Crimson

by Jordan Summers

  He willed his body to rise, pushing past the agony to keep moving. They couldn’t have gotten much farther than the mountains. Maybe Reaper already had them. He shook his head, knowing that wasn’t the case.

  There was no way Morgan would’ve gone down without a fight, and Demery would have heard the laser fire crackling on the wind. Instead, all he’d heard was the drone of vehicles as the Sand Devils made their way to their other compound and the constant ringing in his ears from Reaper’s right hook.

  Demery swallowed hard, his throat parched from lack of blood. He should’ve been fine after feeding two nights ago, but trying to repair the beating had used up his reserves. He hadn’t seen a living creature for the past three hours, but he’d seen plenty of dead ones. Fortunately, none of them had been Morgan or Red.

  He could see the foothills up ahead. It had taken all night, but he’d finally made it through the mountains. He was too tired to celebrate the small victory. Too hurt to even shout.

  He’d been lucky. Reaper had let him live. Barely. The only thing that mattered was that Melea was still alive. As long as she lived, he would. She’d pleaded with him to stay. Pleaded with him to save her when Reaper mounted her body and rutted in her bruised flesh like a mongrel dog.

  Demery could still hear her muffled wails as she uselessly beat at the monster’s sides. He felt her pain and humiliation, then the sudden invasion, tearing at his flesh as if it were he who’d been violated.

  Damn the blood bond.

  Reaper had laughed, his knowing gaze locked on Demery. “Enjoying it, vamp?” he’d asked, pumping harder.

  Demery had closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, shutting out Reaper and the shocked pain of what was happening. He’d willed Melea to do the same. When the Sand Devil was finished defiling her and Demery, Reaper ordered Melea to be removed to their other compound.

  The beatings had begun shortly thereafter. Demery had been grateful that Reaper had not forced Melea to watch like he’d forced him to do. Through the years he’d suffered worse physical injuries, but the blood had always been there to ease his pain. Now nothing outside of vengeance would.

  Reaper was sadistic and knew that the best way to torture him was through his weaknesses, the need for blood and Melea. Demery tripped and fell halfway down one of the foothills before coming to rest against a boulder. Everything ached and it hurt to breathe. He laid there for a few minutes, then forced himself to his feet. Demery checked his suit to make sure it hadn’t ripped in the tumble.

  Anger pushed him on, fueling his muscles. He had to find Morgan and Red. He knew they’d have come through here at some point. This was the only trail leading over the mountains. The only track smooth enough to traverse.

  The land was beginning to flatten out. The foothills became smaller and smaller the farther away from the mountains he got. The scent of blood caught his attention. Demery followed it, his senses springing to life.

  He didn’t know if an animal had been wounded or perhaps it was those he sought. Thirty minutes later he found the remnants of a small crimson puddle that had long ago dried in the heat. It had Red’s essence all over it and the strong scent of wolf.

  Demery glanced around the area, examining the clearing. Nothing else had been disturbed, which meant there hadn’t been a struggle. He inhaled deeply. The blood was a day or so old. Had he really lost a day after the beating? It must be true if he was this far behind. Morgan and Red had shifted, which meant they were covering far more ground than they would have normally.

  He cursed out loud, using languages he hadn’t spoken since his childhood. They could be anywhere by now. But at least he knew where they’d been headed before the detour with the Sand Devils. Had they found the outpost? He’d been the one guiding them. He knew where it was located. They didn’t. Had they gotten lost? They wouldn’t last long if that were the case, especially with the Sand Devils on the move south. They were bound to come across them if they were caught out in the open.

  Demery decided to follow his gut. It was leading him to the outpost. If Morgan and Red stopped there for supplies or to head to another location, he’d find out . . . or he’d torture everyone he encountered until he did. His blood was counting on him.

  Demery came upon the compound several hours later. He dropped to his knees, half out of exhaustion and half to avoid being spotted. The outpost was heavily armed and situated in a location that gave them good visibility. They’d see anyone approaching no matter which direction they chose.

  He stared at the three towers, gauging his chances of making it under one without being spotted. He decided they were nil. He’d have to take a direct approach and hope he got close enough to get his hands on one of the guards.

  Demery looked down at his protective suit. He’d have to be careful. He couldn’t chance one of them shooting a hole in it while the sun was up. He glanced around at the sand, its choking beige closing in on him with its oppressive monotony. How could anyone stand to live out here? At least in the towns and biodomes there was some green to look at. Out here there was nothing but death and sand relentlessly staring at you.

  He burrowed deeper into the dune to plan his approach, trying to ignore the constant growl of his stomach and steady pain from his ribs. His dreadlocks were matted to his head where Reaper had kicked him, the lump that remained a reminder of the asshole’s displeasure.

  He’d sensed Morgan’s Otherness when they’d first arrived in their camp. Luckily, he hadn’t detected Red’s. Reaper wanted a pet, one he could bleed when it suited him. Somehow he’d found out that drinking an Other’s blood could give him strength. He’d been seeking them out ever since.

  Demery had made the mistake of trying to trade with him. When that didn’t work, he’d gambled and lost. Melea paid for that mistake with her innocence. Demery had promised to protect her and he’d failed. He’d never get over it and neither would she. By the time Demery was done, he vowed Morgan would feel every last ounce of pain they’d endured.

  chapter twenty-three

  R

  obert Santiago sat behind his desk, rifling through synth-paper reports. He’d tried to review them and sign off, but couldn’t, his concentration too scattered to focus on the work before him. It had been almost two weeks since he’d heard from his granddaughter. It felt more like an eternity. He should’ve been there to protect her.

  If he had, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. But Robert knew it wasn’t true. It had always been only a matter of time before Gina discovered the truth about her family history, about her true nature. There was no way he could’ve predicted the path that knowledge would lead her down. Unfortunately, it did little to stave off his guilt.

  He rubbed his temples, attempting to fight off a headache. He should’ve gone home for the night and at least grabbed a couple of hours of sleep, but it was too late now. Morning had arrived. His navcom beeped, then immediately fired medication into his bloodstream. It wouldn’t help. Hadn’t helped the four previous times either.

  The vidscreen on his desk activated. He dropped his hands and turned to the screen. Tucker, a man he recognized from the tech repair lab, was standing outside his office door, holding something.

  Robert Santiago glanced at his watch to confirm the time, then pressed a button on his desk to open the door.

  “Commander, I’ve found something,” Tucker said, stepping through the door. His clothing was rumpled and his brown hair poked out from all sides. Despite the early hour, excitement added lift to his gait.

  Robert held a finger to his lips, immediately silencing the man. He pointed to the door, which hadn’t closed yet. Tucker nodded in understanding and waited. The door slid closed with a hiss.

  “You were saying,” Robert said.

  “You’re never going to believe it.” He rushed forward. “We found something on the navcom, but it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Play it for me,” Robert said.

  Tucker did as he was asked. Roark Montgomery’s voice c
ame out of the small speaker.

  You’d have been dead . . . now . . . Kane hadn’t fallen for you and fucked . . . up. He had orders to kill you.

  What you’re doing is highly illegal . . . (Gina’s voice) If the tactical . . . (static) . . . found out, you . . . (hiss) . . . arrested.

  But . . . (pop) . . . aren’t going to find . . . (static) . . . I’ll report your escape . . . like I reported . . . Hunter’s.

  Roark’s threat was as clear as if the politician was standing in the room with them. Robert Santiago trembled, not from fear for himself, but for what his granddaughter had gone through. She must’ve been terrified sitting in the back of that shuttle.

  The recording stopped abruptly.

  “What happened to it?” he snapped.

  Tucker’s face flushed. “I’m sorry. That’s all we could recover. The crystals were crushed.”

  It wasn’t a lot, but coupled with the shuttle they’d towed in thanks to Catherine Meyers’ GPS coordinates it would be enough. “I want a copy of that before you leave this room,” Robert said.

  “I anticipated as much,” he said, taking out a miniature digi-recorder. “It’s already on there. What would you like me to do with the original?”

  “Seal it in the vault as evidence, then repair the navcom. I want Rita up and running asap.”

  Tucker shook his head. “It’s in so many pieces I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”

  Robert smiled at him. “I have complete confidence in your abilities.”

  Tucker grinned. “I’ll do my best.” He walked toward the door. “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Was that Roark Montgomery on the recording?”

  He debated whether to answer truthfully. “Yes, it was.”

  “But he’s running for office on a reform and unity platform,” Tucker said, unable to comprehend why the man would do such a thing.

  “I know.” Robert Santiago stopped him before he left. “Tucker, I trust you’ll keep what you found in the strictest of confidence. Need I remind you this is an active case.”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked stricken.

  Robert had seen that look before. The last time had been on his own face, when someone he’d looked up to had fallen from grace. A man didn’t get over that kind of thing, but he did learn from it. “Once you’ve placed the evidence into the vault, take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it.”

  Tucker’s expression brightened again. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Lieutenant Bannon Richards ran into Tucker, the tech lead, coming out of Commander Robert Santiago’s office. The man was distracted and didn’t notice he’d stepped into his path. The tech guy ran straight into him as Bannon had planned.

  “Heads up, Private Tucker,” Bannon said. “A commanding officer is present.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he stiffened to attention. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s because you weren’t paying attention. Where were you headed in such a hurry?” Bannon asked. He knew where Tucker had come from. He needed to know why the tech had been visiting the commander. The thought that the reason could be innocent was quickly dismissed when Tucker’s expression grew wary.

  Tucker took longer than he should’ve to answer. “Nowhere, sir. Just back to the lab.” His gaze dropped, leaving little doubt that he’d lied.

  Bannon nudged him, moving into Tucker’s personal space. “What were you doing in the commander’s office?” he asked, his tone demanding the truth.

  “N-nothing. He’d wanted updates on some repairs I’ve been working on,” Tucker said.

  Bannon’s eyes narrowed. What was the commander up to? He never asked about regular maintenance. “Repairs on what?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

  “A junked navcom,” the man said, his gaze darting down the deserted hallway. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to work.” Tucker swallowed hard and sweat broke out along his temples.

  Bannon reluctantly moved aside to allow him to pass. Tucker had gone five steps when Bannon called out, “Did you succeed?”

  He stopped and slowly looked over his shoulder. “Yes, I did.” Tucker rushed off without another glance.

  Bannon didn’t know what was going on, but he figured the navcom must be pretty important if Robert Santiago was requesting the tech department to report directly to him. He thought about the talking navcom unit Red used to wear and realized he should’ve asked the tech guy more questions.

  Roark had told him to keep an eye on things. Mainly to let him know if he’d seen any sign of Gina Santiago. He hadn’t. But something told him that Roark would want to know about this.

  He walked away from the commander’s office and pressed a button on his navcom. He didn’t want to be overheard. It took a few seconds to receive confirmation that the private connection had indeed been made. A moment later, Roark’s voice boomed out of the tiny speaker.

  “Sir, this is Lieutenant Bannon Richards. I may have something.”

  “Has Gina Santiago tried to contact her grandfather?” Roark asked.

  He shook his head, forgetting Roark couldn’t see him. “Not that I’m aware of,” Bannon said.

  There was silence. “Then why are you contacting me?” he asked. “I told you the only time you should call is if you spotted Gina or Morgan.”

  Bannon was beginning to think he’d made a mistake. He’d been so damned determined to earn a position at Roark’s side that he’d acted hastily. If he wasn’t so concerned about angering Roark further, he’d disconnect now. Instead, he brought his lips closer to the mic. “I just ran into a tech guy who was leaving the commander’s office.”

  “So?” Roark said. “That’s fairly common as I recall.”

  “Yes, sir. Normally it is.” Bannon lowered his voice when a private walked by. “He said the commander had him working on a busted navcom. Seemed kind of odd, since the commander doesn’t care about broken equipment beyond viewing repair request reports.”

  Roark was silent again. “Did this tech tell you where he got the navcom?”

  Bannon experienced a flush of embarrassment. He hadn’t bothered to ask, but he wasn’t about to inform Roark of his incompetence. “No, sir.”

  A buzz sounded on the line.

  “What was that, sir?” Bannon asked, fearing someone had intercepted their communiqué.

  Roark didn’t immediately respond.

  “Sir?” Bannon repeated. Maybe he hadn’t heard him. The buzz grew more insistent.

  “It appears that your commander is trying to get in touch with me. I better see what he wants. Keep your eyes and ears open, Lieutenant. Good work.”

  Roark cut the transmission and straightened his tie. The vidscreen glowed, then buzzed again. He pressed a button on his desk and Robert Santiago’s weathered face appeared on the screen.

  “Commander, I was just on my way out,” he lied. “What can I do for you?” Roark asked, giving him his best bored expression. It was no coincidence that the commander contacted him now. He must have found something really important. Stay calm. No need to panic. Find out what he wants.

  Robert’s dark eyes sizzled with barely leashed fury. “It seems a navcom has been recovered from your old shuttle,” he said.

  “My shuttle?” Roark’s heart began to pound. What kind of game was Robert Santiago playing?

  “Yes, you know the one you said Morgan Hunter bombed in order to help Gina escape.”

  Roark forced a smile. “Ah, that shuttle. A total loss. I haven’t thought about it since the incident. How did you find it by the way?”

  Robert waved the question away. “It’s not important. What is important is what was inside the shuttle.”

  “And what would that be?” Roark asked, tugging at his tie.

  Surely there had to be more than a navcom if he was contacting him. Roark had thought his man had taken care of everything when he’d hauled the shuttle farther out into the dese
rt and blasted a hole in its side. Obviously he’d forgotten to search the inside. Or maybe he’d thought the laser cannon blast would take care of any lingering evidence. He’d been a fool and Roark planned to make sure he never had the opportunity to repeat his stupidity—after he dealt with the commander.

  “A navcom was recovered from the site.”

  “So you’ve said. Is that it?” Roark shrugged. “I thought perhaps you’d found a clue to your granddaughter’s whereabouts.”

  The commander didn’t rise to the bait. “The navcom recorded the most interesting thing,” Robert said. “At least I found it interesting. I’m sure a tribunal would, too.”

  Roark was beginning to sweat. The man was bluffing. “I doubt there’d be much left on a destroyed piece of equipment,” Roark said. His brain worked overtime as he tried to recall the conversation he’d with Gina Santiago.

  The commander grinned and Roark’s skin tightened to the point of discomfort. “We’ve recovered enough,” Robert said. “Certainly enough to raise a few questions about your version of what transpired.”

  “Is that so?” he asked. “Navcom recordings can be faked.”

  “True, but I believe under further examination this one will be easily authenticated.”

  Roark loosened his tie. “Mind elaborating?”

  “Not over the vidscreen,” Robert said, then sat back calmly, placing his hands on his abdomen.

  “Then I suppose all that’s left to do is for us to meet,” Roark suggested. He had to find out what the commander knew. The election was too close for his character to be called into question now. If Robert Santiago somehow managed to find something to implicate him, Roark would simply have to have Bannon destroy it.

  “Tell me where and when,” Robert said, “and I’ll be there.”

  “Today, at my office.” Roark glanced at his watch, wondering if he’d have time to get things into place. He thought about his prison below the building. It wasn’t as if it would need to be cleaned. “Let’s say we meet at noon. I’ll type you in for a couple of hours. That should give us more than enough time to cover the important points.”