Read Online Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) by Shannon McKenna - Free Book Online
Authors: Shannon McKenna
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his fingers into the boy’s hair. “How about if I collapse his skull and we watch his brain squeeze out? On second thought, that’s too quick. I want him conscious when I do this.” He reached down and grabbed Joseph’s balls.
Joseph screamed behind his duct tape and jackknifed frantically.
“Stop!” Kitteridge begged. “Stop! I’ll open the vault! Just put him down!”
“That’s the spirit.” Mark let go and Joseph thudded heavily down to the concrete floor with an agonized grunt.
Bonus. The kid was crying real tears. Mark almost wished he hadn’t let go so soon. He sighed and turned to the general. “Do it.”
The older man’s eyes darted to his grandson. “I will, but . . . but you can’t use it. No one could, not even me.”
“Explain, fuckhead. Or your grandson gets something worse.”
Kitteridge talked fast, spewing out the words. “The weapons are keyed to the mods of the ultimate generation of enhanced slave soldiers, and they respond only to their specific mental commands.”
“Really. Well, I may be just a rough draft,” Mark said casually, “but I’m still curious to see the final product. Don’t make me wait. Joseph has a low pain threshold. Trust me on that.”
“I have to concentrate,” Kitteridge pleaded. “It’s not easy to use, and it’s impossible when I’m agitated! The system recognizes brainwaves generated while visualizing images, and if I can’t—”
“I understand the basic principles,” Mark interrupted. “I’m a GodsEye client myself, General, and I manage the brain/software interface just fine. Would it speed things up if I cut off a piece of Joseph’s body?”
“No! Just let me concentrate, please! Just give me a moment!”
Mark tapped his foot as he watched sweat roll down the General’s face. Payback was never as satisfying in real life as in fantasy. He’d cornered his first Obsidian target last year. Lydia Bachmann, CEO of a weapons manufacturing firm. He’d tried to compel Lydia to open a GodsEye safe for him, unaware of the safe’s unique biometric design. But the drug he’d used to lower her resistance to interrogation hadn’t worked right. She couldn’t summon up images strong enough to be read by the sensors.
The safe had stayed closed, to his intense frustration. For months, he’d been hauling the fucking thing around everywhere he went.
Lydia had regretted her sins, but it hadn’t been as much fun as he’d hoped. Plus, she’d lost consciousness far too quickly. Silence was not what he wanted out of the encounter. Screaming provided measurable feedback during the infliction of pain. She’d disappointed him.
He was learning how to make agony last, build it into a crescendo as he killed these power-bloated bastards one by one. And then, ahhh. Taking their masterpiece from them, and bludgeoning the living shit out of everyone with it . . . that promised to be a fucking blast.
No drugs for Kitteridge. He’d learned his lesson. The general’s mind needed to be crystal sharp. The kidnapped grandson was a more efficient stimulant.
Kitteridge squeezed his eyes shut, veins pulsing in his temples. Minutes crawled by. Mark drummed his fingers, monitoring the general’s sig for any sign that the man was stalling. All he saw was desperate effort.
Finally, the light panel on the vault door flashed green. The seal popped open.
Kitteridge sagged in his bonds, dangling his head between hunched shoulders.
In between the older man’s ragged, sobbing breaths, Mark heard nothing with his augmented hearing. Nothing moved in the desert for miles around other than small animals. He’d taken out the facility’s security personnel when he arrived. The place was strewn with their soon-to-be-desiccated bodies. How fortunate that they wouldn’t smell, considering that there were ten of them.
Now, it was just him, the two Kitteridges, and the quiet desert evening.
A quickie scan showed that neither Kitteridge was likely to inconvenience him
Joseph screamed behind his duct tape and jackknifed frantically.
“Stop!” Kitteridge begged. “Stop! I’ll open the vault! Just put him down!”
“That’s the spirit.” Mark let go and Joseph thudded heavily down to the concrete floor with an agonized grunt.
Bonus. The kid was crying real tears. Mark almost wished he hadn’t let go so soon. He sighed and turned to the general. “Do it.”
The older man’s eyes darted to his grandson. “I will, but . . . but you can’t use it. No one could, not even me.”
“Explain, fuckhead. Or your grandson gets something worse.”
Kitteridge talked fast, spewing out the words. “The weapons are keyed to the mods of the ultimate generation of enhanced slave soldiers, and they respond only to their specific mental commands.”
“Really. Well, I may be just a rough draft,” Mark said casually, “but I’m still curious to see the final product. Don’t make me wait. Joseph has a low pain threshold. Trust me on that.”
“I have to concentrate,” Kitteridge pleaded. “It’s not easy to use, and it’s impossible when I’m agitated! The system recognizes brainwaves generated while visualizing images, and if I can’t—”
“I understand the basic principles,” Mark interrupted. “I’m a GodsEye client myself, General, and I manage the brain/software interface just fine. Would it speed things up if I cut off a piece of Joseph’s body?”
“No! Just let me concentrate, please! Just give me a moment!”
Mark tapped his foot as he watched sweat roll down the General’s face. Payback was never as satisfying in real life as in fantasy. He’d cornered his first Obsidian target last year. Lydia Bachmann, CEO of a weapons manufacturing firm. He’d tried to compel Lydia to open a GodsEye safe for him, unaware of the safe’s unique biometric design. But the drug he’d used to lower her resistance to interrogation hadn’t worked right. She couldn’t summon up images strong enough to be read by the sensors.
The safe had stayed closed, to his intense frustration. For months, he’d been hauling the fucking thing around everywhere he went.
Lydia had regretted her sins, but it hadn’t been as much fun as he’d hoped. Plus, she’d lost consciousness far too quickly. Silence was not what he wanted out of the encounter. Screaming provided measurable feedback during the infliction of pain. She’d disappointed him.
He was learning how to make agony last, build it into a crescendo as he killed these power-bloated bastards one by one. And then, ahhh. Taking their masterpiece from them, and bludgeoning the living shit out of everyone with it . . . that promised to be a fucking blast.
No drugs for Kitteridge. He’d learned his lesson. The general’s mind needed to be crystal sharp. The kidnapped grandson was a more efficient stimulant.
Kitteridge squeezed his eyes shut, veins pulsing in his temples. Minutes crawled by. Mark drummed his fingers, monitoring the general’s sig for any sign that the man was stalling. All he saw was desperate effort.
Finally, the light panel on the vault door flashed green. The seal popped open.
Kitteridge sagged in his bonds, dangling his head between hunched shoulders.
In between the older man’s ragged, sobbing breaths, Mark heard nothing with his augmented hearing. Nothing moved in the desert for miles around other than small animals. He’d taken out the facility’s security personnel when he arrived. The place was strewn with their soon-to-be-desiccated bodies. How fortunate that they wouldn’t smell, considering that there were ten of them.
Now, it was just him, the two Kitteridges, and the quiet desert evening.
A quickie scan showed that neither Kitteridge was likely to inconvenience him
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