by Driza, Debra
The full lips curved into a welcoming smile and the body leaned toward me, encompassing me in some kind of spicy vanilla scent. “Hello, Mila.” Then, she shook her head, a soft laugh echoing through the room. “Wow, you probably have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to say that. I’m so glad you’re finally here.”
I blinked up at her upside-down face, my mind still a little cloudy. Here? Where was here? Sensations kicked in, and I realized the soft, squishy material beneath me was leather. I was stretched out on a brown leather couch, while the smiling woman lounged next to me in a matching chair.
With more effort than I should have needed, I jerked myself up into a sitting position.
Her forehead wrinkled, and she reached out to stabilize my arm, throwing her hands up in silent platitude when I leaned away from her touch.
“Easy,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You took in quite a bit of juice. That absolutely was not meant to happen.” A scowl tightened her lips.
Juice?
Voltage. Taser.
It was all coming back.
“Anyway, you should relax for a bit. Let your body recover. Can I get you anything?”
She rested her elbows on her skirt and leaned closer as if concerned, engulfing me in another waft of vanilla.
“Who are you?” I tried to say, in lieu of a request. But my voice was somehow locked up. All that came up was a grunt-like sound. “Hoo.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Oh. Right. Nice going, Quinn—in all the excitement, you forgot to introduce yourself. Quinn Taylor, founder of the Vita Obscura.”
Quinn . . . this woman was the Quinn? The founder of the V.O., the organization that had terrified my mom so much, and even had Holland crazy with anxiety? In all the time I’d tried to visualize who might be the mastermind of the faceless organization after us, I’d never once pictured someone like this. For one, she was so pretty. Petite. She looked more suited to a boardroom or a magazine cover than the leader of an underground criminal organization. I mean, I knew better than to underestimate people based on looks, but still.
For two, she seemed so . . . sincere.
Something niggled at the back of my head. Something was wrong. The details of the fight in the driveway flew through my head, and my body went rigid with remembered dread.
“Where’s . . . Hunter?” I managed. This time, the words came out, but in that too low, too robotic voice from the garage. The one I hated more than anything.
Quinn frowned. “Has that happened before?”
I scowled. “Hunter?” I demanded, in the same robotic tone.
“Hmmm. It’s probably just a side effect of the Taser, or other electrical insults, like too much current. It should wear off in a few seconds. But if it ever persists, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do. I can tell that must be upsetting for you. As far as Hunter goes, he’s safe, with his parents.”
My relief over his safety was short-lived. Hunter’s parents. I’d forgotten, until just now. How was he coping, knowing that they’d used him? How was he coping in general? The choke hold . . .
I didn’t speak, but my eyes must have expressed my worries.
“He’s fine, I promise. You can even see him soon, if you like.”
I nodded, then bit my lip. Of course I wanted to see him, more than anything. I just wasn’t sure he’d say the same thing about me. He might have been willing to help me escape, but that had to be guilt guiding his actions.
He’d made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.
At the thought, a hollow formed in my heart.
I cleared my throat, hoping that my voice would work this time. “His parents,” I started carefully. Relief flowed through me when my voice once again sounded familiar. “They work for you?”
“Yes, though mainly his stepfather. They were instrumental in helping to locate you and bring you in, thanks to Hunter.”
I winced, and she sighed. “I swear, nothing is quite as bad as it might seem right now. I know you must think we’re the devil, but I hope to prove otherwise. Well, except for Riggs. But don’t worry. He’s being dealt with.” For a moment, her mouth hardened, and her voice lost its musical cadence. In that moment, I caught a glimmer of something menacing. “Do you mind . . . ?” she said, reaching out for me again.
I didn’t want to say yes, but I also didn’t want to piss her off. Not until I had some kind of idea what game she was playing at here. She seemed sincere, but all of Mom’s warnings flew through my head, telling me to exercise extreme caution.
I gave a brief, jerky nod, and she cradled my hand in her own. Warm. Her palms were warm. Her expression lit up, and I felt her body release a tiny sigh. “Amazing. Simply amazing.”
Now that she was closer, I could see that she wasn’t as young as I’d first thought. Tiny crow’s feet fanned from her skin. Her grip tightened; her eyes glowed with intensity. Suddenly uncomfortable, I yanked my hand away, then worried I’d offended her. I wasn’t exactly in a bargaining position at the moment.
To my surprise, she apologized. “There I go again, getting ahead of myself. I’m sure you must be incredibly confused about me and my group. Speaking of which, I’m being a terrible host.”
She rose, smoothing her skirt down her slim legs, and motioned me to follow her toward the door. “Let me show you around and introduce you to my crew, so you can settle in before we get down to business. I think you’re going to like it here.”
I stood slowly. Warily. The whole hostess act didn’t fit with anything I knew about the V.O. Not the men who’d tried to grab Mom and I back at the motel, or the fight that had broken out at Jensen’s house.
“I think what I’d like is to know where I am.”
My GPS wasn’t functioning yet, or else I would have figured it out for myself.
“You’ll know. When the time is right,” Quinn replied, her eyes soft, not elusive. “Trust me. It’s for your own protection that some things are a mystery right now. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
This made no sense. She made no sense. I should be plotting my escape, I knew that. But shell shock must have taken a toll, because all I could do for now was follow behind her, and wonder what the hell was going on. In my defense, the more information I had, the better. And it was clear that Quinn was full of information.
Besides, I consoled myself—I couldn’t do anything until I saw that Hunter was safe, with my own eyes.
She laughed suddenly, tapping herself lightly on the head with two pink-tipped fingers. “You must think I’m nutty. I should have apologized immediately for the way you were brought in. Way too chaotic, but it was partly because one of my tech guys had intercepted a message that Holland had a trace on you. We think he may have managed to disable your stealth mode, somehow. Probably when you were connecting to the internet.”
Three, at the bus stop. The weird wormhole sensation in my head. Suddenly, it was all making sense. It was possible that I’d led Holland and Three right to me.
An image of Three’s body melting to nothing under the semi flashed through my mind, accompanied by the scent of burning flesh and hair. I shivered and shoved the memory away.
Quinn paused in the doorway. “Mila, I know this is going to sound crazy, but we have a mutual enemy. General Holland.” Just like that, all traces of softness vanished again. Her stiff posture and jutting chin radiated aggression. Beneath that pretty, sunny exterior, I suspected something explosive lurked. Like dynamite disguised beneath a carefully applied layer of paint and glitter. “And I think it’s long past time we made him pay.”
Even if I doubted everything else, there was no doubting that Quinn despised General Holland. Possibly as much as I did. But why?
A quick shake of auburn hair, and she was walking again. “Enough of that for now. Let me introduce you to the rest of the group.”
I followed, slowly, mentally ticking through everything I knew about the V.O. And how none of it so far was tracking. I had
to be missing something. Somewhere, along the way, a trap would surely be sprung. Maybe allaying my suspicions was all part of the plan, somehow.
And yet . . . as I watched Quinn’s hair swish while we walked, I realized I did believe one thing. Quinn was genuinely happy to have me here, whatever the reason. The first person who’d ever known what I truly was, and welcomed me anyway.
Still. That didn’t mean I trusted her.
From somewhere down near the end of the long hall, I could just make out noises. A clank. A spurt of laughter. A sudden shout, followed by muffled voices.
Quinn groaned. “Children, children,” she said, but her tone brimmed with amused tolerance. “You’ll find that we work hard here, but we play just as hard.”
I had to admit, my curiosity was piqued.
With her efficient, long strides, she led me down the corridor. White walls, synthetic fiber on the floor. The hallway curved slowly, until we approached a set of open doors. The sounds emitted from inside the room grew louder: voices, laughter, the staccato, rapid-fire ping ping ping of a recorded gun. Pool balls, clinking together.
Against my will, hope fluttered in my chest. Would I find Hunter in there? Part of me wanted to see him again, and part of me lived in terror, of how he would treat me now that he knew everything.
Now that he knew what I was.
Before we could enter the doorway, footsteps thudded down the hall, back from the way we came. We both turned, to see Jensen striding toward us.
I tensed, my stomach twisting at the sight of him. Here, in the V.O.’s hideout. There went any last sliver of hope that he wasn’t working with them again. As obvious as his involvement might have seemed back at his house, the fact that he’d disappeared before Quinn arrived left me with a tiny reservoir of doubt. But now that reservoir dried up, refilled instead with the certainty of his betrayal.
His gaze swept over me, from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he nodded at Quinn. “She okay?”
“She’s fine, which you can see for yourself.”
He grunted, and I gritted my teeth. “She is right here, and can even form sentences of her own.” I paused, then added, “She’s also wondering how you can live with yourself, knowing what a traitor you’ve been to Mom’s memory.”
The satisfaction I felt when he flinched was fleeting. “I’ll be in the gym if you need me.”
Quinn flashed her white teeth. “Working out some issues, Daniel?”
He stared her down for a moment, not saying a word. Then, with a scowl, he turned and strode away.
“Well. That was interesting, don’t you think?” Quinn mused.
I watched his retreat, and despite myself, couldn’t help but feel a knife twist in my chest.
Not your dad, I reminded myself. Sarah’s.
Raised voices preceded a door flying open on the other side of the hallway. And just like that, Hunter appeared.
My eyes greedily drank him in, checking for any injuries, any bruises. The knot I hadn’t even known was in my stomach loosened. He really was okay. Hunter was okay.
Our eyes met, and it was like all of the trauma of the past two days just fell away. Something crackled between us, making my breath catch. He swallowed, hard, while need tore through me, aching and pure, and I hoped against all logic that whatever he said would offer a sliver of a chance.
“We aren’t finished here—” Sophia’s face appeared in the doorway. When she saw us, her voice quieted, though her smile was forced. She nodded politely, then tugged on Hunter’s good arm. “Come on.”
With one last, searching look at me, Hunter turned and disappeared back inside. The click of the door signaled my heart to resume pumping.
I was aware of Quinn studying me, so I ducked my head to hide my face.
“Love sucks, doesn’t it?” is what she finally said, before guiding me toward the common room.
Was I really that obvious?
Threat detected: 11 humans in a 30-ft. radius.
My scan kicked in, itemizing heights and weights and distinguishing characteristics, in less than two seconds. Quinn announced, “Look who’s here.”
All eleven people stopped what they were doing, and chatter cut off like a cord sliced with a knife. Silence reigned for an initial, uncomfortable moment, and I saw various emotions flit across faces. I braced myself for rejection.
Several people clumped around a worn pool table that had seen better days, while others were looking up from where they slumped on the couch, playing video games. Another group sat around an overturned box, playing a card game involving matches. I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised. I guess in the back of my head, I’d been expecting something sterile, like Holland’s compound. In comparison, this place was actually . . . homey.
Excited murmurs, lots of exchanged glances. And most of them, young. Not the hardened mercenaries I was expecting, though many of them did look a little rough around the edges. None of them were the men in the driveway from Jensen’s place, either.
I was surprised to see overstuffed couches and love seats, a small kitchen in the corner with a microwave and full-sized refrigerator, and on the counter, a restaurant-style soft drink dispenser. A foosball table sat next to a pool table. Two fifty-five-inch-screen TVs dominated the room. In the far corner, three young adults sat in front of computer monitors, busily tapping away.
“So, these are my people,” she said, spreading her arms wide.
The boy closest to us chewed his sandwich and raised his fist. “Free technology!” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs. The others nearby heard, and repeated the words. “Free technology!” soon rumbled through the room.
I frowned. Free technology? The question must have shown on my face, because Quinn responded. “Not what you were expecting? Don’t worry—money is important to our quality of life. But we try to only gain it from big business and the government, and to subsidize our bigger goal—to share technology with the masses. Information should be free—a right, not a privilege.”
A few scattered cheers.
Quinn straightened then, folding her arms. Her clear voice carried. “Don’t get too excited yet. I’m sure you heard about the tracer—I’m going to be needing some answers as to why we didn’t see that coming,” she said, turning to glare at the boys in front of the computer monitors.
“None of our alarms were tripped,” said a brunette girl with glasses.
“Well, find out why! Jared, Teek, I want updates, as soon as possible. We need to get this back under control. And everyone, break time is almost over.”
Something in her pocket buzzed, and she grabbed a phone. She frowned at the screen before turning to me. “I need to go check on this—then I’ll be back to bring you up to speed. Dixon, can you stick with Mila for now?”
The fidgety boy of Asian heritage dropped his cards and pushed away from the table with an easy smile. “Sure.” Quinn patted my shoulder, then turned and exited the room, leaving a trail of vanilla behind her.
“Welcome to Club Quinn,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So, you’re really an android with feelings? What’s that like?”
His question was bold, but full of curiosity, nothing else. It probably shouldn’t have felt so weird, but it floored me. No one had ever asked before. Not even Mom.
I hadn’t really meant to respond—to any of them—but I couldn’t resist. It felt good to be out in the open for a change. Not having to hide who I was from the world. “Normal, freakish, both at the same time?”
Dixon’s slow smile revealed a crooked front tooth. “You’ll fit in just fine here, then. We’re overflowing with freaks,” he said, but he didn’t sound concerned. No, he made freak seem like an attribute.
Not sure what to say, I followed him over to the table, surprised by the sudden lifting of tension from my shoulders.
A boy with buzzed blond hair, rangy-lean muscles showing beneath a tank top, and a match between his teeth, waited until he saw Quinn exit the room
before pushing up from the card table. “That really her?” he said, giving me a once-over. “’Cuz she don’t look like all that.”
“What did you expect her to look like, Leo?” the stringy-haired guy next to him said. “One of the girls from those magazines you hide in your sleeping bag?” He snickered, but Leo just shrugged.
“Dude, they make a chick from scratch, least they can do is add a little . . .” His hands shaped two oversized semicircles near his chest. “No offense,” he added.
Stringy-haired boy gave this half snicker while beside me, Dixon jiggled his leg. “Shut it, Leo.” Then to me, he whispered, “Sorry.”
Stringy-hair said, “Dude, I’d shut up if I were you. I think you’re pissing her off.”
Leo shrugged. “My apologies. If it helps, I talk to all the girls like that.”
Wow. Okay. “I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” I answered, though if I were being entirely honest, I’d admit that being treated like every other girl under the circumstances felt surprisingly good.
Leo twirled the match with his teeth, his chapped lips curling into a slightly feral smile. “Yeah? Good. I like to keep people guessing.”
Okay, then. Maybe I’d just avoid this one.
An oversized bear of a man with red curls pushed to his feet, blocking Leo’s path. He appeared at least five years older than the blond, and must have outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. “You’ve got the manners of a gutter rat,” he said, rolling his words in a lilting burr. Scottish. He turned his back and extended his hand to me. “Excuse these brutes—they don’t get out from behind their monitors enough. I’m Samuel, the civilized one in this rat hole.”
I eyed the beefy hand, my gaze traveling back up to catch a wide mouth that looked meant for smiling and a broad walnut of a nose. Pale skin and deep brown eyes, alight with humor.
