deter him from his duty. I nod and whisper, “Be careful.”

His eyes darken, a flicker of emotion in their depths so fleeting I almost think I imagine it. He rotates on his heels and starts walking. And I can’t help it. I fear he won’t return. I think I will always fear he won’t come back. But not because he’s a soldier. Not because we’re in a silent war. Because he is Creed.

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?”

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