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  THE UPGRADE SERIES: BOOKS 1-3

  BOXSET BOOK 1

  Wesley Cross

  Contents

  JOIN THE UPGRADE SERIES

  Publisher information

  THE BLUEPRINT

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part II

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Part III

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  VERTIGO

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue 1: Rovinsky

  Epilogue 2: Helen

  THE LOOP

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  JOIN THE UPGRADE SERIES

  Also by Wesley Cross

  JOIN THE UPGRADE SERIES

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  See the back of the book for details.

  Publisher information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by

  Cerberus Prints

  PO BOX 90399

  Brooklyn, NY 11209

  Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

  To the last syllable of recorded time;

  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

  The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

  Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

  And then is heard no more. It is a tale

  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

  Signifying nothing.

  THE BLUEPRINT

  Prologue

  Travis stalked his prey.

  A limousine parked just a few feet away from the train station spat from its belly a tall man in a three-quarter trench coat. Closely cropped dirty-blond hair and icy-blue eyes made him appear stern, almost military. Watching him from the shadows, Travis noticed an oversized expensive watch as the man stretched out his hand to shut the car door. What this obviously wealthy man would be doing in this part of town was a mystery, but Travis didn’t care.

  He smelled a big score.

  Roaming the streets of the southern Bronx always put Travis into a foul mood. Despite the early snow, it was mild for the end of November, but the air was damp; the wind penetrated his raincoat with frustrating ease. On nights like this, he often found himself thinking back to the time when he was just eighteen.

  Ten years ago, his life could have gone a different way. A talented boxer, Travis Smith had quite a few agents eyeing him as a rising star. Standing six foot two, and with a reach of seventy-seven inches, he was frighteningly quick in the ring. A tactical fighter, he was also capable of making smart decisions that frustrated opponents and forced them to make mistakes.

  Travis saw career success as an inevitability. For him, it wasn’t a question of if; it was a question of when.

  This all changed, however, one fateful night when he was returning from the gym to a tiny apartment in the projects. Three youths wielding brass knuckles and a rusty iron rod ambushed him a few steps away from his building. Before Travis realized what was happening, he found himself bruised and bloodied, fighting for his life, but this was no ring. The referee wouldn’t stop the fight for punches below the belt and there was no crowd to cheer him. He pleaded for the attackers to stop, but they wouldn’t listen, and when a blow of the iron rod barely missed his head, he stopped pulling punches. A few seconds later, one of the attackers was running away but the other two stayed.

  Dead.

  Travis called the police, shaken by the fact that he killed the two men, but confident that he was in the right.

  The judge disagreed.

  The sentence came as a crippling blow—eight years. Eight long years taken out of his life. His career was over before it even began, dreams shattered, his freedom taken away
.

  Travis was angry.

  He was angry at the judge who didn’t care that he was outnumbered and unarmed, angry at the kids who ambushed him, but above all, angry at himself.

  Looking for an outlet was difficult in prison, and before long he found solace taking orders, following Johnny the Butcher, a big shot member of the Red Dragon gang.

  Johnny took Travis under his wing and when they were finally released—first Johnny, and then a year later, Travis—he ended up working for Johnny on the outside as well. Jobs were easy: drive this from here to there, guard this from now till then and such. Occasionally Travis added some muggings to his repertoire to enhance his income and sometimes out of boredom.

  He spotted his targets at the train station, a rugged old building with a squeaky turnstile. Once he identified the victim, Travis would shadow them for a few blocks to make sure nobody was around, and then he would catch up with them and strike. His method was simple, but effective; approach from behind, a quick and brutal kidney punch that would bring the victim to his knees, followed by a shattering hook to the jaw.

  It was usually over before it even started. Travis would then pick up his reward from an unconscious loser and walk away into the night. He didn’t feel bad for his victims. In a few minutes, they would wake up in serious pain and relieved of their valuables, but at least they would be alive. As far as Travis was concerned, they got off easy.

  Keeping some distance and trying to stay in the shadows, Travis tried to refocus on the present and his newest target. He followed the wealthy newcomer, and when the man made a turn to a narrow street, choked on both sides by two abandoned buildings, Travis saw his chance.

  In a few quick strides, he caught up with the blond man and propelled himself forward. His right arm drew a short semicircle and connected with the man’s left kidney. Following the steps of the dance he had repeated so many times, Travis took one half-step to the left to allow the body to fall and followed through with a massive uppercut with his left hand to the jaw.

  For a moment, Travis thought that the force of his own uppercut was going to lift him off the ground as it missed the blond man’s head. Right after the kidney punch that was supposed to bring the victim to his knees, the man spun around and ducked the uppercut with a grace of a panther. His cold, blue eyes looked straight at Travis and to Travis’s dismay, had no trace of pain or fear.

  Puzzled and concerned, but unwilling to surrender, Travis threw two quick slap hooks with his left to distract the opponent, and then spun around and put his entire weight into a ruthless right hook, aiming for the man’s temple. It was all in vain; the blond man simply stepped back, avoiding the first two probing shots, blocked the right hook with his left shoulder, and then his own right hand shot out with a speed that almost didn’t seem human. It hit Travis squarely in the chest and sent him tumbling to the ground.

  He felt as if he was hit by a truck. His chest was a pool of boiling hot pain, his vision blurred, and the taste of blood lingered in his mouth. Travis slowly picked himself up off the ground. Looking at the strange man calmly observing him with those cold, blue eyes, Travis felt immense rage consuming him. He retrieved a gravity knife from a hidden pocket and, ignoring the pain from his broken ribs, threw himself at the man. He wanted nothing more than to drive the knife deep into the man’s chest. His adversary casually caught the knife with his left hand while his right sprang to Travis’s throat and crushed his windpipe in an iron grip.

  “What are you?” Travis managed to whisper.

  The man wouldn’t answer.

  As he dangled in the blond man’s hands, slowly losing consciousness, his eyes caught a little silver pin on the lapel of the man’s jacket that depicted three stars in a straight line. Somehow, right before the darkness took over, Travis found himself wondering what that meant.

  Part I

  1

  “So, this is the guy you’d be working for?” Jason Hunt picked up a tabloid magazine from the coffee table and looked at the picture on the front page of a handsome man in a sharp business suit. His salt-and-pepper colored hair was perfectly cut, and he was casually hugging two women who looked like supermodels.

  “Let’s see.” Jason started reading it out loud to Rachel with exaggerated articulation.

  “The only son of pharmaceutical tycoon Simon Engel, Alexander was born into a life of privilege. He joined his father’s company, Guardian Manufacturing, right after graduating from John Hopkins University and quickly rose through the ranks, officially taking the helm of the company in 2010. Number 209 on the Forbes 400 with an estimated fortune of 3.6 billion dollars, Engel does not shy away from the finer things in life.”

  He paused and rolled his eyes.

  “Aha, multimillion-dollar townhouse in Manhattan, luxurious mega yacht. Okay, never married, often seen with different women. Oh, this is great—sometimes more than one!” Jason took another look at the guy on the front cover. The billionaire was staring back, but now Jason couldn’t see the hedonistic playboy the tabloid was describing. His mouth was still smiling and his hands were still wrapped around two scantily clad women, but his eyes were hard and without a hint of irony. They were the eyes of a shark. The eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

  He put the magazine back onto the table. “This guy sounds like a real charmer.”

  “Geez, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were jealous,” Rachel said, taking off her white lab overalls and sitting next to Jason. “Is that how you treat the wife who had to work half her Saturday?” she jokingly scolded.

  Jason said nothing as he stared across the room. I do sound like a jealous idiot, he thought. Instead, I should tell you what Max had found…if only what he’d found was tangible.

  “First of all, I’m not going to be working directly for Mr. Rich and Famous here,” she said. “Asclepius is a quasi-independent company. Guardian sends contracts their way, but can’t control what they research. But please be serious for a second.” She brushed her long, jet-black hair out of her eyes.

  “This is a real opportunity for me,” she continued. “What they do is cutting-edge. Their lab in Brooklyn has done more in the last year than my company here for the entirety of its existence. I might never get a chance like this again.”

  “And you don’t mind giving up Florida’s sun for a nasty New York winter?” Jason smiled and waved his hand at the window. King palms, colored by the dark orange of the setting sun, lazily swayed back and forth in a light breeze. “Seriously, though, I wouldn’t mind going back to the city. Besides, we still have the apartment.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to live in that apartment, after, you know…” She trailed off softly, looking at her husband with sadness in her eyes.

  “I didn’t.” Jason got up and went to the window, where he stood for some time watching the trees.

  “It’s been almost ten years,” he said at last. “I guess I’m finally okay with the fact that what happened that night was just an accident.”

  I wish I could actually believe it, he thought, mesmerized by the movement of the palms. I wish I could leave it behind. God damn you, Max! What the hell am I supposed to do now? And how do I even know what you had found is true?

  He finally turned around and looked at Rachel with a smile. “It would be great to see Max, though. I miss that guy.”

  “I miss him, too,” she replied, “but what about your job?”

  “I dunno. I guess I could try to get myself transferred to Manhattan’s office. But at the end of the day, even if I can’t, I’m pretty sure there’s a greater need for accountants in New York than in Fort Lauderdale.” He looked at his watch. “When are you supposed to find out?”

  “Well, in about…” She glanced at the wall clock. “Two minutes, I guess. I forgot to tell you; it’s pretty weird. This lady from HR tells me somebody’s going to deliver the offer at four. I tell her sure, I should be at home around four, and then she cuts me off and says the package will arrive at four o’
clock sharp. She didn’t look like she was joking, either.”