Free BRAINRUSH, a Thriller by Richard Bard

allow nothing to stand in the way of our success. Nothing!”
    Mario shrank from the intensity of Battista's rage, seeing in his deep-set black eyes the maniacal alter ego buried within.
    As if the outburst never occurred, Battista took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, consciously relaxing his features. He took a slow sip of wine. For a moment, he studied Mario and the simple appointments of his home while appearing to consider where to go next with this conversation, measuring the risks of each choice. 
    Calm once again, Battista set his glass down, his voice smooth. “Mario, we need your help. Or should I say our entire family at the institute needs your help? We are going to hire your services as our personal gondolier.” He pulled from his breast pocket an envelope stuffed with a stack of euros and slid it across the table.  
    Mario pulled his hands from the table and pressed them back into his chair as if the money held a deadly contagion.
    “An advance for your efforts,” Battista said. “Since you, too, are now part of our family.”
    Mario fought back a wave of nausea.
    “In the event that we find ourselves in the same unfortunate situation as we did today, we need to be more careful.” Battista cast a stern glance at Carlo. “We cannot be racing around recklessly in our motorboat with a lifeless test subject flailing about in the back.” He turned back to Mario. “This is Venice. We must be discreet. Certainly a respected gondolier going about his normal duties would remain above suspicion, yes?”
    Mario recoiled as the horrible meaning behind Battista’s words dawned on him. They wanted him to dispose of bodies from their failed experiments. God, no! “Please, signore , not that.”
    Battista discarded the plea with a wave of his hand. “Certainly your daughter’s life is worth it, yes? And it would only be for a short time. In any case, it is decided.”
    Mario fought to control his breathing. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked from his daughter to Battista. Embers of rage smoldered in his gut. This man would pay. Mario would find a way to hide his daughter and then pay a visit to Signor Battista. Mario had friends. They would help. But for now, he must play along.
    I must be patient.  
    A nod of Mario’s head sealed the black agreement. He slid his tremulous hand across the smooth table and pulled the envelope toward him, vowing silently to spend every last euro of it, as well as the rest of his meager savings, to defeat the devil sipping his birthday wine in front him.
    Rising from the table, Battista said, “There is one last thing, Mario—an important lesson just in case you question my sincerity.” He motioned to the two guards behind Mario. Rushing forward, one of them looped a thick forearm in a chokehold around Mario’s neck. The other quickly secured his arms, chest, and legs to the chair with duct tape. The last strip went across Mario’s mouth.
    Battista leaned across the table and captured Mario’s frantic eyes with his own. “The restraints are for your own safety. I don’t want you to hurt yourself in the next few moments. I want you to savor the feelings you are about to experience because you are the only one in the world who can prevent them from ever happening again.” He stepped back and nodded to Carlo.
    Shifting his position behind Francesca, Carlo pulled the back of her hooded head hard against his chest with his left palm, exposing the full length of her delicate neck. Francesca stiffened; another muffled squeak escaped from under the black hood, tearing at Mario’s heart. In one smooth motion, Carlo’s right hand pushed the pointed blade of the stiletto deep into her flesh, pulling its razor-sharp edge in a savage semicircle across her throat, slicing through both her carotid arteries. Blood pulsed from the deep gash in a gruesome scarlet waterfall. 
    She was dead in seconds. Her head drooped forward.
    An anguished moan pressed against