Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) Mariana Morgan (most life changing books .txt) 📖

as if it were a window. Wagner had fallen forward, hitting his head on the wall and sliding down, his body crumpling to the floor behind a desk and a shelving unit. He was the only person in the room.

Ingram crouched next to Wagner’s body and jammed the syringe into his arm with vicious force. Not that Wagner could feel anything before he regained consciousness, but it made her feel better. On the way back to standing, she kicked his body, rolling him onto his back, and then she waited.

It didn’t take long. There was no fancy Medibot controlling how quickly he woke up. The stims Ingram had injected him with had only one purpose—to bring someone back to consciousness as quickly as possible.

Wagner groaned. Sensations assaulted him so fast he couldn’t even try to make sense of them. His head probably hurt from the painful bump with the wall, but the influx of information was even worse. Instinctively, his arms shot out to protect his head, but it was a useless gesture. It wasn’t the outside that assaulted his nerve endings, it was the inside. His body was being switched on and it felt brutal.

‘Get up,’ Ingram ordered, kicking his leg.

‘What…’

‘I said, get up!’ The words snapped like a whip, and even through the agony of the sensory overload Wagner’s eyes popped fully open.

‘You…’ he muttered.

‘I said, up!’

‘Why? If you’re going to kill me you can do it with me lying on the floor,’ Wagner muttered, reaching for his wrist-comp as he tried to buy time.

‘Don’t bother,’ Ingram snorted, pointing at his comp with her boot. ‘It’s been deactivated. No one is coming to your rescue. It’s just you and me. Just like old times.’

‘Pathetic Leech!’ Wagner hissed. ‘You belong in a cage as a lab rat.’

‘There won’t be any more Leeches in cages,’ Ingram said, unclipping her gun belt. She placed the whole lot—the belt, the holsters with a spare gun and ammo and the knife—on the table, keeping just the laser. ‘We freed all of them. Every single one of them has been saved. We also have recordings of what you and Cassandra’s psychos did.’

‘And now you have appointed yourself my executioner?’ Wagner laughed, nodding at the gun in her hand. He was standing now, the stims feeding him energy, though his knees still felt wobbly. ‘You don’t have it in you. You could never bring yourself to hurt another being if you could avoid it.’

‘I’ll make an exception for you.’

‘Shoot then,’ Wagner said, calling her bluff. He stepped towards Ingram. There was no way she could miss at such short range. ‘Pull the trigger. Blow my head off. Scorch my body. Do it!’ he snapped, and laughed when she flinched. ‘I told you. You’re too weak and too pathetic. Put the gun down before you—’

‘Shut. Up,’ Ingram demanded, and had the pleasure of seeing Wagner lose some of his confidence. She didn’t sound scared; she didn’t sound weak. Her voice was calm and composed in the way Wagner could only wish for. ‘Ms Moretti, can you lock the section of corridor outside this room to prevent this piece of shit from making a run for it?’

‘Yes. I can use the fire shutters. Would twenty metres be acceptable?’

‘Perfect,’ Ingram said. ‘Sebastien, get your ass in the corridor,’ she demanded, and Wagner obeyed against his will. With every second he was regaining strength as his body returned to normal, but he was no fool to try and disarm Ingram. He stepped out into the corridor, the barrel of Ingram’s laser prodding him between his shoulder blades.

‘Now what?’ he asked.

‘Now I kill you,’ she announced. She threw the laser into the room and ordered Eloise to lock the door. It was just her, Wagner and no weapons.

Her fist came at him so fast that the searing pain was the first warning he had. Something cracked.

‘Defend yourself!’ she bellowed, taking another swing.

On a conscious level Wagner had no idea what to do. It had been over twenty years since he’d had any real use for his combat skills. He was rusty in more ways than one. He had spent years perfecting his sadistic and predatory skills, but never in all that time had he needed to defend himself. His prey had always been cowed, too terrified to fight back.

Subconsciously, however, his body remembered. He ducked instinctively, the second blow barely grazing the side of his head. His own hand shot up, but Ingram was ready. She deflected it with practised ease. She blocked with her forearm so hard that Wagner groaned when they made contact, but she barely noticed. She shifted her weight while he remained foolishly focused on her fist and let her heavy boot do its job. More bones cracked as she connected with his ribs. The impact threw Wagner into the wall.

But Ingram wasn’t undamaged herself. The powerful drugs kept the pain at bay, but she knew she had just ripped the wound open. She could feel the dampness spreading down her body, the blood soaking into her trousers. It was a distant sensation, but it was enough to make her realise she didn’t have much time to toy with Wagner. She had to deliver the final blow.

She allowed his rusty combat skills to make a fatal mistake. She was ready when he rushed at her, telegraphing his intentions like a rookie. She easily ducked under his arm, while her leg shot out into his kneecap. There was another crack and an angry wail of pain. Wagner staggered, the wounded leg no longer able to support his weight. His body crumpled, and his hands shot out to cradle the broken knee. They never made it that far. Ingram’s next kick finished it all. His head bounced off her boot, straight into the wall. Modern nano-medicine was amazing, but even the finest drugs couldn’t unscramble a brain once it had left the confines of the skull. Ingram would never know whether it was the kick and the steel