Pemberley could understand why.
Femi was lovely beyond compare and it was only the coldness of her features and eyes that kept her from being impossible to resist. Her breasts were full and desirable, with what he thought was a bit of rouge added to the nipples to enhance their color. Her stomach was flat, guiding the eye down to her mound of Venus, which she made no attempt to hide.
Pemberley realized that she was aware of his staring and he cleared his throat, tugging at a collar that was suddenly too tight. “These tests are mind-boggling,” he said, averting his eyes from her body. “The rate of decay in your cells is much slower than in a normal human. In fact, there seems to be actual regeneration going on! I think that we might be able to use your blood as the basis for a serum that could increase life spans indefinitely! And I think that Constance’s condition might be helped by a transfusion of your blood, as well.”
Femi curled her lips into a smile. “Is that what sets your blood racing, Melvin? All this talk of… science?” Femi let the fingertips of her right hand trace the gap between her breasts. “Are you not a man, as well?”
Pemberley swallowed, his mouth growing dry. “Of course I am.”
“Then why don’t you touch me?”
Pemberley extended a hand, tentatively touching her breast. She placed her palm over his hand, encouraging him to be bolder. “Femi,” he whispered.
“Hush,” she said, amusement illuminating her eyes. “She leaned into him, the heat of her sex radiating out from her, enveloping him. “I am a creature of strong passions, Melvin. Can you withstand them?”
Pemberley answered by kissing her hard. He grunted when she shoved him back against his table, her inhuman strength being used to rip his belt in half. She tore off the button of his slacks, as well, and Pemberley nervously wondered what on earth he had stumbled into.
Chapter IV
The Chess Game
Night fell upon Sovereign City, bringing with it a chilly rain that soaked the bones of the unfortunate few whose business carried them out into streets. Morgan was pleased to be inside, though the task at hand left him tense and worried.
Dressed as a hospital orderly, he was stationed on the hallway where Samantha was being kept. He and Eun were assigned to protect her, should their gambit to lure out Klee prove successful.
Eun was in disguise as a janitor and he sauntered past Morgan while pushing a broom across the tiled floor. Eun looked resentful of his role and Morgan couldn’t blame him. The Korean would be considered out of place in anything other than a menial role, unfortunately. Morgan wondered when the rest of the world would realize that the color of a man’s skin meant little about his value.
Morgan heard footsteps on the stairs and he pretended to be sorting several sheets set on the top of his cart. On the one hand, he craved action and was hoping to get a chance at Klee… on the other, he worried that Samantha was still hurting from the drugging she’d taken. If push came to shove, she might be hurt in an altercation.
Morgan no longer carried quite as bright a torch for the blonde member of the team as he once did but he still loved her like a sister, if not more.
The figure that emerged from the stairwell wore a wide-brimmed hat that was pulled low over his face. A long black duster covered what appeared to be a form-fitting body suit of some kind, similar to the ones wore by circus performers or gymnasts. Immediately, alarms began to sound in Morgan’s head but he did nothing, preferring to wait for confirmation that this was their target.
The stranger paused at the top of the stairs, looking up and down the hall. His gaze fell upon Eun and quickly moved away but it lingered longer on Morgan. Both he and Eun wore makeup to alter their appearances slightly, but Morgan wasn’t sure it was enough.
The man strode past Morgan, heading towards Samantha’s room. As he passed, Morgan was able to peer beneath the hat and confirm that this was indeed Abraham Klee. He was about to signal Eun to that fact when Klee twisted and drove a booted foot into Morgan’s side. The former confidence man toppled over his cart, knocking its contents to the floor.
Down at the end of the hall, Eun spun about and rushed to his friend’s aid. He threw himself into the air, intending to kick Klee in the head but the villain was like a dervish, rotating about in time to knock aside Eun’s leg. The act caused Eun to crash into the wall and he barely had time to recover before Klee was on him.
The bald man’s hat came off, dropping into his hand. Klee threw it like a Frisbee at Morgan and as it whistled through the air, light shone off the razor-sharp underside of the brim. Morgan threw up his arms, the blade cutting deep into his arms. As blood spurted from the wounds, Morgan unleashed a string of curses and yanked the hat free.
Klee, meanwhile, was continuing to use his enhanced reflexes to their fullest. Though Eun was a world-class martial artist, the young Korean quickly found himself struggling to keep up with the flurry of blows from his opponent. Klee, who had been silent through the entire conflict, seemed at ease despite the conflict’s speed and Eun knew that the battle would be over soon if he didn’t do something. Klee would simply outlast him.
Eun drove a knee into Klee’s stomach, hoping it would drive the man back. But Klee seemed unfazed by the move and instead backhanded Eun across the face. He then grabbed Eun by the ears and slammed the back of his head against the wall.
Klee then slammed his elbow behind him, catching Morgan in the chin as the older man tried to sneak up on him. Klee turned slowly, drawing back a fist as he did so. He punched Morgan in the face, knocking him out.
Klee then shrugged off his coat and brushed himself off. He wore a holster under his left shoulder and he was in the process of drawing his Mauser C96 when he heard a feminine cough.
Samantha stood in the doorway to her room, dressed in a thin hospital gown. “You live up to your reputation, Mr. Klee.”
Klee smiled coldly. “If this is meant to be a trap, I’m insulted. None of you are my equal in combat.”
Samantha shrugged. “You’re probably right. That’s why it’s a good thing I’m not going to fight you.”
Klee’s eyes widened as Samantha took a step towards him. She held a pistol in her hand and before Klee could even think about dodging, she’d fired it four times. Each shot hit home, embedding itself in Klee’s neck and chest. A single one of the tranquilizer darts were normally enough to render a full-grown man unconscious but given Klee’s fortitude, Samantha was taking no chances.
The bald man swayed on his feet before tumbling to the floor.
The first pawn had been removed from the game board: Advantage Assistance Unlimited.
Stanley Davis fussed with the threadbare collar of his coat, treating it as if it were made of the finest materials. He knew that the men and women who passed by him on the street regarded him as a panhandler but he didn’t care. Physical appearances were beneath him. He saw things on a level undreamt of by normal humans and he considered the vanity shown by others to be proof of their inferiority.
As such, the arrival of Abigail Cross did not affect him the way it did the other men surrounding him. Abby was dressed in a form-fitting white sweater and a black skirt, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. Stanley had studied one of the few photographs he could find of the girl, sensing that she was both powerful and dangerous.
He had convinced Constance to make her target #1 for Murder Unlimited, as a result.
Davis looked up and down the street, falling into step behind Abby. The beautiful brunette had just visited the Orpheus Theatre, where she’d enjoyed a performance of Kaufman and Woollcott’s The Dark Tower. Davis had seen it already and he’d enjoyed the mystery drama quite a bit, even more than the film adaptation, The Man With Two Faces.