by Hope Anika
The doors slid shut, and the elevator began to descend.
She turned to Ms. Wen. “How long have you been with GenTek?”
“Long enough to know better than to answer that question,” Ms. Wen replied.
“Touché.” Ash sighed. She glanced at Ruslan. “Stop giving me that look.”
He merely blinked at her.
“I had to show them to him,” she said. “I had to ask. You know that.”
He said nothing.
“Don’t be that way,” she told him.
Wen looked between them.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Ruslan replied.
She only snorted.
I see you. He looked away from the piercing blue-green of her eyes. She should not have sensed the irritation he felt at her having shared the symbols with Masters; she should not have sensed anything at all.
But she did.
Which only made his irritation grow into something heavy and dark.
Something ominous.
The elevators doors slid open, and they headed toward the glass entry. Ruslan took note that the lobby was now all but empty, the couches vacated, those who’d lingered absent. There was, however, a newcomer: a uniformed, heavily armed security guard who stood next to the large glass doors. A tall, broad man with a semi-automatic weapon in hand who focused on Ruslan with the intensity of a laser beam.
“Military,” Ash murmured. “Interesting.”
“Predictable,” Ruslan corrected, and within him violence stretched like a man awoken from a long slumber. The darkest part of him quivered with anticipation, hoping the man who watched them was foolish enough to act.
“Don’t,” Ash warned, eyeing him.
I see you. His skin tightened.
“I mean it,” she continued seriously. “Bailing you out of jail isn’t on my to-do list today.”
Ruslan shot her a cold look, which she ignored. Instead, she stepped squarely between him and the guard and pulled open the door.
“After you,” she said.
He halted. The guard stared at him; Ruslan stared back.
“Ruslan,” Ash growled.
His gaze jerked to her.
“Move,” she ordered, and for a long, tense moment, he just stood there, battling the intense, unexpected need for blood that beat within him. He could feel the bones breaking beneath his hands; pleas rang in his ears.
“Ruslan,” she repeated softly, and something in her tone permeated the vicious hunger. A warning that he was close to crossing a line, to destroying something that was beyond him to repair.
He didn’t want to listen; he wanted to smash his fist into the face of the man who watched them.
When he shouldn’t have. The man was no one; a minion doing his job. Nothing more. Certainly not someone Ruslan should want to...annihilate. But he did.
Badly.
And yet...he wanted the woman who stood before him more—a brutal realization that thrust him from the darkness where he hovered and into the bright morning sunlight as he stepped through the door, his heart suddenly beating with painful intensity, a steady, vibrant hum buzzing in his head.
“Jesus Christ,” Ash muttered, and he could feel her behind him, her heat and annoyance, the intense, searing awareness of her presence prickling along his spine. Jasmine flooded his nostrils, and his hands curled into impotent fists at his sides. “What the hell was that about?”
He didn’t know. Inside, he churned. Unbalanced and uncertain and...warm.
Far too warm.
“Because I showed them to him?” She moved alongside him, and Ruslan could feel her gaze on his profile, but he didn’t turn, didn’t look at her. “Because I didn’t get your permission first? I repeat: have you met me? We needed to know if he recognized them.”
“Indeed.”
“Don’t you ‘indeed’ me. You know I’m right. I’m sorry you didn’t expect it, but you can’t just morph into the Hulk because you’re pissed at me.”
“I did nothing,” he grated.
“Only because I stopped you.”
He halted next to the Impala and pulled the keys from his pocket without comment.
“Be honest, Ruslan,” she said quietly, watching him over the hood of the car, her blue eyes startlingly vivid in the sunlight. “If not with me, then at least with yourself.”
Her words were hard stones that stung with impact, but he only unlocked the car door and slid into the Impala. He shoved the key into the ignition as she climbed in beside him.
“We need to talk about this,” she said.
“That’ll have to wait,” said a voice from behind them, and instantly Ruslan’s SIG Sauer was in hand, pointed at the young man who occupied the backseat. A slender boy on the cusp of adolescence who stared at Ruslan with a cold dispassion that was eerily familiar.
A boy Ruslan should have seen long before they’d climbed into the Impala.
Distracted. If he’d needed further evidence that Ash Kyndal was a potentially lethal disruption to his life, it sat staring at him in the backseat of his vehicle.
“How did you get in?” he asked, because the Impala’s locks were fortified by digital technology that required a laser key to release. In spite of the car’s age, its doors could not be opened by something so simple as a slim jim or a coat hanger. One had to either break the encryption—or they had to have the key.
The boy shrugged. “Locks are meant to be opened.”
“How?” Ruslan repeated.
The boy only blinked at him. “I’m the Engineer.”
“Put your damn gun away,” Ash muttered. She turned to face the boy. “Does the Engineer have a name?
The boy’s gaze detailed her abused features. “Adam.”
“Hi, Adam.” A gentle smile curved her mouth. “I’m Ash.”
“You’re here because of the Ideal,” Adam said. “Because of Eva.”
Ash blinked. Ruslan decided to leave his gun where it was, comfortably in hand. “How do you know that?”
The boy shrugged. “Dr. Masters is afraid.”
“Afraid because of Eva?”
“She’s half of me,” Adam said. “They want her.”
“Who wants her?”
“All of them.”
Ash looked at Ruslan. “I think we need a decoder ring.”
“I won’t let the Makers find her,” Adam continued. “But I can’t stop the Reverend.”
“The Reverend?” she echoed.
“He’s hunting us.”
“Us?”
“Them, me, her. We’re the evidence of his sin.”
“What sin?”
“Creation.”
The boy looked between them, as if everything he said was perfectly reasonable. As if he expected them to understand. He had short black hair and eyes the color of jade; his features were almost delicate, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. He wore a black, button-down shirt and matching pants. Other than the fact that he’d managed to infiltrate the Impala’s security, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him.
“Where can we find the Reverend?” Ruslan asked.
“Half Moon Bay.”
Ruslan’s brows rose.
“A reservoir east of the city,” Ash said. She stared at the boy in consideration. “What’s he doing out there?”
“Recruiting.”
“Recruiting who?”
“Believers.”
“Believers,” she echoed softly, and Ruslan knew she was thinking of the men in black.
“They want to eradicate us,” Adam said. “Because we’re an abomination.”
“You are not a frigging abomination.”
He looked at her. “We were made, not born. We’re...unnatural.”
“Bullshit,” she retorted. “You’re more than what they made you.”
Adam was silent. Uncertain, Ruslan thought. He could relate.
“You live here?” she asked, nodding at the compound.
“Yes.�
�
“Are you the only one?” Ruslan cut in.
“Yes.”
“Where are the others?”
“Three are dead.”
“And the rest?”
“We’re not the beginning.” Adam’s gaze narrowed. “But we will be the end.”
Ash’s brows rose. Unease whispered down Ruslan’s spine.
“There are more?” she asked.
The boy turned and looked at Ruslan. “Everywhere.”
Ruslan stilled. His hand tightened on the SIG Sauer. “How many?”
“Too many to count.”
“How do you know?” Ash wanted to know.
“We are one.”
A moment of silence punctuated that statement.
“How did you know we have Eva?” Ruslan asked.
“We are one,” Adam said again. “She is the Ideal.”
He said it simply, as if it answered every question.
Ruslan leaned toward him. “What does that mean?”
The boy suddenly stiffened. His gaze narrowed, and he leaned over to peer through the window next to him.
“What?” Ash demanded.
“They’re looking for me.”
A steady, insistent bzzzzz of sound suddenly passed over them. Ruslan turned, craned his neck, and caught a glimpse of a small, black object hovering overhead.
“A drone,” he said shortly.
“Nosy bastards,” she muttered.
“I’ll send it away,” Adam said, and Ruslan watched as the drone suddenly halted in mid-air, turned and flew away. “But another will come. I have to go.”
“Wait.” Ash dug into her pocket and produced another business card. “Take this. If you need anything, call me. I can help you get out.”
Adam frowned down at the card. “Someone has to watch the Makers.”
“Why does it have to be you?”
He blinked, as if he’d never considered that before.
“You’ll protect her,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Ash said. “How did you know she was alive?”
“The Ideal can’t die.”
A chill suddenly washed through Ruslan. “Explain.”
But the boy was opening the Impala’s back door and climbing out.
“Be careful,” Ash told him, worry in her eyes.
Adam paused and looked at her. “I’m the Engineer. They see what I decide they can see.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Be careful. And when you want out, call me.”
For a long moment, he only stared at her, as if she was some kind of rare, unknowable creature he wasn’t sure should exist. Again, Ruslan could relate.
“Thank you,” he said, but before swinging the door shut, he looked at the SIG Sauer Ruslan held, then at Ruslan.
“Beware the Exiles,” he said.
“Exiles?” Ash echoed, but the boy just waited for Ruslan’s nod before slamming the door and walking away.
“Holy crap,” Ash said, watching him. “That was...enlightening and terrifying.”
Ruslan said nothing, the boy’s words echoing in his head as he slid his SIG Sauer back into its holster. Everywhere.
“He controlled that drone,” she continued. “How is that possible?”
“Unpredictable manifestations,” he said quietly.
She turned and looked at him, her eyes widening. “You think?”
“Grant spoke of miracles.”
“The Ideal can’t die.” She shook her head and sat back in the seat. “This has officially jumped the shark.”
Indeed.
“Adam and Eva,” she said. “That can’t be coincidence.”
“No,” Ruslan replied. “I believe we need to have a talk with the Reverend.”
She met his gaze, her eyes hard and glinting. “Agreed.”
Something sharp and jagged tore through Ruslan then, sudden and unexpected. Painful. He had no idea what it was: fear. Apprehension.
Hope.
Because the solid, unmoving ground upon which he’d built his entire existence had suddenly opened beneath his feet, leaving a dark, hollow chasm.
And he had no choice but to fall.
“Ruslan?” Ash watched him, her gaze far too perceptive.
But he said nothing. He merely started the Impala and drove them away.
CHAPTER
-12-
He can’t fucking have you, baby. That’s the only thing I’ll promise you.
Wanda was not a violent person. In spite of Mr. Sparky and the self-defense maneuvers Ash had taught her, drawing blood was not instinctive. She was, at heart, a diplomat. She believed in negotiation and compromise.
That did not, however, make her a mark. No matter what Wylie thought.
Not that he didn’t mean what he said. There was no doubting that punishing, possessive kiss that had sent heat flooding through her veins, or the depth of the anger that flared in his dark blue gaze when she’d shared Ajmil’s identity and the abbreviated tale of her betrothal.
But Wylie meaning well, and Wylie acting, were two very different things, and they rarely happened simultaneously. So while Wanda knew his outrage was very real, she also knew it was very meaningless.
Which both infuriated and wounded her—neither of which did her any good at all. Because even now she couldn’t rely on him. Even now, he’d disappeared into this house of ill repute, and even if he was at a table instead of in a bed—he’d left them alone.
For nearly three hours.
The breakfast Henri had brought up was long gone, and the sun was climbing higher in the sky, and there was nothing to do but wait.
Wait and worry.
About Eva, who seemed far too serene for someone being hunted by brutal, relentless men intent on doing her bodily harm. About who those men were and what their next move was—because Wanda really, really didn’t want to spend another night at The Butterfly—and just how, exactly, they were supposed to get to Charlie’s cabin.
About Ajmil and the utter implosion of the life she’d so painstakingly built for herself. And regardless of Wylie’s words—you’re one of us, we won’t give you up—she would have to run. Because nothing would stop Devansh Patail from hunting her to the ends of the earth.
Even if Wylie was the kind of man to fight for her, he wouldn’t win. He would only get himself killed.
Wanda supposed it was good that he was fickle and unreliable. Good for him, anyway.
“That man outside the elevator last night,” Eva said suddenly. “He frightened you.”
Wanda closed her laptop. Wylie had finally talked to Ash the previous night utilizing Charlie’s old CB, but they still didn’t have any answers about the men in black. She’d considered logging on remotely to the Firm’s server and poking around, but then decided that might be a moronic move and had instead gone looking into the men in black. While she hadn’t expected anything from a search engine, she had located several mentions of them on social media—not unexpected, considering their MO. Bullish, brutal and unconcerned by witnesses. That they looked like government-issued henchmen only made them more of a spectacle, and someone had uploaded a blurry video of their confrontation in front of the Fountains of Bellagio.
She hadn’t found any answers, but it was worth following.
“Wanda,” Eva said, a gentle probe accompanied by a look of such solemn reproof, it made Wanda uneasy.
There was nothing normal about this girl.
“He is an old...” Enemy. “Someone I once knew.”
“You fear him.”
Wanda turned away. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern,” she said.
“But...you’re my friend.”
Friend. Something Wanda had few of. Ash, maybe. Shirley, to a lesser extent. But those people she’d once called friends, those she’d trusted and relied upon, they were all gone. Considering how badly they’d betrayed her, it couldn’t be considered a loss.
She missed them, nonetheless.
“It’s not something you can do anything about,” she said after a moment.
The girl only stared at her with that strangely discerning gaze. “Will he hurt you?”
Not if he can’t find me. “You mustn’t worry about—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of a hard fist suddenly hammering against the door made Wanda start violently.
“It’s them,” Eva said and stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”
Wanda hurried to the door and looked through the small, round peephole to be certain. The sight of two men clad in flat black suits was a punch to the gut, and she whirled away, her heart slamming into her ribs like a caged bird trying to take flight. She grabbed her bag and Eva’s arm, and then the door exploded inward, the crack of wood splintering like sudden, violent thunder. Two men stormed into the room, guns drawn, and Wanda pulled Eva behind her and froze.
“Don’t shoot,” she said calmly. “We’ll come peacefully.”
Behind her, Eva tugged at her grip, but Wanda held tight.
“You?” one of the men sneered. “We don’t want you. We want her.”
Wanda dropped her bag and took a step back, bumping into Eva. Her hand went to the side pocket of her khaki cargos—she had refused to put those ludicrous leather pants on again—to where she’d stuck Mr. Sparky earlier, mostly because she was angry with Wylie.
And because she was afraid.
Her hand closed around the Taser, her heart like a jackhammer in her throat.
“Don’t fucking move,” snarled the other man, his hand flexing around his weapon.
“You won’t hurt her,” Eva said in a tone that made Wanda turn and glance at her. Unbending, like steel, and...dangerous. The girl’s amber eyes were almost glowing in the light, her face perfect in its stillness as she stared at the men.
Fearless.
Wanda tightened her grip.
“You shut the fuck up.” The closest man took a step that cast them into his shadow. He watched Eva with dark, narrow eyes, his face lined, his jaw tight.
He looked afraid.
Now, Wanda thought. She had to act now.
Offense, not defense. Ash had been insistent. You attack, you don’t defend. You’re predator, not prey.
A hysterical laugh caught in Wanda’s throat, but her hand tightened around Mr. Sparky. She looked at the two men. One was close, only a foot away. The other was farther, to her right about three feet or so.
