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He cringes. “Seriously? I wish. That woman was in the hospital a week ago, but here she is, beating my ass at everything. I've been teaching her some boxing moves, and honestly, I think she could compete in some circuits and not do too badly.”
Six continues to impress us with her ability to soak in knowledge and skills. She can emulate just about anything she studies. It's amazing and highly impressive to all of us, but we've learned that she doesn't like us to make a big deal out of it.
Finding out that she was genetically engineered and improved was a real blow to her self-esteem. She seems to feel ashamed of her abilities, even going so far as to hide things from us. The other day she cut her hand while helping prep lunch, and continues to bandage it even though I saw this morning that it's nearly healed.
I'm about to suggest a family meeting about it when the bathroom door opens, steam pouring out into the rest of the house.
“Micah…” Six calls in a sing-song voice.
He doesn't need to be called twice, dropping his water bottle and making a beeline for the bathroom. Jackson and I chuckle knowingly. I watch his affectionate expression as his eyes follow Micah to the bathroom, lingering on the closed door.
“So, what's up with you and the guys?” I ask nonchalantly.
They've been getting closer when we're all together at night, the little touches and teasing remarks not going unnoticed. Normally I wouldn't care who does what with who, but I've come to care for these guys. I know Six loves it when the guys play together, and I love how hard she gets off on it. But a small part of me is also worried about drama within the group.
“I dunno, man. All I know is those three make my dick hard.”
He looks wistfully toward the door, and moments later we hear Six cry out, followed by a loud grunt from one of the guys. Jackson's gaze moves to mine, his raised eyebrow seeming to say “see what I mean?"
Laughing, I shake my head as if I find him exasperating. I did, at one point, but he's really grown on me.
My expression sobers as my computer pings, a video chat coming through.
I don’t waste time with pleasantries, getting right to it. “Tony, you got anything?”
“I'm in. I have complete access and control. I've been testing it all day, unlocking doors and deleting security video footage to see what I can get away with.”
Jackson whoops as he runs around the table to stand behind me. “Can we get a message to Bennet?” he asks.
“There doesn’t seem to be any cameras in his cell, which is where he's been for almost two days. When he's out, he is rarely alone. I'm not sure we can get a message to him without putting him in more danger,” Tony answers.
There's a moment of silence where we try to think of our next step. Communicating with Bennet and helping him sneak out seemed unlikely, but it was all we had to work with. What are we going to do?
“We need to go in and get him.” Six's voice startles me from my thoughts.
I shake my head. “It's way too dangerous.”
Tony clears his throat. “I've actually been thinking the same thing. We might be able to make it work.”
Six looks too excited at the prospect.
“So, what, we just play SWAT and bust into the place?” Even Jackson is taking this seriously, and thankfully is thinking reasonably for once.
“Not quite. I was thinking something more covert,” says Tony.
There's a silence while Six, Jackson, and I stare at the screen. All we can see is the door to Bennet's cell, which he hasn't come out of for days. We're assuming he's alive in there. The guards haven't been delivering much in the way of meals, but they also haven't dragged him back out since the last torture session they put him through.
We haven't seen Adley since Bennet was last returned to his room. Tony tracked his expenses and plane to Atlanta.
Lukas' voice breaks the silence. “We should at least hear him out. It's not like we have any other ideas at this point.”
My eyes are probably bugging out of my head right now. Lukas is supposed to be the voice of reason here. Where is Mr. Play-It-Straight when I need him?
How is it that I’m the cautious party in this scenario?
“He's right. What else are we supposed to do? We can't call the cops or even the feds. If we don't do something, he's as good as dead.” Micah is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.
I throw my hands up in surrender. “I'm not suggesting we leave him, but exactly what expertise do we have that we could pull off an operation like this without making things worse?”
