Twenty-two
Gage Bronson and Blythe Sol
Rejects Underground Hideout
Washington D.C.
August 19, 4010
6:00 am
It is with reluctance that I turn over in the narrow cot where Blythe and I spent the night and open my eyes. I want to stay in limbo, in this tiny cell where only the two of us exist together—no Resistance, no government, no danger, no Dax. But I know that it won’t last. Soon, I will have to contact Jenica and make arrangements with Baron to get us out of here. Then, if we aren’t captured or killed, it’s back to Headquarters where all the things I want to avoid are waiting for us. Including the truth. Now that we’ve been together, there’s no way I can keep it from her now.
Blythe, who slept with her cheek against my shoulder, her arm around my waist, is staring up at me shyly, already awake. I smile and pull her up against my chest.
“Good morning,” I murmur, my voice thick with the clinging remnants of drowsiness.
“It certainly is a good morning,” she says. My body surges with heat at the sound of her voice first thing in the morning. It’s husky and thick, like syrup. It makes me want to take her again, have her one last time before we have to leave. But I control myself because I don’t want her to think it’s all I want from her. Holding her, looking down at her after spending the night together, is more than I could have ever hoped for from her.
“Well,” I say, giving her a light squeeze. “There’s one thing I can scratch off my bucket list. One less regret.”
She stares at me pensively and then nods. “Yeah, me too.”
She has no idea what it does for me to hear her say that. “I should call Jenica. I was hoping to hear from her by now but… nothing.”
“Hmmm,” she mumbles, nestling beneath the scratchy blanket a bit further and burrowing into my side. “Not yet. Just a little longer.”
I oblige her and we lay together in silence for a while before she speaks again. “The tattoo on your arm—why did you choose it? I’ve always wanted one, but never could decide what to get.”
I glance down at the eagle taking flight on my right bicep and cringe. “At the time, it meant everything to me. Being a patriot, loving my country, hoping to serve one day as a lawyer and eventually a politician.”
She glances up at me in surprise. “You wanted to be a politician?”
I nod. “I grew up here, remember? Politics is everything—it was a part of my life. I thought I could make a difference.”
She sits up a bit, leaning over me with a wide smile. “Senator Gage Bronson. I like the sound of it.”
I frown. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen. Even if making off with Agata hadn’t made me a fugitive, I am no longer as naïve as I used to be. Our government is a joke and the people who run it are corrupt.”
“True,” she agrees. “But a guy like you could change all of that if he wanted to.”
“I think it would take more than one person, Blythe.”
She nods. “True. But it starts with one and that’s all it takes. One voice. One spark. One person willing to stand up and declare that something is unjust. That’s how a revolution is started. One spark and it grows like wildfire.”
Her words fill me with hope for the future because I know that she is right. No matter how dark things might seem, as long as there is even one voice willing to be raised in protest against injustice, we can survive to see things get better.
“That’s what I love about you,” I say honestly, cupping her face in my hand. “You’re so passionate, and I don’t mean in a physical way.” Then I smile, remembering last night. “Well, in that way too.”
Her response is cut off by the sound of a key in the lock and I quickly cover her body with the blanket before the door is swung open. I feel as if a fist has been slammed into my gut as Tamryn appears in the doorway. She falters, tripping over the threshold as a ragged gasp tears from her throat.
“Gage?” My name sounds like a gunshot in the room. Blythe clings to my arm, seated a bit behind me on the bed with the sheet pulled up over her chest. I clutch at the sheet over my waist and stare back into the blue eyes meeting mine from the doorway.
“Tamryn.”
Every possible emotion that exists flickers across her face. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. She looks as wrecked as I feel for a split second before she clears her throat, her expression stoic as she avoids my gaze.
“Baron sent me to wake you,” she says, her voice still as soft and timid as I remember. It clashes wildly with her black leather getup, complete with corset-like top and platform boots. She runs her hand through her black-streaked hair. “He says he’d like you to join us in the main hall for breakfast so he can tell you the plan. He wants to know if you’ve contacted your people yet.”
Finally, I find my voice. “Ah, no,” I answer. “I’ll do it now and be down as soon as I can.”
She nods, once, before turning in the doorway to leave. A black line—a mascara-stained tear—runs down her face.
“Tamryn, wait!”
But she is already gone. Blythe grips my shoulders tightly as I lower my head into my hands with a deep sigh. “Shit.”
“Go after her,” Blythe says gently. “I’ll put that call in to Jenica and meet you down there.”
I turn to face her, shaking my head. “No, I should stay with you.”
Blythe smiles. “Come on, Gage, I’m not going to be mad if you follow her. You guys have unfinished business and I think it’ll make you feel better about the whole thing to talk to her. Get it over with and get some closure. I’ll be fine.”
I press a kiss to her forehead before standing and reaching for my clothes. I pull them on quickly before stroking a lock of her hair affectionately. “Thank you for understanding.”
She nods and reaches for her own clothes. “We all have our baggage. Do what you have to do.”
The Bionics Page 44
