Read Online Sins of the Flesh by Caridad Piñeiro - Free Book Online Page B

small glass panel at the door, angry with himself that he had underestimated his patient’s abilities and determination.
    He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
    Pivoting on his heel, he stalked back toward the first room and peered within.
    Santiago was beginning to stir. His head lolled from side to side as his lips twitched and twisted.
    He hit the intercom by the patient’s door to listen, but the words, if there were any, were indistinct. The sounds were more like the warning grunts of an animal rather than those of a person. Maybe because in his current state Santiago was more feral than human.
    Smiling, he thought about turning Santiago loose on Shaw. He pictured the way the fight between them wouldensue, pitting one set of supernatural powers against another.
    Santiago had physical strength, but unlike Shaw he was slow both physically and mentally. If it hadn’t been for the death sentences imposed by both nature and New Jersey’s legal system, he wouldn’t have urged Wells to accept the career criminal into the study. But the state had offered to release Santiago into Wardwell’s care if he participated in the experiment, and the nature of Santiago’s illness—a virulent form of diabetes that modern medicine couldn’t control—had sealed the decision.
    Finding a gene therapy that would help Santiago might have resulted in a cure.
    A very profitable cure for Wardwell.
    Unfortunately, the gene strain implanted into Santiago had produced erratic results in controlling his insulin levels. It had, however, yielded a mechanism for burning off all the excess sugar in a way that created immense energy and inhuman strength.
    Such possibilities when combined with Santiago’s criminal traits and violence…
    The smile broadened on his face as he remembered how Santiago had taken care of Wells.
    If necessary, he would turn Santiago loose on Shaw to end the threat.
    Once that happened it would be back to business as usual and no one would be the wiser about what Wardwell had done.
    Caterina woke with a sharp cry that brought Mick to instant alertness.
    He whipped his Glock from between the cushions, trained it on the door, but soon realized that there was no one else in the room.
    She’d had another nightmare filled with images of blood and death. Fear lingered in her psyche and she tossed fretfully on the bed, yanking and twisting against the restraints. Grimacing as one strong tug brought pain through her injured shoulder, giving her one more reason to wish Mick would relent and set her free.
    Instead he tucked the Glock back between the cushions and slipped onto the ottoman. Leaning forward, Mick reached out as if to comfort her, but stopped halfway. Pulling his hand back, he rubbed both hands on his sweats, clearly uncertain.
    His hesitation made Caterina pause in her struggles, and with that fragile calm, Mick finally placed his hand at the top of her arm and applied slight pressure.
    “Don’t hurt me,” she said softly.
    Mick stroked his hand across her skin tenderly. In patient tones he said, “No one is going to hurt you.”
    Caterina glanced at his hand and tried to move away, but the bindings made it impossible.
    “Let me go,” she urged, wanting to be free.
    He kept up his slow caress, as if trying to calm her the way one might an injured stray. His cocoa brown eyes filled with a mix of emotions that perplexed her.
    She hadn’t expected kindness. Couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated her with anything other than contempt or clinical detachment.
    “Where would you go?” he asked, shifting even closer to the edge of the ottoman, his presence surprisingly comforting.
    “Home. I want to go home.”
    Guilt flashed across his features, warning her that home wasn’t an option he was considering at the moment.
    “Maybe later. When it’s safe,” he urged and shifted his hand up her arm until he was at the binding. “I don’t want you to reinjure your arm. I’m going to loosen it a