J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [554]
But the strange thing was, he was a helluva teacher.
“Now for detonators,” he said. “Personally, I prefer the remote variety.”
As John turned over a fresh page in his notebook, Z sketched a 3-D mechanism on the board, some kind of box with wiring circuits. Whenever the Brother drew, what he put up was so detailed and realistic you could almost reach out and touch the thing.
When there was a lull, John checked his watch. Another fifteen minutes, then it was time to have a light meal and hit the gym. He couldn’t wait.
When he’d started school here, he’d hated the mixed martial arts training. Now he loved it. He was still last in the class in terms of technical skills, but lately he’d more than made up for that in rage. And his aggression had caused a realignment in social dynamics.
Back in the beginning, three months ago, his classmates had ridiculed him. Accused him of sucking up to the Brothers. Derided him for his birthmark because it looked like the pectoral star scar of the Brotherhood. Now the other guys watched it around him. Well, everyone except for Lash. Lash still rode him, singling him out, cutting him down.
Not that John cared. He might be in this class with the rest of the trainees, he might technically be living in the compound with the Brothers, he might supposedly be linked to the Brotherhood by the blood of his father, but ever since he’d lost Tohr and Wellsie, he was a free agent so far as he was concerned. Bound to no one.
So the other folks in this room were nothing to him.
He shifted his stare to the back of Lash’s head. The guy’s long blond hair was in a ponytail that rested smoothly down a jacket made by some fancy designer. And how did John know about the designer thing? Because Lash always told everyone what he was wearing when he walked in for class.
Had also mentioned tonight that his new watch was iced out by Jacob the Jeweler.
John narrowed his eyes, getting juiced up just thinking about the sparring the two of them would do in the gym. As if the guy felt the heat, Lash turned, his diamond earring sparkling. His lips lifted into a nasty little smile, then pursed as he blew John a kiss.
“John?” Zsadist’s voice was hard as a hammer. “Mind showing me some respect here?”
As John flushed and looked up front, Zsadist continued, tapping the board with a long forefinger. “Once a mech like this is activated it’s triggered by a variety of things, sound frequency being the most common. You can call in from a cell phone, a computer, or use a radio signal.”
Zsadist started drawing again, the scratch of chalk loud in the room.
“Here’s another kind of detonator.” Zsadist stepped back. “This one is typical of car bombs. You wire the action box into the car’s electrical system. Once the bomb’s armed, whenever the car’s started, tick, tick, boom.”
John’s hand suddenly gripped his pen and he started to blink fast, feeling dizzy.
The redheaded trainee named Blaylock asked, “Does it go off right away after ignition?”
“There’s a delay of a couple of seconds. I’d note also that because the car’s wiring has been redirected, the engine won’t catch. The driver will turn the key and hear nothing but a series of clicks.”
John’s brain began firing in a rapid, flickering sequence.
Rain…black rain on a car’s windshield.
A hand with a key in it, reaching forward toward a steering wheel column.
An engine turning over but failing to catch. A feeling of dread, that someone was lost. Then a bright light—
John flipped out of his chair and hit the ground, but he was unaware he’d gone into a seizure: Too busy screaming in his head, he didn’t feel a thing physically.
Someone was lost! Someone…was left behind. He’d left someone behind…
Chapter Ten
As dawn arrived and the steel shutters came down all around the mansion’s billiards room, Vishous bit into an Arby’s roast beef sandwich. Thing tasted like a phone book, through no fault of the ingredients.
At the soft smack of pool balls, he looked up. Beth, the