Page 16 of Dark Medicine (Strange Gifts #2)

The faces around the table showed expressions of fear, concern, anger, and in some, a blend of all three. They knew what he was going to say. They knew what his emotion would be, and they knew that they would be the target of his wrath. Some served with him for years, the strain of those years showing in the lines on their faces but more so in the scars on their bodies.

When questioned, he was brutal. When crossed, he was lethal. Every man in the room experienced it at some point in their career, no matter how long or short. To look at the man was to see the face of evil, even in sickness. Their fondest hopes were that he would die before finding the girl. The problem was they were charged with finding her, and if they didn’t, one by one, they and their families would be massacred.

The anxiety and tension were so thick you could cut it with a knife. They waited patiently for him to open the doors, his withered, diseased body creeping into the room with the help of his ever-present assistant.

They were six in all. All have served with him in one capacity or another. Captains Dan Henry and Norris Fredericks were the most senior, having served with him for nearly thirty years. Major William Groome joined the team twenty-five years ago. Sergeants Tom Cullen and Uri Bellum came aboard fifteen years ago, and most recently, Sgt. Calvin Zurvel became a part of their little group.

Their titles no longer mattered. It no longer carried any weight or credential. All had resigned, retired, or been asked to leave the Army.

Only Major Groome seemed to enjoy his mission, taking delight in hunting down the Gifted. That’s what they were called, to all of them anyway. The Gifted . Of course, most didn’t see it that way, and in fact, several chose the route of leaving this earth before fully discovering their gifts and the usefulness of those gifts.

So be it, thought Groome as he smiled to himself. He heard the shuffling outside the door and sat up straighter, pulling his silk suit coat. None of them wore uniforms any longer. The American government decided they outlived their usefulness and their careers, but no one would tell Groome when his usefulness had ended, not even the withered old man standing in the doorway.

“Colonel,” said Cullen, standing to walk towards the man and hold out a helping a hand.

He raised his bruised, scrawny claw and waved off the younger man. The tubes of oxygen were embedded in his nostrils and the stint from which he fed and medicated was visible beneath his shirt.

“I’m not a complete fucking invalid,” he said in a raspy, short-winded voice. “Sit down.”

They all sat, waiting for him to do the same. The woman beside him, her enormous breasts bulging from the snug white blouse, helped him to sit, bending over as she did so he got a clear view of her assets.

For the hundredth time in as many days, Dan Henry wondered what exactly this woman did for him other than stroke his ego and perhaps something else. She was certainly beautiful, but he knew all too well that she was also lethal.

The old man wheezed, catching his breath. His face was gray, his eyes yellow from the disease. At one time, his stature would have intimidated anyone standing next to him. At six-foot-three and two hundred pounds, once considered the poster boy for Army recruiting. Now, he was a withered version of himself.

“Where are we with the girl?” he asked, breathing with great effort.

“We know that she’s still in Ireland, sir.” Calvin Zurvel spoke in a calm, even tone, not allowing the bubbling fear creeping up his throat to surface. “She was seen at a bed and breakfast, but our sources say she was not alone.”

“And… why…” he wheezed, “would I give a fuck… if she’s alone?”

“Our sources…” started Dan Henry.

“Stop! Stop fucking… saying… our sources,” he gasped. “We both know… it’s those… god damned… gypsies…”

“Yes, sir,” said Dan, “the gypsies said these men were different, perhaps trained. He said there were four they saw, all large, all well-built and fast.”

“Could it be?” asked the woman, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

Her breasts nearly came tumbling out of the blouse. Dan could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra, her large dark nipples poking through the thin white fabric. The old man gave a faint grin as her hot breath hit his ear, the milky white mounds nearly touching his face. It was disgusting to watch, and yet Dan couldn’t look away.

“Perhaps,” he gasped for air. “Perhaps… we need to… find out… the others…”

“I can go myself, sir,” said Groome, standing at attention. The woman beside him gave Groome a hungry look, her pink tongue sliding across her lips.

“No… no, I need… I need you here…” he said, waving at him to sit. “Send Bellum and Zurvel.”

Groome nodded, still looking at the woman. The old man tapped his chair, and the woman standing beside him helped him up, carefully placing an arm around his frail waist, her breast smashed against his side.

Groome noticed her tight white pants with no panty lines, and his cock instantly hardened. Looking down, he noticed the soft triangle of hair visible through the thin white scrubs. She looked up and winked at him as she led the old man from the room. With the door closed, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re playing with a deadly fire, Groome,” said Henry.

“I know what I’m doing,” said Groome. “That old man will be dead soon, and who do you think will be in charge?”

“You?” laughed Fredericks. Groome glared at the other man. “You’re fucking kidding, right? She will be in charge, you idiot. He’s been grooming her for years. Those tits and that pussy haven’t been wasted on his sorry ass. She’s a master manipulator, my friend. She gets what she wants from everyone.”

Fredericks walked away, the limp in his left leg pronounced, a little gift from the blonde vixen.

“Believe what you will,” said Groome with a cocky grin, “but in a few weeks, if not sooner, you’ll be answering to me.”