Monster In Me (Cryptid Assassin Book 8) Read online

  "Okay, she's attractive. What the hell does she see in him, though?"

  The fighter grinned and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Fuck if I know. Crazy attracts crazy, I suppose."

  The old boxer pulled away from the ring and Niki returned to her seat, where she was joined by Tanya on the metal chairs set up as the two fighters prepared for another round. Jansen looked like he was almost fully recovered. He still seemed a little sore on the side where he'd been hit but he now sat and watched the fight closely.

  "Did you hear what your guy said about making sure Taylor was ready for you?" Tanya asked as she leaned back when Leonard tapped the bell again.

  "Yeah," Niki answered, unable to take her eyes off the ring as Bobby jogged to Taylor's corner.

  "What will you do, Taylor?" he asked, barely loudly enough for Vickie to hear although she had tapped the microphone in Bobby's phone and now listened in.

  "You heard him," Taylor answered, his face still expressionless. "I have to get through him if I want to date Niki."

  "I don't know how to read that. Do you plan to kill him? Put him in the hospital?"

  The grin that came to the other man’s face looked savage and failed to reach his eyes. "I won’t kill him and I don't think he'll need a hospital. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

  "It's not curiosity, it was worry."

  "Well then, don't worry. I have this under control. Mostly thanks to you."

  Bobby moved from the corner when Leonard tapped the bell again. Vickie could still see the anxiety on his face as the two fighters advanced on each other.

  They repeated the customary tapping of gloves at the beginning of the round.

  "You have sixty seconds to put me on the canvas," Taylor warned the man. "Give me your best."

  "I hope you can survive it."

  Maxwell wasn't a small man and every punch caught him faster than he’d anticipated. Vickie winced when it looked like Taylor was taking the brunt of the punishment and every blow impacted loudly. A couple caught him in the ribs and she was sure she heard something crack inside as he winced and backed away. The raw savagery of the assault was enough to make him backpedal furiously. His back hit the ropes and ended his slow retreat.

  The larger of Niki's two bodyguards wasn't a boxer, and Vickie could see the difference in style between him and Jansen even though she knew next to nothing about fighting. The man threw hard elbows at his opponent’s head and knocked it back, and when he raised his hands to defend, the punches came in low to the body. As Taylor lowered his guard to cover that as well, Maxwell grasped the back of his neck with both hands and used his entire body to force his head down into a knee that came up to his nose.

  Taylor had his hands in place to stop the blow from connecting cleanly, but the bodyguard wasn't finished with him and hauled him down again. This time, the impact was audible and Vickie winced and turned her head away as the two men struggled, fighting for control of the fight.

  Finally, Taylor lowered his hands and brought his right into an uppercut into Maxwell's stomach. It thrust the breath out of the man's lungs in a rush and allowed him to grasp the bodyguard’s hips and shove him away as he ducked his head to escape the grasp on his neck.

  The challenger struggled to keep his balance and only regained it once he was at the center of the mat. Blood dripped from Taylor's nose and his eyebrows and covered almost half his face. The expression was still dead behind the red mask.

  "Your minute's up," he announced in a deep, throaty growl that made Vickie's spine tingle.

  She didn't want to see what came next but it was almost impossible to not watch as Taylor used his shoulders to push off the ropes. He raised his hands again and strode forward like a soldier going into battle as he threw a couple of testing jabs to judge the distance. Maxwell refused to back away or step aside. Instead, the bodyguard threw a feint with his left and a hook with his right.

  His adversary ducked under it, pushed his elbow into the man's ribs, and knocked the breath out of him again. Maxwell tried another hook but it missed and left him open to a pair of sharp uppercuts into his sternum.

  There was nothing he could do but double over as his lungs suddenly stopped working, and Taylor closed in. There was no real technique that Vickie could discern in his strikes, but the power in each of them was hard to miss. They were delivered rapidly and one caught the man in his weakened ribs again. Two distinctive cracks resulted from that one strike. The last two arced in as Maxwell lowered his guard to protect his body. One tilted the bodyguard’s head by the jaw and the other pounded behind his ear.

  The last blow sent a shudder through him. He struggled to keep his head up for a second, maybe less, before he finally gave up.

  It was as terrifying as it was brief. Maxwell sagged and Taylor reached forward to grab him. It looked like the fight would continue, but all he did was lower him gently to the mat.

  Vickie didn't think anyone realized that the fight was over until Taylor straightened, removed his mouthguard, and motioned for Leonard to come in.

  "I think the fight's done," he announced.

  "Is he…" Bobby started to ask as he pushed through the ropes into the ring.

  "He’s out but should be coming to—"

  His assurance was cut off when Maxwell sucked in a deep breath and his hands reached for something that wasn't there. Although his eyes were open, they seemed unable to focus on anything until Bobby and Leonard stepped beside him. The old boxer flashed a light into his eyes to check for the usual signs of a head injury.

  "Son of… What the fuck…" The large man still looked disoriented but he was able to see everything that happened around him. From the way Leonard's shoulders relaxed after the examination, Vickie could tell the result was good.

  "Consider yourself lucky, you dumb fuck," Bobby muttered. "He took it lightly on you. I took the brunt of it when he didn’t, so you can thank me for that later."

  Maxwell needed a few seconds to process those words. He still had a little difficulty keeping his eyes focused, but he laughed. "Fucking hell, if that was taking it lightly, I don't want to be in the ring when he isn't. I do want to be outside, though. At a safe distance."

  Taylor dropped to his haunches next to him as Leonard continued to examine him for injury. "So, did I pass your test?"

  The bodyguard managed another slightly wheezy laugh as he patted his shoulder. "You two are fucking made for each other. Make sure you invite us to the wedding, and you have our blessing. Not that you needed it in the first place."

  "But I do appreciate being in the good graces of people who care for her. It’s rare that getting into those graces means knocking you onto your ass, but I'm not fussy. Maybe that makes you a little crazy too."

  Taylor extended a hand and Maxwell took it firmly and they both rose carefully to their feet.

  "I'd still like both of them to be checked by a doctor," Leonard announced. "You know, to make sure. Possibly you too, Taylor. You might need stitches on those cuts."

  "I'll drive them to the hospital," Niki called as she joined them in the ring and stepped beside Taylor. "Are you okay?"

  "Is he okay?" Maxwell complained, and she waved him off.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," Taylor replied and winced as she touched one of the bruises above his eye, although he didn’t pull away. "Like he said, I might need stitches but otherwise, it’s not too bad."

  Vickie was waiting to make sure Taylor was fine before she stepped aside, took her phone from her pocket, and quick-dialed a number she had saved with no name attached to it. The line beeped a couple of times before a weird warbling sound was quickly followed by it being picked up.

  "It’s nice to hear from you again, Vickie."

  She chose not to start the conversation with whether the AI knew what the full concept of nice was or if it was simply selected as something people said to each other when they first began to speak.

  "And it’s nice to talk to you too, Desk. I take it you watched this whole fi
ght?"

  "I was able to follow it well enough. Are you in on the betting?"

  "Hell yes. I wouldn't have bet against Taylor anyway, but after this little demonstration, I'm very sure this counts as more of an investment than a bet."

  "All bets have the potential to be an investment. It is only the chances of it paying a profit that vary."

  "Whatever. For the moment, though, I'll put forty thousand on him taking it all."

  "I must alert you that the amount you have selected constitutes a sizeable portion of your savings. You must realize that you could lose this amount rather than increase it."

  "It doesn't matter." Vickie took a moment to look at the ring while the others in their group began to file out. None of them appeared to notice that she wasn’t with them yet. "I've seen what Taylor can do when he isn't pissed and holds himself back. That would probably be an even fight for the men Marino has against him. I have no idea what he can do when he's pissed and out for blood."

  Chapter Eleven

  Everything was dark. His instincts said a little too dark. While he wasn't sure how it had happened, he needed to investigate. People expected him to investigate and wanted to know about this facility.

  No, he realized after a moment. It wasn’t that everything was dark. His eyes were closed. Weird how he'd missed that fact.

  Opening his eyes proved a little more painful than he thought it would, and they didn't open all the way. Both were swollen and throbbed gently but the tenderness grew worse the longer he kept them open.

  The room around him was dim but his eyes adjusted quickly, although it was difficult to see through the tears that began to form. He closed his eyes for a few more seconds, let the burning recede, then opened them again.

  "He's awake," a man said in English close to where he sat.

  "I can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing," a woman responded, also in English but with a thick accent.

  "It depends on your perspective, I guess. For him, it’s a bad thing."

  He opened his eyes again and struggled to focus on the two people nearby, whom he assumed were the speakers. It took a moment before his vision settled, although his right eye watered a little. The man had darker skin and hair with Hispanic features, while the woman was taller, leaner, with high cheekbones and long blonde hair. Both wore white lab coats and vivid bruises and nasty abrasions were evident on their faces.

  "Morning." The man spoke in an accent that was clearly American, although he couldn't tell from where specifically. "I’m glad you could join us in this…I'll go ahead and call it our execution."

  "What's your name?" the woman asked.

  It sounded like they were past all pretense at this point. "Wu Na Feng."

  "Let me guess, MSS?" the man asked. "I'm Mark Santiago.”

  Feng nodded. "CIA?"

  "DIA," he corrected. "Military intelligence. And this is Irina Lebedev. FSB."

  He looked around the room, still unable to open his eyes properly without them watering after a few seconds, but they had improved somewhat. "We're…in the eatery, yes?"

  Irina sighed and leaned against the nearby wall. "It looks like someone did a purge. They didn't even ask any questions—like they already knew everything. They beat the shit out of us and threw us in here. I guess they want us to be the first meal their newly bred pets enjoy."

  Feng gulped almost before he realized what they had meant about how unlucky he was for waking up. He would have liked to be unconscious for his execution.

  "I never should have come to this fucking island," he whispered and rubbed dried blood away from his right eye. "I knew it was a shit assignment when they showed me the satellite pictures of the old American base. Nothing ever goes well when someone tries to repurpose one of these facilities."

  "Well, at least we now know that the Russians, Chinese, and Americans are all curious about what this is," Mark pointed out.

  "Maybe our bosses will send others to find out what's happening here—" Irina added, but her words cut off before she could finish. The sound of a magnetic lock lifting from the door at the far end of the room had their full attention.

  "Fuck me," Mark whispered when he saw movement behind the glass door.

  Another smaller door opened and a group of men armed with assault rifles walked in. Feng wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that more of them trained their weapons on the glass door rather than on the prisoners, but two still aimed at the humans as the group of five approached.

  More movement, this time from a room above them, caught Feng's eye. He squinted and rubbed his right eye and was able to see a little more clearly although the effort was painful. From what he could make out, a group of men and women had gathered inside what might be an office that overlooked the eatery through a window. While he couldn’t see enough to be certain, they had the demeanor of people watching and taking notes, most likely on tablets. It seemed logical that they would use technology rather than old-fashioned methods.

  He had no idea what they were taking notes of, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like it.

  The armed guards stopped within ten meters of the three prisoners, and one of them took a machete and a knife out of a pack they had carried, dropped both weapons on the ground, and retreated quickly in the direction from which they'd come.

  "They're…arming us," Irina pointed out. She retrieved both weapons and handed the machete to Feng.

  "I guess they want to see how long we last against…whatever is on the other side of that door," Mark commented, visibly annoyed that he was the only one left without a weapon. "We're lab rats and they want to make the fight as even as possible."

  Feng shuddered as something on the other side of the glass door roared. "This will be many things. Horrifying, informative, and perhaps even a little interesting. But an even fight it is not."

  "We'll see about that." Irina growled in an effort to psyche herself up for a fight even though she was as beaten as the two men in the room with her.

  "Yes," Mark muttered. "We will."

  It had been a productive day which was saying something since Rod Marino didn't have many productive days. Mostly, he was meant to oversee and make sure other people were productive, which made him feel like he simply watched other people work rather than work himself.

  He reminded himself that this wasn't a terrible thing. He had put considerable time and energy into making sure he didn't have to work every day. There was also a point to be made that supported the premise that someone had fucked up if he needed to do any work at all.

  Even so, a certain pleasure came from those few days when he did have to put his nose to the grindstone. It wasn’t enough to make him want to make this a daily occurrence, but it was still enjoyable.

  The phone rang and Marino picked it up before it reached a second buzz. "Yes?"

  "A Mr. Saadeh Mahmoud is on the line for you," Stephanie told him.

  "Oh, put him through." He waited until the line connected. "My favorite customer! How are things in Cairo?"

  "I happen to know you say that to all of your high rollers," the man answered in a clean British accent with only a hint of his natural Arabic. "But I'll take the compliment anyway. How are you, Mr. Marino?"

  "You know, working hard or hardly working, with no room between. What can I do for you, Mr. Mahmoud?"

  "Well, I was informed that you were putting a fight together later this month. I will arrive in Las Vegas for business around that time, and I would like to be in attendance—assuming you are selling tickets to this event?"

  "I am indeed, and I'll reserve your usual cabin and save a handful of seats for you and your entourage."

  The other man laughed. "Most excellent, but I have come to expect such service from you and your casino. With that said, I have read through the details on your fighters, and I have to ask if this is the same Taylor McFadden who made such a name for himself in the Zoo?"

  Marino raised an eyebrow. "I…wasn't aware that he was that famous
."

  "We are a good deal closer to that fucking jungle than you are, and therefore any news that makes it out of the bases there finds its way to us quickly. The name Taylor McFadden has been attached to many feats performed there. I suppose it is appropriate that he is fighting two of your men."

  "Perhaps, but he's spent more time fighting in his suit than not, and while his specs do look impressive on the surface, you should know that he doesn't have any fighting experience. Not in a ring, anyway, and certainly not the same kind my boys do."

  "These two fighting him are your men?"

  "Mine, yes. Well-trained by some of the best in the business. It would be an even fight if he faced only one, but since he's not…well, you can consider it my personal recommendation that you choose one of my boys."

  "Very well, then. Whatever the result may be, I am sure it will be a fight to remember. I look forward to attending."

  "I'll have your usual accouterments ready for when you arrive. Have a safe flight!"

  The line cut off and Marino placed the phone in its cradle and stared at the device for a few long seconds. Many people had placed bets against the ex-soldier, which was for the best, he felt. The house never lost in betting situations like this, but underdog wins usually gave them the most money.

  It meant that he would win either way. If Taylor lost, that would be his victory statement over the man and would make people stop questioning his authority on the matter of how he had handled him. If he won, he would make out like a bandit anyway. Either way, it was a win-win scenario.

  He leaned back in his seat and rocked gently as he considered the possibilities. If this was what working diligently brought him, he would have to do it more often.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taylor narrowed his eyes and scowled at the screen, unsure what he was looking at. He'd never had a head for gambling numbers and terminology and had never been much of a gambler, period. It made his decision to move to Vegas that much more interesting, but he’d always considered his lack of skill and understanding of this particular industry a good thing.