Emotion: Surge Protector: Fifth And Dent, #4

By C Ryan Bymaster

Marion Dent is recovering from injuries, both physical and mental, leaving Fifth to do her best to keep them both safe until they find where their next target lies. As memories plaque Dent's conscience, Fifth struggles with her own as she reluctantly begins to choose what is necessary for survival over what she knows to be morally right.

In Las Vegas, a controversial security system overseen by an ex-military group is being put through its final test. Its creator, an engineer as brilliant as he is reclusive, has an opportunity to change the future—or rectify his past.

He is their target, and both Fifth and Dent will sacrifice what they have, and who they have become, to acquire him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C Ryan Bymaster
• Release date: Jul 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386776093

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Colors came at him from all sides, assaulting his every sense. He tried to close his eyes, but he didn’t have eyes here. He knew what was coming. It was another nightmare.

But Dent rarely ever dreamed. And nightmares were as foreign and terrifying as the emotions that had slowly wrapped around his core like a serpent around a small animal. By the time he’d realized he was at risk, that he had the unrelenting coils around him, it had been too late. And the more he struggled, the tighter the coils became, constricting what had been his old self.

The first image to coalesce was of a brunette. Lately, she usually was the first, like she was waiting for him to drift away from the world of physical pain to welcome him to another world of pain. She was becoming an unwanted guide in this unwanted world of dreams.

This time she was wearing oil-stained mechanic’s coveralls, her hair pulled tight into a bun that was disheveling as she floated near him. Again, he tried closing his eyes. Again, her image remained.

Eyes, larger in proportion than they were in real life, accused Dent, stabbing him, searing him down to his soul. He looked away, but she always managed to fill his nightmarish vision. Unwillingly, he focused on her exposed neck. Deep purple bruises, like she’d been hung by a thick rope, showed on her pale skin. If he dared to look closer, he knew he would see his fingerprints around that beautiful, bruised neck.

Why did you have to come back? Lynn asked in a haunting tone.

He didn’t have a mouth, didn’t have words.

In an instant she was on him, hair unbound and flaring about her as if she floated in water. She stabbed an accusatory finger at him, into him, and his side flared with pain. She stabbed again, this time at his thigh, slowly tracing a line of fire on his flesh.

He didn’t have a mouth, but oh, how he could scream.

You should share, a girl’s voice said in the ether of his fever-wrought, alcohol-clouded mind.

Lynn pulled her finger away and floated aside, revealing a girl with tears running down her cheek, each tiny drop of liquid somehow frozen and flowing at the same time.

Theresa.

Theresa lifted her arms wide, which were bared to the shoulders. She didn’t flinch as welts and razor-thin slices started to mar the flesh of arms. Dent did. He screamed as each one appeared, feeling it on his own flesh. Theresa cried ... but smiled.

Her head tilted to the side as if she had a thought. What pain is he causing me? she asked.

He, Dent knew, was Noman. The psychopath that had been chasing Fifth from day one. The same psychopath Dent had handed Theresa over to in exchange for Fifth.

A blood-welling gash appeared on Theresa’s neck, the pain flaring in Dent’s.

What pain is he causing me! Theresa screamed. This time it wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.

Dent had to give the little girl up to Noman, had to in order to save Fifth. Why should Dent suffer for doing what was right? Fifth was safe. Theresa didn’t matter. It had been the most rational thing to do, the most logical option for all of them.

Why did Theresa think whatever happened to her, whatever is happening to her now, why did she think it was his problem? Dent had no reason to believe Noman would harm the girl. So why was she haunting Dent this way?

In response to his thoughts, Lynn’s body suddenly enveloped him from behind. Even in this nightmare he could smell the subtle hint of cucumbers, a reminder of the time spent with her. Lynn’s hair tickled the back of his neck and his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him from behind, her hand caressing his chest ...

Then slipping into it, searching, prodding, hunting until she found what she wanted.

His body convulsed as she gripped his heart, stilled its beating.

Theresa laughed.

Lynn laughed.

It’s not my fault, he screamed in his mind.

They were still alive, Dent tried calling out. They should be content with that.

Theresa turned away, listening to the far off distance. When she looked back, she shook her head slowly, as if she’d heard Dent’s mental exclamation.

He’s not, she said, pointing at the empty space between herself and the tightly Lynn-wrapped Dent. Blood dripped from her ravaged arms. He’s not alive or content.

A young boy, skin the color of coffee and cream, was there suddenly. Even here, in this pit of Dent’s mind, the boy looked lost. Alone. His gaze drifted down, intent on his shuffling feet. Just like Dent remembered when the boy was still alive.

Connor looked up.

Is this yours? he asked innocently, holding up a serrated knife, the stainless steel of the blade one second gleaming, the next painted with the boy’s own blood.

I didn’t force your hand, Dent tried telling the boy.

Your blind devotion to Kasumi did, Conner replied to Dent’s attempted words. No more innocence in his tone, now. Just accusation. And logic.

Dent gasped as Lynn’s hand tightened inside his chest.

Theresa stepped forward and grasped Connor’s free hand.

I only did what had to be done, Dent wanted to say.

Of course you did, Marion, Lynn whispered in his ear.

It’s all you ever do, Theresa said, ghosting forward with Connor at her side, like nothing more than children playing on the sidewalk.

It’s all you’re good for, Connor said, his small frame now somehow eye-to-eye with Dent. The knife glinted as the boy held it up.

A weapon, Connor said, looking back and forth between knife and Dent. It’s all you are good for ...

Lynn eased her enveloping grip, leaning aside and allowing Connor access to Dent’s neck. You bring nothing but pain and death to those around you, she whispered. You ruin lives, Marion. This is what you deserve.

Theresa, tears frozen and flowing down her cheeks, laughed.

Connor brought the knife up, the edge cold on Dent’s exposed skin. Cold, solid. Relentless.

And blindingly painful.

I

Sir?

The man known as Charon spun his chair around and took his time easing his bulk into position at his office table in his top-floor suite. His hands, palms flat on the mahogany, were getting a touch too plump for his liking and he made a mental note that he needed to get out and do some fieldwork himself. He’d been playing the middleman for far too long now, and though he’d always been a bit on the heavier side, he was seriously worried he was tipping towards obese.

Folding his hands before him, Charon looked up to his man standing attentively at the entrance to his office. Parker. You’ve read the reports? he asked.

Parker looked to the back of the laptop on Charon’s desk then to Charon himself. Which reports, sir?

Regarding Dent and the failed attempt to eliminate him.

His man nodded. Is that why you’ve come here? he asked. To make sure we don’t screw anything up?

Charon let the insubordinate undercurrent of the man’s tone wash over him. Instead of answering, Charon tapped his keyboard. The screen flared to life and, after the facial recognition scanned and unlocked, brought up the last file he’d been poring over. He’d read it several times already, twice before forwarding it to his top men four days ago, right before he decided to come to Las Vegas to oversee the rest of this project personally.

Any hiccups and Styx Securities would be dead in the water and pushed aside, the government moving on to the next security company and taking with them near-endless funding and opportunities. Charon was on his last leg here, all other bridges burned after what had happened in Los Angeles. The only thing that kept him afloat had been his life savings — which were rapidly depleting — and his contacts with former-military personnel, those of which were bored with civilian life and willing to give private security a go. Parker, the hulking half-French, half-Korean man standing in the doorway, was one of the first people Charon had hired on — at a healthy chunk of his depleting resources.

Dent is capable of putting down small rebellions singlehandedly, Charon said finally. My presence here is merely to ensure that he doesn’t decide to throw a wrench into this operation. He looked Parker in the eye. You forget that if this goes sour, I won’t be the only one who’ll be out of a job.

Parker gave a casual shrug of his monstrous shoulders.

Charon stood. He really would have to deal with Parker’s lack of decorum around his superiors. But that would have to wait. Turning, walking the few feet to stand before and stare out the floor-to-ceiling window, Charon looked out on the Strip. Thousands of people would be coming here for the Computer and Electronics Convention in less than a month, and Styx Securities was in charge of keeping the entire convention safe.

Parker, and men like him, were but only one facet of Styx Securities. The other facet, if it worked as well as his engineer promised, had the capability of making men like Parker obsolete. This test run would provide the foundation for a new era in proactive security. The problem was that Charon’s model ran perilously close to breaking current laws regarding the use of eTech. If his model worked without a hitch, the government would have to allow him to further expand his technology, and either accept eTech had its uses or turn a blind eye to it. But, if it failed, the government would come down hard on him, along with the public’s ire.

Should I let McCombs and the floor team know that Dent may be a problem? Parker asked.

No, Charon said, not bothering to turn around. The chances of Dent showing up are slim, but with his recent exploits, I won’t run the risk of being unprepared, of leaving this operation up to those who would have no clue how to handle a person like Dent. Though he could make out Parker’s reflected silhouette in the window pane, Charon couldn’t discern any facial features, couldn’t see if his intended insult fazed the man.

So, you have your doubts regarding McComb’s capability? Parker asked.

Charon inwardly sighed. Parker had completely misread the insult. If Dent shows, having McCombs and his team attempt to deal with him will result in unwanted press. The last thing I want is for this convention to be remembered by bloodshed and death.

You think McCombs would kill Dent on sight?

Now Charon turned, if only to see if Parker spoke with a straight face.

He had.

It’s not Dent’s death that I would expect in that scenario, Charon clarified.

The doorframe groaned as Parker leaned against it, as casual as a two-ton butterfly on a rose. Can’t see how any man can be that much of a problem.

Dent isn’t any man. He’s been doing — he waved a hand at the laptop — this since before you started basic training.

The doorframe protested again as Parker pushed off to come to his full height.

Charon shook his head. This is exactly why I’m here, Parker. You underestimate your potential enemy.

You underestimate me, Parker was quick to respond.

If he does show, I hope you keep some of that bullheadedness to a minimum.

Parker lifted a hand and grinned. You pay me to be bullheaded.

I pay you to keep me safe and ensure this event goes smoothly.

It will. Parker turned to head back to his own room-turned-office. And don’t worry about Dent.

Charon let the man have the last word. Any other time or place, Charon would already be writing Parker off, setting his sights on a replacement. But Charon didn’t have the resources he’d had a year ago. Parker may have a mouth on him, but he did have the skills to back it up. Charon had to treat Parker like any other long-term investment.

For now, at least. If Styx Securities proved its worth in the weeks to come, Charon would have enough money and clout to replace Parker ten times over. Hell, if things went smoothly, Parker and his team could be relegated to the sidelines.

Tapping his laptop screen, he brought up the official report regarding the night that he’d sent two men after Dent. Something about it worried him. The men Charon had contracted out to find and eliminate Dent and recover Kasumi — the girl known as Fifth — had been shot dead at the scene, some backroad off the interstate. Dent wasn’t beyond killing in cold blood. In fact, it was to be expected. What concerned Charon was the fact that the report showed the men he’d sent had been killed with two different weapons.

Either Dent had found an ally, or something was seriously amiss.

Both cases, though, Charon worried that Dent would take Charon’s actions the wrong way, that he would actively seek Charon out for the debacle.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from Charon’s meaty chest at that. One thing you can count on with Dent was that revenge was not an emotion he was capable of understanding. Dent wouldn’t strike out against Charon if it didn’t benefit him in some grander way. If there was nothing to gain by coming after Charon, then Dent surely wouldn’t bother seeking him out.

That’s what Charon hoped.

He claimed to have come to Las Vegas to oversee the unveiling of Styx Securities and its new technology. Truth was, he’d put every penny he had into this event, which left him without a personal escort for the time being. Safest place for him to be right now was here. It may be a case of overreacting, but Charon would rather be paranoid than unprepared if Dent came looking to settle the score once and for all.

II

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

The short, stocky elderly woman walking up to the ATM cast a wary look Kasumi’s way.

Hands frantically going from pocket to pocket, searching for her wallet but each time coming up empty, Kasumi turned and kicked the bricks of the exterior wall of the bank.

I can’t believe it! Kasumi groaned then berated herself. "I’m so, so stupid!"

Pausing just in front of the ATM, the woman looked around with a hand in her purse and a concerned look on her face.

Um, dear...? the woman said, drawing Kasumi’s attention. Are you alright?

Huh? Kasumi turned away from the wall and looked up at the woman. She wiped her tearing eyes with the back of her sleeve and ducked her head in embarrassment. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.

The woman turned to face Kasumi completely. It’s no bother, dear. No bother at all. She gave a warm smile. I don’t mean to intrude, but you seem like you might be in a little trouble.

Oh, no. It’s nothing. I just.... Kasumi’s eyes went to the sidewalk, shaded by a small maple tree near the corner of the street. My dad gave me his debit card and sent me to grab this week’s grocery money — he was injured at work and he can’t walk anymore, so I have to — and I think I lost the card. She searched the sidewalk, kicked over a piece of trash near her feet, and started tearing up again.

I mean, I had it with me when I left our apartment, Kasumi said, letting the anger she was feeling at herself bleed through her voice, but I ... I.... She looked up at the woman. It’s a twenty-minute walk here. I could have dropped it anywhere. She put her hands to head, grabbing a handful of her raven-black hair in frustration.

The woman reached out and gently urged Kasumi to stop pulling at her hair. It’ll be okay, dear.

How? I won’t be able to go shopping for us....

Hush, hush, now. I won’t let that happen.

Watery eyes looked up at the woman. What do you mean? asked Kasumi in a near-whisper. She gave a small sniffle, not bothering to hide the fact that she was on the verge of bawling.

Here, the woman said, gently pulling Kasumi to the ATM by a sleeve. How much did your father send you to get? She slid her card into the machine and entered her PIN.

Three hundred.

The woman’s fingers paused just above the touch screen. Three hundred? she asked incredulously.

Kasumi bobbed her head.

I don’t know about three hundred....

Another bob of her head, this time with, It was also supposed to cover the cost of his pain killers. But I messed that up, too. No food, no medicine. I’m so stup—

Three hundred, the woman interjected in a firm tone, stopping Kasumi from insulting herself again.

Really? Kasumi asked.

Of course, the woman said, tapping away at the screen. Normally I wouldn’t do such a thing but ... Something about you just tells me you need my help.

The ATM whirred and coughed up fifteen twenty-dollar bills, which the woman promptly handed over to the doe-eyed girl.

Kasumi reached out with two hands, one for the money, the other to gently squeeze the woman’s hand. Thank you so much! You don’t know how much this helps us out.

Of course, dear. You just tell your father that it was an honest mistake. He can always call the bank and have another card mailed to him.

Then you have to give me your name and address so we can pay you back, Kasumi said.

That’s not necessary, dear.

Yes, it is.

Kasumi dropped the helpless girl act, along with it the emotions she was forcing out onto the woman. No more teary eyes, no more fake sniffles. Now she tried focusing on making