Immortal Syn

By M.F. Smith

The freshest competitor in the rejuvenation arena is a clandestine syndicate breeding a rare, subterranean, African moth carrying a catalyst capable of biologically mutating one in ten thousand humans, creating a long-lived race of physically superior humans called nocturnals who sacrifice their daylight to feed upon the life energy of the people around them. In the United States, Prohibition returns in 2021 as moth bosses breed and deal the fragile insects, and energy bootleggers steal and distribute the life energy of innocents. The President commissions a special task force attached to the FDA, the Nocturnal Regulations Bureau, in an effort to stem the tide of lawlessness and death.
Thorne Templeton, whose family was murdered by members of this new, immortal syndicate, leads the offensive with his team of Regulators, unearthing leads from gritty streets to the Art Deco nightclubs of Tacoma, Washington. He is bringing his battle to an immortal entity willing to expend firepower and countless human lives to destroy the Regulators and deliver him to hell.
But Thorne was destroyed years earlier. And the Regulators have already seen hell.
All they want is to share the pain

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Frances
• Release date: Apr 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311486226

M.F. Smith

Haven't you heard? Death is the new red.

Book preview

Immortal Syn

By

M.F. Smith

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 M.F. Smith

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

—Prologue—

Thorne slowly awoke to the pleasant sensation of his wife snuggling against him. In the half-light cast through their bedroom window by a street lamp, he could just make out her soft features. Her face pressed against his upper arm and her left hand curled lightly over his left wrist.

Now that he was awake, Thorne realized he was thirsty and decided the thirst rather than his wife’s unconscious movements had roused him. He carefully slipped out from under her hand and smiled when she mumbled something nonsensical in her sleep, burrowing her face into his pillow. On impulse, he leaned over her, gently kissing her downy upturned cheek.

Yawning and scratching under the waistband of his short, cotton sleeping boxers, Thorne padded along the hallway, guided by cartoon character nightlights. He paused briefly at each of three open doors and looked in on the sleeping form of a child in each room.

The vinyl floor was warm under his bare feet when Thorne finally stood before the open refrigerator door, its cold interior light spilling across the room as he tried to decide whether he wanted to add a sandwich to the bottle of water. Ultimately deciding he was too lazy to make the effort, he swigged a quick drink from a small blue bottle, the label assuring him that the water within had not seen the light of day since before the dawn of mankind, then replaced it, closed the refrigerator door and returned to his bedroom.

As he turned the doorknob and stepped inside, he received the sudden, nagging sensation that something was amiss. It was only in the midst of his entrance into the room that he remembered he had not closed the door, but that knowledge was a moment too late.

Something heavy caught him squarely across the midsection, doubling him over, and another blow struck the back of his head, driving him to his knees.

Hello, Thorne, a malicious voice rasped close to his ear. Long time, no see.

Inhumanly strong hands gripped his upper arms from either side, hauling him to his feet; a pinched, grinning face hovering before him in the relative darkness.

Royer, Thorne coughed.

You were always the quick one, Thorne, the sneering visage remarked. I see you’ve kept yourself busy. Thin to the point of skeletal, Royer didn't need bulk to bring the much larger Thorne to his knees. All he had to do was eat the right food, and Royer had eaten a Manna Moth hoping to transform from a one hundred and two pound weakling into Hercules. Hercules he was not, but he'd risen to the ranks of sand kicking bully and that was good enough for Royer.

He gave his head a jerk and Thorne looked beyond, into the dim light, now too bright as he made out the pale forms of his wife and children gathered on the bed, their mouths covered with silver duct tape, a nocturnal holding each. They had a little more body to them, sporting side swept hair, zero sideburns, and retro-trendy suits. Typical Syndicate muscle. To one side of the bed, a female noc with blonde hair shaved to the skull on one side and sporting finger waves on the other, cradled a blanket-wrapped bundle at which she cooed and clucked her tongue. Her waiflike beauty contrasted sharply with the thugs with whom she associated, demonstrating that justice had nothing to do with becoming a noc, genes did.

Do I have your full attention, Thorne? Royer paced a few steps, allowing Thorne to appreciate the full measure of the danger his family faced. You’ve embarrassed some powerful people, Thorne. These are people who trusted you, people who considered you part of their family.

Damn it, Royer! Let them go! They’ve got nothing to do with this!

Their attachment to you makes them have everything to do with this, Royer told him. Or more specifically, your attachment to them.

The youngest girl, Sarah, whimpered from behind her tape.

It’s okay, honey. It’ll be okay, Thorne tried to make the assurance sound like he believed it because he desperately wanted to believe.

Well, there might be a problem with that, Royer sounded as though he were discussing a car deal rather than the imminent death of Thorne’s family. See, some of the people you embarrassed got together and discussed the situation and, well, you know how they can be. He grinned apologetically.

What can I say, Thorne? Nobody leaves the Syndicate unless the Syndicate says you leave.

They’ve got nothing to worry about from me, Thorne tried to make the noc hit man understand. I haven’t talked to anyone, they must know that.

I think they do, Royer agreed. But that has nothing to do with this. You can’t walk away like you did, Thorne. It makes people edgy, they start thinking things like, ‘what if everybody decides to just walk away?’ or even worse, what happens if they start thinking about making deals with the law? You could start some kind of exodus.

That’s not what I’m trying to do, Royer. I just want a normal life.

Thorny, I hear you. I absolutely understand where you’re coming from, but you didn’t go through channels. Better than anybody, you know the rules of the game. Royer glanced at Thorne’s pale-faced wife then leaned close to Thorne. "Did you tell her about us, Thorny? Any of it?"

Nothing.

Royer nodded sympathetically, walking away. That’s kinda too bad, ‘cause it means she won’t know why we had to do this. He gave the nocturnal holding the woman a slow blink and the noc grasped a handful of the woman’s hair, pulling her head back and exposing her swan like neck.

No! Thorne roared as the noc covered the woman’s mouth in a savage kiss and the woman's back arched against the unwanted pleasure. Laura!

The nocs restraining him took turns delivering powerful punches to his midsection to silence his shouts and Thorne grunted when at least one rib cracked.

Let’s not wake the neighbors, Royer chastised. This is a nice area and they’re probably not used to this kinda thing.

You sick fuck, he began between clenched teeth. A sharp uppercut to his square chin made his ears ring, interrupting his invectives.

Not in front of the children, Royer made a disapproving sound with his tongue. Oh yes, the children.

Leave them out of it, Royer. Listen to me, I’m begging you to leave them out of it. Thorne didn’t know how to beg properly because he wasn’t the kind of man who did it, but he was willing to try for the lives of his children.

His wife’s body was tossed aside when the noc finished draining her life energy. It hit the edge of the bed, bounced once then rolled limply to the floor. Both little girls began to cry hysterically and Thorne clenched his eyes shut for a moment.

Royer, you fucking bastard! Don’t do this!

This isn’t personal, Thorne. You know how it is—you’ve been where I’m standing. It’s just business, nothing to do with you or me. They’re making an example of you, that’s all.

I’ve never been where you are, Thorne gasped. I never murdered innocent women or children.

I guess I’m just lucky. He grinned widely and nodded at the nocs holding Thorne’s daughters. Each grasped the little girls by their wrists and held them aloft.

Thorne made an inarticulate roar of outrage and managed to tear free of his captors’ hands. His momentum carried him across the space to Royer, sending them both crashing to the ground, Thorne kicking and punching wildly.

He was abruptly yanked off of the nocturnal when the others recovered from the surprise of his rush of strength. They punched him repeatedly, throwing him to the bedroom floor and kicking him until more ribs broke.

He peered through eyes blurred by pain and found himself looking into the dead eyes of his wife. He heard his daughters laugh with joy, as though they opened Christmas gifts, and knew they were experiencing false happiness that the touch of the nocs administered directly to their brains.

That’s enough, Royer stopped them even though Thorne wished they would beat him into unconsciousness. Get him up here.

He was dragged to his feet and one nocturnal dug his fingers into Thorne’s short, curly hair, yanking his head back so that he stared across the room at Royer’s new tableau of horror.

His daughters hung limply by their wrists and he wondered briefly why they’d stopped laughing—until he saw their lax mouths, wide, staring eyes and the expression of unsurpassed joy created only when a noc insinuated into the pleasure center of the brain.

Waste not, want not, Royer told him.

Despite his broken ribs and internal bleeding, Thorne still reached for Royer with hands curled into claws, still strained to rip the smile from his pointed face.

Okay, okay. Let’s finish this. Royer was suddenly impatient, bored with his work.

He motioned for the female nocturnal to join him near Thorne and she rocked the bundled infant as she crossed the room.

He’s beautiful, she complimented the baby. What’s his name?

Thorne said nothing, his entire body aching from the loss of his wife and daughters and his inability to prevent their deaths, or the imminent death of his son. Two soft thumps from beyond the female noc told him his daughters’ bodies were drained of their life energies and discarded like empty milk cartons.

Thorny, she asked you what the kid’s name is. Royer slapped the man’s face. It’s polite to answer a lady.

Thorne managed to cough a bloody wad of spit at the female noc. It hit her directly in the center of her forehead and slowly oozed down between her fine eyebrows. She cleared her throat, bent down and wiped it off using an edge of the baby blanket.

That wasn’t nice, she commented dryly.

Fuck you, Thorne rasped.

She smiled at him, then pursed her lips and slowly bent her head into the blankets. The baby made a single, startled sound when her lips touched his forehead in a deceptively gentle kiss, then fell silent. Thorne’s legs refused to support him and he remained standing only because he was forcibly held upright.

She abruptly dropped the wrapped bundle and Thorne winced at the sound of his son striking the floor. Her eyes glowed with the infant’s life energy and she sprang onto Thorne like a cat, kissing him savagely and forcing her tongue into his mouth.

He sensed that she allowed a portion of his son’s energy to escape into him and felt his gorge rise.

The female noc wrapped her legs around his waist and the man felt suddenly lightheaded as she began to absorb his energy, gasping when she used her almost psychic abilities to directly access the pleasure center of his brain.

Thorne was grateful for his death.

Then the nightmare ended and he woke up, having to face the real world where he still lived, and where his family was still dead.

CHAPTER ONE

Sting

Wet, unlighted by artificial means, the alley waited.

Engines thrummed in the nighttime stillness as two dark cars approached each other from opposite ends of the alley. A battered tomcat prudently chose to hunt on other grounds, slinking between the boards of a tall fence that surrounded the rear yard of a junk business that backed up to the alley.

The cars stopped nearly twenty feet from each other, their engines idling for a moment before dying, their headlights remaining on. A door opened on either car and a man got out of each. They stood beside their cars, sizing up each other across the distance, before leisurely entering the lighted area between the cars, meeting in the middle.

You look nervous, kid, the older man remarked.

The olive-skinned, black-haired, youth shrugged. Why’d we meet here?

It’s private.

It’s isolated.

The older man grinned. Don’t sweat it, kid. I didn’t bring you out here to waste you. I’m a businessman, okay?

The youth still seemed reluctant. Yeah, okay. You got the money?

You got the goods?

In the car.

So, show me.

I want to see the money, first. The younger man’s bravado didn’t fool the older, more experienced man.

Sure, kid.

He motioned casually with one hand and a second door opened on the car behind him, another man stepping out. This man carried a briefcase, which he brought to the first man.

Now, you show me yours, the older man invited.

Yeah, okay.

The youth motioned at his car, failing to imitate the same ease with which the older man accomplished the same hand flourish. A taller, broader young man stepped out of the car, but he was not alone. A female figure struggled hopelessly in his grasp as he dragged her forward, into the stark wash of light.

Bright with terror, her eyes shone above fine cheekbones discolored by painful looking bruises. Her mouth was covered with silver duct tape and her hands were bound behind her back.

Exquisite, the older man complimented the young woman, although she was in no state of mind to feel flattered. Open it, he told the man who held the briefcase.

The man complied, unlocking the case and displaying its considerable monetary contents to the two young men.

Okay. The second young man who was in charge of the woman seemed prepared to hand her over, but the older man held up one manicured hand.

Wait.

I thought we had a deal! The black-haired youth was angry.

Take it easy, kid, the older man soothed. "You don’t have any objection if we wish to sample the merchandise? This is no small sum my client is paying and we must be certain of its quality."

The first glanced back at his taller friend and shrugged. Yeah, sure. Whatever.

The older man accepted the briefcase while the other took a step toward the shrinking girl. He reached toward her and the girl cowered back from him as if she anticipated death—or worse.

Hold her still, he ordered, his voice like sandpaper against concrete.

The honey blonde young man against whom the girl cowered complied, wincing when the man roughly grasped her bare upper arm and pulled energy from her without the relative comfort of stimulating her pleasure center.

The man withdrew his hand, the girl sagging against her blonde captor, as he returned to the car. The younger men watched him closely as he reached his hand to someone who sat inside the car. The man holding the briefcase watched their expressions, amused by their obvious inexperience.

What’s he doing? the first whispered to the second, who only shrugged.

We are merely verifying your claim, the older man explained. After all, a young woman of such beauty, well, it’s difficult to believe she has not been with at least one fortunate man.

The young men exchanged uncomfortable glances while the woman’s expression remained one of abject horror. Several excruciating moments passed until the second man left the car and took up his former position beside the man holding the briefcase. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod and the older man’s face became wreathed in smiles.

Gentlemen, we have a deal.

He extended the briefcase to the first while the honey blonde youth passed the woman across to the other, older man.

Thanks, the first youth said, patting the briefcase. Thanks a million.

Perhaps we’ll do business in the future, the older man said this as a farewell, beginning to turn away.

I wouldn’t count on it, another voice replied as a third, formidably built man stepped out of the car the young men had arrived in. He held up a black wallet as he strolled casually into the light between the cars, allowing it to drop open. F.D.A., he informed them.

The older men looked from the piece of plastic to each other, then burst into gales of laughter. The square-jawed man allowed a second flap to drop and light glinted off the gold badge within, making it look like a flame.

Nocturnal Regulation Bureau, he added.

The men stopped laughing, their expressions evolving from amusement, to concern, to anger at the Bureau sting. They began retreating to their car, the second man intending to use the girl as a hostage, but she was suddenly free