Page 21 of Lethal Weakness

“Hi, Avery.” I look at her through my rearview mirror.

“Why you here?”

“Your mom needed a ride.”

“I wike your truck.”

“Thank you, kid.”

“Is Mommy sad?”

“Yeah, kid. I think she is.”

Linden gets in her seat and slams the door shut behind her. “Take us home, please,” she states with nearly no emotion.

I know that means there are a shit-ton of emotions boiling beneath the surface.

* * *

My screen glows in the dark room. The windows have been blacked out in here. No chance that anyone would get a glimpse inside.

Half a wall of computers and telecommunications equipment, and another wall filled with weapons and gear.

I pull up Edmund and Merrill’s profiles, reading over their bios that I’ve already memorized.

Edmund Scott is an anesthesiologist at the most elite hospital in the state, and his wife, Merrill Scott, is the highest-paid surgeon in the state.

On paper, they seem like a wealthy power couple, but underneath it all is something more sinister.

Their names appear on the dark web countless times, always associated with the illegal and unethical harvesting of organs and their popularity on the black market.

Malpractice doesn’t begin to cover their scheme.

A medical dream team, except for their disregard for human life.

The hospital can’t touch them. The state officials won’t touch them, and the federal government wants nothing to do with it.

That’s where I come in.

Hired by an underground contractor to fix the problems that our government is too corrupt to dig into.

I was first approached two years ago after my honorable discharge from the United States Navy.

I was a part of an elite SEAL team for eight years before a failed psych eval.

I didn’t fail because I answered anything wrong. I answered every question perfectly, as if no part of me had been affected by my years of close combat and in war zones.

They saw that as a threat. I wasn’t fit for duty because I was too void of emotions.

I fought my discharge for months, but in the end it didn’t matter. I was done, and I couldn’t go back.

The SEALs were all I had.

Two weeks later, I received an anonymous message about a job requiring an operator without an affliction to killing and willing to work outside the confines of the law.

I fit the bill. No family. No ties. Nothing to lose.

“The funds and the ops plan will be sent.” The voice is muffled, disguised.