“You're telling us that he created blanks slates with the intention to reprogram them?” Graves asked from the corner where he'd stood quietly.

  “Exactly. Think about it. In some ways, the military does it by way of basic training. You sign up. They put you through physical exertion and turn you into a powerhouse. Then you learn the edicts, the laws the recruits must follow. The women had very few roles within the group. They all had children previously, and when they joined, they were expected to produce more. You get a recruit from birth…they know no different.” Vega wasn't being very comforting.

  “So when they get the older children, they have to work harder to break them?” Graves shook his head and went to join Vega where she was seated on the floor, and as he sat beside her, she titled her head to rest on his shoulder.

  “But also when you get a kid between the ages of eight and ten, they're pretty self-sufficient. In the nineties, you had an entire generation of latchkey kids that would come home and take care of themselves for a few hours until the parents got home. Within the cult, you had the women as caretakers, they handled the care of the children, but if Gerrickson found a different use for his father's program, he may not want to deal with the changing of diapers, feeding.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with Vega on the batshit craziness right now, but I watched good men make horrible decisions based on orders from commanding officers. We're taught our higher-ranking commanders have the best intentions of the unit in mind. How much would a completely subservient bodyguard go for? An assassin with absolutely no moral code. A sociopath perfectly designed to his buyer's specs. Certain organizations would pay whatever for that, and they'd be expendable. One goes down…they just send out another attack dog.”

  “Do you think they could still be alive, Remy?” I asked.

  “Possible, depending on how well they were trained and the medical attention they received if they were wounded. They could also be used as sleeper cells. Hell, they could be out there living completely ordinary lives awaiting orders. They've had decades to perfect the process. Yet part of me hopes they didn't survive. Even if we got them back, the children they were aren't the men they’ve become.”

  “Stevenson, we'll bring Doc home, but I need you to hold it together. All of us need to. They took an important part of our family, but we also have to remember that there are three women locked up. Gerrickson and his accomplices maybe the only means to get them out. We need them alive.” Robert was being the voice of reason as if he hadn't been around us before.

  “What about damage?” Graves asked.

  “They threw the first sucker punch. We make them pay for that.”

  “I am not listening to this.” Douglas shook his head at Remy.

  “We handle this our way. I need everyone on the phone to whatever contacts on the strip that we have. I want a call-out for any information leading to the recovery of Doc. Daddy?” Remy's voice dropped.

  “Oh shit, yes, baby, what do you want?”

  “We need a tactical team for possible breach, um, do you know anyone?”

  “Sharp’s going to regret making my acquaintance at that lecture six months ago.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. Everyone, let's get to work.”

  Remy herded Douglas and Robert from the room, and I slid to my butt to the cement floor. I closed my eyes as I regretted every decision that I’d made in the last twenty-four hours. My eyes opened as I felt a body on either side of me. Graves and Vega pushed in to share comfort and warmth.

  “I didn't tell him I loved him. I planned this big, romantic event, our first real date. He said he'd get pretty for me, and I told him he was always beautiful. What if…” Vega's fingers lacing through mine cut me off.

  “We don't play the what-if game here. You'll find your baby. We can't know the future, Stevenson. All we can do is tear this fucking city down brick by brick, steel beam by steel beam until we bring our Doc home. And no matter what you think, you didn't fail him. He was only several feet away on a busy street.”

  “She's right, and when we bring him home, you can make all the romantic declarations you want. Tell him you love him every minute of every day. He survived Gerrickson once, and he'll do it again. We'll sit here a few more minutes while you wallow in guilt, but after that, you're getting your ass up.”

  “You're not a very good motivational speaker, Graves.”

  “Good thing that wasn't my career path. Instead, I thought it was a great idea to transfer to the basement with the ever-present stench of possible black mold, bitterness, and questionable choices, while everyone wonders is he or ain't he.”

  “You should just come out. You know we won't judge you.” Vega leaned forward and peeked around me at Graves.

  “You forced me to go to Xanadu's, and I was a hostage negotiator to a pissed-off, drunk-crying twink with a cheating boyfriend who said the stall was his home now. Which reminds me, I have to call and check on him. He got a new boyfriend.”

  “Why do you complain? We made your life so much more interesting.”

  “I could do with a little less interesting.”

  “My baby was right. We do have weird friends.” I announced and then stood with my friends gasping at my insult behind me, but I knew what they were doing. “Thanks.”

  “It's what family’s for.” Graves whispered with a hint of hurt in his voice.

  I left the room to get to work, to distract myself until Zero hopefully called back with a lead, and I could bring my baby home. All I could think about was he warm enough, was he unharmed, was he scared, and I wasn't there to pull him onto my lap and make everything okay. I wouldn't survive if something happened to him.

  36

  Doc

  My arms were stretched wide where the shackles and chains secured me to the walls. The collar around my neck kept me bent at an odd angle where it was attached with a ring through a metal plate welded to the floor. There was the constant buzz piped into the tiny box with frost on the walls. Occasionally a mist would hit my naked skin and instantly freeze. It wouldn't last forever. They waited until I almost passed out and then would slowly heat the box. Spotlights didn't allow for sleep.

  I read the literature, I knew what they were trying to do, but I'd long lost track of time once they'd thrown me into the metal crate. I'd noticed the room was filled with them in neat rows, ten across, but the darkness didn't allow me to see how many were hidden beyond the dim light shining down in the cavernous space.

  That never-ending droning sound was driving me crazy, and I wanted to cover my ears. Blood and snot dried to my face. I lowered my head enough that maybe my hair would block out the light and squeezed my eyes closed. As much as I wanted to formulate a plan of escape, I wasn't Remy, Robert, or Graves—or even Daddy. They had the strength to fight. My survival instinct would kick in, but I couldn't take on the at least five men and Leif who were between me and safety.

  I shivered so hard my body seized, and metal cut into my throat and wrists. My toes and fingers were painful, and I tried to calculate how long I had before frostbite set in. I flinched as I heard the click as warm air filled the box, but that had its own dangers. Dehydration from sweating, and I hadn't had anything to drink since I walked out of the Outreach. The overload to my temperature regulation, the almost constant switching between hot and cold, meant I had maybe a few days if that.

  I didn't tell Stevenson I loved him. I assumed I'd have time. I should've said it. I'd whispered it in my mind so many times as I took in his handsome face and that adoring smile he'd give me as soon as he awakened.

  “Morning, baby.” Mental Daddy tucked my hair behind my ear, which was a habit of his I loved. I'd waited too long, took too much for granted.

  I jerked my head up at the sound of metal grinding on metal as the lock disengaged. The door opened, and crouched on the other side was Leif. Years of cosmetic surgery and Botox had his face virtually the same as when I'd seen it last. His hair was unnaturally dark—a fresh dye job to hide his ash-blond hair.

  “Morgan, still alive, I see.”

  “What do you want?” My voice croaked as I spoke.

  “That's easy. I want to make you suffer. I didn't complete my task as I should have the night I tried to rid myself of my problem. You only survived this long for the simple fact that law enforcement would've searched high and low for your killer. Your friend, Remy, and the rest have an extraordinary amount of determination and loyalty. I've never let you out of my sight, though. I knew there'd come a time when my past would reveal itself.”

  “You took those boys and killed Angie.”

  “The girl was a casualty. My men were informed to leave the blood to a minimum. She attacked, and they responded. If she'd just let us have him, she'd still be alive today. The boys, though, they were the point.”

  “Why?”

  “My father was far too shortsighted to see what he had…the limitless power. I had no use for the sycophants. The exhaustion from pretending to care about their useless lives. To Isiah, they were just a crop of victims. He became lazy, spoiled by an endless supply of flesh to use, and that's why he's spending the rest of his life in prison. Although, sex does have its purpose, it worked quite well on you even as I suffered through having to reduce myself to cater to those unnatural urges of yours.”

  Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them form. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

  “You do understand that you look ridiculous with that much younger man of yours. I will admit I enjoyed your oral fixation immensely, so I can see why he keeps you around.”

  “Fuck you.” My voice shook from a combination of fear, rage, and the lingering effects of the cold.

  He tsked at me. “Morgan, Morgan, Morgan, such vulgarity. I wasn't hurting anyone here. I was just providing a service, a profitable one at that. I treated the boys well. Rewarded them when they performed as ordered. I gave them a prosperous life. What was the harm in that?”

  “What did you do to them? Where are they?”

  “They're…around. And to answer your first question, I made them better. I stripped them of their baser instincts, the uncertainty of free will. I morphed them into superior beings. Ones without that pesky humanity. What would they have become if they remained with their broken mothers? I gave them…everything, and you want to punish me for that. It's very judgmental of you, Morgan.”

  “They're mothers loved them. They went to prison for something you did, and you want gratitude,” I yelled as I tried to get a reaction of some kind out of him, but his features remained unchained. This was the true Leif Gerrickson or Ezekiel Platt, the man I knew had masked the monster behind the façade so well.

  “You see, my father wanted to be rich. He wanted to be worshipped. He used his followers for the adoration and love he didn't get as a child from his parents, but he liked perfect things, too. So he devised a way to make everything…perfect. But I saw the bigger picture, Morgan. I saw what it could become, and I manifested. I made it real. I designed the most flawless human. I stripped away all of society’s rules. It's survival of the fittest, kill or be killed, and it was beautiful.”

  “You're insane.”

  “Such a nasty word to throw around. You have a world obsessed with the latest products. The most followers. We're a world in love with anti-intellectualism. I gave those boys and more like them a world where they had the best in education and training. And all I asked was for them to do one thing…rid this planet of those that don't deserve to be here. I'm clearing the landscape of the pests. The mistakes of nurture. Isn't everything better with less inferior beings?”

  “You…it's not up to you. They were children. You didn't know what they would’ve become.”

  “The world is here for the taking. My creations are all over the planet. Free to move as they want and well-financed, they want for nothing.”

  “They're not free. You control them.”

  “There is always a master, Morgan. It's the way the hierarchy works. I simply expect their loyalty. A small price to pay for what I offer.”

  “You tortured them until they broke.”

  “It was too much to ask that you were smart enough to see the big picture. I respected your intelligence, but I loved your submission more.”

  “You tried to kill me.”

  He waved his hand as if dismissing the fact that he tried to murder me. “You were getting out of my control. You were worth a wealth of information. My creations sent a lot of people to your table. I had to know the inside variables, the forensics, the progress of cases. The trick was to make sure you never figured it out, but once I realized that your friends had more of a hold on you, I had to make other plans. There are plenty of lonely people in the world who would fall for a bit of caring…some romance. And it cost me nothing but time. You weren't the first and definitely not the last.”

  “But why? It doesn't make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. There's groups all over the world who pay exceptionally well for the perfect soldier. One who can blend into whatever environment. Seduce, assassinate, blackmail, I give them the tool they need. Occasionally ones made to order with their own product. A very long-term investment, so to speak. I provide a service. Should I be ashamed of that? Supply and demand. My supply just happens to be people.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No, not right away, but I do have something special planned for you. We're working on interrogation techniques at the moment, and we need a volunteer. As you seem to be here with us for a while, you can earn your keep.” He pushed up with his hands on his knees, and then all I saw were the legs of his expensive trousers.

  A man in black tactical gear crouched down, and I gasped at the face. I knew it from the aged phots of the boys. “Aiden,” I whispered, but he didn't even acknowledge me. He roughly removed the shackles and then unclipped the hook from my collar.

  He grabbed my arm and dragged me from the crate. My legs wobbled, but my slight weight didn't deter him from hauling me beside him. The air smelled stale, and all I could hear was countless fans whirring in the other crates, and the horror hit me that there could be children in each one.

  “Aiden, your mother never stopped looking for you.” There was still no reaction. He didn't even acknowledge me as I tried to pull away. His eyes were dead, it showed no expression, and he made no sounds.

  His boots muffled on the cement floors as he led me through a series of hallways, electronic locks on each door. When we stopped at one at the end of the hall, he typed in a code and the keypad beeped. He threw me into a room where another man dressed exactly like him waited. My fear increased as I saw the instruments on a stainless-steel tray beside a table—very much like the ones I used in the morgue—and the drain for easy cleanup.

  I fought, tried to reason with them but still nothing was there. They were blank, as if nothing existed except the task. They strapped me to the table, and the chill of the metal sent a shiver up my body.

  “I see you're about ready. Joshua needs to learn subtly. He's best for jobs that require someone to learn a lesson. All brute strength and maximum damage. Today he will learn the best interrogation techniques. How to inflict pain for extended periods without causing death. As I said, my creations need a well-rounded education. As much as I would love to stick around and observe, I have plans to make. Aiden, please instruct Joshua and keep him on task. Our guest needs to prepare for an extended stay, no accidents.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Suddenly, I was left alone with Aiden and Joshua. They didn't speak as they positioned themselves on either side of the table. They both slipped on gloves, and Joshua picked up a scalpel, and I prepared. I braced myself for the first slice. It would be shallow with minimum blood, but it would hurt, and that was the point. Leif wanted my pain, and he'd have it by any means necessary.

  37

  Stevenson

  I stared at the screen of Zero's laptop. We'd smuggled him in through the basement because he didn't want anyone to see him. Zero was even taller than Remy and Douglas's six-four. I couldn't tell what age he was. He had that eternal babyface that most people who never see the sun usually had.

  “At nine-thirteen, a van entered the alley but didn't exit the other side. There's nothing in that alley. It was barely wide enough for the van. I zoomed in, and there were two people in the front seats. I couldn't get clear images. The tinted windows obscured the view. Twenty minutes later, Doc approaches me with the flyer.”

  I didn't take my eyes off Morgan. He was smiling and animated. In his element, I jerked my gaze to my right as I felt Vega give my hand a small squeeze.

  “You make him happy, Stevenson. Just remember that,” she whispered and released my fingers.

  I watched as Zero said bye and disappeared off-camera, and then a shadow appeared right behind Morgan. A hand wrapped around the front of his throat, the screen flashed, and the camera angle changed and showed my baby’s fear and a clear image of Gerrickson.

  “I contacted a friend who lip-reads. He told Doc if he screamed, he'd make sure Stevenson didn't make it off the street and then ordered Doc to drop his phone. They needed to have a private talk.”

  “Did you see where the van went after that?” I asked.

  “It pulled out on the opposite side about three minutes after Doc disappeared off the street. I followed them on cameras, lost them a few times but picked them up in the financial district. From there, they entered an underground parking garage, and then they just went poof, gone. I think they parked a second vehicle elsewhere. I couldn’t tap into the building and garage's security system in time. Financial district takes a bit more time to pass their encryption programs. Sorry, but I went a little further for you.”

  “Find something?”