Page 19 of His Last Will

Maybe even worse, since even I think he’s a sadistic bastard most of the time.

Without even giving the man a glance, he casually places the syringe in the patient’s neck and plunges it.

“What are you testing today?” I ask. Not that I really care, but I should be taking notes.

“Muscle deterioration, similar to the last one but tweaked. The formula still eats away at the muscles and rapidly deteriorates them, essentially making the specimen useless,” he states.

I would love to take a peek inside Ashton’s mind and dissect it a bit. It would be fascinating and honestly, probably terrifying. The man is even more depraved than I am. I would love it. “And is this the new formula you’ve been working on? Because the last one had cells attacking each other, which provoked a response that simulated a scenario where the cells were nearly eating the guy alive from the inside out.” I ask to confirm what I am working with before I begin.

Not that it hadn’t been interesting to watch the progression of a body eating itself, but he didn’t live long enough for me to truly have any fun.

Ashton gets a savage look in his eyes, “The serum has been improved upon quite a bit, well in theory, we will see how practice goes. It’s fast acting and it is designed to bond with the individual’s DNA within a handful of minutes, manipulating the existing DNA sequencing. Since the serum bonds to the DNA, the white blood cells won’t reject the serum, which should prolong the deterioration process. Plus, once it is bonded to the DNA, it becomes undetectable to others. Over my cold, dead body will anyone be getting easy access to my research.”

The man’s eyes widen at that, and the sudden smell of piss permeates the air. “Come on, man. I just hosed you down,” I bite out, more than a little annoyed that I have to do it again.

Ashton eyes me. “Try to keep this one alive long enough so I can test my theory.”

I salute him with my middle finger, which is the most I am going to acknowledge his comment.

“I’m serious, Aiden. I need you to focus and be more…precise.”

“Just spit out what you really mean, Ashton,” I grit out.

He steps away and walks over to the biohazard can where he tosses the syringe and a pair of latex gloves. “You have been getting more…violent…with your kills. Messier and quicker. It is starting to impact my research.” He adjusts the thick black frame of his glasses before jotting down some notes on his clipboard.

Okay, fair. The last few have been a bit dramatic. But that last guy was not my fault; he died of a heart attack while I was trying to show him the spleen I had extracted from him.

To be honest, I am a little jealous of the dead man. I would love to see my spleen, and yes, I can technically live without it, but Brodie forbade me from taking out my own organs years ago. And despite his being gone and my disdain for him, a vow to my brother will never be broken.

“I’ll try my best.” Knowing damn well I am going to do whatever calls to me at the moment. If that means that Ashton doesn’t get his research, then he can wait for the next one. Because there will always be more.

I poke the man’s arm, and he whimpers. Good. The serum seems to be starting to take effect.

Bosco is busy biting the man’s face while I grab my favorite knife.

Gliding the knife through his top layer of skin blasts me with a sense of euphoria. I lift the blade to admire the pattern. It is a collector’s knife with a damascus pattern which gives the appearance of red waves, like they are trying to swallow the steel whole while they steal his lifesource.

Beautiful.

CHAPTER

SIX

ARI

Family dinners are a special form of hell.

A mental game that must be played at a professional level, or you risk being slaughtered.

Mental warfare has always been a favorite technique of the Araneae family. It shows advanced intelligence and gives you power over everyone else in the room if you win.

Anthony only ever tolerated Aiden, his stepson, because he was Isabelle’s only son. Isabelle came from old money. Money so old it was once tied to the Italian parliament, where The Order originated. Royalty, even distant royalty, made Aiden’s blood worth enough that he could essentially take Brodie’s place when he died.

Aiden sat at the head of the table, opposite Anthony, in Brodie’s old chair. He is slumped back like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but his eyes give him away. He is assessing the situation before making a move.

The room is silent aside from the silverware grinding against the china plates. Some ostentatious set that Isabelle bought last week. Seems the previous four sets no longer made the cut. Woe is me.

Even when it was just family, the expectation was always gilded opulence. Hence, the golden cutlery currently slicing into my braised lamb and the fucking linen napkin on my lap. At least the food was worth every penny they spent on the chef.