Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) by Mariana Morgan (essential reading txt) 📕

was and why was more daunting than she expected. Control over her emotional state was slipping away from her as if it were water seeping through her fingers. If only she had enough energy to resist whatever nano-hells they had given her. She tried to focus her mind, using her finely honed skills to put up barriers, but she couldn’t do it. Her efforts crumbled. It was too late; the drugs had already taken hold. She had lost too much blood and her head was pounding with exertion.

Breathing. Why can’t I breathe? Feels…

Another bucketful of icy water splashed over her, this time catching her right in the face, and she spluttered, coughing violently. As expected, the shattering pain from her wound made her double over. Or rather, would have made her double over if she’d had that much freedom of movement.

She didn’t. The restraints dug into her flesh. The metal chair felt unforgiving and hard against her bare skin, and multiple sets of clasps held her excruciatingly tight. There was a set of nano-probes still in her arm, the nano-tubes looping around the chair, most likely connected to a drug dispenser at the back. It was probably through those tubes that they had administered healing meds to stabilise her wound, as well as the nano-hells. A whole pharmacopoeia of drugs was available at the mere push of a button. Most of them would not help her feel better.

Damn, why is it I can remember the names of so many drugs that could lead to a horrible end?

She heard water running, presumably refilling the bucket, and braced herself.

I won’t cough. I won’t cough.

‘Enough!’ the eerily familiar voice ordered. ‘I don’t need her blacking out again. Leave now.’

The noise of splashing water stopped, and feet scurried out of the room. A door slammed shut heavily.

‘Leech Molina Ortega. Major Aisha Toscano. Leech Carlotta Ingram. Must be a full-time job, keeping your identities straight,’ Wagner cooed maliciously, stepping into Ingram’s field of view.

Silence rang as Ingram fought hard not to swallow. She was dead anyway, but knowing Wagner had somehow discovered who she was before the end of the Freedom Wars promised she wouldn’t die easily. The past had come back to haunt her.

And all because she had succumbed to the temptation to program that dumb question into Eloise’s subconscious. Because somehow she had succeeded with absurd ease and effectiveness. It had freaked Wagner out and he had begun digging.

‘You’re probably wracking your brain, trying to understand how I know. Well, it seems only fair, since you somehow managed to find out about my little secret. Let’s play a game, shall we?’ He showed her two syringes. ‘I ask you a question. If I get an answer I like, you get a shot of healing drugs. If I don’t like an answer, a dose of PX-47.’

Ingram lifted her head to look into his eyes, a sardonic smile twisting her face.

‘Your cushy job at the Inspectorate,’ she said slowly, working her way through the words with visible hardship, ‘must have eaten away whatever little brain you had during the Wars if you think I’m going to tell you anything. You are going to kill me anyway.’

‘Yes, I will, but if you’re difficult, I’m going to take my time. If you give me what I want, I will make it quick. I promise.’

Ingram snorted. She was scared shitless, but with her life already lost, there was an odd calmness soothing her mind. Between the blood loss and the wound, it was a fair bet she would be unconscious within minutes.

‘Oh, and by the way, if you think that you can escape my company by losing consciousness…’ He laughed, as if sensing her thoughts. ‘I should have you know I have a lot of experience keeping my toys fully conscious whenever I choose to.’

Ingram looked at him carefully, trying to spot any tiny non-verbal cues to determine whether he was bluffing. Did he really have that type of sick expertise? Even the miraculous nano-meds had their limits; they couldn’t keep her conscious forever. Her body would shut down eventually. The man loved to scare and terrorise, and the rich enjoyment plastered all over his face could tell her a lot if she could only focus.

Focus, dammit. Focus.

The use of nano-drugs for interrogations was a skill very few had. There were no manuals or classes taught on how various nano-chemicals reacted with each other when used in dangerously high doses. Everybody was different, which made each interrogation more of a guessing game than hard science. Overdo the pain and you get the same false information as you would with old-fashioned torture, as the victim lies to save themselves. Overdo the nano-hells and they won’t be able to tell fantasy from reality.

There were experts in the military who had had the opportunity to hone their sick skills during the Wars, but they would never have shared them with Wagner’s Leech persona in those days. He had been a nobody. The peacetime police was an even more unlikely source of those skills.

And yet, somehow, she knew Wagner wasn’t bluffing. Was the Central Police Inspectorate even more corrupt than they had thought?

‘Did you put that on your CV for your Cassandra buddies to see before they recruited you? Or did they smell a soulless barbarian when they saw one?’

‘You do have a rather foul mouth, you filthy Leech, don’t you?’ Wagner laughed.

Was there a hint of nervousness in that laugh? What are you nervous about? What’s going on? Damn the fucking blood loss. I can’t get enough oxygen to focus.

Nothing was making sense. The clues she could read from him were all wrong. Either the man had crossed the line into genuine psychopathic insanity or she was well and truly done for.

There were traces of intense worry and stress, as if he were under tremendous pressure himself. But there was also that sickening, relaxed enjoyment at her predicament. And then there were his breathing patterns—which contradicted everything.

Why are you scared? What’s