4
Guilt weighed on Merc. Over the last week, dozens of men and women had led themselves down to the grisly deaths the pits offered, preferring death to change. He knew he was no better than any of them, with his powerful ability to kill. It was why Liege had enforced his rule that Legionnaires not mix with regulars, that mutants watch and observe but not get involved.
Merc wished he’d stayed compliant with that mandate. But if he had, how many more girls would have been trafficked from this town? How many more sons would have been lost to the crime in the jungle?
When night came, he made his way to the pits. No one followed him. Had he run out of people with black hearts to judge? He hoped so. The priest from town walked down the dark path toward him—or toward the pits. The padre looked ghostly in his long white robe.
Merc kept himself from being seen, listening as the priest said a long prayer over the dead and dying. Then he surprised Merc by saying, “I know you are here.”
How? Merc asked.
“I’ve prayed for many long years for God to send help. He finally did. He sent us you.”
No, He didn’t. I’m evil.
“You’ve given the village hope. That’s not the work of Satan.”
I’ve killed all these people.
“You’ve only brought them to their fate, one determined by every choice they made, every path they took.”
You can’t absolve me.
“God can absolve you. He has often sent mighty warriors to battle evil here on Earth.”
Merc went silent. He realized that communicating directly into the priest’s mind was just furthering the padre’s belief in what he was saying.
Merc was not sent by God. And he had done terrible evil here.
Eventually, the priest returned to the village.
Merc considered opening his mind to his team, but he was too ashamed to let them in. He’d blocked them since he’d saved that girl. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait for Santo. The old bastard probably wouldn’t show now that Merc had buffed everything up here.
It was time to end what he’d inadvertently begun. More bodies were in the pits now than the day before, this time without his having led them there. The trenches had taken on a life of their own, summoning the cursed from the jungle.
The cursed.
That was what this was. He’d created a curse that now operated independently of him. He had to stop it, but how?
He closed his eyes and spread his arms, then tried to summon the energy of his intent back to himself. Didn’t feel like it worked. He tried again and again, to no avail.
At last, he realized he couldn’t reverse the curse because the truth in his soul was that he didn’t want it reversed.
Night was advanced when he returned to town. Somehow, he’d lost hours at the pits. He stopped in the main café and slumped into a chair. He’d waited long enough for Santo to show himself. He’d tried several times to penetrate the protection surrounding the mine, its works, and guards, but had not been successful. The longer he stayed here, the more of a mess he made of things. He should hand this off to Lautaro, Liege’s top guy in the northern section of South America, and bug out.
He sipped a beer. It was easy to keep himself from garnering attention simply by pulling the shadows in around himself. He didn’t want to completely hide himself because he wanted to be served a long string of drinks.
From his seat at the corner of the café, he heard a woman’s giggle. A sexual, throaty sound meant for a lover. His advanced engineering gave him enhanced hearing, but he doubted anyone around them could hear what he did.
A man was walking down the alley next to the restaurant. He laughed as he greeted her, his arms spread wide. Merc thought about moving to a different seat, giving them privacy, but the heat the couple shared was like a magnet drawing him to them. He slipped from his physical body and followed the man toward his lover.
It was odd, his interest in their assignation. He didn’t have a sex drive himself—hadn’t since it had been engineered out of him in the genetic modifications he’d been tricked into taking.
His consciousness shot forward, into the man, melding with him. Merc felt the man’s body like it was his own. He looked at the man’s hands, wiggled his fingers. He had full control of him. He felt his thoughts, his hunger for the woman, his anticipation of a fast fuck.
Merc had walked into the man’s skin. He was with him, two men in one shell. The man gave the woman money. She folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt, her very short, very tight skirt. She started to raise the hem, shimmying to get it done. The man got excited watching her. Everything he felt, Merc felt.
The man freed himself, running his hand over his dick before stepping between her legs and entering her.
Merc felt all of that. The man’s hardness, the penetration, the woman’s soft, wet body. She smelled sour, like old sweat and lingering sex. Merc was glad he could only use the man’s regular sense of scent and not his own full-powered mutant senses.
His host almost came after a few thrusts, but Merc wasn’t ready for this to be over. He made the man’s hands pull her shirt up, push her bra above her breasts and palm her generous curves.
“That’s extra. You know that,” she hissed.
“Charge me double,” Merc forced the man to say. As soon as his host’s hands were filled, he peaked.
“Señor! Señor!” A disgruntled voice yanked Merc back into his own skin. Merc reacted on sheer instinct. His hand shot out and hooked around the man’s neck, jerking him down to slam his face on the table.
The waiter gasped, as did several onlookers. Merc looked around at them, shocked to find himself where he was after where he’d just been.
The waiter lurched to his feet. He wasn’t a man, just a kid. He was apologizing and begging forgiveness for waking Merc.
Merc released the air he was holding and sucked in another breath. He dropped money on the table and stumbled away, dragging shadows around him to hide himself from onlookers—they would have been horrified to see him disappear, but their minds could make sense of shadows covering a person, even if the shadows were where they shouldn’t be, like under a streetlight.
He walked, then ran to his rented room, slamming the door behind him. He fisted his hands and pressed his knuckles into his temples.
Jesus Christ. What had just happened? He’d felt everything that man felt, not just through his mind, but with his body. The man’s body had been Merc’s body.
Merc crossed the room, stripping his clothes off. He was disgusted with himself, disgusted to know that if he hadn’t been awakened by the waiter, he would have made the man go several more rounds with the woman. He was overwhelmed by the sexual desire he’d experienced—after ten long years without it. It wasn’t that he wanted the woman—it was that he’d wanted sex…and had felt its deliciousness.
He turned the shower on, but its hottest level was only lukewarm. He soaped himself all over. His dick was limp again. Even after what had just happened, he could not rouse himself for release—nor did he have any interest in doing so.
Flattening his hands against the shower wall, he let the water cascade over his back.