Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  I bite my lip. Could we do that? Would it work? “I doubt Rafe will hand Job and Rhonda back to me, but I'll talk to him about it. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”

  Josephine nods.

  “You aren't going to argue with me?”

  She steps into the room and slings one arm around me. “You hated him. I understand that, but your father wasn't entirely evil. He had some beautiful talents and strengths, and you're like him in several ways. Notably in this case, I know that if I argue with you, you'll just dig your heels in deeper.”

  “Mom, I'm nothing like him. I'll never hit you, for one thing, and I always listen to ideas, no matter who they come from.”

  She smiles, but her eyes are sad. “If you say so.”

  I want to lay down and rest before someone else can find me and poke me, or prod me, or quiz me, but I need to find Sam and deal with Rafe before this escalates. Can't have a war on my first day as queen, can I? What kind of message would that send?

  I square my shoulders and leave my room, and run right into a brick wall that still smells like gunmetal, leather and man.

  “Sam.” I smile.

  He pulls me against him and breathes into my hair. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “Hiding?” I ask. “Me?”

  He frowns. “You created a new title, and stuck me with it? Really?”

  I beam at him. “Best idea I've had yet.”

  “Chief of Military and Strategic Defense.” He’s scowling mightily, but he's never looked more handsome.

  I reach up with one hand and trace his jawline. “They're making you a uniform, too. With one more stripe than that pompous Kovar guy.”

  Sam scowls. “I'm not wearing a uniform.”

  “Did I mention how attractive I find men in uniform?”

  “Well,” Sam says, “maybe I could wear it sometimes, but tell them I don't need fittings. I've already been stuck with a dozen pins today.”

  “Good thing you heal fast.” I wink. “Maybe distracting the seamstresses with your enormous, gorgeous muscles has its drawbacks. How sad for you.”

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. I snake my arms around his waist and squeeze him right back.

  “Is this what you needed?” He grins and kisses my nose and then my forehead, and then he leans down and kisses my mouth. I sway against him.

  “Huh?”

  His breath brushes against my curls. “Josephine said you needed my help with something?”

  Oh, right. “Actually, there is something I thought you'd like to know. I probably should’ve told you last night, but I was exhausted and I didn't want to deal with it.”

  His arms tense and I think about Wesley. About our kiss. I should tell him. He's expecting something bad. I should deal with it right now. “What's wrong?”

  I meet his eyes, his exquisite, green-gold eyes, and I want to erase that worry forever, not add to it. “Nothing's wrong, Sam. Stop being such a pessimist. This is good news, I think.”

  He lifts one eyebrow. “Good news? What's that?”

  I snort. “How'd you like to see your little brother again, Raphael?”

  Sam frowns. “That's not funny, sunshine.”

  “It's not a joke. He's the leader of the Marked, only now he goes by Rafe, and he's waiting for you on the edge of the bridge. Of course, officially, he's there for me. I'll let him explain how he decided to risk the Marked people's greatest asset by sending me back to Galveston just because Solomon offered up his brother's life in trade.”

  Sam's hands tighten on my arms, but not too tight. He's always so careful with me. “Raphael's alive? You're sure it's him?”

  I beam at him. “I'm sure.”

  Sam's answering smile makes up for all the poking and prodding and headaches I've had to deal with today. I forgot how much fun it is to share good news.

  “How'd you like to go give him a hug?”

  Sam frowns. “If he's Marked, I can't do that.”

  Now it's my turn to beam. “I happen to know someone whose blood will immunize you.”

  “I love you, Ruby.”

  “I love you, too, Sam.”

  In that moment, even though the world's still broken, it feels like the two of us together might be strong enough to fix it.

  Make sure to check out the next novel in the series, Redeemed, available now! (If you keep reading, you can find a bonus… the first chapter of Redeemed here at the end of Suppressed!!)

  Redeemed: Sins of Our Ancestors Book Three

  Please sign up for my newsletter! Twice a month, I’ll send you bonus content, updates on upcoming releases, and promotions from my friends.

  Visit: www.BridgetEBakerwrites.com to sign up!

  Finally, if you enjoyed reading SUPPRESSED, please, please, please leave me a review on Amazon (and GoodReads!) It makes a tremendous difference when you do. Really it does! Thanks in advance.

  THE END

  Copyright © 2018 by Bridget E. Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Isadora Elizabeth, my darling daughter

  May you ever be as brave as Ruby and know that you are a daughter of God.

  1

  I watch through thick glass while my biological father's body burns into ash.

  No tears well up in my eyes. No sorrow swells in my heart. I didn't cry when my mother shot him, either. It probably means I'm broken inside. Although, to be fair to myself, he was a narcissistic, abusive sociopath whom I didn’t know existed until last month.

  Even so, his half a million subjects loved him fanatically.

  “I hope you've prepared something appropriate to say at his funeral tomorrow,” Josephine Solomon says. In spite of being the one who shot him, my mom harbors mixed feelings.

  “How’s this?” I ask. “David Solomon is dead. I'm really hoping he won't haunt my nightmares any more, now that I've watched the flames incinerate his body into powder. I’m planning to dump the ashes into the sewage processing plant where they’ll fit in with the other filth. Succinct enough, you think?”

  Josephine frowns. “He was a great man in many ways, you know.”

  I shake my head. “You keep saying that, but I haven't seen much evidence.”

  “The point,” she says, “is that as the new queen of World Peace Now, you'll need his popularity to transfer to your rule. Things will go much easier for you if the people like you half as much as they loved him.”

  I snort. “No one needs to like me. They only need to obey.”

  “Spoken like someone who's never ruled a day in her life.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don't want to be a queen at all. You wouldn't know this since we just met, but I never played princess growing up. I didn't have make believe crowns, and I freaking hate dresses, with or without princess puffs.”

  In fact I'd love to walk away from all of this. The only thing I'm dreading more than David Solomon's funeral is my coronation the following morning. I'd gladly run and never return to World Peace Now (usually called WPN), or Galveston ever again.

  Unfortunately if I leave, the new leaders of WPN will carry out my biological father's plan to massacre the hundred thousand or so people infected with the Tercera virus. My delightful bio father, the late great monarch, planned to “cleanse” the earth of the plague that almost destroyed humanity more than a decade ago. He believed killing the infected kids, who were struggling to survive on their own, was a small price to pay to ensure the bright future of his half a million subjects.

  Actually, he told me killing them was mercy on his part. He said God infected people to punish them for their sins. As for the infection of children, well, they were paying for the sins of their parents, and he was dispensing God's mercy by killing
them and ending that just suffering.

  See? Sociopath.

  “If you really can't think of anything to say, I can write something for you,” Josephine says.

  “Yes,” I say. “That's a good plan, but I'm not much of a public speaker. Maybe keep it short.”

  Behind me, Wesley chokes on a laugh.

  I scowl at him over my shoulder. “Why's that funny?”

  “I've heard you speak in public, is all,” Wesley says.

  “I'll keep that in mind,” Josephine says. “Since I now have two speeches to prepare, I'd better get started. I do expect you to write your own coronation address.” After dropping that bombshell, my mother walks down the hall and turns the corner toward the exit.

  I turn to race after her and argue, but I’m met by a tall man with blonde hair and sparkling bright blue eyes. I pull up short, taking in the standard issue gray uniform of the palace guard. Two gold stripes run down each shoulder, which tells me he’s near the top of the pecking order. He approaches and salutes.

  Once I look at his face, I recognize Adam, the first WPN guard I met when Sam and I were caught looking for the cure. He breezes past the four guards on duty without even acknowledging them, reinforcing my impression that he now holds a reasonably high rank. He stands a few inches taller than Wesley, which puts him about the same height as my boyfriend Sam. His shiny, short hair is combed sideways, not a single strand out of place, and his uniform accentuates his broad shoulders and deep tan. He probably surfs whenever he's off duty. Galveston might have a few things to recommend it when compared to Port Gibson, the perks of beach living among them.

  Stuff like that might matter if I were thinking of staying, which I'm not.

  He straightens and says, “Your escort's ready, your Highness.”

  Sam may be the hottest guy I've ever seen, but this guy's face is nearly as pretty. I assume a gaggle of girls probably follow him around too, like they always did Sam back home. “I'm sorry, my escort where?”

  “To the bridge, Your Highness.”

  “Right, an escort intended to keep me safe while I drive a mile out onto a bridge.”

  Adam frowns. “A bridge currently under attack by infected hostiles.”

  Hostiles I trust more than my head guard, not that I mention that to him. I glance around. “Uh, where’s Sam?”

  The tall guard's eyebrows draw together. “Samuel Roth? Your Highness’ recently appointed Chief of Military and Strategic Defense?”

  I nod my head. “Sure, yep, that's the Sam I mean.” I forgot about the title I created so Sam could tell people what to do and come and go as he pleased.

  “Your Highness, he has many important tasks to complete. He can't be around to escort you from place to place like a common palace guard. He's in a meeting reviewing security for the coronation at present. My name's Adam Forsythe and you may not recall, but we've met before. I've been voted in as the new Chief of the Palace Guard. Your safety is my number one priority and I assure you I take it very seriously.”

  I bite my lip before I can swear, since that doesn't seem very queenly. I didn't expect Sam to actually need to do anything with his stupid made-up title. “If you’re going to be around a lot, maybe we should review the Your Highness thing. You don’t need to call me that. Like at all. Ruby is fine.”

  Adam’s mouth drops open but before he can speak, Wesley throws a hand up and waves it at Adam Forsythe, catching his attention and then shooing him backward. “Hang on a second, pretty boy. Ruby already has a boyfriend, the Sam guy she asked about. And she has a back up boyfriend.” He points at himself. “The last thing she needs is another genetically perfect model looking guy following her around all day, flexing, or whatever you’re going to do to keep her safe. I'm sure the four guards that already create a tripping hazard whenever we turn around are more than sufficient.”

  Adam glances from Wesley to me, and back again. “I don't understand.”

  Wesley rolls his eyes. “I'll enunciate. Go. Get. Sam. And while you're down there at central command, tell them we want the fugliest soldier they have to replace you as Chief of the Palace Guard. Got it?”

  “Appearance does not factor into a guard's performance review on any level,” says Adam.

  I laugh. “You can ignore Wesley. He thinks he's funny.”

  “You appear to agree.”

  I roll my eyes. “Most days.”

  Adam raises one eyebrow. “If you believe my performance to be sub par, I will request the selection of a replacement.”

  I shake my head. “No, it's fine. We wouldn't dream of interfering with the way you select your positions or evaluate performance. But I do need you to send someone to let Sam know we're ready to go. One of the main reasons we're traveling down to the end of the bridge is so Sam can meet with the Marked leader.”

  Adam’s eyebrows rise. “In his capacity as Chief of Mi—”

  “Yes, yes,” Wesley says. “As Head Poomba he needs to coordinate with the Marked.”

  Adam scowls at Wesley, but he walks back to confer with my four guards. One of them sets off down the hall at a trot, presumably to tell Sam we're ready to go when he is.

  I glance at the incinerator. My father's body will burn for quite some time yet, but he's surely past the point of resurrection. Hopefully I'll sleep a little easier at night having witnessed that fact myself.

  Wesley walks beside me down the hall, and the guards take up positions in front of and behind us, Adam filling in for the one who took off. Having four guards in attendance at all times is super annoying. We walk the half a mile from the Crematorium back to the palace-that-isn't-officially-a-palace in silence, which is strange for Wesley. He generally talks even more than me.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shrugs. “I'll be glad when this coronation business is past us so we can shut down the Cleansing and actually focus on developing a cure that works.”

  I only spent a few days in Baton Rouge, the largest Marked community, and I can't stop thinking about baby Rose, the newborn we saved using the antibodies in my blood. The face of her sweet mother springs to mind often as well. Sadly Libby's still Marked, probably because the Tercera virus in her system had already entered the active phase. Antibodies work well to prevent disease, but aren’t usually effective once it's entrenched. Unlike me, Wesley lived with the Marked for weeks. He's made friends there and feels even more pressure than I do to save them.

  Of course, it's not like his dad engineered the deadly virus, which I know because my dad did. Not the psychopath burning in an oven, but the man who raised me as his own. If David Solomon was right and God punishes children for their parents' sins, I may as well reserve a house down in purgatory. I have quite a list of things for which to atone, coming from both good old dad and my biological father.

  “If we’re lucky,” I say, “maybe Job's already made some progress.”

  “Except he probably needs more antibodies from you to continue his testing at this point,” Wesley says. “We’ve been gone way longer than we expected.”

  I bob my head. “I know. I feel bad that I only gave plasma once.” And I’m so thin that it wasn’t very much. Not nearly enough.

  When we reach the palace I sit down on the steps to wait for Sam. I pointedly ignore the gesturing and pointing from my guards and the butler. If I'm really their queen, I can sit where I want, including a pristine porch step made of white marble. I kind of want to lay down and roll around like a puppy, just to see what they’d do.

  Wesley puts his hand on my shoulder. “Even if we were still in Baton Rouge, you'd have needed some time to recover before they drew any more blood. Don't feel too bad about a delay in their testing.”

  I shrug. “But if I were there, I could help Job with interpreting the data and research.”

  “You're doing the most good here for right now.” Wesley starts to sling his arm around me, but then shifts at the last minute and acts like he was stretching.

  I glance around, becaus
e that kind of oddball reversal usually means Wesley noticed Sam.

  And I'm right. I stand up and my mouth stretches into a smile in spite of myself.

  “Hey sunshine.” Sam's wearing a navy blue military uniform with four bright yellow stripes on each shoulder.

  “Glad you're back, oh great and revered War Chief. The new Boss Guard says they're ready to take us out on the bridge.”

  “I'm ready to go.” Sam’s grin showcases perfectly white teeth. His impossibly handsome face becomes just a little more unbearably beautiful when it’s smiling.

  “Wow,” I say, “I thought you said no uniforms.”

  He lifts one eyebrow. “I did. Until this girl I know said she had a thing for them.”

  “She did, huh? Who is this girl? I already dislike her.”

  Wesley clears his throat. “Those buttons look hard to do and undo. If it means you keep more clothes on, I'm all for a uniform. Not that anyone asked for my opinion.”

  I roll my eyes at Wesley and then turn toward Sam. “Are you ready to go see Rafe?”

  Sam reaches down and takes my hand in his. He squeezes it tighter than he normally would. If meeting Rafe makes my brawny, scientifically enhanced warrior nervous, well, that's about the cutest thing ever. Rafe, also known as Raphael Roth, is the leader of the Marked. He’s also Sam's previously lost little brother. They haven't seen one another since before Tercera ravaged North America, a time we usually refer to as Before. Eleven years is a long time between family reunions, even for me.

  “Come on.” I tug Sam toward the bridge and he lets me pull him along. I know he lets me, because there's no way my ninety-pound self could drag his two-hundred-and-thirty pound brick wall body anywhere he didn't already want to go.

  My new captain of the guard strides quickly toward us, falling into step alongside Sam and me. “Samuel Roth, I'm Adam Forsythe, the new Chief of the Palace Guard. Ensuring the safety of Her Royal Highness Ruby Solomon is my top priority. I'll be taking frequent rotations in her personal guard to make sure I stay abreast of everything about her preferences and schedule.”