Scott’s lips quivered as he sobbed, snot dripping from his nose and running along the side of his cheek.
“Anything, Gideon,” he begged desperately. “Anything you want. I swear it.”
Gideon looked to the safe he had found earlier. Tucked into the wall across the room, and hidden, not very imaginatively, behind a framed print of Scott, his wife and two sons.
His sons didn’t look as pathetic and weak as Scott. Surprisingly, they more resembled their mother with her strong Nordic features and direct blue eyes.
How had Scott Connelly managed to find a wife of such strength when he was such a weak, pitiful excuse of a male? How had he bred sons whose scent was mixed with the sweat of hard work and whose palms were calloused with it? Men whose reputations for honesty and a hard day’s work were so well known in their small community that parents often held those sons up as examples to their own children?
Perhaps they weren’t his sons, Gideon mused before turning his attention back to Scott. Unfortunately, Gideon couldn’t be certain. Familial lines weren’t scents to which he was particularly sensitive. His primal strengths ran to other areas.
“The combination to the safe,” Gideon demanded, keeping his voice low. “I want it.”
The combination spilled from Scott’s lips as his teeth chattered in a cold Gideon had been created to ignore.
When he finished, Gideon nodded then smiled again. He knew the image he presented.
With the slash of the Bengal’s strip across his face, the sharp strength of his incisors and the icy mercilessness of his cold pale green eyes he appeared every bit the animal he had been created to be. That image and the chill of ice in his eyes assured the researcher that Gideon had every intention of causing him to suffer however possible.
Strangely, the primal stripe across his face was new to him. It hadn’t appeared until the first vivisection and transfusion of viral blood two years before. It had only grown darker with each horrific experiment he was forced to endure. With each transfusion of the only blood they had found that his system would accept after the feral fever had overtaken him twelve years before.
Her blood.
Only her blood was compatible. Only her blood could save his life and with each transfusion the insanity seemed to take a tighter grip on him.
Rising to his feet, Gideon moved to the safe, followed the directions and hummed in satisfaction as the steel door swung open.
Cash, jewels, bonds and several false identifications filled the interior, along with a laser-powered side arm.
It was the typical items anyone who worked with the Genetics Council kept on hand since the revelation of the Breeds and the horrific experimentations the Genetics Council had practiced.
No one who worked with the monsters responsible for the creation of the Breeds wanted anyone to learn they were aligned with them. At the moment, sentiment was with the Breeds, not with the Council.
Once such individuals were identified, it wasn’t unheard of for Breeds to descend upon them with the full fury of years of torture, blood and death. Very discreetly, of course.
“Very good, Scott,” Gideon murmured approvingly as he filled a bag with the very profitable find.
It was his best haul. Scott Connelly had been a bit more frugal than some with the proceeds he’d been given for his participating in the Breed research at Brandenmore Research.
Too bad. He was losing this little stash of it tonight. But then, dead men had no need for wealth, and if Gideon’s research was correct, then the wife’s family would protect her and her children from destitution.
Dropping the bag to a chair next to his victim, Gideon crouched down beside him once more and picked the scalpel back up.
“You promised,” Scott suddenly sobbed. “You promised not to hurt me.”
“No, I said I would be merciful,” Gideon reminded him patiently. “But we’re not finished yet. There are a few other things I need before I can be on my way.”
Scott would die, of that there was no doubt. There was no way Gideon’s conscience would allow him to let the bastard live, to continue on with his life unpunished for the crimes he had committed against every law nature possessed.
“Honor Christine Roberts,” he said the name slowly, clearly, watching Scott’s eyes the entire time. “How can I find her?”
Scott had been her main caretaker while she had been at the research center. He had recorded the effects of the serum pumped into her. He had watched over her after her release to her father, a United States Army general aligned with the Council, and it had been Scott who had led the search for her after she had run away twelve years before.
She hadn’t been his favorite, but she had been his most important subject. The only one he’d known the Council would never risk killing.
Scott’s gaze flickered and the scent of fear thickened. There was more than fear there, though. Strangely, there was also the scent of—affection? Scott Connelly had felt something for somebody? Something he had evidently told no one else if the scent was anything to go by. But even more, he knew something. Gideon was certain of that now.
Gideon grinned at it. “What do you know, Scott? Tell me, my friend, so I can go away as silently as I arrived.”
Gideon ran the scalpel along the other man’s stomach, watching the thin trail of blood as it oozed from the deep scratch and heralded a pained cry from his victim. “Don’t bother lying to me. I can smell it. And it would just piss me off worse to have to ask you again.”
He let the tip of the scalpel press deeper into the vulnerable, soft flesh of the man’s pelvis. A bead of blood welled then slowly eased down along the side his inner thigh.