Approaching his personal quarters at the end of the walkway, he faced the entrance for an identification scan. “Welcome, Beddoe,” it acknowledged, opening the door with a click and a swoosh. Stepping inside, he waited for the door to close, for the lock to activate, for the soundproofing to engage. Then he slammed his fist into the wall. “Dia!” Withdrawing his hand from the hole he’d just created, he sucked his stinging knuckles. His internal organs sat up and took notice as the dark taste of blood swirled on his tongue. He needed to feed. Walking to the chiller, he loosened the stranglehold his uniform jacket had on his neck. Lorcan had wanted to talk to him, all right. The bastard had raised the TonTon’s profit target. “A stretch goal,” Lorcan had stated in his oozing, slimy voice. “Challenging but achievable, yes?” “Yes,” he’d automatically agreed, even as his ballocks tried to burrow into his body for protection. One did not refuse Lorcan and live to tell the tale.
