“Are you fucking serious?” Nash said angrily. “That bitch is really a Merc?”
“Wasa Merc,” Fairchild said coldly. “My old teammate.”
“You’re certain?” Reece asked.
Fairchild nodded.
“Damn. That means they had us made from the moment they saw us in the restaurant.”
“Yup,” said Fairchild. “And we walked straight into their trap. Only, you guys didn’t have to do that. You should have made a run for it.”
“And leave you behind?” Dutton said, breaking his silence. “No chance. Anyway, we’re here now, and I’d say we’ve got an advantage.”
“An advantage?”
“That’s right. We’re still breathing. If Slayn wanted us dead, he would have killed us already. That means he must need us alive for some reason. That tilts the odds in our favor, no?”
Fairchild looked doubtful.
“I appreciate the optimism,” she said, “but that still leaves one pretty big question…why?Why does he want us alive?”
Dutton didn’t have an answer for that.
But he had a feeling they were about to find out.
A door whisked open at one end of the room, and Slayn entered, accompanied by the blonde woman, Rook. His lips were turned up in a gloating smirk.
Dutton wanted to strain against the bonds that were holding him. He wanted to snarl, to spit. But he didn’t do any of those things. He wasn’t going to give Slayn the satisfaction. Dutton had dealt with his fair share of bullies growing up. He knew better than to feed their desire for domination. It was better to stay cold—and strike hard, when the opportunity presented itself.
Slayn looked at Fairchild, and his smirk darkened.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “Good, good…”
Dutton stared at the man. He was dressed in a dark gray business suit, no tie. The top few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, revealing a slash of deeply tanned skin. Dutton noticed there was a splint on the middle finger of his right hand. That hadn’t been there yesterday. Fairchild’s work? Must have been.
Before Dutton had a chance to question that injury further, Slayn spread his hands in a dramatic gesture of greeting.
“Welcome aboard my ship! How do you like it?”
He paused for a beat, as if waiting for an answer. When he received none, he continued unfazed.
“I’ll admit,” he said, glancing around at the bare, steel walls, “this room may not look like much, but I assure you, it has seen more action than any other part of the ship. Oh, if these walls could talk.” He sighed, wistfully. “You see, this is my interrogation room.”
“A torture chamber,” Dutton said.
“If you want to be crude about it, I suppose…”
Slayn strode up to Dutton and tapped him on the forehead. He used his left hand for the task. The onewithoutthe splint. He looked, to Dutton, a bit like a spoiled brat poking a tiger through the bars of its cage. A brat who had already lost one finger, but still hadn’t learned his lesson.
“…Don’t worry,” Slayn went on. “The information I’m after isn’t stored in your head. It’s in your cells, in yourDNA.” He smiled. “As you know, I’m a weapons dealer. And now, thanks to you, I’ll be able to sell the most dangerous weapon of all. Purebred, full-blooded Mercs.”
He began to pace across the room, talking as he went.
“There’s only so much you can achieve with nanites and augmetic implants. You Mercs, you’re built different. Your fighting spirit, it’s been bred into you for countless generations. Of course, you don’t need me to tell you that. You’re the offspring of Mercs, and soon your own offspring will belong to me. Along with Ms. Fairchild here, the three of you are going to breed me up my own personal army of super soldiers.”
“There’s more to a Merc than just a bloodline,” Reece said. “You’re forgetting about training.”
“Ah, but that’s where Rook comes in.Shewill teach your children everything she learned from the Guild.” Slayn crossed the room to where the blonde was standing and caressed her sculpted cheek. “I originally had similar intentions for Rook, you know—her genes mingled with my own—but, alas, that was not to be. It turns out she is infertile. Oh well. Nobody’s perfect.”
