Read Online Ruthless by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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said quietly. “So long as there have been people, there have always been others who intend them harm.”
“Yeah, well, my job is to stop that harm,” I said, looking straight ahead. “Full stop, end of sentence.”
I could see him out of the corner of my eye as the plane rattled on final descent. I knew he wanted to argue more, but whether it was because of the roughness of the landing or because he knew my patience was gone, he held his tongue. I sat in silence as we made our way to the ground, thankful for the peace that hung in the air—even if it did not come close to settling inside me.
11.
I led Simmons out of the back of the van, a half dozen guys with submachine guns arrayed around me. We stepped out into the cold, and I felt Simmons gasp as Minnesota kissed him hello. It was January and he was wearing a fairly thin coat. Do the math on that one.
Thanks to long practice dealing with the Minnesota chill, I managed to brace myself. I held tight on his forearm and pushed him forward. “Come on, let’s get inside,” I said with as much encouragement as I could.
The snow covered the ground in all directions as we stepped out under the portico and walked the half dozen steps toward headquarters front door. Simmons was dripping from the gel still, and I felt it freeze on him as we walked. I’ve read books where authors talk about the glorious, frigid majesty of winter. Every time I step outside on a day like today I feel the urge to track them down and give them a swift kick to the groin. Or the head. Maybe both. Simmons’s steps faltered, and I dragged him along, flanked by our armed guard squad as they opened the glass doors to the agency’s headquarters for me.
We passed through the doors into the lobby and a blast of warm air thawed me slightly. Ice had already formed on Simmons’s arms and legs, and he walked with a limp, jaw chattering. His lips were slightly blue. “Come on, let’s get you locked up, it’ll be warmer down there.”
I steered him through the security checkpoint with a nod from the guards and we made our way out of the sweeping lobby with its high ceilings into a metal door that led to a staircase.
“Where are you … taking me?” Simmons asked, shivering.
“The meta equivalent of prison,” I said, leading him down the stark staircase. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. “Which is also, not coincidentally, called prison.”
“I thought that was in Arizona,” he said, looking around wildly, taking it all in.
“Used to be,” I said. This was a pretty closely guarded secret, since the last prison had been destroyed twice. When we rebuilt it, they—the government—wanted to make sure that it was given every possible security precaution.
Apparently, I was the best security precaution they could come up with, so they stuck it here under the agency headquarters. It was still a secret to the rest of the world—including most of our employees—but since Eric Simmons was about to become a resident, I didn’t feel a need to lie to him about it.
I hustled him through the special security checkpoint and into the staircase to the prison entry. There were twelve armed men waiting here with their weapons at the ready, and another dozen waited behind a concrete and metal wall. I put one hand on a biometric sensor while leaving the other on Simmons’s arm. “I don’t have to tell you what the penalty will be for starting shit right now, do I?”
“I won’t get a nice, fluffy cell?” Simmons smarted off.
“I’ll kill you instantly by breaking your neck,” I said without emotion. “This is a high security area; the guards will shoot to kill, and if they fail, I won’t.” I pulled a scanner from the wall unit close to one of my eyes, leaving the other free to watch him. I saw him look back, trying to get a read on me. “You escaping custody out in the world is one thing; you causing an earthquake in the middle of my meta prison is a death sentence.”
I
“Yeah, well, my job is to stop that harm,” I said, looking straight ahead. “Full stop, end of sentence.”
I could see him out of the corner of my eye as the plane rattled on final descent. I knew he wanted to argue more, but whether it was because of the roughness of the landing or because he knew my patience was gone, he held his tongue. I sat in silence as we made our way to the ground, thankful for the peace that hung in the air—even if it did not come close to settling inside me.
11.
I led Simmons out of the back of the van, a half dozen guys with submachine guns arrayed around me. We stepped out into the cold, and I felt Simmons gasp as Minnesota kissed him hello. It was January and he was wearing a fairly thin coat. Do the math on that one.
Thanks to long practice dealing with the Minnesota chill, I managed to brace myself. I held tight on his forearm and pushed him forward. “Come on, let’s get inside,” I said with as much encouragement as I could.
The snow covered the ground in all directions as we stepped out under the portico and walked the half dozen steps toward headquarters front door. Simmons was dripping from the gel still, and I felt it freeze on him as we walked. I’ve read books where authors talk about the glorious, frigid majesty of winter. Every time I step outside on a day like today I feel the urge to track them down and give them a swift kick to the groin. Or the head. Maybe both. Simmons’s steps faltered, and I dragged him along, flanked by our armed guard squad as they opened the glass doors to the agency’s headquarters for me.
We passed through the doors into the lobby and a blast of warm air thawed me slightly. Ice had already formed on Simmons’s arms and legs, and he walked with a limp, jaw chattering. His lips were slightly blue. “Come on, let’s get you locked up, it’ll be warmer down there.”
I steered him through the security checkpoint with a nod from the guards and we made our way out of the sweeping lobby with its high ceilings into a metal door that led to a staircase.
“Where are you … taking me?” Simmons asked, shivering.
“The meta equivalent of prison,” I said, leading him down the stark staircase. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. “Which is also, not coincidentally, called prison.”
“I thought that was in Arizona,” he said, looking around wildly, taking it all in.
“Used to be,” I said. This was a pretty closely guarded secret, since the last prison had been destroyed twice. When we rebuilt it, they—the government—wanted to make sure that it was given every possible security precaution.
Apparently, I was the best security precaution they could come up with, so they stuck it here under the agency headquarters. It was still a secret to the rest of the world—including most of our employees—but since Eric Simmons was about to become a resident, I didn’t feel a need to lie to him about it.
I hustled him through the special security checkpoint and into the staircase to the prison entry. There were twelve armed men waiting here with their weapons at the ready, and another dozen waited behind a concrete and metal wall. I put one hand on a biometric sensor while leaving the other on Simmons’s arm. “I don’t have to tell you what the penalty will be for starting shit right now, do I?”
“I won’t get a nice, fluffy cell?” Simmons smarted off.
“I’ll kill you instantly by breaking your neck,” I said without emotion. “This is a high security area; the guards will shoot to kill, and if they fail, I won’t.” I pulled a scanner from the wall unit close to one of my eyes, leaving the other free to watch him. I saw him look back, trying to get a read on me. “You escaping custody out in the world is one thing; you causing an earthquake in the middle of my meta prison is a death sentence.”
I
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