Now the president licked his lips. “Bloody gears, I thought that was why you were so against me. You would have never let Jolene help the country any more than you do. I had to try to get her.”
Clark fought to keep his voice calm. “You got the circus to steal her away.” The note… “You knew I would track her down and you wanted me to go after Jas instead of you.”
“Jas?” Wilcox shuffled toward the wall.
Away from the backdoor in the room’s far right corner.
Why would Wilcox want to go toward a cabinet?
“Ah, the prince.” The president shrugged and lunged for the wall.
Clark couldn’t shoot him. He couldn’t beat him up until he could bleed to death. Clark had left behind the ruthless outdoors. The court needed to try him proper. Clark had a proper life now.
Something buzzed near where the president had touched, and laser guns dropped from the ceiling. They squeaked as they pivoted to face Clark.
“Enemy,” the president shrieked.
Brass glass. President Wilcox had tried to harm Jolene. He didn’t deserve a trial.
Clark fired both pistols into the president just as the guns in the ceiling went off.
methyst huddled in the tunnel, her forehead pressed to her upraised knees and her hands over her ears. Gunshots echoed off the walls. The bullets ricocheted off metal with pings that made her heart clench.
Other shots hit something that thudded.
No, she wouldn’t think about that.
“One, two, three…” She counted beneath her breath to keep from screaming. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to allow them access.
“Seventeen, eighteen…” The sounds died away and a final gunshot went off. “Nineteen. Twenty.” She opened her eyes and tipped back her head, dragging sharp breaths into her lungs until her body stopped shaking.
“They ran out of bullets.” Clark’s voice floated to her from the air. Something shimmered in front of her before it faded.
“I’m coming,” she rasped. Amethyst rolled to her knees and crawled around the curve in the hallway.
Clark lay on his back, his eyes open, staring without sight at the ceiling. Blood pooled around him, too dark for her to see the holes that had to pepper his body. A hole in his cheek showed above his crooked jaw.
Amethyst turned her head to vomit onto the rocks.
I have to save him. I can’t lose it.
I can’t lose him.
Smoke tendrils coiled up from the nozzles of the five guns that hung from the ceiling. The president lay against one of the cabinets with his head down, his body still.
Clark had shot before the ceiling guns had gone off.
She finished the crawl to her husband and gripped his hand. Clark, come back to me. Her skin snapped into place as the desert of endless sand appeared around her. He faced her —she’d expected a grin, but he glowered.
“He took Jolene,” Clark bit out. “Is he dead? I want to bring him back just to kill him again.”
Amethyst lifted her hands to clasp his. “Come back with me so we can take care of him.”
“He stole Jolene from us!” Clark pulled her into his arms and rested his chin against the top of her head.
“She’s back now. She’s safe. He’s dead.” They had to return. “Come back with me now. We can’t stay here.” What happened if they did remain? “Let’s go back to her now. She’s waiting for us.”
He sighed and gripped her harder. “I lost my mother, Ames, and I didn’t bring her back. I could have. I just didn’t know all about the potion. I could have lost Jolene now and—”
“Hush,” Amethyst murmured. “She’s fine. Come back with me so you can start to heal. We have to go back to the senators.”
He chuckled against her hair. “I kept thinking Jas would ruin everything by executing the president and now I did it.”
The world swayed around him to add to the pain slicing through his body. Clark gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. His body would heal soon. The pain of mending would cease and the spinning would halt.
“You got him,” Amethyst said from the president’s direction. “How are we going to carry him up the cavern?”
Wilcox wasn’t worth them risking themselves over retrieving him. “We’ll go back and have the army get him. They can drop down some men. Maybe they can come in by airship.” Clark hissed in a breath as fresh pain blinded him.
“Why does everything keep shaking?”
Clark choked on bile in his throat and managed to wipe his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Brass glass, blood smeared across his face. “What?”
“The shaking. Are the guns going to start up again?”
“You can feel it, too?” It wasn’t in his head. The world was spinning. His belly clenched. “The rocks! All of the gunfire must have triggered a rockslide.”
The canyon would be her doom. She and her husband would die. They couldn’t bring each other back if they were both lost. They would join the souls standing guard above the rocks, unseen soldiers awaiting the next party to join their ranks.
Jolene would grow up an orphan, but beloved. The Treasures and Grishams would see that she lived a fulfilled life.
Amethyst shook her head. She and Clark wouldn’t die.
“Come on!” She gripped his arm and tugged. His leather jacket slipped through her grasp. Beneath it she’d felt unforgiving, steeled muscle. Bloody gears. She’d always giggled over his strength in bed, begged him to pin her down and make her feel helpless while he nipped across her skin… bloody gears everywhere —he was too heavy to carry.
“I’m going.” He gritted his teeth and the muscles in his face clenched. He squeezed his eyes shut. Blood still glistened on his skin, but nothing fresh poured over him and his jaw cracked back into place.
He nudged her aside as he lifted himself to his knees, and then with a groan, he stood. His throat worked as though he fought to keep vomit from spewing.
“Tell me what to do so I can help you.” She held out her hands, but where should she touch? What parts still pained him? If she grabbed his arm, it might throw him off balance.
“I’m fine, love. I’ll make it.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to go on without you!’
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He made a noise; it might have been a chuckle. Tears pricked her eyes. She could tell him they would make it, but hearing the words in the air would make not making it a possibility.
The rumbles grew louder and the floor seemed to shake more violently. He staggered to the wall, groaning, and then pushed toward the rear exit.
They wouldn’t be able to make it through the front. “Let me check back here to make sure there’s nothing in the way.” Amethyst hated to leave his side. An emptiness formed around her. Where was Uncle Albert? He should direct them… no, they could do it on their own. They were Clark and Amethyst. They fought against the government and they won.
She ran toward the edit, but a severe shake sent her boots spinning and she hit the ground, breath whooshing from her lungs. Mumbling against the sudden throb in her knee, she pushed herself up and wobbled toward the door. Pain didn’t matter; she could only think about escape.
Come through me. The shadowed hallway whispered as a tease.
Amethyst grabbed the doorway and squinted into the darkness. The tunnel curled upwards and she caught a glimpse of a metal ladder. How would Clark be able to do that?
An image of her mother flashed into her mind. Hair fluffed and curled, cosmetics immaculate. In the memory, her mother wore a red dress with a high, white-lace collar, and a black velvet cape with a gold clip at the throat.
It rained. They were in New Addison City.
Amethyst had slipped leaving their home and she’d twisted her ankle.
“Mother, it hurts.” She could still hear the whine in her voice and see the sharpness in her mother’s gray eyes.
“It is merely a twist, not broken or sprained. A little injury must n
ever hold you back. Our guests are waiting for us, Amethyst. We must never make someone wait if we can help it.”
They weren’t making anyone wait, but they couldn’t allow an injury to keep them from escaping from the caverns.
“There’s a ladder,” she yelled. “I think we can make it up.” Positive thinking. Encouragement.
A tile fell off the ceiling and cracked in half upon striking the floor.
Clark hobbled toward her, his teeth still gritted. She reached for him before pulling back. If she tried to help, she might impede him more.
“I’m doing better,” Clark ground out. “I’ll be fine, love.”
Another ceiling tile crashed down beside him and a piece struck his foot. Amethyst bit her lower lip. He did walk steadier, more upright. She dashed on ahead to the railing to stay out of his way.
He sagged against the metal with a strangled gasp. If they could only wait a few minutes, he could be fully healed.
“What about the president’s body?” she asked to stall.
“Leave it. We’re more important now.” His lopsided smile cracked some of the blood drying on his face. “Go up first.”
“No, you go.” She stepped away from the ladder and held up her hands. The crashes both inside and outside heightened, leaving her screaming her words.
“Go!” He grabbed the front of her jacket and yanked her against his chest. “Go up, Amethyst. I don’t want to worry about you behind me.”
“But you’re struggling—”
“Get up there. I’ll go slower. I’ll make it, love. I promise.” His face softened.
She lunged to kiss him, keeping it light. Blood smeared across her lips and onto her chin. “I will never leave you behind if I get to the top and you’re not behind me.”
“I know,” he murmured.
She could do this. Amethyst gripped a rung even with her face and stepped onto the bottom one. The metal trembled beneath the force of the quakes.
Pain turned his vision black along the corners of his eyes, but it had lessened from when Clark had first returned from the dead. Blood sloshed in his leather gloves, so he looped his arms through the rungs to pull them off, freeing his hands. He wiped them on his denim slacks to get off some of the moisture. The rough metal now scraped his skin, but it was better than a damp fall.
The crashes came louder as if to chase them up the exit. He tipped his head to see above. No lights, only a flicker of metal on Amethyst’s outfit. They should have looked for a light-switch. They should have tried to find something to ignite to take up with them.
Dust clogged the air and he coughed; everything in him burned.
“There’s a hatch,” his wife yelled down to him.
“Can you get it open?” Raising his voice made his lungs tighten.
“I don’t know. I can’t feel anything. Is there a key?”
They would never get back there for a key. The ceiling might have caved in the rest of the way; light barely shown below them. “I’m almost there.”
They would suffocate in the exit with no way out.
He hastened his steps, biting back the pain. “I’m coming, love!”
Something smacked his head and he almost lost his grip on the ladder.
“Sorry.” Her clothes rustled; he must have hit her foot. Clark ascended next to her and she reached out to touch his shoulder before jerking her hand back, as if afraid to hurt him.
He would have kissed her if he could see her.
If they had time for kisses.
He reached up and smacked his hand against something metal. Clark smacked it again, mustering more strength, and a slight clang sounded. Yup, a trap door. He felt along the edges to see if he could find a latch to break. No latch, just a smooth surface.
“Brass glass.” He fumbled at his waist to pull his knife from the sheath. “I’m going to stab at it. Bend down. I don’t want to hit you.”
She made a squeak he took to be agreement and smacked against the hatch. More dust thickened around them. He hit against the door with the hilt of his knife. It didn’t seem to budge.
He could shoot at the door, but the bullet might ricochet off and hit one of them.
“Clark, I love you.”
“I love you, Amethyst.”
He would not allow them to die. Clark fought the knife back into the holster and finagled his legs around until he hung upside down, balancing most of his weight on his biceps.
The first kick made a metal clang. He pushed himself up a rung and kicked again. The metal gave as though he had knocked a hook loose.
“There might be a lever somewhere,” Amethyst said. “Maybe we have to find and push it.”
They couldn’t do that in the dark. Searching for something that might not exist would use up their strength and oxygen.
He screamed as he landed the third kick and the metal snapped. The trapdoor lifted up.
“You got it!” Amethyst’s face shone in the sudden sunlight. He panted as he shifted his body around. She already pushed against the trapdoor, lifting it further, and he pushed with her until the space was wide enough for her to squeeze through. He gripped the dirt to pull himself out. His belt caught and he had to wiggle his hips to free it.
“Look at all that dust!” She knelt on the stone, her arms wrapped around herself, and stared toward the cavern. A cloud of brown dust rose like a storm.
“We have to get to the bikes.” His legs wobbled as he stood. More of the cavern might crumble and the dust could choke them.
She brushed a curl off her perspiring forehead. “Let’s fly.”
“I—”
She pulled on the cord and his father’s clockwork wings sprang from her back. “Its downhill to the bikes.”
“The land is basically flat—”
“But we can walk and jump.” She stepped toward him, slow, as if still afraid of him, and pulled on the cord hanging from the harness. The wings came out so fast he stumbled, fresh pain in his thigh. “It will be better for you if we can soar rather than run.”
They could soar. They always soared. He caught her around the shoulders to kiss her lips.
They would always soar.
he president is dead and you have me.” Jas spread his hands. “What better option do you have for a leader?”
Clark frowned. Amethyst reached over to squeeze his hand. Steam-powered fans buzzed throughout the courtroom. No one shifted, but a senator coughed.
Jas spread out in the mahogany chair facing the crowd. “I have leadership in my blood. Clearly I’m right for this.” He lifted a glass of water off the table beside him and held it out in a toast. The ice bobbed.
Jas had never wanted leadership qualities among the gangs. He did his own thing, but people loved him for it. They cared about his laugh and shrug.
“We need to have an election,” one of the senators said from the left side of the room.
Jas laughed before sipping the water. “Fine, let’s do that. Put my name on the ballot and see how many votes.” He winked at Clark, who stood in the back. “Who is going to run against me? It isn’t the jailed vice president. How about one of you?”
Silence. Garth should speak up. He would make a good president.
“Make up the ballot,” Jas said, “and we’ll see.”
Amethyst rolled over in bed. Candles flickered from the vanity, dancing on the mirror that reflected the light and their bodies. Clark trailed his fingers over her arm in a circle.
She rested her hand against his chest; a curl of blond hair tickled her cheek. “You’re really concerned about Jas becoming president?”
Clark sighed and closed his eyes. “I know him, love. He talks big, but I don’t know if he has the actions to back up his speeches. Does that make sense?”
She sat up and a few curls slid from her bun over her face. “He’s been campaigning. His speeches are beautiful.” For the past month since the papers ran the story on how he wanted to become president, he had traveled the country bestowing his s
mile on anyone who would look his way.
He fingered the lace on the collar of her sleeveless, silk chemise. “I’m worried. What if he wants to make this into another tyranny?”
“He’ll do better than Wilcox.” Amethyst turned around so he could see the laces on the back of her corset. “Untie me?”
He pushed the sheet off his legs and knelt. His hands enfolded her waist as his lips rubbed the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She purred and he bit down with a chuckle.
“I’m just worried, sweetheart. I don’t want Jolene growing up in a country that doesn’t care about its people.”
She tugged the hairpins from her bun. “We would never let that happen.”
One of his hands crept around her front to tease her nipple through the chemise where it poked out from above the corset. She gasped and he pulled her backward against his chest as he bit her neck harder.
“I want to leave a mark,” he whispered into her skin. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“Clark,” she moaned. “Let Jas have a chance.”
He pushed her onto her back and bit her lower lip.
Clark clutched Amethyst’s hand so tight he wondered if her fingers would pop from their sockets. Others crowded around them outside the courthouse to hear the final tally. Voices lulled, as if everyone feared to speak too loudly.
A man in a wheelchair rolled back and forth. A woman clutched a basket of bread loaves.
Clark glanced down at Amethyst beside him. She’d pulled the hood of her brown cloak over her head to protect herself from the evening drizzle, but Jolene, in her free arm, reached out to tap the sparse raindrops. The white mobcap hung over her curls.
Clark shifted to stand behind Amethyst with his arms around both of them. He could have waited in the main doors with a few other personal guests of the senate, but Jolene couldn’t have joined.
The door to the balcony opened to a man in a pinstripe suit and brass monocles. He stepped out to a microphone attached to a poll and tapped it. A buzz sounded from the speakers and a few in the audience winced.
The man cleared his throat and unfolded a paper. “The votes are in. Our new president is…” His pause lay heavily in the damp air.
Wicked Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 3) Page 23
