Dear Ex-wife Marry Me novel (Maja) novel Chapter 1555

Ian was rolling with the real deal, a crew of ace players who breezed through the talent screening like it was child's play.

Before long, fourteen of the bunch had made the cut and were herded into a spacious van, told they were headed off for some intensive training.

Gazing out the window, Ian overheard the chatter inside.

"Man, I can't believe I made it. Gonna rake in some serious dough this time."

"If I bag three hundred bucks, I'm set for life. Mom and Dad would feel proud."

"Dude, imagine rolling up in your own ride. We're talking about Wall Street, the glitziest joint on the planet."

Ian leaned back, his eyes growing dark. Not the glitziest, more like the most terrifying hellhole imaginable.

The van kept pushing on, and besides Ian and his companions, no one had a clue where this so-called intensive training was taking place.

After a solid four-hour drive, they came to a halt deep in the mountain ranges.

The driver hopped out for a quick pow-wow, and then barked at everyone with dialect to disembark and line up.

Ian could catch the drift of the local lingo but the specifics of the driver's dialect eluded him. The message was clear though: someone was coming to lead them, and they'd better put on a good show.

Fourteen were chosen this time, and fourteen arrived to take charge - one guide per recruit. The others were buzzing with excitement, mistaking their guides for mentors ready to prep them for the big leagues on Wall Street, to earn more cash.

Ian kept quiet, trailing along with the group. His people weren't by his side; they were scattered.

They trudged to a secluded cliffside where staff began roll call, and those named stepped forward.

In just an hour, Ian deduced the strict compartmentalization of the research base, something akin to an upgraded version of Forbidden Island.

Forbidden Island might let you buy your way from Outer to Inner, but here, money was worthless. Worse than worthless, it could spell your doom.

Meanwhile, in another hall of the research base, geniuses from around the globe were assembled. But the talk of the town was a female Ph.D., dubbed the “monster” of the establishment.

Philip stood outside the glass facade, contemplating the living weapon they'd bred. The weapon was just eighteen or so, wildly ferocious, subdued daily with a custom tranquilizer.

The higher-ups were still debating who'd be the lucky recipient of this thing. A spark ignited in Philip's eyes, which was promptly interrupted by approaching footsteps.

"Philip, interested?"

It was Phil. The weapon was notorious in the facility, the brainchild of the infamous female Ph.D. A pure killing machine, a monstrosity spliced with various genes.