The Switch, Debra Kayn [best books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

to ride a motorcycle. She had a possible job opportunity to try for.

And for how much she wanted to not like Trip for his heavy-handedness with her family's life, the good things landing at her feet were because of him.

Chapter Seven

Speeder and Prez stood on each side of Trip. He remained still, letting the controller walk around him, inspecting every inch of him.

"Mm-hm." The controller stopped in front of them, having already interviewed the other five original participants.

The corporation that sprung up after MK-Ultra defunded, and was controlled by the CIA, ran the Alpha Bio Project, developing highly enhanced males. "Have you seen any change amongst the three of you?"

"No." Speeder, first to answer, clasped his hands behind his back.

Prez shook his head. "No."

The controller stepped in front of Trip. "Have you witnessed any changes in any of the Avery Falls Motorcycle Club members, Seven?"

"No," said Trip, not allowing the use of his case number to bother him.

Any sign of irritation, impatience, insubordination, and fabrication could land him back in a cell and reprogrammed. He'd rather die than go through training again, and that's what would happen if they found out he kept any information from the controller.

The training they all went through wouldn't allow them to protect each other. They were each other's only confidante and their worst enemy. To keep them loyal to the CIA, their emotions were muffled, keeping the fine line of loyalty detached.

The participants never learned the names of those involved. The controller who was in charge was simply known as the controller. As were the handlers who assisted the training with the MC members.

It took them many years to see the difference in themselves while comparing themselves to how the locals behaved. Even though they could see how much the other participants had changed through the project's different phases.

"I want everyone ready for testing on the ninth." The controller stepped over to the table, passing a folder to Prez. "Afterward, we're bringing in two more participants."

So far, only the CIA brought men into the program. Trip was never told where they came from or what kind of life they'd led before arriving. Once graduated from the program and put into training, the men's past would cease to exist.

His own path remained a mystery. He assumed he had parents, maybe siblings, and went to school in the past or had a job. But he had no way of knowing. Memories that normal people had were missing from him.

He only remembered the training and what was fed to him. He knew his name was Brant Rowe, and he was known as Trip. At forty-nine years old, he had no children or family.

What he'd endured during the initial programming was only known because he'd witnessed what the other participants had gone through. Something he was thankful for because the pain, manipulations, and torture broke each man involved.

And then the program had killed him.

He was still breathing, but all thoughts and emotions were wiped from his mind.

The Alpha Bio program made the men into weapons to be used whenever they were needed. In the meantime, participants merged in the outside world, formed a motorcycle club, and resurrected a mountain town.

They brought in people, started businesses, and learned to intermingle and run a governmental-type atmosphere.

Behind the quiet life, he and the others were in charge of training the men brought to them.

All under the eye of the Central Intelligence Agency.

The controller turned to them. "We're finished."

Trip relaxed and slapped Speeder's chest. "I'm out of here."

"Hold up." Speeder grabbed his helmet. "I'll walk out with you."

A cold drip of condensation from the cave's ceiling dripped on the back of Trip's neck and slid under the leather of his vest. Aware of the sensation but not bothered, he kept walking.

Fifty feet toward the entrance, Speeder slowed his pace. "When are you scheduled?"

"Thursday." Trip had four days before he was due back to the cave.

He was more concerned about why Speeder asked the question. Everyone was given the schedule a month in advance. One read-through of the list, and each of them knew what was due from them by heart. It was part of what they'd been modified for.

There was no reason to write details down, no matter how large or complicated.

They also had no need for glasses and could see better than a cat in the dark. They were enhanced to run for miles without any change in their heart rate. They were in top condition for their size.

He regulated his breathing, showing no sign that he was studying Speeder.

The contact had asked all of them if any changes to their behavior had shown up or signs of failure in their training. As the closest person to Speeder, he'd refrained from saying anything.

That unspoken loyalty alone went against the program and told him there were changes in him. A month ago, a year ago, twenty years ago, he never would've held back the information. So, why now?

Was the brotherhood of the motorcycle club responsible for the allegiance, or was the program faulty?

Outside the cave, he went straight to his bike. In a few hours, he'd need to collect the money from each business.

"Bonnie Durham-Murphy got the job." Speeder sat his motorcycle. "From the way she was looking at you at the get-together, it wouldn't take much to tap her ass."

Trip lunged between the space separating him from Speeder and tackled him to the ground, knocking him off his bike. Clutching Speeder's throat with his right hand. In less than a second, he could rip out his throat and kill him.

Fear flashed in Speeder's gaze before he shut himself off. But he'd witnessed the slip that should never have happened.

He let go and sat sprawled out beside Speeder. There was no denying the dysfunctions happening with his friend.

The program had errors.

No one who'd gone through the training had shown signs of failing yet. What would happen if one of them slips? It was impossible to guess the punishment that would