Twisted (Novella): Twisted Mind [A Broken World Novella]
Date: 2017-01-17 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian | Zombies

TWISTED MIND

A BROKEN WORLD NOVELLA

KATE L. MARY

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Acknowledgments

Other Books by Kate L. Mary

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Kate L. Mary

Copyright © 2017 by Kate L. Mary

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

When he saw her from a distance, her head barely visible through the crowd and a terrified expression shimmering in her green eyes, the thing that lived in the pit of his stomach woke. It was getting stronger. He didn’t know where it came from or what it was called—or if it even had a name—so he just called it the need. That’s how it felt to him, anyway. Like a hunger pang or the desperate ache he got in his lungs when he stayed under water for too long. A burn that wouldn’t go away no matter how many deep breaths he took in.

Other people would probably say the need was an unnatural thing, but to Jackson Star it felt normal. It felt right. It had been inside him for as long as he could remember, and like many of the urges that had increased in intensity as he moved from childhood to his teen years, and then grown into a man, this urge had deepened with age. So much so that at times the need was strong enough that it even overshadowed hunger.

The need gnawed on Jackson’s insides as he pushed his way through the crowd, shoving people aside much harder than necessary. The anger and violence in the air was so thick that his mouth filled with saliva. He could taste the volatility as he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, and he had to bite back the smile that threatened to break free. The heat and rage surrounding him fed the need, but Jackson knew now wasn’t the time to give in to it. Meg, tiny and helpless, was in the middle of this crowd, and she needed his help.

He reached her at the same time that her Uncle Al did, the buffoon who had somehow managed to rise in the ranks of the enforcers, and together the two men pulled Meg from the crowd. Her body trembled under Jackson’s grasp, and the fear that throbbed through her stirred the need inside him even more. Almost on their own, Jackson’s fingers tightened on Meg’s arm. She was a petit thing, and he knew that if he wanted to he could snap her bones with very little effort. And he did want to. He wanted to very, very badly.

They reached the edge of the crowd and Jackson dropped his hands to his sides, curling his fingers into fists as he tried to regain control. No matter how much he craved it, no matter how good it would feel, now wasn’t the time for breaking things. He had a plan, and part of that plan was to be there for Meg whenever and however she needed him.

At his side, Meg and her uncle talked, but the blood pounding in Jackson’s ears made it difficult for him to focus on the conversation completely. Meg was reassuring Al that she wasn’t hurt, and her uncle was lamenting how dangerous the streets of New Atlanta had gotten. As if the world outside these walls was any better. The fool. If he knew the precarious position he and his family were in he would bite his tongue. No one, especially not the people standing at Jackson’s side right now, should complain about how the settlement was run.

Jackson clenched his fists even tighter.

“Things have gotten bad,” Meg was saying as she glanced toward the throng of people she had just fled, “you can’t blame them for being upset.”

Jackson inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to clear his head even more. Now that the mob had mostly dispersed, the scent of violence had been replaced by the odor of shantytown. Urine and trash, unwashed bodies. Suffering. It was so revolting that Jackson had to resist the desire to cringe away from the stench.

“They don’t have to live like this,” he said, glancing behind them at the barely standing shacks before focusing his attention on Meg. “They’re choosing to live in filth. If they worked harder, they could make a better life for themselves. They’re a drain on society.”

“How?” Meg whispered, her green eyes big and round and so full of pity that it made Jackson ill.

He pressed his lips together and silently cursed himself for allowing the words to pop out of his mouth. It was a stupid mistake to make, and even worse, it wasn’t how he felt at all. These people were living in filth and they were a drain, but they were here because his father, Garret Star, the Regulator of New Atlanta, had put them here. They had a purpose, although temporary, and when his father was done with them they would be disposed of like the trash they were.

But Jackson shouldn’t have said anything. He and Meg had just gotten into a fight—some dumb shit about how his father needed to do more to help the masses—and he’d set out to make up with her. Like everything else in the settlement, Meg had a role to play, and they wouldn’t get where they needed to be if she was angry with him.

Most of the time anymore, Jackson felt like he could go either way with Meg. She was undeniably beautiful, but also a pain in the ass with her idealistic view of the world and her never-ending desire to look for the good in things. Most of the time she was more trouble than she was worth. This was, after all, his father’s plan. One that had formed years ago, before Jackson had even graduated from cloth diapers, and it made sense in the grand scheme of things. Meg may have been too opinionated for his taste, but she had the right name. A name that would give Jackson and his father more power in the settlement, and that was something the Stars planned on taking advantage of.

Jackson was ripped from his thoughts when Al asked him to escort Meg home. The apartment she lived in was close enough that they could see it from where they were standing, so of course she protested. Jackson ignored her however, as did her uncle, which made him respect the older man just a little bit more than he had previously.

Despite the fact that he was entrusting Jackson with his niece’s safety, the look Al gave him was penetrating enough to made Jackson’s scalp prickle. He stood his ground though, keeping his face expressionless so Al wouldn’t change his mind, and after a second Meg’s uncle relaxed, although he still didn’t look thrilled to be in Jackson’s presence. Not that people ever were.

Jackson wasn’t a fool. He knew most people could see what he really was, but he didn’t care. The truth was, he had never really tried to hide his real self from the world. Not unless it suited him, that is. Like with Meg. Her entire family looked at him with suspicion, except maybe Charlie—and again that was how Jackson wanted it—but Meg saw him in a different light. To her, he was the boy who had saved her and comforted her. The one who would always be a shoulder for her to cry on. It was a perfectly planned strategy and one of the many personas Jackson had taken on over the years, but it was by far the most difficult role he had ever had to assume. Still, he knew that if everything played out the way he and his father had planned, it would all be worth it in the end.

A few seconds later, Al hurried off, and Jackson slipped his arm around Meg’s waist so he could lead her down the road. Her body was tiny next to his, which he loved. That was another plus about Meg. She was small, and even though Jackson wasn’t a big man, being next to her made him feel like he was.

Not that his size had ever hindered him from doing what needed to be done. Men twice his stature shrank under his glare, cowered at the very mention of his name, and darted out of his way in the streets. And they were right to be afraid. When the need took over, Jackson was pretty certain that he was more monster than man.

He was a robot on the walk back to Meg’s apartment, saying all the right words automatically, barely even registering what they were before they left his lips. Meg responded just how she should, forgiving him and accepting his embrace when she needed comforting.

That was the only moment that he felt the façade of sensitivity begin to slip away. Having her head resting against his chest and his arms around her little waist woke the need, and he found himself having to concentrate on her words so he didn’t give in to the scenarios playing out in his head. Meg at his mercy. Meg begging for help. Meg finally becoming his once and for all. It was almost too delicious to resist.

By the time they had started walking again, Jackson felt like the thing inside him was trying to rip its way out. Meg was sniffling, but he had succeeded in fixing their little rift, and when he left her at the door to her building, he felt like they had taken a little step forward in their relationship. The progress had been slow, but steady, and he was smart enough to know that any move forward was a good thing. No matter how small it might have seemed to the outside world. They were young still, and there were plenty of years ahead of them, and plenty of time to allow his plan to come to fruition.

This time when Jackson got a big whiff of shantytown, he allowed his nose to wrinkle in disgust. The buzzing in his stomach was the only thing that could possibly overpower the stench of urine, but even that couldn’t mask the stink of rotting trash. Garbage day was nearing, meaning the piles of refuse had been sitting in the sun for weeks now, and the smell had gotten so strong that it was impossible to ignore. Even walking past it the way he was right now had him feeling like the stink was soaking into his pores, and he knew that he’d be forced to take a shower the second he got home or he’d feel like it was following him for the rest of the night.

Meg had been right when she’d said something needed to be done. The Regulator needed people, but the filth that had gathered in this section of the city was nothing more than a headache, and the people living in the shacks were more than a waste of resources. As far as Jackson was concerned, the whole area needed to be bulldozed completely. Maybe he’d even suggest it to his father.

He walked faster, ignoring the buzz that grew in intensity from the sounds echoing through the little streets separating the shacks. If it weren’t for Megan James, Jackson would never come near this part of the city. His own house was almost on the other side of the settlement, and in a much nicer area, and there was nothing else in this part of the city that deserved his attention. Yes, if Meg didn’t live here, he could pretend this entire section didn’t exist at all.

Only she did live here, which meant Jackson found himself walking down this street several times a week to pick her up or drop her off, and despite the stink from shantytown or the pain in the ass she could sometimes be, he savored playing the part of Meg’s suitor. As much as she would allow it, that is. Hopefully, they would soon be able to take the next step in their relationship. Jackson had been patient, he had paid his dues and he had no doubt that one day Meg would come to her senses and realize she needed him in her life. Especially after this business with her dad. Things for her were only going to get worse. Jackson and his father would see to that.

Meg and Jackson had been friends going on nine years now, and through every twist and turn in her life, she had come to him for comfort and advice. He’d hugged her when she was sad, had listened to her talk about her long-dead mother like the woman had been something special even though she was nothing more than a ghost of an idea to Meg, he’d even been there to hold her hand when her father had disappeared. Jackson had always made sure that he was nearby when Meg needed an ear, planting seeds in her mind that grew slowly, but knowing that when they finally did sprout, their roots would be strong and deep.

The only kink in the plan had come two years ago when Meg had started dating that prick, Colton Decker. The asshole had been older than Meg, and tall—several inches over six feet—and that had only made Jackson dislike the guy more. Meg had met Colton when she’d gone to visit her dad at work, and when the asshole had asked her out, she had come running to Jackson to gush about it. It had taken everything in him not to kill Colton that day, and playing the part of the dutiful friend had been torture. For the first time in their friendship Jackson had found it difficult to hide his real feelings, and the more time Meg spent away from him, the harder it had become.

Although they had never discussed it openly, he knew that she’d ended up sleeping with Colton. Jackson had witnessed it firsthand, listening in from the CDC, grinding his teeth the entire time. It had almost been enough to drive him mad, and at that moment, as the sounds of their rutting grew more intense, the need had grown until he’d barely been able to contain it. It had felt like it was trying to eat its way out of him. Like it would kill him if he didn’t give it what it wanted.

Lucky for Jackson, he’d only had to wait a few hours. The next morning, the sun barely up and the sky painted in brilliant shades of orange and pink, Colton had been given a solo assignment outside the wall. Jackson had been there waiting for him, and when his blade had cut into the other man’s spinal cord, it didn’t matter that Colton was nearly a foot taller. He had dropped to the ground like a useless pile of meat, his eyes full of terror as he waited to discover his fate. That had been a very satisfying day for the need.

Jackson had barely made it home and had just finished washing Colton’s blood from his hands when Meg showed up at his house, her eyes teary and full of shock at having just learned the horrible news, and Jackson had been there—as usual—to wrap her in his comforting embrace.

He’d wanted her for so long now that he was no longer sure if it was still Meg that he wanted or just the surge of victory that would come when she finally gave herself to him. Not that it mattered. There was no going back. His father’s plans for the future had always centered on Meg, and that hadn’t changed. Jackson needed her at his side and that was all there was to it.

It was just after eight o’clock in the evening when Jackson made it home from dropping off Meg, and the large house was so empty and silent that his footsteps echoed through the halls as he headed to his room. His father was probably still at the CDC, being the Regulator of New Atlanta involved a lot more than politics, and late nights at work were a normal part of life. Especially these days. After two decades of failed experiments and near misses, they were finally making some real progress. The last few weeks in the labs had been thrilling.

The road here had been a long one, despite his father’s genius. It seemed that every corner Garret Star had successfully turned over the years had led them to another hurdle, and every solution he’d come up with had presented yet another set of complicated problems. Angus James had turned the tides, but the end goal had remained just out of reach for many years.

Not that Jackson had ever doubted that his father would do everything he had set out to accomplish.

Garret Star had graduated from high school and headed off to college at the young age of thirteen. From there he had gone on to study evolutionary biology and virology, earning multiple degrees in both fields by the time he was in his early twenties. As a genius, Star had often found himself feeling separated from his peers. First in high school when he was years younger than the other members of his graduating class, then in college when he would find himself sitting at home alone on Saturday nights while everyone else got wasted at keggers and frat parties.

In his solitude Star had turned to comics for comfort, feeling especially drawn to the ones that featured creatures that had come back from the dead. The concept had nearly consumed him, and he’d spent years tearing through the neatly drawn pages between studying and lab work, imaging a world in which such things could happen.

Time had moved on, but the idea had stayed with him, tucked safely in the back of his mind as he left college and his career took off. He’d earned a position at the CDC right away, barely more than a research assistant in the beginning. In those early days Star had spent his time working on projects that were overseen by doctors with decades more experience than he possessed, but who had lacked the mental aptitude or vision to do anything really great with their lives.

Thanks to his unyielding determination to achieve scientific immortality, Star had moved up in the ranks quickly, gaining access to some of the more top secret projects within his first two years at the CDC. He worked on assignments that dealt with biological weapons and viruses that were so deadly few people even knew of their existence, studying them in hopes of learning their weaknesses. But in his free time, Star was secretly conducting his own research. The comics that had kept him company throughout his early years had become so rooted in his brain that he’d found it impossible to shake the concept. What if he could bring someone back to life? What if he could create a zombie-like creature?

It was one of the top secret projects he was assigned to at the CDC that had finally given Star the answer he’d been looking for. While Jackson had never learned the original goal of Project Chronos, he did know that the research his father did on it helped lead him to where he was today.

The first time Star’s group managed to reanimate a dead monkey, he had acted shocked right along with the other scientists. He hadn’t been, however, because bringing the primate back from the dead had been Star’s goal from the very beginning. While other doctors working in the CDC had worried about viruses being used to wipe out the human race, Star had had a totally different kind of biological weapon in mind. A virus that would keep the human body going even after all the life had been drained from it.

The idea had first come to him during his comic book days, and no matter how hard he’d tried or how many projects he’d taken part in, Star had never really been able to shake it. Zombies had seemed impossible to him at first. A creature that was fun to read about or watch on television when there was nothing better to do, but one that could never really exist. The idea that the brain could somehow keep working long after the body had died should have been preposterous. But as Star got deeper into his studies he began to wonder if he couldn’t in fact create such a being. Unlike the ones within the pages of his favorite graphic novels, though, he imagined a creature that had no will of its own, but would be more than capable of following orders. It would have a purpose much greater than simply eating human flesh, and that purpose would be to serve Star.

He knew that the first thing he had to do, however, was to greatly reduce the number of people on this retched planet. Timing was everything, though. He’d to make sure he had thought everything through. Had to make sure he was in the proper position and had other people who could help him achieve his goals after the disaster. If he was going to risk everything and everyone on the planet, he needed to make sure he was ready for the avalanche that would follow.

By the time Chronos was released on the world, Garret Star had risen to the position of director of the CDC. Covering up his part in the breach had been easy since he was the one calling the shots, but pinning it on a terrorist group had been even easier. The Middle East had become more and more aggressive in their efforts to wipe out America, and even though a biological weapon wasn’t their usual style, no one doubted that they had done it. One group was even nice enough to step in and claim responsibility, although these details had been kept secret from the general population. No need to induce panic.

Facing certain doom, the CDC and every other major medical institution in the world had scrambled to find a vaccine. Unfortunately, the doctors who weren’t in Star’s inner circle had no idea that the virus was Chronos until it was too late, and the ones who were privy to that information had no intention of stopping it from spreading. Even better was the fact that a vaccine had actually been created before the virus was ever released, insuring that the proper people would survive the original outbreak and continue their work in the new world that came after.

The virus spread from one side of the country to the other, then across the globe, doing it’s job perfectly and killing more than eighty-five percent of the population. By the time the bodies came back, Star and his colleagues were safely locked away in the CDC, waiting for the initial mayhem to die down so they could move on to the next part in their plan.

Once the dust had settled, Star and his team got to work securing the streets around the CDC and calling on survivors to take shelter in the area. They provided stability for people who were still shell-shocked from loss while also establishing themselves as the new face of the country. Although he stayed behind the scenes at first, no decisions were made without Star’s approval, and nothing happened that he didn’t personally have a hand in.

His plans ran deeper than just controlling the government, though, and in order to move to stage two, Star needed to get his hands on some of the people who had carried natural immunities to the virus. What he hadn’t counted on, however, was that none of those immunities stuck with a person once bitten by an infected corpse, and it didn’t take long for Star and his team to realize that they needed someone else. Someone with enough antibodies in their blood that they could survive even a bite.

Someone like Angus James.

Jackson learned bits and pieces of the truth as he grew, his father feeding the information to him a little at a time as he judged it to be important. Thankfully, Jackson had not only inherited his father’s genius, but his aptitude for science as well, and with the proper culturing, he grew into a person even more lethal than Garret Star had ever been. Both inside and outside the lab.

It wasn’t until Jackson started his apprenticeship at the CDC, however, that he had learned Angus James was still alive. He’d been fifteen then and his father, knowing that children had the tendency to run their mouths off, had kept that little morsel a secret. Jackson, like everyone else in the settlement, had heard rumors that James was alive and being held in the CDC, but had never really believed it. Finding out that it was true was a pleasant surprise. Even better than that, though, was finding out what his father was actually trying to accomplish with the blood of Angus James.

Twenty years had passed and they were finally getting close. The virus they had cultivated now created creatures that were very different from the original flesh-eating monsters that roamed the world. These new zombies were a hybrid, not quite dead but definitely not human, and even though they didn’t take orders the way Garrett Star had envisioned, they were much closer to the mindless drones his father had always wanted to create. Just a few more tweaks and they would be there. Jackson could feel it. Then all the useless men and women being held in DC could be infected and they would have their army, and when that happened, there would be no stopping them.

Jackson thought it all through as he slammed his knuckles into the punching bag he’d set up in his room. The need had gotten stronger on his walk home and more than anything right now, he wanted to get some of his aggression out. Over and over again his fists hit the firm but pliable surface in front of him, the bag swinging back and forth as an ache spread through his knuckles. But the desire inside him didn’t ease. Sometimes exercise worked, sometimes it didn’t. There were times when things got really bad and Jackson would have to resort to searching the streets for someone to take his aggression out on. Anyone would do, really. A bum passed out in an alley, a whore in shantytown, or even an unsuspecting woman he picked up in the entertainment district. The need wasn’t picky when it came to blood and violence.

Jackson only stopped hitting the bag when the ringing of the telephone echoed through the still house. It was Meg. Would he like to go to the entertainment district tonight? She and Charlie needed a break. Jackson smiled to himself as he agreed, feeling satisfied with this turn of events. Not only did it seem to prove that he and Meg had made progress in their relationship, but he also knew the fight would help feed the need. Especially if the zombies managed to win and he got the chance to see some real blood spilled.

It was rare that Meg went out in the evenings, and Jackson saw this invitation as a sign that he had in fact broken through some invisible barrier. That Meg was thinking more and more about her future and how much easier her life would be with Jackson in it. She was almost there. All she needed was a little push.

Blood was the only thing that would be able to distract Jackson from the skin the waitress in front of him was so brazenly displaying. Meg sat to his left, eyeing the crowded room like she wasn’t sure how she’d ended up here, while on his right sat Charlie. After the waitress had left, Jackson took the opportunity to look Meg’s cousin over, studying the way her tight shirt clung to her curves. He found himself imagining that they were alone and she was stripped down, tied to his bed. The gag in her mouth prevented him from hearing her cries, but the terrified expression in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

It was a scenario he would probably never get to play out, but one he’d imagined many times in the past. Unlike Meg, who was petite and thin, Charlie was built like a woman. She wasn’t afraid to highlight her body either, and she gave off the impression that she wanted attention. Probably not the kind of attention Jackson wanted to give her, but that was the risk she ran by carrying herself the way she did.

Of course, there was always the possibility that the family wouldn’t fall in line. Maybe then Jackson would get the chance to live out his fantasies.

Once the fight started all images of Charlie and sex were chased from his mind by thoughts of the violence and blood that would soon come. These fights always did that to him. Made his brain come to life in ways nothing else could. He focused his thoughts until only the sights and sounds of bloodshed were allowed in. Knuckles slamming into flesh, the crack of bone, the coppery smell of blood. Even the foul stench of the thick, black liquid that ran through the zombies thrilled him. It all worked together to feed the need until Jackson felt like his body was buzzing. It was a drug to him, and the high he felt in the midst of violence gave him a sense of euphoria that would rival the strongest street drugs available these days.

Out of nowhere the zombie in the ring got the upper hand and the fighter went down, his back slamming into the ground with a thud that Jackson felt vibrate through his own body.

“He’s out,” he said, the words coming out almost gleeful.

At his side, Meg shook her head, her eyes glued to the ring. “No.”

She was right, and faster than anything Jackson had ever seen the fighter was on his feet again and the zombie who had been ready to kill him had taken his place on the floor. The violent way the man’s boot slammed into the creature’s head caused a maniacal smile to spread across Jackson’s face that widened with each crack of bone. He leaned forward, trying to get a better look, silently wishing that the blood gushing from the zombie was bright red instead of black. He imagined someone else on the floor, taking the zombie’s place. Colton. Yes. The face of the dead asshole that had dated Meg was suddenly there in the ring, his eyes wide with terror as the fighter crushed his skull with the heel of his boot.

If only Jackson could kill him again.

The second zombie’s death was so gruesome and violent that Jackson didn’t even mind that the blood was black. The fighter gripped the creature by the throat and squeezed, his fingers sinking into the rotten flesh and getting lost in a sea of black blood and gray skin. His hand was buried up to the wrist when he finally twisted it to the right, snapping the zombie’s head right off. It fell, along with the body, dropping at the fighter’s feet with a thump that sent a shiver shooting through Jackson.

If only he could have that kind of power over a person. If only his father would let him loose on someone. Let him do his worst with no restraints.

One day.

Jackson’s head was still spinning when the fight ended, and he hadn’t yet come down from his high when Meg said she needed to use the bathroom. The place was a cesspool and he couldn’t imagine using the bathroom himself, but after only a moment’s hesitation, he let her go. Best to let her see what the world without him could be like: dark and filthy and as foul as the blood that ran through the zombies. Maybe then she would come to her senses and finally realize that Jackson was the best thing for her.

Charlie disappeared shortly after Meg did, heading to the bar with a man who was not only too old for her, but not nearly good-looking enough.

Jackson wasn’t stupid. He may have been smaller than a lot of men, but he knew there was something about him that women liked. His looks or his power, or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, he had worked hard to cultivate it over time, learning how to turn the charm on so it hid the darker part of himself from people when he needed it to. He did that with women quite often, but not always. There were times when he wanted the woman in front of him to know exactly what lay hidden just below the surface.

He headed for the bar as well, his sights set on the waitress with the pink hair. The track marks in the crooks of her arms told him how rough her life had been, and she was young and attractive enough for Jackson to want to take advantage of that little morsel. The dress she wore was nothing but strips, making it look like someone had tied her up, and as he walked, he imagined tightening the binding until her white flesh turned pink and tortured. The image aroused him and clouded his brain until he had trouble focusing on anything else.

“Get you a drink?” the girl asked when he stopped in front of her. There was hesitation in her gray eyes, but the smile she gave him was welcoming.

“Sure.” He slid a few credits across the counter. “Just a shot.”

She nodded, but when she lifted the bottle her hands were shaking and some of the brown liquid splashed across the counter. She didn’t meet his gaze when she slid the glass to him. His hand wrapped around the shot glass before the waitress had a chance to let it go, and her entire body jerked. He lingered longer than necessary, savoring the fear that radiated off her.

She stepped back when Jackson finally released her, her eyes still down. Not that it mattered, Jackson’s own gaze was focused on the flesh peeking through the black fabric as he threw his shot back. There were so many things he could do to her, and he knew that if he took the time to turn on the charm, it would be easy. She’d thank her lucky stars that someone like Jackson was paying her attention. She’d do whatever he said, go wherever he wanted to go…

Someone cleared his throat, dragging Jackson from his daydreams about what he could do to the waitress. He turned to find the fighter standing behind him, black blood still splattered across his skin, and his hands clenched like he was hoping to shed more blood. Jackson knew the feeling.

“Donaghy,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Hell of a fight.”

The fighter stared at his outstretched hand like it was a weapon intent on destroying him, and some of the glee inside Jackson melted away.

“You have a friend?” Donaghy said without taking the hand he’d been offered. “A girl?”

Jackson dropped his arm to his side and blinked, unable to figure out what the hell the man in front of him was getting at. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s a girl in the bathroom who needs help. She said she was sitting in the VIP section with her friends.”

Jackson shook his head before what the fighter was saying sank in. Meg had gone to the bathroom and something bad had happened to her. Maybe she’d been attacked. It was possible, especially in this place. The question was: had her attacker gotten what he wanted?

Images of what could have happened popped into Jackson’s head. There was blood and bare flesh, and tears mixed with cries of pain. A symphony of agony and torture clouded his brain, making it impossible for him to respond or know what to do.

“Meg?” was the only word Jackson managed to get out, because everything else going through his head came from the dark place. The place that he tried his best to keep hidden.

“Didn’t get her name,” the fighter said, and the way his mouth scrunched up gave off the impression that he wished he hadn’t stumbled across her at all.

For the first time, Jackson noticed that there wasn’t just black blood splattered across the fighter’s arms and chest. There were dots of red as well. Blood. Human blood.

What had happened to Meg?

“Shit,” Jackson muttered before taking off toward the bathroom.

Some piece of scum had dared put his hands on Jackson Star’s future wife. He’d kill the bastard. Rip the asshole’s throat out for touching something that belonged to him, then piss on his corpse. They’d hang his body from the damn wall as a warning to every other person in this pathetic settlement. Nobody would ever have the guts to touch what belonged to Jackson Star again.

She was on the floor when he got to the bathroom. Crying, the front of her shirt ripped open and her breasts almost completely exposed. At her side was a corpse; it’s head smashed in and a pool of blood collecting on the floor underneath it. The red liquid contrasted with Meg’s milky white skin, making Jackson momentarily dizzy. There was so much blood. So much violence.

Charlie ran in behind him and started sobbing, snapping Jackson out of his daze. She took off just as he fell to his knees at Meg’s side, summoning every ounce of strength in his body so he could focus on her face and not on the blood.

He conjured up an expression of concern. “Tell me Donaghy stopped him.”

Meg nodded, but she didn’t seem to be able to talk. When Jackson put his hands on her shoulders, they shook slightly. Most of her breasts were visible beneath her crossed arms, and the urge to touch her was so strong that Jackson had a hard time controlling it. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, hoping it would come across as support for her instead of what it really was: him needing something to anchor himself to so he didn’t finish what this man had started.

“Breathe, Meg,” he ordered, then took his own advice and inhaled slowly.

The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils and made his head spin, but one thought stuck out even amid the violence surrounding them: the man hadn’t touched her. That was good. Jackson still would have taken her—it wasn’t like she was a virgin—but this hadn’t been part of his plan. He needed her fresh and unafraid. He needed her to think she was strong so he could bask in the pleasure of tearing her down.

Meg concentrated on breathing in and out. Working to control herself while Jackson did the same. By the time she whispered, “I’m okay,” Jackson felt better as well. It had been a close call, but nothing had really changed. Meg was in one piece and the scum at her side was dead, nothing but a bloody pulp that he would savor the image of for the rest of his life.

It took a few minutes for Meg to steady herself, and when she did, she got to her feet. She brushed off Jackson’s attempt to help her and muttered, “I said I’m fine, but Donaghy might not be.”

Jackson started, for a second unable to wrap his brain around what she was saying. Then it hit him: she was worried about the convict. About what would happen to him. It was so typical of Meg, always putting others first. A habit that would no doubt lead to her eventual demise.

“Are you seriously worried about him?” Jackson asked, trying to keep the disgust from his voice but failing. “After what you just went through?”

If she didn’t have that damn selfless side, Jackson had no doubt that he would have snagged her by now. She had to know that being married to the Regulator’s son would give her a life of ease, only for some reason that wasn’t a priority for her. It didn’t matter that she had to struggle or take a shitty job on the maintenance crew, or that she lived in a run-down apartment building when she could be living in a mansion. No. Meg was undeniably noble in her desire to do what was right.

Jackson missed whatever she said next, but was jolted out of his thoughts when she turned her back to him and pulled her torn shirt off. Naked from the waist up and standing right in front of him, Jackson had to clench his hands into fists in order to stop himself from touching her. She unraveled the tattered remains of her shirt from her now ruined bra, throwing the latter aside and giving Jackson a perfect view of her right breast. The round perkiness of it made his head spin.

It was only for a second, though, and then she slipped her shirt on backward, hiding her curves from him once again. “Tie my shirt closed.”

Jackson’s hands shook as he grabbed the tattered edges of her shirt. His knuckles brushed her skin, soft and silky and just begging for attention, and he had to suck in a deep breath. When he did, though, the coppery scent of blood made the need pulse through him.

His brain checked out after that. He responded to Meg like he was a robot, doing what he had to in order to keep his façade in place, but barely registering the words that came out of his mouth. He followed her out of the bathroom, down the long, stinking hall and back out into the bar. The enforcers were already arriving; Meg’s uncle included, and the flurry of activity helped Jackson snap out of it a little.

Meg was sticking up for the convict, who was watching her closely. The expression in his eyes made Jackson uneasy. It wasn’t threatening, but instead soft. Earlier when Donaghy had been in the ring, Jackson had assumed this man would understand the need for violence that lived inside him. Now, though, watching the interaction between Donaghy and Meg, he realized it wasn’t true, and that made the fighter a threat. It didn’t matter if he was a convict because Jackson knew exactly what kind of man could penetrate Meg’s walls. He’d met the only one who had managed it.

Colton had accomplished what no one had ever succeeded in doing: he’d made Meg care. He hadn’t been the first to try, just the first to catch her attention, and it had taken Jackson some time to figure out how the other man had accomplished it. The answer had been obvious once he’d had the time to observe the situation, although difficult for Jackson to swallow. Colton had cared about people. He’d had a soft side, and that was something Jackson would never be able to compete with.

His body became more and more stiff the longer the fighter stared at Meg. Her uncle was busy thanking the guy, and the expression on Meg’s face made Jackson internally curse himself. She looked like she felt indebted to him. This man had walked into a room and saved her one time, and she was acting like she was ready to strip her clothes off and spread her legs. Jackson had been her friend for years. Had endured her sniveling when she lost family members and her fucking spineless boyfriend, had spent hours upon hours patiently waiting for her. Yet this guy had waltzed into a scummy bar one day and managed to earn more respect than Jackson had ever received.

And the way he was looking at her—like he would gladly follow her around and protect her for the rest of his pathetic life—filled Jackson with a rage so raw that he had a difficult time not pulling his knife out and gutting the convict right here. Even worse was when Meg reached out and touched his arm, her fingers lingering much longer than necessary. After all these years of being her loyal friend, Jackson was rarely allowed to put his arm around her, but she had voluntarily put her hands on this scum.

His head was spinning so fast that the need was able to find its way to the surface. His hands twitched and he clenched them into fists. When Meg’s uncle headed for the bathroom, Jackson found himself following. He hated leaving Meg and the fighter alone, but he couldn’t make his body cooperate. The need was too strong. It wanted blood.

The smell hit him before he had even stepped through the door, and the second he was inside the bathroom he inhaled sharply. Meg’s uncle gave him a look that said he could see right through Jackson, but he didn’t care. He lived for moments like this. They satisfied him the way food or alcohol or drugs satisfied other people. Here he would be able to think straighter. To come up with something that would help put the fighter in his place while at the same time elevate Jackson in Meg’s eyes.

A plan began to formulate. Meg liked people who stuck their neck out for others, and she clearly saw the fighter as someone other than a convict. She saw good in him, that much was obvious, and in order to get on her good side, Jackson would have to pretend to see it too.

He left the bathroom, knowing that he had to put his plan into action as soon as possible. Meg and Donaghy were still talking, the fighter’s gaze focused on her like he couldn’t stand the thought of looking anywhere else. Jackson stopped at her side, close enough that their arms were touching, and he cleared his throat.

Donaghy met Jackson’s gaze, and right away he knew that the convict could see all the way through him to the darkest parts of his soul. Meg was sandwiched between them, trapped in a power struggle as each of the men waited for the other to talk. It was obvious that Donaghy didn’t trust Jackson, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to impress the convict or to try to hide his true self. Only Meg mattered.

“I want to thank you for helping Meg,” Jackson said, forcing the words out as he thrust his hand toward the asshole in front of him. He hated how much he had to look up to meet the convict’s gaze. Hated the cold stare that greeted him and the expression in the blue eyes that said I know who you are. He continued anyway, “You could have walked away, and these days a lot of people would have, but you put your neck out there. You’re a good man.”

The convict dragged his gaze from Jackson’s so he could stare at the outstretched hand in front of him. The air around them sizzled and seconds ticked by, but Donaghy still didn’t take the offering. It prickled at Jackson until he wanted to punch the man, but instead he dropped his hand to his side and straightened his back, determined to show Meg that he was the bigger man.

“Where are you staying while you’re in New Atlanta?” he asked.

Donaghy once again focused his gaze on Meg, as if she were the one who had asked the question, not Jackson. “There’s a back room here. Dragon set up a few cots.”

Jackson was standing so close to Meg that he felt her shiver under the convict’s gaze.

Heat flared inside Jackson and he had to force out a smile when he said, “I’d like to offer you a room. My father is the Regulator here and we have plenty of extra space. We’d be honored to have you stay in our home.”

“Not interested.” Donaghy didn’t even have the consideration to look at Jackson when he said it.

“I’m sorry?” It was all he could think to say. How dare this man? If he knew who was standing in front of him, he would never be so cavalier in his rejection. He’d show some respect.

Meg whispered the fighter’s name as she rested her hand on his arm so gently that it reminded Jackson of a lover’s touch. He had to stiffen his whole body to stop from lashing out at her or at the convict. They both needed to learn some respect, but Donaghy especially. By the time he left this settlement, Jackson would make sure this asshole understood how he was expected to behave in the presence of the Regulator’s son. He would make sure Donaghy, the great convict fighter, cowered under his gaze.

Whatever Meg said was lost to Jackson as he imagined ripping the convict to shreds, but it did the trick. The asshole consented and Jackson found himself letting out a breath as he tried to ease the tension from his body. It didn’t work, so he took the opportunity to excuse himself so he could make the arrangements. He wanted to get it taken care of so he could get out of here. Not only did he want to get Meg away from the convict, but there was also something about Donaghy that had him on the brink of losing control. He didn’t like the way the two looked at each other. Didn’t like the connection he could feel developing. The sooner he got Meg home for the night, the better.

On the way home from dropping Meg off, Jackson’s brain buzzed from the memories of what had happened at the bar. The sight of the bloodied body on the bathroom floor and the surge of adrenaline that had shot through him at being so close to the heap and the coppery scent of blood. The smell alone had taken him back to the violence of his younger years, and Meg’s quiet sobs had only spurred the feelings forward.

Jackson knew he should have followed her to the bathroom, but he’d been distracted by the little waitress with the pink hair. The crisscrossing lines of her dress had drawn him in, and it had been on his mind to meet up with her after the bar had closed. He’d been right in the middle of picturing the whole thing as he talked to her. Walking Meg home before meeting the girl with the pink hair in some dark alley. There he would rip her clothes off and bend her over a trashcan. The metal would clang against the street, matching her cries. When he was finished with her, he may have even let her go, although he doubted it. More than likely he would have strangled her and left her in the alley. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself a grand finale like that.

The fantasy had been perfect, but then the fighter had popped up and told him about Meg, and for one horrible moment Jackson had thought that all his patience had been ruined by a filthy bar patron not even smart enough to take a woman in a dark alley. He’d rushed to her aid, thankful to discover that some other monster had not in fact soiled her, but the night had nonetheless remained ruined. Donaghy, the convict fighter from DC, had managed to insert himself between Jackson and Meg without even trying.

Meg was the first girl Jackson had ever noticed, back when he’d graduated from visions of violence in the schoolyard to visions of things that took place in a much more private setting. True, his father had planned their meeting, but he had welcomed it once he’d seen her big, green eyes. To Jackson it had seemed like they were calling out to him, and the fantasies he’d conjured up as they got older had kept him awake at night. Even though it had nearly killed him to drag it out like this, patiently waiting for her year after year, he had to admit that the thrill of the chase did something for him. One day he would have her, of that he had no doubt—Jackson Star wasn’t used to being told no—and the chase would make the eventual victory so much sweeter.

He’d marry her, of course, because having her at his side would do a lot for the future of the settlement and it was what he and his father had been working toward for years. Her last name was James and it was a name that was connected with saving the world, even if the masses were slightly misled in that matter. There were so many ups and downs associated with the new future they had planned, and the Stars knew that this would be an easy way to get people to fall in line. Megan James would bring the religious crazies to their side.

Jackson just hoped she wouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.

It was late, and briefly he considered going home, but even though he had managed to control the need, it hadn’t yet gone back to sleep. Plus, there were other urges in him, urges that hadn’t been met in a long time—and never by Meg. He could go to Priscilla, the twenty-four-year-old daughter of one of the council members. The two of them often spent evenings together, each one satisfying the primal urges of the other, but Jackson knew that no matter how often he told her their trysts were casual, deep down she had her sights set on snagging him. Since he had no intention of ever allowing anyone to snag him unless they fit into the big picture, he tried to keep their meetings few and far between. She was good in bed and open to whatever filthy fantasy he concocted, but sometimes, like tonight, he just needed a quick release.

On a whim he turned into a dark alley at the end of shantytown. Here the shadows were deep and gloomy, blocking out even the little bit of light from the moon. It gave him the anonymity he craved in moments like this, moments when the need refused to be silenced. It’s appetites were varied, but always sinister, and even though he knew he could get away with literally anything thanks to his position, he preferred to keep some of his darker habits to himself. At least for the time being.

Jackson reached the small clearing at the edge of the alley, but even there the darkness was prevalent. A second later the shadows moved and a girl stepped forward. She was nothing more than an outline in the black night, and so small that it was impossible to know for sure if she was even legal. Not that Jackson cared. He knew the laws of the settlement mattered to everyone but him. The only laws he had to obey were his father’s, which he was more than happy to do.

“How much?” he asked the ghost of a girl in front of him.

“Ten credits.”

The smile that curled up his lips was hidden by the shadowy night. This was why he liked the darkness. If the whores recognized him, which they most certainly would in the light of day, the price quadrupled. He could pay forty credits of course, the price was nothing to him, but Jackson liked knowing that he was screwing them even more than they realized.

He unzipped his pants as the girl dropped to her knees. Her mouth was warm when it wrapped around him, and Jackson’s eyes closed as his head lulled back and he savored the feeling. The girl, legal or not, knew what she was doing.

It took less than two minutes for the need to creep to the surface though, and before long he found his hands twisting in the girl’s greasy hair. She whimpered when he tightened his grip on her head, holding her firm so she was unable to pull away. His eyes were closed still, but he could picture the panicked expression on her face. Her hands grabbed his legs as he moved faster, slamming into her mouth violently. The choking noises that echoed through the night only made the whole thing more thrilling, and before long, sobs joined the sounds. His release was quick after that.

When he freed her, the girl dropped to the ground and curled into a ball. Her sobs were so violent that they shook her entire body. All around him the shadows moved as people watched from their hiding places, but no one would come to her rescue. He was still nothing more than a blob in the black night, but he knew that he exuded an evilness that terrified even the toughest person.

Jackson grinned down at the girl as he zipped his pants. “You could have done better,” he said just before he dropped five credits onto the ground at her side.

Eyes watched him from the shadows as he headed back the way he came, whistling. He could feel the venom from those gazes, and it was even more invigorating than the girl’s sobs had been. Being despised was part of the job, and lucky for him, Jackson enjoyed it. He was the perfect definition of a bully and he didn’t just know it, he owned the title. Wore it like a badge of honor.

Jackson couldn’t remember a time when he’d been anything different, and most of his earliest memories were of making the other kids at school cry. Being in control had always been a rush for him, but as he’d gotten older he’d had to push the boundaries more and more for that thrill to take hold.

It had started simple enough with him taking things from others. Either a ratty old comic someone’s father had brought back from a run, or a pair of tennis shoes that looked like they’d been manufactured only the day before. To Jackson, the item had been inconsequential. It was more about obtaining those items than actually wanting them, about doing it simply because he could.

As he’d gotten older he had switched to lording his father’s position over the heads of the other children and picking on the weak. They all knew that Jackson Star would face no consequences for the things he did, so turning him in was something none of them dared consider, but even worse was the constant threat of knowing that if they did turn the Regulator’s son in, the fury of the government would rain down on their family’s heads.

In all those years there had been only one kid who had dared to try standing up for himself. Stevie Jones had been a skinny child with tiny eyes that seemed to see straight through a person. He’d been quiet and harmless, but something about the unassuming way Stevie had tried to move through life had rubbed Jackson the wrong way, and for as long as he could remember, he had tortured little Stevie Jones.

It had been little things at first—taking toys away from the kid and breaking them right in front of his face—then had slowly graduated to punching him in the lower back, right where the kidney rested, and imagining the blood that would show up in his urine later that night.

Stevie had put up with the torment for years before finally reaching his breaking point around the age of eleven. Over the weeks leading up to that day, Jackson had felt himself growing tired of the small beatings. The sudden need to draw blood had almost been too much to contain, the way it festered and ate at his insides made him feel physically sick. He had to let it out or he was certain that it would destroy him.

That day after school, surrounded by other boys from their class, Jackson had pinned little Stevie Jones up against the wall and punched him until his nose bled. Seeing the bright red liquid and knowing that he’d been the one to cause the damage had been more thrilling than anything Jackson had experienced, and he’d wanted more. Wanted to inflict so much pain on Stevie that the kid would never be able to leave the alley. The need had been fed but not satisfied, and Jackson knew there was no going back.

He’d managed to control himself, though, and he’d let Stevie go with only a bloody nose, instead feeding the need by taking a stray cat home. Up until that point Jackson had worked hard to keep the need caged in. There had always been a part of him that was afraid of what would happen if he really let himself go, but now that it had happened, he had to wonder why had ever tried to deny himself in the first place. The euphoria that surged through him when the need was fed had been intensely thrilling. Better than anything he could have imagined.

The crimson line that dripped from Stevie’s nostrils that day hadn’t just awoken Jackson, though. Stevie, too, seemed to snap out of it with the bloodshed. That night he’d gone home and told his mother about the bullying, and the stupid woman had called the enforcers, causing the Judicial Officer to pay the Regulator a visit.

Jackson’s father had been stern with the JO, maintaining that the incident had been nothing more than a schoolyard disagreement between two boys. The small, serious woman who had recently been promoted to JO had looked at Jackson with a suspicion that had chilled him to the core. It was as if she knew what he was, which was terrifying because even he didn’t know what he was at the time. He just knew that violence was in his blood, and that if he didn’t let it out, it would most likely destroy them all.

She’d let him off with a warning since he was still young and had no prior record, but had cautioned his father that his son was not above the law. The Regulator, who could turn on the charm faster than anyone Jackson had ever seen, had assured her that it would not happen again. He would deal with his son.

Jackson had a hard time meeting his father’s gaze after the JO left. The Regulator had always spoken to his son about being a strong leader, and Jackson felt that he had somehow disappointed Garret Star by giving in to his urges. His father had always been a strict disciplinarian, taking the saying spare the rod spoil the child literally.

But instead of going for the rod, his father had knelt in front of him. “Jackson,” he had said, grabbing his son’s chin and forcing him to raise his head. “Look at me.”

Jackson had complied, slowly and hesitantly lifting his eyes to meet his father’s gaze. No one intimidated him, not even adults, but Garret Star was impossible to ignore. He was a genius who seemed like a giant, even in the presence of men much larger than he was. Everything out of his father’s mouth was said with authority, and no one questioned him. Ever. It was like he had some kind of magic power that allowed him to bend the world to his will, and even before Jackson knew the whole truth, there had been a part of him that had wondered if his father had created the whole zombie virus simply so he could be in the position he now found himself in: the leader of the new world

“Jackson,” his father had said, putting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Being in a position of authority is a great honor, but not one that should be taken lightly. You need to understand that there are ways of making enemies, and ways of making servants of your enemies. If you decide to show someone that you are the boss, you need to do it in a way that will obliterate every ounce of will they have inside them. Make sure that when you are done, there is nothing left they can destroy you with.”

The boy had nodded even though he hadn’t quite understood his father’s words, but later that night, as he was lying in bed, Jackson had found it impossible to sleep. All he could do was stare into the darkness and try to unravel the meaning behind his father’s words. It wasn’t until halfway through the night before it came to him, though, and the epiphany that followed changed his life forever.

It wasn’t enough to torture people. If Jackson wanted to bend a person to his will he had to first remove theirs.

The next day Stevie’s mother was fired from her job. Jackson never learned what excuse was given, but he knew that no one would dare call the enforcers on him ever again. Not even Stevie Jones, who Jackson beat to within an inch of his life only four hours after his mother was fired.

Jackson was still thinking about little Stevie Jones when he turned down his street. His hands were in his pockets, clenched into fists as he remembered how it had felt to slam his knuckles into the other kid’s face. It had been a long time since he’d gotten his hands dirty like that, but the rush that came with it never went away. He wondered what had ever happened to Stevie Jones. These days, Jackson didn’t have to resort to physical violence—he had much more effective ways of dealing with the rage inside him—but if Stevie Jones was still alive it would be nice to finish the job. There was nothing Jackson liked more than breaking a person until they had no hope left.

Like he would one day do with Meg. One day, after she had finally given herself to him, Jackson would do what he wanted with her. Just like his father had taught him, he would take her will away one humiliating moment at a time until there was nothing left but a ball of clay that he could then mold to his will. She’d be unhappy, but she would fall in line. Just like his own mother had.

Seeing Meg on the floor of the bathroom tonight, nearly naked from the waist up and trying to hold herself together, had revived dozens of fantasies for Jackson. So many times over the years he had almost decided to just take her, but had stopped himself short of the act. The time would come, he knew, but he had to be patient. If he had learned anything from watching his father take over the world, it was that patience was always rewarded.

Jackson’s house came into view, big and magnificent even in the dark night, and he began to whistle. There was a skip in his step as he walked, savoring the image of Meg. It faltered when he saw the guards ahead of him, though, escorting Donaghy into his house.

Giving the convict a room had been a good way to regain some of the footing he’d lost with Meg, but Jackson wasn’t thrilled about the idea. Just the thought of that asshole sleeping under his roof had his brain spinning.

He could end it now. He didn’t think Meg had any intention of doing anything with the guy—he was a dirty convict, after all—but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. It would be simple, too. The pathetic excuses for human beings that were guarding Donaghy would be easy to overpower. First Jackson would slit their throats, then move on to the fighter. With him Jackson would take his time, making the cut shallow so he could enjoy the sight of the man bleeding out, could watch his life gathering into a puddle on the floor beneath him and the fear that swam in his eyes as he waited for the end to come.

The need began to uncoil inside him, but Jackson forced it to stay quiet.

No, he couldn’t do that. His father would hate to have the blood in the house, and it would be a stupid mistake to make. The JO had never looked at him the same after the day he beat Stevie Jones. Even being the shoulder for her niece to cry on hadn’t helped. It wouldn’t be easy to sweep the murders under the rug if it were done in his own home, no matter how much he made it look like self-defense, she would know the truth.

He let the fantasy go as he opened his front door, instead picturing how Meg had looked on that bathroom floor. He’d gotten a good glimpse of her, and the image of her breasts would be enough to keep him company for a while now. Soon, though, he would need to take the next step with her. He couldn’t be expected to wait forever.

Meg was up to something.

Jackson was in the middle of documenting changes in their test subject when they told him. She’d had a normal day at work, but afterward had stopped in to see her Uncle Al. The two had discussed a note that someone—a crazy old man, apparently—had slipped Meg.

Jackson scanned the transcript he’d been given, frowning. Neither Meg nor her uncle had said exactly what was in the note, but it clearly had something to do with her missing father. She should have accepted that he was dead by now. Everyone else had, and that’s how it should have been. These days, if a person was missing for more than ten hours they were considered zombie chow. But now Meg was questioning that fact, and this note had something to do with it.

Al had told Meg to let it go and she’d agreed, but the uneasy feeling in Jackson’s stomach told him there was more to it. He wished he’d been there to actually listen in so he could have read her tone. He knew Meg so well at this point that he was positive he would have been able to tell what was on her mind just by hearing her voice. Too bad they didn’t record the conversations. No, they only had someone listening in. Just in case. Jackson had assumed that role for hours upon hours back when Meg was with Colton. It had become an obsession with him, listening in while the two talked or had dinner or went back to Meg’s room. Every time he heard the door click shut he’d been sure they were going to take the next step, but Meg had kept her boyfriend dangling for nearly four months before giving in. Before that it had been nothing but kissing and fondling, but Colton had never begged. Never tried to guilt her into it. That was probably why she’d finally given in.

Jackson shuddered, remembering the sounds. They had echoed in his ears, staying with him long after Meg had cried out her ecstasy and Jackson had gone home. The only thing that could have drowned the sounds out were the screams of agony he had forced out of Colton the very next day.

Jackson shook the thoughts away as he read the transcript once again, but the words printed on the page told him nothing. He’d have to pay Meg a visit so he could get a read on how she was feeling.

He pushed away from the desk and stood with a groan. His shoulders were stiff and aching from being bent over the microscope all day looking at slides. The work had been interesting enough that Jackson hadn’t realized how sore he was until now, and he rolled his shoulders back over and over again as he walked. The hall was quiet and empty, but that was nothing unusual. Very few people had access to this part of the CDC, only those who could be trusted implicitly. A handful of doctors—most of which dated back to before the virus was released—spent nearly every waking hour back here, then there were half a dozen nurses and a small group of select guards, different enforcers than the ones who patrolled the walls and the streets of the settlement. Garret Star had handpicked these men himself, and their positions were top secret. The few men who had dared run their mouths off regretted it when their tongues were removed and their positions were switched from secret guard to secret test subject.

Jackson turned right at the end of the hall, stopping outside the sealed door that led to the observation wing. He typed in his code and a second later the door popped open with a hiss. The sterile smell of antiseptic in no way covered the scent of death that filled the air, but it was something Jackson had grown up with and at this point, he was immune to the stench.

He stopped outside the first cell and peered through the window. The man inside was still unconscious. Tubes and wires ran from his body to the machines scattered around the room, their lights blinking in rhythmic patterns that matched his vitals. Jackson knew Axl would be awake soon, though. Just this morning his father had made the decision to take their newest test subject out of his chemically induced coma, and they were easing him off the drugs at this very moment. It wouldn’t take long, twelve hours, maybe. He’d resurface slowly, groggy at first and then—knowing Axl James—angry as the reality of the situation came slamming into him.

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Axl wouldn’t be easy to control, but they’d had him for three weeks already and they couldn’t risk killing him. The longer he was in the coma, the higher the risk of permanent damage. Now that his asshole brother was gone they were dependent on Axl’s blood to finish what they’d started. If something happened to him, they would have to start over in their search for the right immunities. And who knew if anyone carrying them was even still alive.

Jackson turned his back on the cell and headed down the hall, passing window after window, each of the small rooms holding a different set of horrors. Zombies in various forms of decay, men who were clinging to life as different strains of the same virus took hold of their bodies. Most people would have shied away from the sights, but Jackson loved it. Loved seeing the pain and torture and knowing that he’d had a hand in it. It helped keep the need at bay.

He only paused again when he’d reached the girl’s cell. Eyes that swam with pain stared back at him, shimmering with tears and hazy with confusion. He held her gaze even though he knew she was too pumped full of drugs to even register who was standing in front of her. The immunities found in her blood weren’t as strong as Axl’s, but they had her now and there was no going back, so they continued to use her. Injecting her with each new strain they created, then studying her body’s reaction, hoping to find a pattern. Secretly, Jackson had been waiting for the moment when her immune system gave up and she died. After the dozens upon dozens of injections she’d been given, it only made sense that she’d eventually succumb. So far, though, there had been no sign that her body was ready to throw up a white flag and surrender.

They were a strong family.

He turned away from her and left the observation wing, heading out into the streets of Atlanta. The air was sweltering and thick with humidity, making Jackson curse under his breath. He loathed the heat. His father could have set up his labs anywhere in the world, and it had never made sense to Jackson that Garret Star had chosen to stay in Atlanta. Sure the CDC was here, but they easily could have moved their operation in the early days of the virus. No one had been around to stop them, and thanks to the initial efforts to control the spread of the disease, many of the bodies from the earliest days of the infection had been burned. To Jackson, it would have made sense to pick up and move somewhere a little less stifling. Then again, his father rarely left the CDC or their home, so there was a good chance he didn’t even realize just how miserable Georgia was in the summer.

It was getting dark when Jackson reached the section of the wall that Meg loved to climb so much. He paused at the bottom, preparing himself to slip back into the role of best friend and confidant. The barricade of cars towered above him, blocking out what little bit of sunlight was left and casting a giant shadow over the street. He stared up, craning his neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of Meg, but saw nothing.

He hated climbing the wall and couldn’t understand Meg’s addiction to staring out over the lost world. She had a sick fascination with what had been, which had never made sense to Jackson no matter how many times she’d tried to explain it. He was someone who liked to look ahead, and to him, thinking about the past was a waste.

Still, when his father had gotten ready to secure the wall, Jackson had made sure that this little section had stayed as it was. Garrett had been hesitant, not liking how easy it was to climb, but had eventually agreed, knowing that anything his son asked for would be working toward the greater good. So the area had stayed and Meg had continued her ritual of looking into the past. It used to only happen once or twice a week, but she had amped it up to almost every night after her dad’s disappearance. Like if she just looked long enough she’d be able to figure out where her father had disappeared to.

Too bad for her, Axl had never left the city.

Jackson hauled himself up, trying not to grimace as the jagged metal dug into his palms. The smashed cars that made up the wall had been subjected to the harsh Atlanta weather for two decades now, and they were starting to show their age. Rusty and dangerous, they were an accident waiting to happen. Not that Meg seemed to care.

He let out a deep breath when he finally made it to the top, but it was more out of frustration than relief. Meg wasn’t there, which meant his climb had been for nothing. He hated wasting his time. He had important things to do and knowing that he’d spent even five minutes on something that didn’t play into his master plan was infuriating. Plus, if Meg wasn’t here, he didn’t know where she was. She would have finished her shift on the maintenance crew a couple hours ago, and Jackson knew that sitting at home right now wouldn’t be something she’d want to do. Her mom’s grip on reality was slowly slipping away, and the further Vivian fell into oblivion, the more terrified Meg became. She wasn’t someone who liked to lose control, and for her, avoiding the situation had been better.

But if she wasn’t on the wall, the apartment she shared with her mother was the only other place Jackson could think to look, so he headed back down and then through the streets of Atlanta. Past shantytown and the foul-smelling air that radiated from shacks. A sneer curled up his lips when he passed the shrine of Angus and he had to resist the urge to kick the woman who was kneeling in front of it. Her eyes were closed as her lips moved in silent prayer. She’d never see the blow coming, and the idea of knocking her right into the statue made Jackson cackle with glee.

He didn’t kick her though, and a second later she had her eyes open and was scurrying away from the Regulator’s son, a look of fear in her eyes that made Jackson stand taller. His smile grew despite the stench surrounding him. There were few things in the world better than seeing fear in another person’s eyes.

When he reached Meg’s building he found the elevator broken. Again. The stairwell was pitch black, but that was a more desirable alternative to the barely working lights on the third floor. They blinked so fast that he found himself wondering if anyone living on this floor had succumbed to seizures, a thought that almost made him laugh again.

He was smiling when he stopped outside Meg’s door, picturing some poor asshole twitching on the floor while the lights above them flashed incessantly. The longer he thought about it, the harder it was for Jackson to hold his laugh in. If anyone ever did have a seizure, he hoped he would be here to witness it.

He managed to rein in his glee as he wrapped his knuckles against the door. The knock echoed through the empty hall, highlighting the silence and making the place seem empty. It wasn’t, Jackson knew that, but for some reason it felt like it was just him in the building right now.

The door in front of him was ripped open and he found himself taking a step back. Jackson hadn’t seen Meg’s mother in months. The family wasn’t exactly a fan of his and the last thing he wanted was to give them any opportunities to pick his behavior apart. It was better to keep his relationship with Meg away from their prying eyes.

The last time he had seen Vivian, though, she’d looked good for a woman her age. She was over forty now, but still fit from years of hard work—something the James family didn’t shrink away from. Jackson admired a woman with curves, which Vivian had in excess. She dressed simply and didn’t wear makeup, but Meg’s mother had natural beauty to her that was impossible to ignore. Her air of authority and self-confidence made her even more attractive, even to someone like Jackson who preferred his women weak and pliable.

The woman standing in front him now, however, was nothing like the Vivian James he remembered. Her hair was unwashed and greasy, knotted into tangles that made it look like she hadn’t brushed it in weeks. She’d lost weight too, so much that her skeletal frame made him shrink away. It was her eyes that really struck him as off, though. They were swimming with fear and confusion as they looked him over, then turned to focus on the hall at his back. They were searching. Searching for what he didn’t know, and he had a strong suspicion that she didn’t either. He knew what drugs they were medicating her with and he doubted that much, if anything, made sense to her these days. If the dosage was high enough she may have reached the point where she was having a difficult time distinguishing her delusions from reality. Soon, with just a little more drugs in her system, she would find it difficult to even stay awake. From there Vivian would either die in her sleep of an overdose or she’d succumb to the paranoia and kill herself, taking care of their problem once and for all. Knowing how strong she was, Jackson doubted it would be the latter. Vivian had survived a lot, and he had a feeling that it would take more than drug-induced paranoia to send her over the edge. No, she would need a push for sure.

“It’s you,” Vivian said, her eyes still on the hall at his back.

“I was looking for Meg,” he responded, trying to keep his tone non-threatening. The problem with the drug they were using was that it made people very unpredictable, and if Vivian were thrown into a sudden flashback of a zombie fight, she could easily lash-out at Jackson.

Vivian looked him over with wide eyes, giving off the impression that she had just now noticed him even though they had already spoken. “She isn’t here. I don’t know where she is, just like I don’t know where Axl is. They took him. Did they take her? Do you know? If anyone knows it’s you.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice to a hiss as she said, “I know who you are.”

Jackson took another step back. “Meg isn’t here.”

He wasn’t talking to Vivian anymore, he was thinking out loud. If Meg wasn’t on the wall and she wasn’t here… He had no idea. She used to visit the guard tower a lot, spending time with her dad or aunt, the JO of New Atlanta, but that had stopped when Axl disappeared. Her only real friend other than Jackson was Charlie, but he doubted that Meg had gone out with her cousin for a second night in a row. It wasn’t like her.

“Where is he?” Vivian hissed, jolting Jackson from his thoughts. “Where is Axl?”

Meg’s mom was glaring at him, her eyes so narrowed that she looked like she was trying to rip his head open with her mind so she could see what was inside. It unnerved him just a little and he found himself backing away. He could take the woman, especially now that she had lost weight, but that didn’t mean he wanted an altercation with her. Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll wait for Meg downstairs. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

He turned his back to Vivian and headed down the hall, but she called after him. Yelling. Screaming that she knew who he was and demanding that Jackson tell her what had happened to Axl. Without thinking, Jackson found himself running. Charging down the hall while the lights above him flickered faster and faster, matching the beat of his heart and the pounding of his feet against the floor. He didn’t slow until he’d reached the stairwell, and once he was safely inside and the door was securely shut behind him, he paused to suck in a deep breath. Vivian’s words not only echoed in his head, but also through the air. She was still yelling. Ranting like a lunatic, which was exactly what she was.

After a second, Jackson burst out laughing. He’d just run from that crazy woman. How insane was that? She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds at this point and she was so out of her mind that he could have taken her with little to no effort, but for some reason he had run like a child being chased by a rabid dog. It was pathetic and he was glad no one had been around to witness it.

He was still chuckling to himself as he headed down the stairs to wait for Meg. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be along soon. There was nowhere else that she could be right now, and Meg wasn’t the type of person to wander around. She had a strong sense of family and an even stronger sense of responsibility, so she wouldn’t stay away long when her mom was in such bad shape.

Jackson was wrong, though. The sky turned black and the stars twinkled, and more and more people passed him as they headed into the apartment building at his back, turning in after a long day of work. Still, Meg didn’t come. Minutes turned to hours and it got so late that Jackson was forced to acknowledge the fact that Meg had gone out without him. It was either that or she was hurt and dying in a ditch somewhere, and he couldn’t help hoping that that’s where she was, because if she wasn’t injured and unable to get home, that meant she was in the entertainment district. With someone else. Possibly another guy.

Was Meg seeing someone? He’d been keeping close tabs on her and he hadn’t seen anything to indicate that she was, but he also couldn’t shrug off the memory of how she’d responded to the fighter the night before. The concern in her expression when she’d looked at him, as if he was someone worth saving. Someone worth sticking her neck out for. He wasn’t, and why the hell Meg thought he was, Jackson didn’t know, but he did know that he wouldn’t put up with her slumming it with that asshole convict. No, he wouldn’t sit back and let her get it out of her system the way he had with Colton.

It was late by the time Jackson spotted Meg heading his way, and he was ready to explode. Her steps faltered when she saw him, giving him a moment to take in both her expression and the skimpy dress she was wearing. Black and tight, as well as low cut. She was also wearing heels, something he’d never seen her do before, and more makeup than usual. She’d been out for sure, and whatever she’d been doing, she’d dressed to impress.

Jackson pushed himself off the wall and took one step toward her. “Where the hell have you been? I looked for you on the wall, but you weren’t there. I thought maybe you’d gone home to check on your mom, but she was out of her mind with worry when she answered the door.” A lie, but a small one. She’d been out of her mind, but had barely mentioned Meg. Of course, Jackson knew Meg well enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to just shrug his words off. She’d feel guilty about leaving her mom alone, and she just might think twice about doing it again.

“Charlie and I went out.” The way Meg pressed her lips together gave her away.

She was lying. Jackson knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt and it filled him with so much rage that he almost charged her right then and there. He could picture it in his mind, slamming his fist into her face and sending her to the ground. There would be blood. So much blood. Then he’d take her back to his place and keep her there.

No.

He couldn’t lose control now. Nothing had changed. She’d gone out, but he knew that working on her emotions was the best solution in a time like this.

Jackson swallowed down his anger as he summoned the dutiful friend he’d always been. The spineless prick was buried so deep inside him that he felt like he was dragging him up from the depths of the ocean.

“Why didn’t you call me?” The question was supposed to come out sounding pained, but it didn’t. It was laced with anger and jealousy and a million other emotions that he wasn’t supposed to reveal to Meg, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Who else were you with?”

Her eyes grew wide, but Jackson couldn’t tell if she was surprised that he thought she might be seeing someone else, or shocked that he’d figured it out.

Her next words were lost in the blood that pounded in his ears. Something about how she loved him but she needed space. Space from him. As if she had that right. As if she didn’t owe her very freedom to Jackson Star.

He clenched his hands into fists and took a step toward her, but she held her ground. “Seriously, Meg? I’ve done everything for you! I’ve been patient and understanding. I’ve listened to all your bullshit about how my dad isn’t doing everything he can for this settlement.”

He took another step toward her and she flinched away. Everything else Jackson was going to say died on his lips as he looked her up and down. She looked…scared. Was she scared of him? Even though he knew he shouldn’t want that, he found himself hoping that she was. Fear was the best way to control people, and he wanted more than anything to control Meg.

“Are you scared of me?” he found himself asking.

“No,” she said, but her voice shook and a surge of victory shot through Jackson, but a second later Meg had her shoulders once again squared. “I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not going to let you bully me into being in love with you, either. I don’t know who I want, or if I will ever want anyone, but I know you aren’t the right person for me.”

Jackson’s blood had come as close to boiling as it could without sending him over the deep end. “I’m not trying to bully you.” He wanted to add that if he were trying, she would not only know, but she would succumb to his every whim.

“I know.” Meg reached out, but Jackson backed away, too close to exploding to allow her to touch him. “I want to be your friend, Jackson, but if that isn’t enough for you, then maybe we need to spend some time apart.”

Apart? After everything he’d put up with she was… What? Not breaking up with him since they weren’t even together. Telling him they weren’t friends anymore? How old were they? Eight? No, because when he was eight he hadn’t yet embraced the anger and rage that he now allowed to surge through him. When he was eight he hadn’t yet realized how much potential he had or how far he would go thanks to his father’s position. Now, though, Jackson knew he didn’t have to put up with this. Not from Megan James. Not from anyone.

He turned away from her, not even bothering to glance her way as he said, “I don’t know why I wasted all these years on you. I’m Jackson Star. Who are you? Nobody. You may have the last name, but you don’t have the blood. You’re nothing.”

He walked on, leaving Meg behind him. He was seething; his blood so hot that he thought it might burn him alive from the inside out. He’d spent years on Meg. Been patient and worked hard at keeping his many desires hidden deep down, waiting for his plan to play out to perfection. Now it seemed as if it might come to nothing. She had gone out without him. Something she’d never done. Even with him she rarely did anything social, and going to the entertainment district in that dress could only mean one thing: there was someone else. Who Jackson didn’t know, but he did know that he couldn’t stay or he would do something he’d come to regret.

Jackson made it home without a clue as to how he’d reached his destination. His thoughts were so full of Meg and what he wanted to do to her, as well as questions about exactly what she’d been up to, that he didn’t even remember the walk home. Part of him wished he had, though, because when he stopped on his doorstep he found his insides swimming with the need. It was awake and strong and begging for retribution. He, of course, wouldn’t dare lay a finger on Meg without discussing it with his father, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have ducked into shantytown and found a whore to take his anger out on. It would have felt good and taken the edge off the need, although at this point, Jackson knew it would take a hell of a lot more to silence it completely.

It was too late, though. It had to be well after two o’clock in the morning and Jackson knew his father would be wondering where he was, so he went inside, hoping the quiet emptiness of the house would ease some of the discomfort swirling through him.

“Where the hell have you been?” His father’s voice boomed through the house less than a second after the door was shut behind him.

For a small man, Garret Star’s voice was deep and even more menacing than his presence was. Which was saying a lot. Not that his father intimidated Jackson anymore. They rarely disagreed and when they did they handled it like men. They had their sights set on the same goal, so there was no reason to butt heads like many fathers and sons did.

“Out.” The word came out harsher than Jackson had meant it to, so he let out a deep breath.

“Don’t raise your voice to me,” his father snapped back.

Jackson gathered up all the restraint he had left and said, “I’m not trying to fight. It’s late. I’m tired and I had a shitty night.”

“Fine.” Garret Star responded, turning toward the stairs. “I met the convict you brought to my house. Honestly, Jackson, I know why you thought it was a good idea, but it wasn’t. His guards are so wasted he could plow right over them, then slit our throats while we slept. You need to think things through a little better in the future.”

Jackson stopped walking. “Shit. I forgot the asshole was here.” Was Donaghy the reason Meg had been out tonight? Jackson didn’t know for sure, but there was a big part of him that wanted to charge up the stairs and beat the fighter until he found out the truth. Not that it would matter. Meg seemed very out of reach at the moment, and beating a man she might have a thing for was definitely not the answer to his problems. “Well, he can go back to Dragon’s tomorrow. I’m starting to think this whole thing with Meg has been a waste of time.”

His father turned to face him, his features hard as stone. “The girl isn’t cooperating?”

“I know you think we need her name, but I don’t know if it’s as important as you think it is. She isn’t even related by blood, and I’m starting to think she isn’t going to cooperate anyway.” Jackson let out a deep breath. No, Meg wasn’t going to tow the line the way she was supposed to. She was too stubborn. Too headstrong. Jackson had been fooling himself to think that he could manipulate her into loving him. “Tonight she made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want me, and I think there may be someone else.”

Garret Star turned thoughtful, mulling the situation over. “We have to get her to see how much she needs you, that’s all. It has to hit home just how bad her circumstances really are. And how much worse they can get.”

Worse? The girl had lost almost everything. Her sister years ago, her boyfriend, her father, then her uncle, and now her mom was on the brink of losing her mind. If that didn’t push her over the edge, what would?

Jackson was barely able to keep his doubts from bubbling to the surface, but his father just slapped him on the back as he headed for the stairs, the picture of confidence.

“You leave that to me. I know exactly what to do,” he said. “She’ll come around. There are very few people in this world who will hold onto their pride in the face of starvation and death.”

“If you say so.” Jackson didn’t believe there was much of anything that could push Meg into doing what they wanted at this point, but he decided to let his father have his fun. After all, the idea of Meg suffering a little bit didn’t bother him at all. Especially after she showed her true, slutty colors tonight.

Jackson was once again working at the CDC when he heard the news: Meg had been sent outside the wall. It was preposterous for so many reasons, but it had happened and Jackson didn’t have a doubt in his mind who had made it happen. His father. So that was the lesson he’d wanted to teach her. It wasn’t bad. She’d never been out and it was rare that a crew spent time patching the wall without running into trouble, but also rare that someone died—unless Garret Star wanted them to. For all her daydreaming about what the outside world had been like, Jackson knew she’d never had any real desire to explore the world. Not the zombie world, anyway.

He found himself smiling as he headed for home, most of his worries from the night before now gone. Meg would come to him soon. She’d had a close call—very close from what the report had said—and she would surely be ready to make up now. Jackson wouldn’t be surprised if she was ready to beg for help. For him to take care of her and keep her safe. He couldn’t wait to hear her beg.

A few people on the street coughed as he passed them, and he stepped away even though he’d already received the vaccine for the flu his father had released. It would get much, much worse before it got better, but it would also help clean up the shantytown Jackson loathed so much. His father had agreed with him that the shacks needed to be bulldozed, and Jackson looked forward to watching it happen.

Back home he made himself lunch, being sure to make extra, while he waited anxiously for Meg to show up. She still hadn’t come by the time his food was gone, so he ate her portion as well, ignoring the nagging at his insides that told him he was a fool.

The later it got, the more he found it impossible to deny. Meg wasn’t coming. She’d had a shitty day and come face to face with death, but she hadn’t come running to Jackson for comfort. It was a first. He’d been there for every tragic turn of events in her life, dating all the way back to when her sister had disappeared, but she wasn’t going to come running to him today.

Of course, that whole thing had been planned. Orchestrated by Garret Star for two very important reasons: to get Jackson in Meg’s good graces and to get his hands on more of the James blood.

Jackson had been waiting in an alley, watching as Vivian walked down the street with her two young daughters. The older one had dark hair and looked nothing like her mother—which Jackson knew was because they weren’t actually related—but the younger one had been the spitting image of Vivian. Blonde and dimpled, an oval face that exuded beauty even at the age of nine, Margot had been a gorgeous child, and the three of them had looked like a picture perfect family up until that very last second.

The screams were Jackson’s first signal. He’d come out from his hiding spot just as the crowd began to run, his gaze focused on Meg so he’d be sure to get to her before the horde did. Someone screamed the word zombies, and then there was chaos and pushing. Jackson didn’t see it happen, but he knew that Vivian was taken out first. Hit over the head and dragged aside during the confusion, leaving her two daughters vulnerable.

Meg ran, holding onto her sister’s hand as the crowd grew thicker and more panicked. Jackson could see the terror in her green eyes and something about it fed the tingling inside him. The thing he hadn’t yet named. He moved, focusing on Meg as he waited for the right moment. It happened so fast that even he missed it Margot was grabbed and pulled away from her sister. The crowd swallowed up the man and the girl in seconds flat, leaving Meg panicked and screaming for her sister and mother. She was crying and the zombies were charging. They were so close by the time he reached her that Jackson could smell the rot.

It wasn’t enough to just grab Meg and run, though. No. He wanted to do more, to see blood and hear agony. To be the cause of those things. He pushed someone. He didn’t even stop long enough to figure out who it was before pushing them forward with all his might, shoving them toward the charging horde.

Meg screamed when the person went flying. The zombies were on the man in seconds, and even though Jackson was supposed to pull her to safety, he paused long enough to watch the first few sets of teeth sink into flesh. Blood sprayed and screams radiated through the air, sinking deep into Jackson’s bones, and he found himself almost hypnotized by it. Unable to move as the joy of it all shot through him.

But then Meg screamed again and he was jolted back to reality. That’s when he pulled her into the nearest alley. He and his father had manufactured the perfect hiding spot the day before, behind a dumpster and wedged between a couple wood crates. Jackson had Meg safely tucked away in seconds, securing more crates over them while forcing her to duck down.

She was crying and hysterical, and he did as he’d been trained: he comforted her. Hugged her, repeated words that his father had made him memorize in tones they had rehearsed. Until then, Jackson’s father had never tried to cultivate any kind of empathy in his son, but he’d known how important it would be in this instance. Luckily, Jackson was a quick learner.

There he and Meg stayed until the horde was taken care of, but even then Jackson hadn’t left Meg’s side for hours. He’d helped her look for Margot, had found the bloody and torn backpack just where it was supposed to be, had helped her rouse Vivian, and had even walked the two home when their search had turned up nothing. The next day, after the search for Margot had been called off, Jackson had paid his respects, and ever since then Meg had been like a puppet on a string. She’d come to him when Colton died, when her father disappeared, when her uncle was killed. She’d come right into Jackson’s open and waiting arms every time, almost as if they were a second home to her.

Until now. Now she was off with someone else after facing death. Getting comfort from someone else. It didn’t make sense that things had changed so quickly, but they had. Only Jackson didn’t know why. And he wanted to.

It took one phone call to find out where she was—they’d been keeping close tabs on the family since the day they set foot in New Atlanta. Meg was at Dragon’s Lair. Why or what she was doing there was an utter mystery, but one Jackson was going to solve as soon as possible.

It was still early evening when he headed out, meaning the fight probably hadn’t even started yet. Good. Jackson had a strange nagging in his stomach that told him he needed to see Donaghy out of the ring. He wanted to know who the fighter was spending his spare time with, even if he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Jackson slipped into Dragon’s Lair mostly unnoticed. A few men by the door spotted him, then quickly averted their eyes when they realized who he was—not an unusual reaction at all—and then he was left alone. He stayed by the door, sinking into the shadows so he could observe the room without being seen. The first place he looked upon entering was the VIP section, expecting to see Meg and Charlie bouncing around in their tight clothes while they waited for the fight to start, maybe even Donaghy himself sitting with them. The cushy red chairs were empty, though. Odd. His sources had assured him that he’d find Meg in Dragon’s bar.

He scanned the room slowly, knowing it would be tough to pick her out of the crowd since she was so short, and when he finally spotted her, it was the last place he expected her to be. Behind the bar. Serving drinks.

Meg had gotten a job in this hole?

It didn’t make sense. She knew Jackson would help her, he’d always been there for her, yet she would rather lower herself to working in this filthy, pathetic excuse for a bar than ask him for help? Hadn’t he done everything right? Hadn’t he spent the last nine years trying to make sure she knew that he would do anything for her?

Had she seen through him? Jackson didn’t think so. Maybe his outburst last night hadn’t gone unnoticed, but she had obviously gotten the job before their little fight. Before he’d let his façade slip away.

Meaning all his hard work and restraint had been for nothing.

Anger flared through him that only grew in intensity when the crowd parted enough to allow him to see who was sitting at the bar in front of Meg. Donaghy. Even worse, they were deep in conversation, Meg leaving all the bartending duties to the girl with the pink hair and the old hag who worked at the CDC during the day. Meg was acting like no one else was in the room even though the place was packed, giving the convict all of her attention.

The rage building inside Jackson paralyzed him, making it impossible for him to leave even after Donaghy headed for the ring. Jackson couldn’t take his eyes off Meg. He watched as a group of three men approached her—one of them looking very familiar but impossible to place with the anger swirling through him. The men only talked to Meg for a few minutes before heading off to watch the fight, but the way she smiled made it difficult for Jackson to see straight.

He wanted to leave, but he couldn’t force himself to move. Even after the fight ended and the crowd began to thin he stayed tucked away in his little corner of the room, his head down but his eyes up. He watched as Meg joined the three men at the table. Watched as they talked—a serious conversation from what he could tell—and seethed even more when Donaghy eventually joined them.

It wasn’t long before she ran off, though. The tears streaming down her cheeks didn’t give him the satisfaction he’d been hoping for. No, that was impossible when Donaghy followed her. No doubt heading back so he could lend Meg a shoulder to cry on.

Jackson couldn’t help thinking that there would be more to it, and he couldn’t stop himself from envisioning the two of them going at it in the back room. The filthy bar walls contrasting with Meg’s flawlessly smooth skin.

Flawless until he got his hands on her, that is.

Jackson pushed himself closer to the wall when Meg’s three friends passed by. He only caught a couple words, but it was enough to let him know that they were heading to a strip club. Good. He wanted to know what they had talked to Meg about.

It was easy to get the information. All it took was a phone call and before he knew it three of his father’s secret guards had shown up. They took care of the rest, getting all the information Jackson needed in a matter of minutes. Well, not all. He still didn’t know exactly what was going on between Meg and Donaghy, but he had enough information for the time being.

Jackson watched from the other side of the strip club as the big, blond dimwit that Meg worked with spilled his guts. The smaller guy, the one with the shifty eyes, was so nervous that he couldn’t sit still, and it was while he was squirming in his seat that Jackson realized who it was. Stevie Jones. It felt like a stroke of luck, running into his old schoolyard chum like this. Of course, Jackson had always known that Stevie had survived the beating, but he’d been surprisingly hard to track down. Almost as if he had vanished into thin air. Jackson had even begun to wonder if Stevie hadn’t bought his way out of the city. But here he was, somehow mixed up in things with Meg and just waiting for Jackson to finish the job he’d started all those years ago. It was going to be fun.

Jackson and the guards followed the group out of the bar, keeping a good distance so they wouldn’t get spooked. He wanted all three of the men, but he’d settle for Stevie at the moment.

The blond guy ducked into his place first. It was a run-down apartment building that probably wasn’t much cleaner than shantytown, but one that would be easy to remember later. Jackson motioned for one of the guards to follow the blond guy while he and the others continued after the other men. They needed to know which apartment the blond guy lived in for later.

His cover was blown, though, when Stevie Jones glanced over his shoulder. Jackson was standing directly under a streetlight, and Stevie’s miniscule eyes grew to twice their size. It only took a second for him to take off running.

“Shit,” Jackson muttered, then turned to the two men at his back. “I want him. You hear me? Get him now!”

The men took off after Stevie, who had left the other man in his dust in his hurry to get away from Jackson.

The friend was frozen in place, watching as Stevie and the men ran, then turning to face Jackson when they had been swallowed up by the darkness. “What do you want with Ticker?”

Ticker? So that’s how Stevie had done it. He’d changed his name.

“I have some business to finish.” Jackson ran his hands down his shirt like he was smoothing the wrinkles away.

“Don’t you think you’ve tortured him enough?” the other man said.

He was older than Jackson. Taller and probably just as good-looking. His blue eyes were full of intelligence as he looked Jackson over, trying to size him up.

“No,” Jackson said, forming an O with his lips as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

This guy wasn’t a moron like the other two. The blond had clearly been born with a few pieces of his brain missing, and Stevie—Ticker—had had the sense beaten out of him years ago. Too bad the man in front of Jackson wasn’t smart enough to realize that Stevie Jones wasn’t the only one in trouble.

Jackson actually saw when the realization hit. The man’s eyes widened, just like Stevie’s had, and he tried to take a step back. It was too late, though. Jackson had the syringe out of his pocket in a flash, and he pushed down on the plunger the second the needle had penetrated the other man’s neck. The drug worked fast, giving his victim only enough time to stumble back a few steps. His lips moved in silent questions, but no sound ever passed his lips before he was on the ground. His eyes closed, his chest rising with every breath he took in. Motionless.

This man wasn’t the one Jackson had wanted, but that didn’t stop a surge of triumph from shooting through him. They were always on the lookout for healthy test subjects—the druggies and bums they picked up on the streets typically came with their own set of health problems—and Jackson knew his father would welcome the new addition. Stevie Jones would get his. He wouldn’t slip away a third time, of that Jackson was certain.

When guards came back—empty handed—they dragged the unconscious man back to the CDC. Jackson trailed behind them, mulling over the events of the day. Meg was a bust, that he knew for sure, but he wasn’t willing to walk away after everything. He needed to teach her a lesson. To let her know, without physically harming her, exactly what happened to a person who decided to cross Jackson Star. He had a good idea what to do, too, but it would have to wait until morning.

Jackson was at the CDC earlier than usual, beating even his father to the observation wing. Garret had been up late thanks to a possible breakthrough, giving his son the perfect opportunity to take matters into his own hands. He’d mulled over a few ideas during the night, but kept coming back to one. It was risky because he wasn’t exactly sure how his father would react, but could feel a tide turning in his relationship with his father. Their dynamic had changed, and Jackson had gone from feeling intimidated by the man to thinking that his bark was worse than his bite. At least when it came to his son. After all, anyone who knew Jackson could attest to the fact that his dark desires were much scarier than Garret Star’s were.

Jackson stopped in front of the last observation room and crossed his arms. Axl was awake today, but he wasn’t facing the window so he hadn’t yet noticed Jackson. When he finally did turn, there was very little reaction from Meg’s father. Jackson hadn’t thought that Axl would be surprised to find him standing there, but he had hoped for fury or defeat to be written on the other man’s face. Instead, though, his gray eyes were calm. Not resigned necessarily, but more calculating.

Meg’s father was still groggy, but he was alert enough to know what was going on and to recognize the man in front of him. Not that it mattered. They’d been monitoring the entire family for years, and Jackson knew that there was no love lost between Axl and him. There had been multiple times over the years when Meg’s father had told her how little he trusted Jackson. If she hadn’t always stuck up for him, they would have taken Axl James out years ago. Not killed him. No, that would have been a waste. Just brought him to the CDC much, much sooner.

Jackson had been all for removing Axl from the situation, but his father had wanted to wait. They needed him, but not at the moment. He was being monitored. No harm would come to him. They weren’t risking anything by allowing him to stay where he was. It was perhaps the first time Jackson had wholeheartedly disagreed with his father about something, but Garret Star had dismissed his son’s concerns as nothing more than paranoia. Still, Jackson had always felt like the job of getting Meg to love him would have been easier had Axl been out of the way. She trusted her father implicitly, even if she hadn’t allowed him to speak ill of Jackson.

Meg had always acted as if the man who raised her was bigger than God himself, and she wasn’t the only one. People listened to Axl, and it wasn’t just because he was the brother of Angus James. Axl had a strange kind of authority in the settlement. He was humble, but determined in his beliefs. He stuck up for people and helped others. It was rare for people to brush aside his advice if he chose to give it.

And why? Jackson couldn’t understand it. The man in front of him was nothing special. His name alone was ridiculous. Axl. Who in their right mind would listen to a man with a name like that? And his accent. He sounded like he’d fallen off the back of a truck and hit his head. None of it had ever made sense, and as far as Jackson was concerned, Axl was better off here. Behind glass where he couldn’t mess with the minds of the people they were working hard to ensnare.

Axl ran his hand down his face like he was trying to wipe away the exhaustion. He would be sleepy for a while, Jackson knew. Bringing someone out of a chemically induced coma was a slow process, and for at least a couple days Axl would feel like he was trapped in some kind of dream.

The man on the other side of the glass pointed to the door, but Jackson knew he wasn’t asking to leave. He wanted to talk. His gray eyes were dazed, but they crackled whenever he focused on Jackson. As if Axl would love nothing more than to ring the other man’s neck.

Even though Jackson was in no way obligated to talk to the prisoner, he walked to the keypad next to the door. He pushed the green button, watching Axl’s reaction through the glass with a sinister smile on his face as he said, “Yes.” Jackson’s voice came out smooth and calm, with just a hint of amusement in it.

“Tell me they’re alright.”

The twang in Axl’s speech had faded over the years, but it hadn’t disappeared completely, and hearing it made Jackson want to cringe. He resisted, though. Showing emotion in front of other people was never a good idea unless that emotion was joy at inflicting pain.

“Your family?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah.” Axl sighed. “I gotta know.”

“Don’t worry—” Jackson’s lips curled into a sneer. “—I’m taking good care of Meg.”

Jackson let go of the button, so he didn’t hear the curse that Axl let out, but he saw it on the other man’s lips. It only made him smile more.

Meg’s father slammed his hand against the window and shouted, but no sound penetrated the glass. Jackson chuckled to himself as he headed down the hall.

He passed the girl, who was asleep at present, then the hairless zombie who watched him with narrowed eyes, as well as the one in the room next to it who hadn’t yet lost his hair. The room after that held a putrid creature that slammed itself against the wall and screamed, but Jackson barely noticed as he continued his way to the room farthest from Axl. There he finally came to a stop.

The zombie on the other side of this window was aggressive, slamming it’s body against the glass so hard that the whole thing shook. He towered over Jackson by a foot, forcing the smaller man to look up. Yesterday, his eyes had been clear, but today they were milky and vacant. The man’s heart had finally stopped beating sometime during the night, and Jackson was curious about the effects.

This was the last strain they’d created before the current one, and it had taken much longer to kill the human vessel than any other before it. The man had become nonverbal after only two hours, but from the time he’d been infected to the moment his heart had stopped beating, nearly two weeks had passed. Joshua, Meg’s dear uncle who had decided to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, had suffered in an oddly deranged state for most of that time. He’d had periods of lucidity where he seemed to know what was happening, followed by moments of violence that had sent shivers of pleasure shooting through Jackson. Several times during the transition they had sent a live person in, curious what would happen, and even when the dearly departed doctor had been with it, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from killing. Jackson had actually been able to see the horror in Joshua’s eyes as he tore into a man’s neck with his teeth. It had been one of the greatest moments of Jackson’s life.

Now, though, he was gone, and he would be the last person infected with this strain. It was too erratic and unpredictable. Took too long to change the person. While neither of the Star men was opposed to torture, it didn’t serve their purpose to have the transition stretch out over weeks. They needed faster results.

The zombie threw himself at the window again, his mouth open in a noiseless growl, and a small, satisfied smile curled up Jackson’s lips. He’d never liked the man, and seeing what he had been reduced to was satisfyingly sweet. Like poetry.

Of course, now came the question of what to do with the creature. Typically, they destroyed the zombies once they had served their purpose, but that seemed too simple of a solution to Jackson. Plus, if they did that the doctor’s family would never know how precarious their positions in this settlement really were. The zombie that had once been Joshua could be useful, but until last night, Jackson hadn’t known exactly how useful.

Meg had crossed a line that Jackson was certain she couldn’t possibly recover from. She’d made it through her time outside the wall, but instead of running to him and begging for help, she’d met with the members of her crew and asked questions about her father. Then there was Donaghy. Whatever was going on between the two of them had to be stopped, and the dead doctor seemed like the perfect solution. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Delivering Joshua to the fight would send a message to Meg while putting an end to Donaghy once and for all. There was no way the fighter stood a chance against a creature this aggressive. Especially not with two other zombies in the ring.

Yes, putting Joshua in the ring with Donaghy was the perfect solution.

Jackson wanted him brought in. It was an easy request, or at least it should have been, but when the guards came back Stevie Jones wasn’t with them. Gone they’d said. Gone? He couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that a half-whit like Stevie Jones had slipped through his fingers so easily, and a large part of him blamed himself. He’d gotten excited when he’d realized who the beady-eyed little twerp was the night before, and he’d dropped his guard. Followed him too closely and given himself away. It was stupid, and a mistake he wouldn’t have made if he’d been thinking clearly instead of imagining finishing what he’d started all those years ago.

Of course, just because he blamed himself didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with the guard.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Jackson said, keeping his voice low and menacing as he stared up into the guard’s eyes.

The man was nearly a head taller then him, but he was so scared that he was physically shaking, and Jackson could tell he was having a difficult time looking him in the eye.

“The apartment was empty,” the guard said, focusing on Jackson’s cheek instead of meeting his gaze. “Cleaned out.”

The man’s voice shook more than his legs, and the fear that radiated off him made Jackson feel like he was a hundred feet tall. He towered over this man, this building, and this whole city. Jackson Star was an unstoppable force.

He took a step toward the guard, closing the gap between them so the coward could feel the heat radiating off Jackson’s body. He was so angry that he felt ready to explode, and he was sure that his body temperature had skyrocketed right along with his anger.

“And you’ve searched the whole city?” He paused to allow the man to shake his head. “If you haven’t looked under every rock and in every hole in this entire city, then you shouldn’t be here.”

Jackson allowed his gaze to move past the man and linger on the observation window. The room at the guard’s back held one of their experiments: a decaying zombie that was little more than flesh and bone. The creature watched them through the glass, his gaze calculating and full of fury.

“Do you know what happens to men who disappoint me?” Jackson turned his gaze back to the guard in front of him. The man was shaking more than ever. “Can you imagine the pain these men went through when the virus took hold of them? It was agony. I know because I was here to watch every single one of them turn. Some of them screamed for days. That’s why the rooms are sound proof. Not that I didn’t turn on the intercom and listen. There’s just something about a man in pain that I find soothing. The cries for help. The desperation as they near the end. It feeds a part of me.”

This was something Jackson had never said out loud before, but as he did, he realized that the man wasn’t surprised. He was more scared than he had ever been before yes, but not shocked by the revelation. Did everyone know this about Jackson already? Probably. Or at the very least, the men who worked in his father’s inner circle did.

“You see,” Jackson continued, “I have plans for this Stevie Jones. Plans that will make him scream and beg. Plans that will feed my hunger.” He let the last word hiss out of his mouth, drawing it out and caressing it with his tongue to emphasize how sick and disturbing it was. It had the right effect. The man in front of him actually stumbled back a step, as if his legs had almost given out. “But if I don’t have him, I’ll have to find a replacement. Do you understand?”

The man nodded so fast that his hat fell off. It dropped to the floor at their feet, but the guard didn’t dare pick it up. He was shaking and nearly crying, reminding Jackson of the day he had cornered Stevie Jones and beaten him until he was little more than a bloody pulp.

Jackson bent and picked up the man’s hat, making a big show of dusting it off. He lifted himself up on the tips of his toes so he could put it on the man’s head, loving that he could make someone so much bigger than him feel like they were only three inches tall.

Before he dropped his hand, Jackson patted the guard on the cheek and smiled. “I know you won’t let me down again.”

The man nodded twice as he backed away, then he turned and ran. He ran so fast that he almost slammed into the door. His hands were shaking, meaning he had to type his passcode into the keypad three times before it opened.

Jackson’s dark chuckle followed him out of the room.

After the door had shut and he was once again alone, his laugh died away and his smile faded. He turned to face the holding cell at his back and found a set of soft blue eyes staring back at him. This man was large and so blond that his hair looked almost white, and there was a simple expression in his eyes that got under Jackson’s skin.

He found very little joy in torturing the simple. He wasn’t satisfied unless the person in his grasp knew the full weight of what was coming their way, and it was clear just by looking at the man standing in front of him that he didn’t have a clue what Jackson could do to him. Fear didn’t swim in his eyes. He didn’t look at Jackson as a monster even more terrifying than the zombies. No, the blond man was hesitant and worried, but not dreading what Jackson had in store for him. It grated on his nerves. It was a waste. He could torture this man, but it wouldn’t be the same as it would have been with Stevie Jones. He could inject this moron with the virus, but there was no telling if his simple brain would be able to absorb it the way it was supposed to. They didn’t have the time or resources available to waste the virus on someone that could be used elsewhere, like this man. He could serve as a warning.

Jackson typed his passcode into the keypad and the door slid open. Just like he’d thought, the man didn’t do or say a word, not even when Jackson stepped into the room.

He slid his hand into his pocket, fingering his knife as he smiled at the moron in front of him. “Do you know where your other friend is? Ticker. I believe his name is Ticker.”

The man shook his head. “Ticker lives on Walnut Street.”

“We’ve looked at his apartment, but he isn’t there.”

When the man shook his head again, Jackson could almost hear his brain rattling around in his skull.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his smile growing.

Jackson pulled the knife from his pocket and shoved the blade into the blond man’s stomach, giving him no time to react. The man gasped, his blue eyes growing large and round. Jackson jerked the blade to the right, cutting across the man’s gut and drawing a cry of pain from him. The man dropped to his knees in front of Jackson, his eyes down as he tried to hold his stomach together. Blood pooled on the floor in front of him, dark and glorious, flowing like a waterfall. Jackson stepped back and lowered himself into the chair. The knife was still in his hand, covered in the other man’s blood, but Jackson couldn’t look away from the sight in front of him. The man was crying now. His hands were painted red with his own blood. His pants, which had been khaki before, were now so saturated in blood that they nearly looked black. When Jackson inhaled, the warm, coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils, making him dizzy.

It took less than five minutes for the man to stop breathing. His blank and lifeless eyes stared up at Jackson in silent accusation, and the emptiness fed his soul. This death had been like a snack to him, but Stevie Jones would have been the main course. Soon. Jackson would have him soon.

Until then, he had a full day ahead of him. First, he’d arrange to have this man’s body dropped where Meg would be sure to find it. It would be a day or two before she saw the body, but in the meantime he had another surprise in store for Meg tonight at Dragon’s. She was finally going to find out what had happened to her uncle. Jackson only wished he could be there to see her reaction.

He wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt before heading back out into the hall, whistling as he pictured the scene that would unfold tonight.

He was still thinking about how Meg would react to finding a zombified version of her uncle in the ring when he stopped in front of the cell holding the other man from her crew. This second man, Matt was his name, was healthy and fit, and had passed all the initial medical tests they’d done on him. It was rare these days to find someone with no red flags at all, but this guy had passed with flying colors. Meaning he was the perfect candidate for the newest strain of the virus.

Jackson was on the edge of his seat waiting for news about the fight. He’d been tempted to go to Dragon’s Lair, but had managed to rein himself in. It hadn’t been easy. He’d managed to pass the time by looking over Axl’s most recent test results. They were good. More than good, actually. His blood carried the same immunities that his brother’s had, which was something they hadn’t seen in anyone else to date.

In all the years that they’d been working on this plan, they’d only found a handful of people who were immune to this virus. Back when Jackson was just a baby, there had been a girl from Key West who had evaded his father for nearly a year. Eventually the girl had been caught and dragged to the CDC kicking and screaming, but she hadn’t been as useful as Angus James—who had still been alive and in their custody at the time. Garret had amplified his experiments on the girl, eventually giving her too much of the virus. She’d died, but even in death she hadn’t turned. Which had been an interesting and enlightening outcome.

After her there had been a few others, but all had ended in similar results. There was something about the James bloodline that was special, but no one could quite figure out what it was.

That’s why they’d decided to breed Angus. They needed more information, and the offspring of Angus James was the perfect solution. The girl, Test Subject 06 they had called her, had been better than anyone else they’d found, but still not as strong as James himself. Her death had been a kick in the CDC’s balls. Not because her body had given in to the experiments, but because they had been betrayed by one of their own. It had been a shame because the girl had had so much potential, and because they’d lost a great doctor as a result. But that’s what happened when you got sentimental.

Then there was Margot. Jackson studied her through the holding cell window. She was drugged at the moment, and sickly thin. They’d had her for going on nine years now, and although her blood had never shown the potential that the James brothers’ had, she’d held up better than Test Subject 06. Still, Jackson had a feeling that Margot—his father preferred to call her Test Subject 010, wouldn’t be with them that much longer. There was, after all, only so much the body could take.

Tired of staring at the drugged girl, Jackson turned away and headed down the hall to Matt’s cell. Meg’s crewmember had been dosed nearly eight hours ago, and the effects of the virus were already starting to take hold. He was currently writhing on the bed, his mouth open in silent screams that would have made normal people shiver. Jackson, however, wasn’t satisfied until he’d turned on the intercom and allowed the cries of agony to echo through the hall. The utter pain in Matt’s voice filled Jackson with an immense amount of satisfaction. Even if Stevie Jones wasn’t the one screaming.

He left the intercom on and headed further down the hall, passing the various creatures they were studying until he reached Axl’s cell. The man was more alert today. So much so that they’d had to restrain him when they’d gone in to draw blood.

His gray eyes, cold and hard, met Jackson’s through the glass, making the younger man smile. He despised the James family for many reasons, but even he had to admit that Axl had balls. His brother had too, all the way up until the bitter end.

Nearly two decades in captivity, being poked and prodded on a daily basis, injected with new strains of the virus over and over again. Constant observation. All that and he had been a fighter all the way up until the day he died. His death had been the biggest blow of all, and come as a complete shock. Although it had been obvious to everyone that Angus had started to deteriorate mentally, physically he’d seemed strong until the very last moment. There had been no indication that his body was giving out. Not until the morning Jackson walked in and saw him lying in the middle of his holding cell, dead.

Thankfully, they’d already had a backup plan.

Axl held his gaze, only blinking a few times as he did so. It was unnerving how little Jackson scared this man. So much so that he decided to teach the cocky asshole a lesson. He hit the green button to turn on the intercom for Axl’s room, allowing the screams that were still echoing through the hall to penetrate the barrier separating them. Axl’s eyebrows shot up, but he still didn’t look scared. Probably because he’d known all along what Jackson was capable of.

“I ain’t scared of you.” Axl’s voice had a mechanical ring to it thanks to the intercom.

“I don’t believe you.” Jackson smiled. “Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I know you care what happens to everyone else. We have plans for everyone you love. Joshua is already gone, I think you missed that part while you were unconscious, and your wife is on the brink of losing her mind.” That did it. Jackson saw a crack in Axl’s cool exterior. It was small, but it was there. “Parvarti and Al have dangerous jobs, as you well know, and the rest of your family are easy targets. Lila, a flick of my wrist and I can end her. Charlie, well, I think I’ll keep her around. Just for fun.” Jackson’s grin grew. “Then there’s Meg. Sweet, innocent Meg. I think you have a good idea what’s in store for her. In fact, I think you’ve always known.”

Axl stepped closer to the window, his chest almost touching the glass. “Don’t you touch her.”

Jackson didn’t respond. He’d learned that at times like this, silence was usually the best response. As if the act of talking was beneath him, or he was too focused on his own sick thoughts to think about anything else. And it worked. Axl’s face got red. He beat his fist against the window and screamed obscenities at Jackson, who could only laugh at the outburst. He’d never seen Axl James lose his cool like this. The man was notorious for holding onto his temper, unlike his brother who had been a hothead. Now, though, Axl was so furious that he couldn’t stop screaming. Couldn’t stop trying to break the glass with his fist.

Jackson hit the intercom, cutting the other man’s words off, then turned and walked away. Still laughing. He left the intercom on in the other cell, though, knowing that when he came back to the observation wing, he’d want to hear the screams.

His laughter died when he stepped into the other room. A guard was heading his way and the frown on his face said it all. Jackson’s plan had failed.

“The fighter won,” the guard said when he stopped in front of Jackson.

He sucked a deep breath in through his nose before asking, “And the girl?”

“She got the message. Went straight to the wall to talk to her aunt.”

That was something at least. Even though Jackson would have felt a hell of a lot better if that asshole convict’s head had been ripped off, the most important thing was that he and Meg both realized they were living on borrowed time. Plus, he was a resourceful person, and he knew there were other ways to take care of Donaghy. It might even be more fun this way.

“Your father wants to see you,” the guard said just as Jackson turned away from him.

“My father?” His back stiffened because he knew why his father was summoning him. He’d learned about Joshua and the fight at Dragon’s Lair, and he no doubt wanted to rip into his son. Not that Jackson had any intention of allowing his father to knock him down even one peg.

The guard repeated the request, but Jackson was already on his way down the hall and merely waved over his shoulder. He had things to do and the sooner he got this over with, the better.

He found his father in his office looking over the same report Jackson had studied earlier this morning. Axl’s test results. While Garret Star had taught his son everything he knew, Jackson had gleaned quite a bit of knowledge on his own during his years working at the CDC. It was common knowledge that he’d almost surpassed his father’s genius and expertise when it came to genetic modification. Jackson was outgrowing him. In a few years, Garret Star would be useless.

“You wanted to see me?” Jackson asked when he’d shut the door behind him.

His father nodded but didn’t look up from the paper. “Did you check on our newest test subject this morning?”

Jackson wasn’t sure if his father was referring to Axl or Test Subject 54, Meg’s crewmember who had been injected with the newest strain of the virus. Since he’d checked on both, he nodded. “I did. Doing well.”

“Good, good.”

Garret Star set the papers down and slipped his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he stood to face his son. Jackson was short, but he still stood several inches taller than his father. Although small, the elder Star had always found time to fit physical exercise, especially boxing, into his daily routine, which had made him broad. Jackson knew it wasn’t out of love for the sport, but because Garret wanted to make himself seem as big as possible. His genius and personality were giants, but his stature lacked anything that would intimidate a person. At least, that is, until you got to know the man.

“I heard about the fight.” Garret leaned his hip against the desk and crossed his arms as he glared up at his son. “Don’t you think you should have talked to me before making a decision like that? You could have exposed us in a number of ways.”

“It’s fine,” Jackson said dismissively. “He was so decayed that few people would have recognized him, and he sent Meg an important message. One she won’t forget any time soon.”

Garret’s eyebrows shot up. “Which is?”

“That she shouldn’t fuck with me.”

“You know I loathe vulgarity,” Garret said, rolling his eyes.

He did. In fact, Jackson hadn’t heard his father utter more than a handful of curse words in his entire life. He chose to intimidate people with his actions and knowledge rather than his language. It worked.

“She needed to be put in her place. She was out asking questions. About her dad and the day he disappeared. She needs to understand that she isn’t safe. That her last name won’t protect her.”

“Well I think she got the point.”

Garret pressed his lips together like he was considering what to say next. Jackson knew that although his father’s cruelty didn’t run as deep as his own, his son’s actions were no longer a surprise to him. He was, after all, the one who had helped make his son what he was. From his earliest moments, Garret Star had worked at cultivating Jackson’s dark side, and he had done a good job.

“So the fighter won,” Garret said after a beat of silence. “I’m surprised.”

“Me too.” Jackson let out a deep breath, wishing more than ever that he had been there to see how it had all played out.

How close was the fight? Joshua had been injected with a particularly vicious strain, making his zombie aggressive and fast. He should have won. It shouldn’t have even been close.

“Maybe we should send one of the newer ones in,” he said, his gaze focused on the floor as he thought it through. “See how they hold up.”

His father clicked his tongue, drawing Jackson’s gaze his way. He was nodding, his expression just as thoughtful as his son’s.

“That’s an idea.” Garret narrowed his eyes on his son. “This isn’t just about the fighter? I know what’s going on and I don’t like your personal feelings getting in the way.”

“I’m not going to pretend that having the asshole get ripped apart won’t be satisfying, because it will, but that isn’t all. We need to test these creatures out. We need to make sure this strain is everything we think it is.” Jackson allowed a smile to turn up his lips. “Donaghy getting his throat ripped out is just a bonus.”

Garret didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “Fine then. Make it happen.”

Meg came crawling back to Jackson later that day. She thought she was fooling him with her sad little act, pretending she needed him in her life and that she’d missed him. He knew better, but he played along. Even pretended he’d had no idea that she was working at Dragon’s Lair. He could tell she saw through his façade, but it didn’t matter because things had already been set in motion. There was nothing she could do to change her fate now.

When they hugged, Jackson had a hard time controlling himself. He was already angry that he’d wasted years on her, and she looked so good in the tight little dress she was wearing. Her body was warm, her heart pounding against his chest, reminding him of the life that flowed through her. The one he wanted to harness and control. He ran his hand up and down her back, imaging how it would feel to finally do whatever he wanted with her.

Then he’d pulled her closer, and before he knew it his fingers were curled around the back of her neck. He’d strangled women before and had loved the thrill of the struggle. Meg’s heart beat faster, her pulse thumping against his fingers as he tightened his grip. The need was awake and so hungry that he could barely think. He could do it. He could just take her now and end all of this madness. He didn’t have to kill her, just bend her to his will. Make her his now and forever.

Meg’s body trembled and he loosened his grip, transferring all the tension that had been in his fingers to other parts of his body in an attempt to regain control. This wasn’t part of the plan, and jumping into things feet first was never a good idea. He was a planner. He liked to consider every possible outcome of a situation before moving forward.

When Meg finally left, heading to Dragon’s for the night, he watched her from the doorway. She looked back once, her green eyes big and round, and then started walking faster. As if she was afraid he would chase after he and drag her back into the house. The thought had occurred to him.

After that Jackson couldn’t stop thinking about Meg. She’d become an obsession with him, and even though there was a part of him that knew he didn’t really need her to accomplish all his goals, he felt like he couldn’t let her go at this point. Giving her up would be something much bigger than defeat. Something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Without knowing exactly why he was there, Jackson found himself outside her apartment building only a few hours later, waiting for her to return from work. It was stupid when he knew that over the next couple days everything would come crashing down around her. She’d head into work and watch her lover—Jackson knew something was going on between them for sure now—get ripped to shreds, then find the body of her crewmember stuffed in an alley the very next day. Spending any more time trying to play on her emotions was useless, but for some reason, he couldn’t help himself. No one—with the exception of Stevie Jones—had gotten away from Jackson before. No one.

He watched as Meg materialized out of the darkness, hugging herself as she passed shantytown and headed for home. She looked up and saw him when she was still a good fifteen feet away, and even though she didn’t stop, her steps did falter.

She was scared of him. It was written all over her face. She told him she was fine when he asked, but it was lie and he knew it. He knew her moods and emotions so well that he was pretty sure it would be impossible for her to lie to him at this point, and looking at her now, watching her stare at him, he could tell that she’d finally accepted the truth about who he was. He wasn’t Jackson her best friend. No, he was a monster who had used her for years. He was evil. He was terrifying.

He kept his act up, though, waiting for the right moment. Knowing her well enough to realize that she hadn’t given up on trying to get information out of him yet. When it happened, when she stepped closer to him and put her hands on his chest, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

Meg wrapped her hands around his waist and he hugged her back. “You’ve always been so strong,” she whispered. “Always been here for me. Thank you.”

Then she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. The expression on her face wasn’t fooling him and he didn’t even bother trying to hide it. She shivered, but still forced out a smile as she lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his.

A fire moved through Jackson and he pulled her closer, grasping her hips so he could press his pelvis hard against hers. His mouth moved quickly, mercilessly, forcing her lips apart. Then he spun her around, pressing her back against the wall, putting everything into it. Wanting more. Wanting to drag her into the apartment or an alley or anywhere that they wouldn’t be disturbed so he could have his way with her…

He cut the kiss off abruptly but didn’t step away. He couldn’t lose control, and he knew that if he kept going he would. He’d lose his head and take her right here on the street if he had to, and then, when the need had taken over, he might not even have enough self-control to let her live.

Jackson planted his hands against the wall at Meg’s back, caging her in. He was short of breath, and the usual mixture of rage and arousal swirling through him was stronger than ever.

Meg tried to shrink away but there was nowhere to go. “Jackson?” she said, her voice quivering in fear.

“I bet you think you’re real smart,” he began, smiling cruelly. “Well, fuck you.”

He laughed, thinking about his father and how much he hated that word. Knowing that it didn’t matter what his father liked or disliked, or what he thought about Jackson’s plans.

“That’s what I should have done,” he said, thinking aloud. “I should have kept going. Seen how far you’d be willing to take this little charade. You would have screwed me if you thought it would get you what you wanted. Wouldn’t you?” He raised his voice with the last words, letting all the anger in him out in one giant burst.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Meg said, shrinking further down.

Jackson wanted to laugh again, but instead he blew out a deep breath and stepped away. He needed to put distance between them before he lost control. “It would have been a waste of time. If you think I’d ever consider betraying my father and what he’s trying to accomplish here, you’re even dumber than I thought. He’s building something great, and I’m going to help him. Anything they do within the walls of the CDC is justified.”

“Is he there?” Meg whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Jackson smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt as he turned away. He didn’t look Meg in the eye again. The tears would only make her more desirable and he wanted to avoid seeing them.

“It’s late. I should get home.” He didn’t turn to face her when he said, “When you see that fighter friend of yours tomorrow, be sure to tell him that I said good luck. From what I hear, the zombies they’re tossing his way are bigger and newer.”

Meg didn’t respond, but Jackson knew that his words had hit the mark. He wanted to leave her feeling more broken and hopeless than she’d ever felt before—at least up until this point.

The next day went as planned and the hybrid zombie was delivered to Dragon’s. Jackson was trying his damndest to get some work done, but it wasn’t easy. He was excited. Looking forward to the evening like a kid looks forward to his birthday.

All his suspicions were confirmed when he stepped into the bar that night and found Meg in Donaghy’s arms. He’d known it from the first moment he saw them together, but witnessing the embrace nearly sent him over the edge. It took every ounce of energy to stay in control, but he knew he needed to. Not only was he in public, but he’d also brought a group of friends with him. Council kids who were used to getting everything they wanted, including his occasional bedmate, Priscilla. She was blonde and pretty and Jackson knew she wouldn’t be opposed to letting him screw her in the stinking bathroom after he watched Donaghy get ripped to shreds. It would be the perfect climax to the evening.

Then he saw Meg and the asshole hugging, and knew the convict’s death wouldn’t be enough to get him there. No. He needed more. He needed Meg to learn a lesson too, and as he came to a stop behind them, he had a sudden burst of inspiration.

“How sweet,” he said, thinking his plan through while also drawing Meg and Donaghy’s attention his way.

The hug ceased, but the convict still had his hand on Meg’s arm when he turned to face Jackson.

“I should have known you were screwing the convict,” Jackson said, looking back and forth between the two in hopes of getting some kind of confirmation that they were in fact having sex.

Donaghy’s expression was stony as he unsuccessfully tried to step in front of Meg, but Jackson could read her like a book. They weren’t sleeping together. Not yet, and not ever if he had anything to say about it.

“Donaghy is a friend,” she said, lifting her chin.

Jackson smiled, satisfied that he’d be able to end things before they consummated their relationship. “We’ll be in the VIP area,” he said, and turned his back on the couple.

He headed to the roped off area with his friends in tow, satisfied with what he’d learned. The feeling melted away, however, when he once again turned to face Meg and found her kissing the fighter. It was an intense kiss, like they were saying goodbye, but it didn’t look unfamiliar. No, they had definitely done this before.

How many times?

Jackson was seething as he counted down the minutes until the fight started, so angry that even Priscilla’s curvy body couldn’t distract him. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Donaghy’s face when he realized exactly what had been unleashed on him. The creature was something extraordinary all right. Something unimaginable. Something even Jackson and his father hadn’t thought they could create.

He was so distracted that he barely noticed when Meg came to serve them drinks, and he couldn’t even take pleasure from the lewd comments his friends threw her way. His brain was swirling with thoughts of the blood that was about to be shed. Imagining what the asshole convict would look like as the life flowed out of his body.

He didn’t have to wait long for the fight to start. Less than ten minutes after he had arrived at the bar, Dragon was introducing the fighter. Donaghy took his place in the ring and Jackson leaned forward, his body humming with anticipation. This was it. It was really happening.

The first two zombies were freed, but Donaghy had them down in no time. Jackson leaned forward even more when the third creature’s chains fell away. It didn’t charge, though, and it studied the fighter like it was searching for a weakness. Like it was alive. Donaghy stepped back, shaking his head as it hit him that this was no normal zombie, and Jackson felt a surge of glee move through his body.

When the creature finally charged, the fighter was ready. It happened faster than Jackson would have thought possible, Donaghy taking the upper hand in no time, then pinning the thing down so he could get a good look at it. Jackson saw the exact moment when the fighter realized that the creature’s heart was still beating. He watched as understanding crossed Donaghy’s face, then saw the confusion and questions in his eyes. The horror at what he was facing.

By the time the fight ended, the convict was out of breath, and even though none of it had played out the way he’d want it to, Jackson was so excited that he could hardly sit still.

The fighter, standing in the middle of the ring, lifted his eyes to meet his gaze, and a smile spread across Jackson’s face. The smell of blood and violence always had that affect on him, but he couldn’t stop the disappointment he felt from swimming to the surface.

He’d had high hopes for the killing machine he’d created, but the fighter had still taken it down. The creature was too fragile. It was strong, but with the way it was, the thing was susceptible to the same weaknesses that humans were.

That was something Jackson would have to fix.

The fight hadn’t gone as planned, but Jackson couldn’t count it as a total loss. After all, he’d learned quite a bit about the creature they’d created and now knew what needed to be changed. Plus, the night wasn’t over and he still had quite a bit to look forward to.

After leaving the bar, he’d parted ways with everyone in his group but one. Max wasn’t the son of a council member, but he was a one of the secret guards who worked at the CDC. Of all the people Jackson had ever known, Max was the closest thing he had to a friend. They’d bonded over their mutual love of pain. Jackson had watched the guards as they brought subjects in, and he had seen the way Max asserted himself, always being the first to throw a punch or use force, and it hadn’t taken Jackson long to realize that he and the guard had something in common. Since then Jackson had called on Max whenever he’d needed someone to get their hands dirty, knowing that the guard would take pleasure in the act, as well as see to it that the job was complete. Like tonight with Meg.

Jackson was hidden in the shadows when Max stepped out and grabbed her. He’d been told he could do whatever he wanted with her just as long as there was no permanent damage, and Max had taken it to heart. When Meg’s body slammed against the pavement, a surge of excitement shot through Jackson. She couldn’t scream, could barely crawl away, and couldn’t put up a fight at all. It was thrilling, finally seeing her at the mercy of another person. So thrilling that Jackson found himself wishing he’d done the job himself. But that would have been too risky. If he’d gotten caught it would have put Jackson and his father at risk of being exposed for what they were.

So, Jackson stayed off to the side, watching as Max freed Meg of her knife, then pushed her dress up to expose her firm little body. She was so out of it she could hardly react, and Jackson knew there was nothing she could do to get away.

But then everything went horribly wrong. A man came out of nowhere; a blur in the dark night as he pulled Max off Meg, tossing the man aside with a growl that went straight to Jackson’s core. The sound was so familiar. He’d heard it somewhere before, he knew it for sure, only he couldn’t place it and it was too dark to see the man’s face. Max and the man fought, rolling around on the ground while Jackson tried to get a look at the newcomer. They knocked over trashcans as they threw punches, and then there was a knife and Max was holding his stomach as blood seeped from a cut the size of Jackson’s fist. But one cut apparently wasn’t enough for the other man, who stepped forward and slammed his blade into Max’s skull like he was nothing more than one of the walking dead.

Max dropped to the ground and the man stepped back, panting. His gray hair was wild and an equally wild and gray beard covered his face, but Jackson still couldn’t get a good look at his face and he knew he couldn’t move unless he wanted to risk being spotted. So he stayed still, watching as the man with the gray hair turned to face Meg, who was just sitting up. She looked dazed. Confused. But she didn’t look that surprised to see the man.

“You saved me,” she said.

The man knelt at her side, looking her over slowly before saying, “You alright?”

Meg nodded. “I-I think so.” She touched her head before saying, “Who are you?”

“Just an old friend,” the man replied. “You sure you ain’t hurt?”

It was him.

The realization slammed into Jackson, freezing his blood in his veins. No. It couldn’t be. Angus James was dead. Jackson had seen the body himself, had checked for a pulse. Angus had been cold. So cold that his skin had felt like ice. Jackson’s father had checked as well, unable to believe that they’d lost their test subject with no warning.

“It can’t be,” Jackson found himself whispering to the dark alley.

The man let out a low chuckle as he stood, and the next words out of his mouth confirmed Jackson’s suspicions. “You’re just like your mamma. She was tough as nails, too.”

It was Angus James. Somehow, Jackson wasn’t sure how, he was alive and he was helping Meg. Even worse, he could be tipping her off to what was going on in the CDC. This man knew so much. The experiments they’d done, the creatures they’d made, and who knew what other secrets. It wasn’t like anyone had worked at keeping things from him, and even though his cell had been sound proof, he could have picked up on a hundred different things over the years just by watching. He was an ignorant prick with a short fuse, but Angus James wasn’t dumb.

This was a turn of events Jackson never could have seen coming.

His head was spinning by the time he got home, but before he could sit and try to figure out what to do about Angus James, he had something else to take care of. One phone call to Dayton was all it took and the plan was set into motion. It was easy to get in touch with the JO’s son, and the man was more than happy to grant Jackson’s request.

While he waited for confirmation from Dayton, he thought about Angus and how he should proceed. Telling his father was obviously his first priority. Garret needed to know that Angus James had somehow made it out of the CDC alive. Where he’d been and what he was doing was a mystery, but it was obvious that he’d had some kind of contact with Meg, even if she didn’t know who the man was.

The citizens of New Atlanta couldn’t discover Angus was alive or the Star’s would lose everything. The prophecy that Angus would one day return to save the masses a second time was a common teaching of The Church. It was preposterous because Angus had never died to begin with, not to mention the fact that he’d never saved anyone. Garret Star had developed the vaccine. Angus James been nothing more than a pawn from the very beginning, just like everyone else in the city who wasn’t in Star’s inner circle, and Jackson knew that if his father had been able to foresee the ridiculous religion that now centered around Angus, he never would have revealed the man’s existence in the first place.

But who could have predicted it? The very idea of the religion was insane. Angus was just a man, after all. An ignorant, uneducated man who just happened to be immune. He was nobody.

Too bad the general masses were just as uneducated and ignorant as Angus had been—was.

It had been close to nineteen years since the religion had popped up. It had been founded by a woman whose daughter had gotten bitten on their way into Atlanta, and at first the following at been small. At the time, the release of the vaccine was brand new, and only available at the CDC since they were claiming to still be in the test phase, and if the woman hadn’t made it to the city as quickly as she had, there would have been no hope. But she’d been so close to the wall and had made it inside less than an hour after the attack, and when the doctors had told her about the experimental drug, she’d jumped at the chance. They’d injected her daughter less than two hours after the bite had occurred, then had all crowded around the girl’s bed and waited to find out if it would work.

The initial vaccine had been unpredictable, saving some of the infected but not others. Jackson’s father knew the unpredictability had to do with the mutated virus he’d created, but since most of the doctors working at the CDC were unaware of that second strain, they were still hard at work trying to figure out why the drug worked sometimes, but not others.

To make a long story short, the woman’s daughter recovered and a fanatic was born. The mother became obsessed with Angus James, running her mouth off about the man, stalking his family to learn more about him, and eventually erecting a shrine to him outside her home. Whether or not she had set out to start a religion was a long-debated issue in the settlement, but she did, attracting more and more people who had been saved by the vaccine or had a family member survive thanks to the drug.

Garret Star had been tempted to squash the whole thing early on, hoping to stop its spread, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that he might be able to use the religion to his advantage. He had watched with growing amusement the reverence Angus’s followers held not only for his memory, but also for the family he had left behind. The last name James became synonymous with savior, and The Church held Axl, his wife, and their two daughters in such high esteem that they became an almost god-like presence in the settlement.

From that, Garret Star’s plan to have his own son marry Megan James was born.

The fact that this plan was now futile nagged at Jackson as he headed for his father’s office. Things had begun to unravel and he was starting to worry that they wouldn’t be able to stop them from crumbling to pieces. Jackson knew his father could use force if necessary, but keeping everyone in line with a carefully planned virus and the last name James had more advantages. Less manpower was needed this way, leaving them more time to focus on their work in the CDC. Once they had managed to manipulate the virus the way they wanted to, making the masses do as they wished would be no problem. They had an entire settlement of convicts just waiting to be turned into mindless drones who would carry out Garret Star’s order. Until then, though, they had to be sure that nothing major happened to derail their plans. And Angus James showing up after all these years would definitely be major.

Jackson found his father in his office, as usual, looking over the most recent reports on Axl’s blood work.

“We need to talk,” Jackson said, pushing the door open without an invitation.

Garret Star looked up, his face expressionless as he studied his son. “Did our zombie win?”

“No, which is another thing we need to discuss, but not now. I have something to tell you.”

His father lifted an eyebrow as he set his papers down, giving Jackson the signal to go ahead.

“I saw Angus James.”

Garret Star let out a scornful laugh that made the hair on Jackson’s neck prickle.

“I’m serious,” he said more firmly. “I set up a little ambush for Meg, and Angus showed up. He saved her, and based on their interaction, I’d say it isn’t he first time she’s seen him. She doesn’t seem to know who he is, and he wasn’t offering her any details, but he’s obviously been around.”

“Angus James is dead,” Garret said, drawing the words out as if he thought his son was slow and wouldn’t be able to understand their meaning if he spoke too fast. “You and I both saw his body.”

“I know, and I can’t explain how he’s alive now, but it was him. I know it.”

His father shook his head slowly, but Jackson could tell he was thinking it through. “How?” he said, almost to himself. “How could he have done it?”

“I don’t know. Someone must have been in on it. Helped him.”

They lapsed into silence at that thought.

Jackson knew that his father trusted his inner circle implicitly, even after the betrayal that had come years ago with Test Subject 06. He had blamed that little incident on the sentimentalities of women. It had been his fault, he’d said. He should have never let things play out the way they had. They wouldn’t repeat the mistake by breeding Angus James a second time. Instead they would take Margot. It had not only been the prefect solution to their problem, but had also helped put Garret’s plan with Meg into place.

“What do we do about Angus?” Jackson asked when his father said nothing.

“We keep an eye out.” Garret picked his papers up and went back to scanning the numbers. “I’m not completely convinced it was him. You’ve been under a lot of stress. You could have been imagining things. Worrying about problems that might pop up. If it is Angus James, he’ll resurface and we’ll take care of him when the time comes. There’s no use worrying about it now.”

Jackson knew without a shadow of a doubt that Angus James had been the one to save Meg from Max, but he also knew there was no point in trying to convince his father of the fact. Garret was firm in his beliefs, and if he didn’t think Angus was still alive, there would be no way to convince him.

Instead of arguing, Jackson cleared his throat to get his father’s attention and said, “And the family? What if he is still out there and we do nothing? He’ll warn them. We need to end this soon.”

Garret didn’t look away from his papers, but he did purse his lips like he was thinking it through. “If you think it needs to be done, then take care of it.”

That was that, but Jackson wasn’t done and he needed his father’s full attention for the next part of the plan.

“We still need to discuss the newest strain,” he said.

Once again, Garret lowered the papers so he could give his son his full attention.

Jackson launched into a recap of the night before, laying out the weaknesses in the creature they’d created. His father listened without responding until he was done, and then they spent the next thirty minutes discussing how they could fix the problem. The intricacies of genetic manipulation meant they had to jump through a few hoops to mold the virus into what they wanted, but it wasn’t impossible. They were so close. After all these years, they had almost reached their goal.

“I want the fighter,” Jackson said when they were done planning out their next step. “I want him for the next strain. He’s strong and he hates me, which makes him the perfect subject to test it on. Once he’s turned we’ll be able to tell whether or not his prejudices will affect his ability to take orders.”

“Good.” Garret nodded thoughtfully. “Bring him in then. The sooner the better. The flu has taken its toll, but there’s always the risk that it will do one more sweep through the population. If he’s in here we can treat him and keep him alive.”

“I’ll bring him in today or tomorrow, and the rest of the family too. It depends on how the next part of my plan plays out.” Jackson stood.

“Good. Well done.” Garret picked his papers up again, barely glancing at his son as he nodded. “Now let me get back to work.”

Jackson smiled to himself as he left his father’s office and headed back to his own. Everything was falling into place nicely, and he couldn’t wait for the end results.

The call he’d been waiting for came early in the morning, but it didn’t matter. Jackson hadn’t slept a wink. Now that he’d had time to reflect on it, he was happy that Donaghy had survived the fight. Not only had it helped him see the flaws in their most recent design, but it would give Jackson the chance to play with the convict a bit. He did, after all, want to see the asshole suffer. Especially after witnessing that kiss. Yes, this plan, the one that would rip Donaghy’s heart to pieces, was a much better idea.

He was practically skipping on his way to Dragon’s Lair. The guards that were with him for backup, which Jackson desperately hoped he’d need, kept their distance, their discomfort obvious in their expressions. People who knew Jackson well didn’t know how to take it when he was happy. His smile didn’t seem natural to them, or the sinister light in his eyes was too blatant. Jackson wasn’t sure, but he also knew he didn’t care. There was something very thrilling about being able to make people squirm with just a tilt of the lips.

He and his guards entered Dragon’s Lair without knocking, throwing the door open so hard that it banged against the wall. The convict and Dragon were at the bar and they both turned when the trio entered.

Jackson stood in the center, his back straight and a mockingly sympathetic smile lighting up his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. “But we just got some unfortunate news from Dayton.” He paused for dramatic effect and fixed his gaze on Donaghy, allowing the darkness inside him to penetrate the air so the fighter would know for certain that Jackson had been behind the whole thing. “I thought it should come straight from me.”

He savored the last words, knowing the damage they would do to the fighter. Seeing the exact moment when Donaghy’s heart and hope shattered into oblivion. Feeling the misery that permeated from the convict deep in his own bones and loving it.

Donaghy’s back stiffened but he didn’t stand. “Say it,” he growled.

“Your sister was killed sometime last night. Someone broke into her apartment and she had no one to protect her. If only you had been there.” Jackson had to force his lips to turn down in the corners as he shook his head. It was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. “A tragedy. She was so young. Had so much ahead of her. The Judicial Officer called me personally to let me know. If only you had been there to save her the way you saved Meg. Not that you can save Meg from everything…”

The words hung there for only a split second before Donaghy jumped to his feet. Jackson felt victory surge through him as he anticipated the attack. At his sides, the guards readied themselves, knowing that they were responsible for keeping the Regulator’s son from getting hurt.

Before the fighter could move, though, Dragon grabbed his arm. “Thank you for letting us know.”

Donaghy’s body stiffened even more and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Jackson waited, knowing that the fighter wanted to rip him to shreds. Praying the fool would go for it. That he’d be so torn up by grief he wouldn’t be able to think straight. That he’d rush across the room and the guards would be forced to take him down.

Jackson grinned, waiting. Daring the fighter with his smile.

To his disappointment, Donaghy let out a deep breath and sank back onto the stool. Dragon finally let him go and Jackson resigned himself to leaving the bar, the guards following close behind him.

No matter. He would have Donaghy soon enough, and this way the man would have the chance to hear about Meg’s close call from the night before. It would also give Jackson time to heap more hurt on top of the pain the fighter was already feeling. Then, when Jackson was finally ready to take him, Donaghy would be that much easier to break.

Jackson left the guards and headed back to the lab, knowing that he had work to do if he was going to fix the newest strain of the virus. They needed to make the hybrid zombies tougher. Less susceptible. He needed to find a way to make them killing machines after their hearts had stopped beating.

He had a lot of work to do.

He found it impossible to focus, though. Between thoughts of the flu his father had unleashed on the settlement and images of what Donaghy and Meg might be doing while Jackson left them to their own devices, he couldn’t get his brain to shut off. The thought of trying to sleep was ridiculous. He’d never be able to relax enough. The idea of taking the fighter now crossed Jackson’s mind, but part of him wanted to wait until after Meg found the body of her blond crewmember. It had been preserved until the right moment, and then dumped in an alley the trash crew would be working on. Right where Meg was sure to see it. He didn’t want to risk her not seeing the body, and he knew once she did, she’d realize the fighter’s hours were numbered.

Jackson wanted to surprise Meg, so he waited until he was certain she had left Dragon’s Lair for the night. He took more guards with him than necessary. Not because he thought the fighter might get away, but because he wanted everyone at the bar to know that Jackson Star had the entire settlement at his disposal.

Just like he thought, Meg was gone when they barged into the bar. The guards grabbed Donaghy and shoved him to the ground while the waitresses and Dragon looked on, helpless to do anything about it. The fighter struggled as the guards held him against the filthy stone floor, a knee in his back and his face pressed against the ground. He fought as his wrists were bound behind him, not giving an inch in his struggles, but also not getting anywhere. And then he was jerked to his feet and turned to face the door where Jackson stood with even more guards flanking him.

“Perfect.” The word purred from Jackson’s mouth as he stepped forward, grinning. “It’s come to my attention that you’re supposed to be on your way to Key West. Apparently, though, your guards have met an untimely end. We wanted to make sure you had a proper send off.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning around and heading out the door, barking for the guards to follow. Donaghy was dragged after him, still struggling and barefoot.

“Tell Meg I’m sorry,” he called over his shoulder just before he was pulled from the bar.

Heat moved through Jackson at the words, and the second Donaghy was pulled into the back of the waiting truck, he nodded at the guards. The man in front of the fighter kicked him first, right in the stomach, and a second blow quickly followed, getting him in the back. He tried to curl into a ball only to have a third man punch him in the eye, and the sound of bone hitting bone was like a sweet symphony to Jackson.

“Enough,” he said even though he would have loved to see more of the asshole’s blood shed. “We need him in one piece.”

Jackson climbed into the cab and they took off. Already he was imagining how sweet it would be to watch this man suffer as the virus worked its way through his body. If only there was a way to ensure that the change would be agonizingly painful for him. Donaghy needed to suffer. Jackson needed to witness this man writhing in pain.

He would look into it.

When they arrived at the CDC, Jackson allowed the guards to drag the convict to the observation wing while he headed to his lab. Now that he had the man in his possession, Jackson needed to get some sleep.

His plan was falling into place. He had his newest test subject and soon he would have Meg in his custody as well. Her family was useless to him, but would be easy to take care of. He didn’t need them and the cells in the observation wing were nearly full. Jackson would have the mother killed, as well as the aunts and uncle, but he was considering keeping the cousin around. Charlie had appeal, and he’d spent hours fantasizing about what he could do to her. Having Meg in his grasp wouldn’t quench all his dark desires. The need was rarely silenced that easily.

The guards had gone off to get the family, so Jackson headed to the observation wing while he waited for their arrival. It was early morning, but both men were already up.

Donaghy jumped to his feet when he saw Jackson, but Axl didn’t move. The older man’s gray eyes were as ominous as storm clouds; the threat in them so thick that Jackson could almost feel it.

He stopped in front of Axl’s cell and stared, smiling. In a matter of minutes Meg would be here and Jackson would strip her bare, right here in front of her father and her lover. They’d be forced to witness her debasement. Forced to watch her initial humiliation. He could picture it now, the things he’d do to her. The tears. The begging. The terror and fear. Her father would be there to see it all, but he’d be unable to stop it. It would be glorious.

Jackson pushed the button for the intercom, breaking the barrier of silence separating him from Axl James. But he didn’t speak. He just stood there, staring at Meg’s father with an evil grin on his face. Waiting for the moment that would most certainly come. Jackson knew without a shadow of a doubt that the man in front of him wouldn’t be able to remain silent. He knew that Axl would break and ask, no beg to know what was happening with his family.

It took less than a minute. “Where are they?” he asked, wincing like he knew he was taking the bait Jackson had left and he hated himself for it. “Tell me.”

“On their way here.” Jackson’s smile grew until his cheeks hurt. “Guards are at your apartment as we speak, and you’ll be reunited with your family soon.”

He paused so he could turn to face the cell at his back, coming face to face with Donaghy’s cold stare. Jackson hated for the convict to be left out.

He pushed the intercom button. “As I was saying, Meg and the rest of your family are on the way.”

Donaghy growled and Axl’s gaze moved from Jackson to the fighter. There were questions swimming in Meg’s father’s eyes as he looked the other man over, but he didn’t say anything.

After a few seconds, his gaze was once again on Jackson.

“Don’t hurt her.” Axl’s words had no hope behind them.

“There’s no reason for you to be concerned,” Jackson replied. “I don’t intend to keep you in suspense. You’ll be able to witness the entire thing. Right here.” He stepped closer to Axl while shooting Donaghy a look to make sure he had the man’s full attention. “You’ll be able to watch as I take her. I’ll let you hear her cries. Your family, her mother, will all be right there—” He motioned to the hall behind him. “—watching. I know how close your family is, and I wouldn’t want any of you to miss the show.”

Axl’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he wasn’t the one who yelled.

Curses came from the cell at Jackson’s back as Donaghy slammed his fists against the glass. “You son of a bitch! Don’t you touch her! I will rip you to pieces!”

Jackson grinned. “You aren’t exactly in the position to make threats.”

The fighter’s face was red, but in the cell across from him, Axl looked broken. He was still solid and broad thanks to the hard work he’d endured over the last twenty years, but right now his body was slumped, making him look his age more than ever before. Axl had been a driving force in the settlement for so long that he’d seemed almost immortal at times. Now, though, the lines on his face had deepened as if to illustrate the stress and violence and hard times he’d witnessed during his forty-five years on this Earth. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the lights above him emphasized the gray hairs dotting his head. He looked like he was on the verge of withering away, and even though a part of Jackson would have loved to see it, he knew that they needed Axl alive.

Before Jackson could say another word, the door behind him opened. Guards entered, but they were alone. No crying prisoners. No frightened and tear-filled eyes. Nothing but a group of guards who couldn’t even meet his gaze.

Something had gone wrong and Jackson would bet his life that it had to do with Angus James.

“Where is she?” Jackson growled, making the men stop in their tracks.

“The family was gone,” the man at the front of the pack said. He glanced up long enough to make sure Jackson wasn’t charging him before once again focusing on the floor. “We checked with the surveillance team. They left in the middle of the night, but there’s no mention of where they went and we haven’t been able to locate them anywhere.”

Jackson’s body was shaking so hard that he literally felt ready to explode. Not just with anger, but a real life explosion. One that would destroy not only him, but also the CDC and the wall surrounding New Atlanta, probably even the whole state and possibly the world. His face was hot. His blood was boiling. Tremors shook him until his teeth rattled and his vision blurred. He lost himself in the rage, and then something else took over. Something he’d always felt inside him, buried deep within and begging to get out. Something even stronger and more terrifying than the need.

He was in Axl’s cell before he knew what he was doing, and even then he couldn’t focus as his fists slammed into the other man’s face. Axl fought back, getting in a few good punches, but Jackson didn’t feel a thing. He couldn’t because he had left his body, been pushed out by the force that was now beating Axl.

Before long Meg’s father was unable to fight back. Minutes passed, although it felt like a fraction of a second to Jackson, and then Axl was on the floor, his face was bloody and swollen, and he was barely clinging to consciousness. A part of Jackson knew that he should stop, that they needed this man alive, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make his body obey. He couldn’t stop.

There was yelling all around him. Donaghy from the other cell and the guards who had somehow managed to rouse themselves from their fear of the small man long enough to know that they had to stop this from happening. Jackson felt himself being pulled away, but once again he had no ability to cooperate. He took a swing at the guard behind him, his fist making impact and blood spraying across the cell. The other guards were there as well, trying their best to restrain him. To drag him away from the bloody heap that had once been Axl James. Jackson was gasping for breath, trying to regain control, trying to force the thing that had taken over his body to leave him.

It didn’t work. Nothing worked. Then Jackson found himself on the floor in the hall, his face pressed against the cold tile while two men held him down. There were alarms going off and people running by. A doctor in a white lab coat ran down the hall to Axl’s cell. Jackson’s father was there too, yelling questions and cursing.

The thing inside Jackson slinked back into its hiding place and slowly he came back to himself. There was so much commotion around him, and with his face pressed to the ground it was nearly impossible to figure out what was happening. His body ached and his knuckles were sore and cut, bloody. Was it his blood or Axl’s?

Axl.

Jackson could only vaguely remember what had happened, but he could picture the blood perfectly. Could smell it still. The coppery scent was so sharp that it permeated the air around him. There had been so much of it. Was Axl dead? Could he have survived the attack? He’d put up a fight, but it had been short lived. Jackson knew Meg’s father was still weak from the drugs they’d given him, putting him at a distinct disadvantage. He easily could have been killed.

Jackson turned his head, trying to get a look at Axl’s cell from his position on the floor. The door was wide open and there were streaks of blood on the tile leading from the room to where Jackson was now. Voices echoed through the hall, calling to each other in panicked tones, his own father’s voice rising above everyone else’s as he demanded that the doctors save Axl James.

Someone knelt at Jackson’s side, blocking his view, and then a sharp pain poked at his neck. His head spun and darkness began to close in, snaking across his vision. He tried to fight it, tried to remain conscious, but the drugs they’d injected him with were too strong.

The last thing he heard as he slipped into unconscious was someone yelling, “We’re losing him!”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again the majority of my thanks goes to my readers. I know everyone is looking forward to the next full installment in the Twisted series, but I appreciate your patience and understanding as my family settles in after our move. As always, I’ll do my best to get it the next novel out as soon as possible, but my family will always be my first priority.

Big thank you goes to Jan Strohecker, Mary Jones, and Karen Atkinson for taking the time to search for typos. I do try every time to find them all, but editing is long and tedious, as well as very expensive process, and any help I can get is greatly appreciated. I just hope that readers can forgive the few mistakes they find and take the story for what it is, because I am only human and nothing I put out will ever be perfect.

OTHER BOOKS BY KATE L. MARY

The Broken World Series

Broken World

Shattered World

Mad World

Lost World

New World

Forgotten World

Silent World

Broken Stories

The Twisted Series

Twisted World

Zombie Apocalypse Love Story Novellas

More than Survival

Fighting for a Future

Collision

When We Were Human

Alone: A Zombie Novel

The Moonchild Series

Moonchild

Liberation

The College of Charleston Series

The List

No Regrets

Moving On

Letting Go

Anthologies

Prep for Doom

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kate L. Mary is an award-winning author of New Adult and Young Adult fiction, ranging from Post-apocalyptic tales of the undead, to Speculative Fiction and Contemporary Romance. Her Young Adult book, When We Were Human, was a 2015 Children’s Moonbeam Book Awards Silver Medal winner for  Young Adult Fantasy/Sci-Fi Fiction, and a 2016 Readers’ Favorite Gold Medal winner for Young Adult Science Fiction. Don’t miss out on the Broken World series, an Amazon bestseller and fan favorite. For more information about Kate, check out her website: www.KateLMary.com

Connect with Kate L. Mary online:

- @kmary0622

- @KateLMaryauthor

KateLMary.com

KateLMaryauthor@gmail.com

Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Acknowledgments

Other Books by Kate L. Mary

About the Author