Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (3 page)

Even if Logan hated the asshole for what he’d done to Ayden, he couldn’t deny the guy had a sort of finesse for killing lycans. Impressive.

“Lousy piece of shit,” the man muttered. He threw the black tar-seeping head of the beast onto the floor. “Can’t wait ’til I don’t have to deal with you fucking mongrels anymore. Like lettin’ the rats have run of the goddamn pest control lab for the day.”

Logan’s gaze returned to the girl lying on the floor. Her back had been torn open, chewed to unrecognizable strands that would take a master surgeon and some choice fucking prayers to piece together again. Her nightgown lay in shreds at either side of her. Bone peeked from beneath the red, grizzled flesh. Her blonde hair, matted and soaked in blood, covered her face.

Wade squatted beside the girl, brushed her hair out of the way, and as he leaned into her ear, Logan bent closer, palms resting on his thighs. “Welcome to the Alexi soldiers,” the General whispered. “Your sweet and”—his eyes trailed down to her exposed backside—“…
innocent
ass is going to help pay for a lot of research, little girl. I hear you’re humanity’s one-way ticket to freedom from these goddamn supes. We’ll gitcha fixed up in no time,” he said, falling back onto his heels. “Shame to have to sacrifice such a pretty little ass, though.” Shady bastard’s fingers snaked across her bottom and disappeared between her legs. His eyes rolled back.

Logan curled his lip. Ayden had said a number of times the guy had a thing for young girls. For reasons he couldn’t understand, Logan’s fingers twitched with the urge to pummel the fucker. He exhilarated in the thought of breaking his nose and crushing his cheekbones. If only his fists weren’t likely to pass through the asshole and punch his own face instead.

Logan tipped his head, eyes riveted on the girl who must’ve only been about fifteen or sixteen years old, judging by the baby-faced boy-band posters pinned to the bedroom walls. Long, lowered lashes reached the top of her cheeks, as if she’d finally passed out. Drops of crimson spattered the creamy white of her skin. She lay perfectly still as the gray-haired male pierced her butt cheek with a needle he’d taken from the silver case beside him.

Logan knelt down to get a better look at her face. The sight that met his eyes at the new angle knocked him back on his ass as haunting familiarity swept over him.

Calla.
Goddamn
.

Frowning, he reared back.

How was
she
humanity’s one-way ticket to freedom? For what, exactly, had she been sacrificed?

Logan’s bones stiffened as the pain train struck his muscles and crawled up his body. Burning in his veins intensified, as if he’d disintegrate from the inside out. He held still, limbs spread, fists clenching, eyes shut and jaw aching with the tension—no doubt in his mind.

Something had gone wrong during the resurrection of his soul.

As a demon, he shouldn’t have been susceptible to human pain. Yet, when Logan opened his eyes and anchored his stare on Calla, her tense and shivering body mimicked his own reaction as Wade removed the needle from her backside.

As quick as the scene had materialized, it faded, sucking him once again into the blackness.

***

Twenty-eight hours earlier …

General Jackson Wade stared at the symbol, the ingenious logo that concealed one of the city’s darkest secrets. If he had any thoughts that there might be a more conniving human mind than his own, he’d just witnessed it in the patterns that made up Penwell Pharmaceuticals seemingly heartfelt marketing scheme.

With a shake of his head, he stepped inside the mineshaft elevator and pressed for the third floor. At a crawling sensation slithering across the back of his neck, he slapped his nape. Fucking place gave him the creeps. No doubt, someone in the hellhole just got a laugh, watching his antics on camera. Every inch of the building was wired—particularly the mines.

The elevator jerked and made a slow descent, gears and pulleys creaking outside the cab as if the damn thing would bust off and drop him to a painful death. Not so much from the impact of the car hitting the bottommost level of the mineshaft, but whatever hell took place in that lowest pit made the Berserkers back at the Alexi compound look like big purple dinosaurs ready to break out in song. Hairs bristled as the elevator finally came to a stop and opened.

Bright white met his eyes, blinding, and he shielded his face against the stark change in light, while stepping out onto the cleanest white tile floor he’d ever seen. The overwhelming smell of bleach damn near singed his nose hairs as the slam from behind signaled the elevator had left him there.

A solid door stood before him. He’d always imagined the small room as something akin to what purgatory might be like. Nothingness aside from the one door ahead and the elevator shaft behind that could easily divert him straight to hell.

Wade strode up to the door, bent forward a little, and widened his eyes. A panel lifted, distorting the perfect white wall into a small box of black and gray electrical wires. A camera ejected from the panel and a red beam flashed one quick sweep over his eyeball. It punched forward a stroke before retreating back into the wires and disappearing behind the perfect white wall again.

Damn that thing. Always made him jump at that last little circus act. Like the bastard might poke him in the eye with a needle.

Hinges on the door clicked and the white wall slid smoothly to the side, unveiling more whiteness and sterile smells.

Wade took two steps inside the anteroom. Stainless steel shelving units displayed personal protective equipment: goggles, white jumpsuits, shoe covers, respirators and gloves.
Christ in a prom dress.
He hated suiting up in the shit. Never bothered to wear the stuff in his own lab.

He pulled items from the shelves and donned them over his clothes.

At the final zip of his jumpsuit, the door opened—further confirmation of the cameras. Made him wonder what would happen if he didn’t bother to dress? How long would they let a man stand there like a dipshit before the floor opened up and swallowed him?

Wade chuckled, his eyes scanning the glass enclosures to the left and right as he passed through a corridor. Inside them, lab techs shuffled like drones, with test tubes and samples, peering into microscopes, never paying him mind.

Grunt work. Being discharged from his position in the military lab had been the best thing that could’ve happened to him. At least he didn’t answer to anyone like those sorry pricks.

Politics and horse shit.

To the right, a body lay sprawled on a stretcher as the lab rats circled it like vultures. Wade could only make out limbs overhanging the edge through the clusterfuck surrounding the poor sap. An arm. A leg. Both a sickly shade of pearl-white and withered enough to be either gender.

Unbeknownst to the general public, human trials were a pretty common practice.
Stupid lambs were worried about makeup on monkeys
. If they only knew what twisted research and torture came with the blue pill to ease their constipation, they’d probably shit without it.

He finally reached another door and allowed the eye scanner to have its onceover, his muscles tensed to keep from jumping back.

The door slid open to yet
another
anteroom.
The President has fewer levels of bullshit
.

Wade huffed, doffing the clown suit he’d put on only a hundred yards back, and tossed the equipment into a receptacle built into the wall.

With a slide-glide of the last door, he entered a somewhat regular-looking office-like setting. Who the hell would’ve thought such a thing existed on the other side of the wall?

Like leaving truth and entering the realm of lies.

Artificial sunlight filtered in, as though the place wasn’t perched a couple thousand feet below the surface. A cute little brunette sat behind a desk, primped like she belonged on a magazine rather than an underground coffin with two bat-shit crazy bosses.

He nodded her way.

“Mr. Penwell will be right with you.” Her silky voice brought Wade’s dick to a stand.

Wonder which one you’re fucking?
Wade silently sneered at the thought of her riding atop of ole Penwell senior, since it was ninety eight percent likely that junior was a fuckin’ cock-jockey. “Thank you.” He smiled and took a seat across from her, where he could easily ogle those slender legs sticking out from beneath the desk.

The door to the left flew open and a gray-haired man, much like Wade, wearing a pin-stripe suit approached him, hand outstretched. Penwell senior carried himself like a crime boss—all business with an air of confidence that told a man no one would ever find the body. A decent looking guy, for an asshole who had more money than God. “Mr. Wade. Good to see you again, my friend,” he said, giving a firmer handshake than necessary.

Mister?
The Alexi soldiers back at the compound always referred to Wade as
General
.

Penwell senior led him inside his office and to a seat beside a much skinnier and younger version of himself. For some reason, Wade couldn’t help but imagine junior with a mouthful of dick every time he saw the kid. He curled his lip, sliding the chair away from him before taking a seat.

“So, time is money and I haven’t much to waste. Where’s our girl?” Penwell senior asked, falling gracefully into his oversized chair.

“Straight for the gullet. I like that.” Wade shifted, preparing himself for the anal-prodding he expected from the meeting. “I, uh … thought you wanted her trained.”

“Whatever would we need her trained for?”

“Girl’s gotta defend herself, right?”

“Mister Wade, I’m a man of little patience.” Senior’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. “I feel as though you’re being wishy-washy here. And, quite frankly, it’s beginning to piss me off. We agreed to have her remain in your
care
for the series of injections. Five years we’ve waited. She’s received the last injection, has she not? She is thus considered fully immune.”

“Straight for the gullet with the
sharp
blade.” Wade chuckled and swiped at his nose. “She’s on a mission. At the moment. I expect her back real soon.”

“Mission?” Senior sat forward and entwined his fingers. “What kind of mission?”

“Had to have her go undercover for me.” Wade held up his hands. “Now, don’t go worrying, it’s not dangerous. Just had her go underground. A stakeout.”

A clearly fake smile slid across old Penwell’s face, like devils peered out from his too-shiny tooth enamel, poking their forked sticks into Wade’s gut. His brows came together as he said, “Let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly. You sent our
prized possession
on a mission to an underground party?” He shot a glance toward his son and back to Wade. “What are the odds that she suddenly becomes …
impure
in this endeavor? Or worse yet, killed? It is the utmost importance that she remains
untouched.
”

“Zero. I give you my word.” Wade tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. “That Calla, she might look fragile, but she’s a pistol.” He sneered.

Penwell senior’s lip tightened. “
Pistols
tend to get themselves in trouble, if left to their own devices. And what are the chances that you’d just stumble upon another beautiful, virgin Alexi female in your travels?”

Wade shifted back in his chair. “Kids these days? Ha! Ain’t like when we were young, playing Spin the Bottle. Nowadays they’re shovin’ the bottles up their asses and recording the shit on YouTube. Sick society we live in.” He shook his head. “I can assure you, I’ve kept her as pure as freshly fallen snowflakes.” Wade cleared his throat. Truth was, he hadn’t upheld the deal to keep her pure, particularly the last few weeks, after the request for additional funds had been turned down by old man Penwell himself. Pissed Wade right off when the letter came through with the bastard’s signature scrawled across it. “I got a recon team keeping an eye on her.” Bullshit, of course. Though he
had
made an honest attempt to get her back from the Wrath demons and failed. Miserably. Had no idea where to find the much sought-after demon lair now.

“Recon team? Then, we’re not talking lycans here?”

“Uh. No, sir.” Wade swallowed a gulp.
Focus
. The events of last evening must’ve still had his mind scrambled. First the meeting with the demons, followed by the desertion of his second-in-command, Draven. “We’ve got ties … a nephilim who has given us some information on some demons.”

“Demons.” Senior spoke in a flat tone. “We’ve been quite patient with you, Mister Wade—your escapades with the lycans, to which we’ve kindly turned our cheek. You wanted to go out on your own, in spite of the dream team staff we offered here. And we supported you on that. But I’m afraid you’ve squandered a very pricey investment. And you have the nerve to request additional funds from us? Your entire program remained in our good charities based on the girl.”