Free The Monarch by Jack Soren

copy of The Monarch’s Reign .
    The fear and anxiety in her chest now had a new comrade—­excitement. Can it be?
    â€œI want you to reveal The Monarch’s true identity.”
    The words were so heady and powerful, she thought she might pass out.
    â€œBut first, we have some work to do. Or rather, you do.”
    The other two LCD screens snapped to life, showing several disfigured murder victims. Emily was dizzy with the roller coaster of emotions she felt from the fear of abduction, to the elation of a dream come true, and now to this—­revulsion and horror.
    â€œPay attention, Miss Burrows. You have much to learn.”
    E IGHT THOUSAND MILES from New York, as Emily was released from her limo prison, Nathan Kring, CEO of Kring Industries, took off his mask. He rose from behind his desk and slowly walked to the floor-­to-­ceiling smoked windows overlooking his compound’s courtyard. He stared at the jungle and then the ocean beyond, the sun just rising in the distance. Paradise.
    Any normal man would have been satisfied to forget the world and spend the day on the beach working the burning sand through his toes. He wasn’t any normal man. And the disease racing through his dying body would soon overcome the serum pumped into him that allowed him to appear normal. But he wasn’t the only one that was dying.
    Kring Industries was practically in its death throes, thanks to the past six months. The past six months—­and The Monarch. The view outside his pseudo-­castle’s window and a few small companies scattered around the world were all that were left of the billions in enterprise his father, Bertil Kring, had left him. Nathan could just imagine his father’s smug face as he watched his prediction come true. If he were alive, that is. The corner of Nathan’s mouth twitched slightly at that last thought. To anyone else it might have just appeared as the first signs that the serum was wearing off. He knew better.
    It was a Hail Mary, a final-­ditch effort to prove his father wrong, the only thing he really cared about. If not for that, he’d willingly give in to the pain and anguish that was now his daily life and embrace the sweet relief he was staving off. He had to triumph—­had to live—­to have time to rebuild what he’d pissed away.
    But at what cost?
    Nathan, whose pride was immeasurable, had not only swallowed it, but had all but bootlicked over the past six months for his one last chance to triumph and fulfill his life’s destiny. The only obstacle in his way now was a faceless thief hiding in America.
    Nathan shook off the doubts trying to overtake him and redoubled his confidence in his plan. All the pieces were in place and there was no turning back now. Doubts were pointless. He would prevail—­prevail and more. And in a matter of days he’d crush the life out of the one thing standing between him and his survival.
    The Monarch.

 
    6
    NYC Office of the Chief Medical Examiner
    10:15 P.M. Local Time
    S AC J OSEPH W AGNER pushed through the cold metal doors into the OCME’s morgue. Cummings’s body lay on a metal table against the far wall. The room was chilled but not terribly uncomfortable. It was actually a little warmer than the frosty April night outside the First Street building. Wagner noticed Dr. Spangler hadn’t started the autopsy yet; the familiar Y incision so Cummings’s torso could be peeled open like an orange was absent. Several X-­rays hung on light boards on the wall above the corpse.
    â€œCecil! You back there?” Wagner called, easing by the corpse and staring at the X-­rays. He couldn’t tell a rib from a finger, but the sight of that tube within the corpse’s chest cavity was bizarre.
    â€œI’m right here, Joseph. No need to shout,” Dr. Spangler said, coming out from his office in the back. He was dressed in a rubberized smock, his hands