“Rough day?”
I jump. Gwen is standing in the doorway wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt. She sits down opposite me, tucking her feet under her legs. I don’t know what to say to someone like Gwen; my existence is shallow, the events of my life meaningless. We are roughly the same age, but she’s done more with her years than most women three times her age.
“I can’t sleep,” I admit. “You?”
“I’m not really good at it anymore.”
I press my lips together. I can’t imagine someone in her position would be.
“Is it okay that I have this out here?” She holds up the quilt.
“Of course. My grandmother would love that you’re using it. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
“I am already. You’re a generous person to welcome us like this. Thank you.” She looks around the room. “So you’re that ballerina,” she says, changing the subject. “What’s that like?”
“Probably the same as it is for you,” I say. “Being famous for something you didn’t intend to be famous for.”
“I doubt that,” she says. “You have to work pretty hard to be doing what you do.”
I shrug. “I’m good at it. I don’t love it.”
She nods like she knows just what I mean. She’s intimidating in the same way a storm is: you can feel her energy, but the extent of what she will do is unpredictable.
“May I ask you something personal?”
She smiles faintly. “Is there anything personal left to know about me?”
“Folsom,” I say. “You fell in love.”
“Yes.”
“It just seems…”
“Stupid,” she answers for me.
“Well...” I pause and then say—”Why did you let yourself?”
Gwen laughs. Her laugh is throaty and I can’t help but grin at the mischief in it.
“Love is something that happens to you. You don’t necessarily invite it in.”
That doesn’t really sound pleasant at all. Control, precision, discipline—things I value, things that are an intricate part of my life.
“Has he...is he...do you know…?”
It’s like shutters come down on her eyes, and I realize that asking about Folsom is a no-no.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t pry. We just all got so wrapped up in your love story.”
“My priority right now is my son. Getting us both out of of here.”
“Of course,” I say. “Of course.”
My mind goes to Jackal, the danger of what I felt earlier in the night. It has been rumored that Gwen’s pregnant sister escaped with Folsom. I don’t have a sister to compare that to, but I know enough women to know how they react to the End Men. Perhaps sisterly bonds are enough to withstand temptation. Or perhaps Folsom loves Gwen enough to never look at another woman again.
“What do you do when you’re not dancing?” Gwen asks me in a much lighter tone.
I look at her square in the face when I answer.
“I steal things.”
ELEVEN
JACKAL
The male red velvet mite releases its sperm on small twigs then lays a trail to the spot. When a female finds the trail, she will follow it to seek out the creator. If she finds it worthy, she will sit on the sperm.
My alarm wakes me up at six, her voice cutting into a very pleasant dream about Phoenix.
“Good morning, Jackal,” the voice says. “Today is going to be the best day of your life, you fucking stud.”
I roll onto my stomach, holding a pillow over my head.
“Shut up,” I yell. And then, “Fuck you!”
“You have forty-five minutes to be at your ballet lesson,” she says cheerfully. “If you don’t get up now, you’ll surely be late.”
“Eye of the Tiger” begins to play just as I programmed it to. I launch myself out of bed yelling, “Off! Off, dammit!”
Stumbling across the room, I head for the bathroom. Three hours of sleep, not even an uptight prick like Kasper could survive on that. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. Death. I feel like a corpse waking up underground. My body aches like it’s been dragged around the subway tracks for hours while the train runs over me, back and forth.
Phoenix is the last woman I want to see feeling like this, but if I don’t show, she’ll hate me more than she already does. The look on her face when she thought I was rejecting her. Like I’d ever reject her. I hadn’t wanted to treat her like them—like she didn’t matter. I man up and get ready to put on my fucking tights.
Selfish’s mouth gapes when I walk out. I adjust my dick, and she raises her mug in a mocking toast, then hands it to me.
“Drink up. It’ll help.”
I slug it back, choking at the putrid taste, but it does help. The pounding in my head becomes slightly more manageable.
Yvonne knows better than to say a word when she sees the state I’m in. She drives straight to the studio, leaving the music off as I slouch in the back seat, my sunglasses on.
I walk through the corridor and slow down near the door, expecting to hear Phoenix’s playlist blasting in the room. Silence. The door is unlocked, but the room is dark. I turn the light on and can’t get away from myself in all the mirrors.
I begin a few stretches, just killing time. Get a drink. Go to the john. Fifteen minutes pass, still no Phoenix, and I get pissed.
I’m about to take off when she rushes in, tossing her bag in the corner.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Didn’t think you’d still be here,” she says.
“So that’s how you’re playing it,” I mutter.
“I’m not the one who plays games, Jackal. That’s your modus operandi.”
“Modus operandi,” I mock. I run my hand over my face and attempt a grin. It probably comes out more scowlish with my pounding head. “I paid for this time; I want my lesson.”
Her shoulders sag and she turns away from me, adjusting her Silverbook. I feel a pang of shame.
“You’re throwing me off this morning,” I tell her. “What did you do with Phoenix?”
“Do you ever get tired of pretending?” She turns to face me then, her eyes focused on mine.
My mouth opens and closes. “I—yes.” I swallow hard and study her face. Her eyes are bloodshot and have dark circles under them. “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that last night…”
“What? Doing your job? We all have jobs to do, right?”
“Phoenix?” I say, standing in front of her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She starts the music and gets in position. “You paid for this time. Let’s get on with your lesson.”
She works me harder than ever, so much so that I regret haggling her, I regret being born, I regret whatever she’s taking out on me. She looks like fire in motion, a raging inferno that only gets brighter the harder she dances. I would be in awe if she’d give me time to be.
“You’re dragging,” she yells. “Don’t lose the tempo...5, 6, 7, 8!” She claps her hands at me and I go faster, sweat flinging everywhere.
When she finally shuts the music off an hour later, I collapse on the floor.
“You’re possessed,” I tell her. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your hatred.”
“All in a day’s work, right?” Her mouth in a tight line, she walks to the door and holds it open. “Time’s up. See you tomorrow.”
I pull myself up and grab my things. When I get close enough, I put my hand on her shoulder, and she backs out of my reach.
“Phoenix, I feel like I’ve—”
“You don’t know how to comprehend that the world doesn’t only revolve around you, do you, Jackal?” She lifts her eyes and faces me head on. “I have more important things to do than waste my time sparring with you. Got it?”
I back up, stunned, and nod. I’m so confused by whatever this is that I’m feeling. It must be the hangover because my whole body just started hurting again. My chest feels...wounded.
“
Same time tomorrow?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says and shuts the door behind me.
I walk a few steps then turn around one more time, looking through the window. She’s moved away and is beginning to dance again, but before she turns, I see her face. Tears are streaming down her cheeks.
I put my hand back on the knob, ready to storm back in there.
“Jackal,” Selfish hisses behind me. “You’re going overtime with your little hobby here. Three appointments today. We’ve gotta hustle.”
It takes a little blue pill to get through the day. I tongue it before I swallow, resentful of its power. You’re not old, I tell myself. You’re just tired. It’s bitter going down, and I snarl at Selfish, who looks like she’s enjoying my discomfort.
I get the job done and still make it to Phoenix’s evening performance. The last appointment didn’t want to let me go and the fucking pill made me last way longer than I wanted to, but I’m here and semi-coherent. I doze during a piece that doesn’t have Phoenix, but then she’s out there the rest of the night and I sit on the edge of my seat.
I can’t get her face and her tears out of my head. I don’t like...caring. Caring is the opposite of not giving a fuck, which is what I do best. I wait for her, timing when she should be ready to leave for the after-party. She doesn’t take as long as I expect, and when she walks out, she’s dressed like she’s ready for practice, not a party. I duck into one of the unused rooms until she’s down the hall and then follow her out of the building.
She’s already made me aware of a couple of things I’m ashamed of, stalking her right up at the top of them. But when she walks to what I assume is her building, I think maybe she’s just exhausted and needs a night off. I lean against the side of the wall, feeling like an idiot. Ah well. I needed a good excuse to skip the party. I’m about to find a ride to the compound when a car comes barreling out of the parking garage.
“A thief and a reckless driver.” I shake my head.
I hold my wrist up and a cab finds me within seconds.
“Sir…” My security detail comes running after me.
“Not tonight, fuckers!” I hop into the cab, knowing there will be hell to pay for this later.
“Follow that car, please,” I say quietly.
Eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, but the woman doesn’t speak. I message Yvonne that I won’t need her until the next morning. It’s not uncommon for me to spend the night at a party. But my security will be irate...unless they’re already following. The longer we drive, the more this feels like a bad idea. I don’t want Phoenix on the Society’s radar more than she already is. A pregnancy with someone as high profile as Phoenix would have them coming in their proverbial pants.
I nearly tell the woman to turn around, but at this point, I’m too curious. It’s an hour before Phoenix slows her car and pulls into a driveway. I tap the glass.
“Let me out here, please.” It’s too dark to see much, but it looks like a house is tucked behind the trees.
She stops right then, not going even an inch closer. Obedient, I’ll give her that.
“Shall I wait?” she asks.
“No, thank you.” I give her a hefty tip and step out into the brisk night. I wait until she’s driven off before walking toward the house.
I’m two hundred feet from the door when I hear the distinct sound of the safety sliding off of a gun.
“Don’t move.”
I let out a stream of curses under my breath and then hear Phoenix’s voice.
“Jackal?” Her soft voice sounds so innocent, when she is really the spawn of Satan.
“Yes, it’s fucking Jackal,” I spit. “Put the fucking gun down.”
A blinding light shines in my face and I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing spots. When I open them, Phoenix is lowering a shotgun.
“Where did you get that thing?”
“Keep your voice down,” she says, right in my ear. “It belonged to my grandfather.”
“Who do we have here?” Another voice says softly. “I thought I recognized that simpering voice…”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “Gwen?” I hiss.
Gwen has an identical shotgun pointed at me, but unlike Phoenix, she doesn’t lower it. I can’t believe I’m staring at the tiny figure of Gwen Allison. Before I can say a word, Phoenix grabs me by the arm and shines the light toward the house. Gwen follows behind us.
“This is fucked,” I say. “We’re all fucked.”
TWELVE
PHOENIX
Female Komodo dragons get pregnant without men.
It smells like rain in the kitchen. I lean over the sink, pushing the window open and glancing at Jackal. He watches me, unblinking with his warm molasses eyes, and I feel violated. With Jackal here I’m a visitor in my own kitchen, all gangly and gawky. I still picture my grandfather standing in the same spot Jackal is standing now, his silver hair thick and windblown from being outside. He always seemed larger than life, the smell of him filling up the room. He smelled like cut grass, coffee, and Vicks VapoRub. Jackal, both arms folded across his chest, is a giant in comparison to my grandfather. And he smells like...I don’t know…not Vicks. I sniff the air around him.
“Are you smelling me?” he asks.
“No...what? No.”
He smirks as I round the table and sit next to Gwen, putting space between us.
Jackal waves his hand between the two of us. “Okay. Start from the beginning.”
“Too much to tell,” I tell him and Gwen nods.
“Oh no. No, no. You’re not getting out of talking,” he says, pointing at me.
Gwen’s eyebrow quirks up just as Jewel comes into the room. Jackal goes completely still, eyes bugging when he sees her, and I look at Jewel to see her reaction. She smirks and stares him down.
“You two know each other?” I ask, dread filling my chest at the thought of him sleeping with her.
“Who do I ask for when I come back,” he says, monotone.
“Why would I tell you now,” she says, laughing. “See you around, End Man.” She does a pageant wave and backs out of the room.
He levels her back with a glare and turns to me. “You’re enough to deal with on your own; I don’t know if I can handle three of you together in the same room.”
“There are a few more,” I tell him.
“A few?” He looks at Gwen. “The news is reporting that you walked out of that prison with a hundred women.”
Gwen nods solemnly. “Jackal, they lock women away for trying to feed their families. That’s what they’re not telling the public. Women who are caught trading on the black market and those who are writing articles about the conditions in the lower end. Cardi was serving a ten-year sentence for buying a sewing machine so she could make cheaper dresses for factory workers rather than buying from the companies owned by the upper end!”
“Where did they all go, when they left with you?”
“Some went back to their families, who will hide them; others chose to try to cross the border themselves. We spread the more serious cases out and we’ll sneak them across slowly.”
“And the guards, they just let you out?”
“Some were bribed, others supported our cause.”
“Bribed by who?” Jackal asks.
“The Revolution.”
“I suppose that’s where you come in,” he says, looking at me.
“I provide some of the funding, yes,” I say. “What can’t be siphoned out of bank accounts is stolen.”
“You really are Robin Hood. That was no stretch.” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, shaking his head.
“This is not just about the End Men anymore, Jackal. This is about all of the Regions,” Gwen says. “The power the upper end holds over the lower. The fact that they could just take my baby from me. I—I didn’t even have a trial…”
We both look at Gwen with horror and don’t know what to say. There are no words for what she’s been through.
“Jackal,” I say. “You have no choice in what you do,” I say it gently enough that he looks at me in surprise.
“I had a choice. I signed the contract.”
“And if you hadn’t signed it? The Society would have just...let you walk away?”
His face clouds over. Gwen and I exchange a glance. She walks over to where Jackal is standing and places a hand on his arm.
“Where’s Marcus, Jackal?”
He jumps at her touch like she’s shocked him. “No one knows.” He reaches around to the back of his head, one eye squeezed closed. “We’re not one big, happy family, if that’s what you think. If anything, the Society pits us against each other. Foley and I were the exceptions. So, no. I don’t know where Marcus is; he forgot to send his forwarding address.”
“How do they pit you against each other?” I ask.
There’s something vulnerable about him right at this moment, his mask is down. I step closer, narrowing my eyes, afraid that if I blink, he’ll return to normal.
“There are incentives...for live births, male children...orgies,” he says, looking at me.
I blush.
“So we choose a personality and we run with it. The End Men are just characters for your personal enjoyment,” he says.
“So you’re not the asshole I think you are?”
Jackal’s lips pucker as he looks at me, head cocked to the side.
“I’m exactly the asshole you think I am, just with a softer side.”
We’re staring at each other, and I can’t look away.
“Jackal…?” Gwen’s voice snaps me back to the present; Jackal clears his throat, shaking his head as if he’s coming out of a trance.
“Do you know anything...do you know if Folsom…?”
“No,” he says, his voice raspy. “He made contact a few weeks ago, through some—I don’t know—shady ass guy. He wanted me to find where they had you.”
Gwen’s eyes fill with tears. She looks away.
Jackal (The End of Men Book 2) Page 7
