Free Deadly Game by Christine Feehan

tell whether the droplets were sweat, simply an illusion, or real blood the way his mind wanted to see it.
    “Ken.” Jack said his name sharply.
    Their eyes met across the gurney as the helicopter vibrated, shaking them as they flew through the air, just skimming the treetops. Ken could hardly bear to see the knowledge and compassion in his brother’s eyes. His mouth went dry, but he managed to pull off his slight grin, the one that he kept in reserve for moments like this. He was all right. He was just fine. They’d taken his skin, his looks, even his manhood, and made his body into something out of a horror movie, but he was just fine. No nightmares, no screaming, just a flash of a grin, telling the world a monster didn’t live and breathe inside of him, raking him with claws, demanding to get out and annihilate everyone around him.
    Sometimes Ken thought that monster would rip open his belly from the inside out. Jack thought he wanted to talk everyone to death. He was the good twin. The easygoing twin, the one that got along with everybody. His fingers curled into two tight fists and then, aware of what he was giving away to his sharp-eyed brother, he spread his fingers out in front of him. Steady as a rock. He could always count on that. His hand might be scarred, his fingers not as flexible as they should be, but Ekabela and his sadist friends had made the mistake of mutilating them but not taking away his ability to shoot. They were too eager to get down to the real pleasure of cutting him in other, much more painful and frightening places.
    He shifted his gaze away from his brother. Jack could read his mind. Hell, they’d been slipping in and out of each other’s mind since they were toddlers. Even then it had been self-preservation. They learned at an early age to count only on each other. Jack knew him too well. He knew that the monster that lived inside of both of them was all too close to the surface these days. Jack had to be worried that Ken was not going to able to keep it contained. Insanity was a very real possibility he had to face.
    Dr. Peter Whitney was a man with far too much money and power. He didn’t believe the rules were for someone like him, and unfortunately he had the backing of some very powerful men. Jack and Ken, like several other men in the military, had fallen for his enthusiasm over his psychic experiments. It made perfect sense at the time—to take men from all branches of the service with Special Forces training and test them to see if they had potential to use psychic abilities. The doctor would enhance the inherent talent and create a unit of men who could save lives with their abilities.
    Whitney hadn’t said a word about gene therapy and genetic enhancement. He hadn’t mentioned cancer or brain bleeds or strokes either. He certainly had never admitted he would pit the men unknowingly against one another. And never once had he mentioned a breeding program, using pheromones to pair a supersoldier with a woman.
    Ken rubbed his pounding temples. Whitney hadn’t screened them very carefully—or maybe he had. Maybe he knew about Jack and Ken’s father and how he was so jealous and obsessed with their mother he couldn’t bear to share her with his own children. Obsession was a very ugly word, and Whitney had certainly compounded the demon the twins fought on a daily basis. They had vowed they would never chance becoming the man their father had been, yet they had both been chosen, without their knowledge, to participate in Whitney’s breeding experiment.
    Of course he knew about the old man, Jack said. He’s the reason Whitney chose us. We’re twins. He’s paired us with twins and he’s kicking back waiting to see the results.
    You’re fishing, bro, Ken replied. You want to know if I’m somehow affected by Mari’s scent.
    Aren’t you?
    Ken glanced at his brother. He couldn’t tell—and that meant neither could Mari. She had a chance then, a slim one, but still a