Blood Judgment (Judgment Series) (6 page)

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah. Good men, too. I’d like to give this bastard the drugs myself.”

How had the dirty bastards snagged a Resistance member? They were notorious for working in small, semi-independent groups. Elusive and difficult to catch, Resistance fighters were a breed apart. If the vampire community stood a chance of ever breaking free of the degradations and cruelties imposed on them, it would probably come from the work of the Resistance.

The captive made eye contact with Julian again. “Es lebe die Freiheit!” he barked and resumed fighting his captors.

“Shut the fuck up and get moving.” The officer who’d struck the prisoner raised his arm, threatening another blow to the head.

Julian had no idea what the vampire had said, but it had sure as fuck pissed off his handlers.

“What are
you
looking at?” Gibson shoved Julian so hard he stumbled. It made him sick that days ago he would have been rooting Tank Man and Carrot Head on in their
work
.

Gibson’s cohort, Carrot Head—or Ronald Lucas according to his ID—pushed Julian into a small room. The stink of fear, burned flesh, and antiseptic accompanied an array of strange objects scattered along a wall-length counter, giving the room an instant torture chamber vibe.

Please God, let me be able to stand whatever they do without humiliating myself
.

Lucas removed the shackles, exposing the damage beneath the cuffs. “Don’t get any ideas.” He pulled a control device from his pocket. “Try any shit, I’ll knock you on your ass. Only way out of here’s in a cage … or in a truck to Halzworth.”

Julian understood the threat. Crews were dispatched each morning to patrol the streets and collect the carcasses of vampires who’d died or been killed the night before. The bodies were taken to the Halzworth plant and rendered into fertilizer.

Julian stared at his mangled wrists. Countless small holes bled freely. The wounds burned and hurt, though Julian had a sickening feeling this pain was nothing compared to what was coming.

Gibson crossed his arms over a barrel chest. “Strip.”

“What?” Julian stammered.

“Strip, you moron.” Gibson uncrossed his arms and took a threatening step forward.

“No.” Julian wasn’t getting naked in front of these freaks.

“For crap sake.” Lucas rolled his eyes. “Take your damn clothes off so we can finish and get you out of here. No one’s going to rape your ass.” He motioned with the control device. “Get ‘em off.”

Heart banging his ribs, Julian removed his clothes and dropped them on the floor.

“Holy crap,” Gibson said. “Somebody beat the shit out of him.”

“Fuckers are always fighting,” Lucas said.

“Lookie there.” Gibson pointed at Julian’s genitals. “He’s cut.”

Lucas grunted.

“Half-breed passed off as a human, weren’t ya?” Gibson said.

Julian didn’t say anything.

“Answer the question.”

He nodded.

“I love seeing you cheating bastards brought down to where ya belong,” Gibson said. “You’ll never pass yourself off again. Not after we finish with ya.”

“Come on,” Lucas said. “We’ve got more than this one to process. Let’s get on with it.”

Grinding his teeth, Julian submitted to being weighed and measured.

“Park your ass against the wall.” Gibson indicated where he wanted Julian to stand.

He leaned against the cold, rough cinderblock as chilled air blew down on him from a ceiling vent.

Lucas photographed him front, side, and back.

Gibson pointed to the counter. “Over here.”

He took Julian’s fingerprints. “We’ll run these through the AFIS and see if you’ve been a good boy. And you better hope like hell you have.”

Julian didn’t have to hope anything. He hadn’t been a vampire long enough to get into trouble and have his prints in the automated identification system.

“Get on the table.” Gibson jerked a thumb over his shoulder. He poked a few keys on a laptop. “We’ll finish you up while your print-check runs.”

Julian eyed the table. Heavy chains anchored restraints with thick leather, chain-reinforced cuffs to the metal surface. His heart jammed tight in his throat and choked the breath out of him. He backed away, unable to force himself to climb on there and let them strap him down.

Gibson advanced. “Get on the goddamn table.”

Without thinking or rationalizing, Julian sprang forward in a bid for freedom.

Gibson moved with amazing speed and agility, blocking Julian like a linebacker. Still sluggish from the drugs in his system, Julian responded slowly. Gibson grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and yanking upward. Pain shot to his shoulder. Hissing, he jerked away from Gibson.

Lucas rushed forward, control device in hand. Julian sprang away, but the prongs grazed over his ribs. The shock knocked his legs from under him. He hit the floor hard and lay immobilized while pain gripped his shaking body.

Lucas and Gibson grabbed Julian’s arms and dragged him onto the table. They shackled him with practiced speed, locking the spike-lined cuffs in place. Gibson went to the counter and checked the laptop. “His prints are clean,” he said, disappointment evident in his voice.

Lucas grunted.

The light shock wore off while the men attended to business at the counter. Julian had a sick feeling they wanted him good and alert. The thought ran down his spine like ice water.

Panic sank claws deep into him and he lost his fragile grip on self-control. He fought the restraints with furious determination, ignoring the spikes digging into his flesh. He jerked and twisted the binding straps until his wrists burned and blood dripped from beneath the chain-reinforced leather.

The men waited until he wore himself into panting, helpless, exhaustion. His gaze darted between Lucas and Gibson, and a shudder ran through his sweaty body.

The door opened and a short, bald man stepped into the room. “He ready?” He held a syringe with a long, thick needle.

“Yeah,” Gibson said.

The technician approached. “Another cut one.”

“Stinkin’ half-breeds,” Gibson said.

The tech prodded Julian’s hip. His flesh twitched at the contact. “What’s that?” Julian eyed the syringe.

“Chemical castration.” He poked another spot on Julian’s hip.

Julian’s breath choked off. “What?”

“Did I stutter? Every male is chemically sterilized.”

“No!” Julian jerked in the restraints, instincts screaming for him to fight.

“Don’t piss yourself. You’ll still be able to get it up and fuck. Though you’ll be shootin’ blanks for the next five years. Don’t need you breedin’ an makin’ more little rats for us to deal with.”

Julian fought the straps despite the agony in his wrists and shifted his lower body as far away as possible.

“Consider yourself lucky. If the Director had his way, you’d be surgically castrated instead.” He looked pointedly at Julian’s genitals.

Despite Julian’s struggles, the technician found the proper spot and jammed the needle in, depressing the plunger and spreading liquid fire through Julian’s hip. He arched off the table before collapsing and shivering in uncontrollable waves until the pain eased.

“He’s all yours.” The technician dropped the syringe in a sharps container and hurried from the room.

Lucas went to the counter. “Get his hand ready.”

Gibson fiddled under the table and the chain clanked. The restraint on Julian’s right wrist pulled downward until his hand lay flat against the cold metal and the spikes dug deep into his flesh. His teeth clenched. His guts clenched.

Lucas approached with a long rod—the branding tool—and a small jar. He handed the jar to Gibson.

Julian’s mouth went dry. His bladder felt full and heavy. He struggled, but his hand was secured to the table. His heart pounded with such force that blacking out seemed imminent. He desperately hoped he would.

Lucas positioned the bar and pressed the tool into the back of Julian’s hand. His flesh sizzled and steam curled up from around the plate. He screamed and almost urinated. Instantly sick, the pain bone-deep, he swallowed repeatedly as the stench of burned meat rose on the air.

Lucas removed the instrument, revealing three-inch letters now imprinted into his skin—RV.

Pain throbbed to his shoulder. Moaning, he shivered, rattling his chains, as chills racked his sweat-slicked body. Hell existed and he was in it. But at least he hadn’t been marked with the brand given to vampires who cooperated in exchange for a government handout. Having been caught in the Restricted Zone, he was automatically considered and branded a rogue.

Gibson unscrewed the lid from the little jar and dipped into the contents. He rubbed the thick, jelly-like goop into the brand, pressing hard.

Julian’s breath hitched and he clenched his jaws against the burning agony in his hand. The raw red wound turned black. Copper. Gibson had rubbed copper into the burn to make sure it healed black.

Lucas went back to the counter. “Get him ready.”

Blind panic and the primal need to escape sent Julian into a fresh attack against the restraints.

He wrenched his right arm with every ounce of strength he had. The leather and chain on his wrist tore apart. In a knee-jerk reaction, he grabbed Lucas’ lab coat and hauled him forward.

Lucas squealed and snatched at his pocket, yanking out the control device.

Julian released Lucas’ jacket and caught his arm, twisting hard. Bones snapped with a loud crack. Lucas screamed and dropped the device.

Hell, had he broken someone’s arm that easily?

“You son of a whore,” Lucas squalled.

Gibson jabbed and an agonizing force slammed into Julian’s stomach. Burning pain lanced through his body and his motor control vanished. He fell back on the table, unable to even catch his breath.

Gibson’s fist smashed into his mouth and he tasted blood. His stomach responded with painful knots.

Julian shuddered. They had him down. There would be no mercy now.

The door crashed open and three men rushed in.

“Strap him down tight,” Gibson said.

Unable to move, Julian’s guts cramped while the men restrained him.

“Get up to the med center,” Gibson told Lucas who made a hasty exit. He stalked to the counter and selected another branding tool.

Julian’s stomach convulsed and his heart wedged into the base of his throat, strangling him. A technician held his hand in place. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Gibson pressed the plate into Julian’s skin. Pain tore up his arm and down into his hand. He screeched and struggled to breathe. His tormentor pulled the plate away and displayed a three-inch-long bar under the RV, the dangerous vampire identifier. Next came the copper ointment, turning the destroyed flesh from red to black.

Julian moaned.

A technician forced Julian’s arm over, positioning it so his inner forearm was exposed. He shivered on the cold metal table.
Please, God, don’t let me piss myself. Please
…

Gibson positioned a tool with a long plate. Julian shuddered and bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. The red-hot metal pressed into his skin.

Pain stole his scream and vomit surged up his throat. His bladder let go. Unable to breathe, he panicked. His stomach heaved again.

Choking on puke, he struggled in the restraints until his consciousness wavered and everything dimmed.

PAIN, NAUSEA, and the stench of urine filtered through Julian’s consciousness. His hand and arm sang, throbbing and burning as if he’d stuck them in a hornets’ nest.

His stomach rolled.

Lying on cold metal with thick bars at his back, the motion of a vehicle lulled and coaxed him back toward the peace of sleep. But instead of giving in to the desire, he forced his eyes open to slits.

Enough moonlight filtered through tiny windows for him to see that he shared the back of a van with three other miserable looking males. The cages were close enough for them to reach through the bars and touch each other, but no one moved.

He pushed up his sleeve and gaped at the inside of his forearm.
Holy fuck
. He was now known to the government as vampire WA49S3728W97. The identification brand ran from two inches below the inside of his elbow to his mangled wrist. The charred letters and numbers were about an inch tall.

Registered as a Seattle vampire, if caught in a different registration zone, he would be shipped back to the Seattle Open Zone.

If caught in a different state, he would be returned or killed at their discretion. And wasn’t that a no-brainer for budget-strapped states? The cost of a single dose of lethal drugs versus the cost of shipping a vampire made it easy.

Population control at its finest.

His hand and arm throbbed.
Violated
was the word that came to mind. Violated and betrayed by the government he’d always counted on for protection as a United States citizen.

Now, to the government, he was no more than a dangerous animal that could be killed any time they deemed appropriate.

Violated. Betrayed. Alone.

Ignoring the pain, he clenched and flexed his hand. As far as appearance went, they’d destroyed his bow hand. He wouldn’t be able to play violin without the brands being on prominent display.

Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be permitted to play with the symphony if they would have him. Which they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even be permitted to play in a club. He swallowed past a sudden blockage in his throat.

The van rolled to a stop and, a moment later, the rear doors were flung wide. An officer opened Julian’s cage and stepped back. “Get your mangy ass out. You’re free to go.”

Julian launched from the cage. An overwhelming desire to kill the officer sent him sprinting across the street before he acted on the urge.

Behind him, the doors slammed shut and the van roared away.

Free
? He wasn’t free. He’d been shackled in government bonds and life as he’d known it had been taken from him. His reality registered, cold and unflinching.

Several vampires walked in a group on the opposite side of the street. They barely spared him a glance. Two of the males were marked with a V1 brand. Both had small children trailing them.