Played: An Altered Saga Novella by Jennifer Rush Page A

on packing what few possessions I had so I could leave first thing in the morning.
    Every day I felt like I was getting closer to my goal: tracking down Tom Riley and killing him.
    Back when I first volunteered to work with the Branch, Riley had been second-in-command of the program that had changed me. A man named Connor had been the program leader, but he’d been killed less than a year ago. Killed in action. So if I was going to get revenge, it had to be on Riley. He was always the bigger asshole anyway. All things considered, I’d actually liked Connor.
    Last time I’d seen Riley with my own eyes, he’d been in Trademarr, Illinois, the headquarters of my Branch program. I’d elaborately planned my revenge, but the people involved—Nick, Elizabeth, a few others—royally screwed it up and Riley got away.
    I was trying not to get my hands dirty, but you know what they say: “If you want something done right, don’t send a bunch of idiots to do it for you.”
    So here I was, getting shit done.
    I’d tracked Riley here, to northwestern Ohio, where he and a few of his remaining men had acquired a new SUV from someone government affiliated. I didn’t so much care about the government contacts as I did the Branch agents. The government people were the financiers, the fringe interest group, and not directly involved with turning people into bio-weapons.
    I needed to take the Branch down first. I would worry about the government entanglements later.
    From Ohio, it seemed Riley had headed south, to Virginia, and I suspected he’d gone there to be closer to his government contacts.
    I’d also found out that some members of the Turncoats—an opposition group founded by ex-Branch employees—were tracking Riley, too. Which meant if I wanted to dish Riley a plate of sweet, hot revenge, I had to get to him first.
    The next morning, I showered, grabbed my bag, and headed out for Virginia. I managed to make the trip in just over eight hours. It would have been less had I not had to stop every hundred miles to give my freshly tattooed back a break. While I was technically invincible, and therefore nearly impossible to kill, I still needed time to heal. Thankfully, it didn’t take as long for me as it did for normal people.
    When I turned off the freeway and headed into the city, I passed a wood sign on the side of the road that said ROCKWELL in big golden letters. The bottom of the sign proudly proclaimed NUTCRACKER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD .
    I wasn’t sure if that was something worth bragging over. I’d Googled the place this morning, while I had breakfast in a little roadside diner, and found out that a famous jazz musician from the ’20s had been born here, too. It was rumored he’d sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his talent. Now that was something I’d carve a sign for.
    ROCKWELL: THE DEVIL WAS HERE.
    The outskirts of Rockwell were residential, with coffee shops, drugstores and gift shops threaded throughout. Cookie-cutter suburbia always gave me hives, so I headed straight toward downtown using my phone’s GPS to navigate.
    As the cookie-cutter houses faded away, and the turn-of-the-century buildings took over, I started to feel a little more relaxed. The streets were narrow and stained with a hundred years’ worth of dirt. The buildings were built with brick—red and white and rusty-red—and fronted by wrought-iron balconies that reminded me of intricate henna tattoos.
    I liked this place more already.
    Since I’d left for Rockwell in a hurry, I didn’t have an apartment lined up. I stopped at the first hotel I could find. Its sign hung from the roof like an icicle trimmed in neon lighting.
    I parked out front along the curb and grabbed my bag. The warmer southern weather breathed a sigh down my neck. I’d never been a fan of the Illinois autumn and winter, and I silently thanked Riley for coming this way.
    Maybe once I’d put a bullet in him, I’d do some sunbathing. I could use a little bit of a