War: Bridge & Sword: Apocalypse (Bridge & Sword Series Book 6)

by JC Andrijeski

  “Allie.” He raised his head, his accent prominent. “You get jealous of prostitutes. What if you were around while Elise and I were married, watching us fuck every night?”

  Feeling me wince, he nodded, as if I’d just made his point.

  “Now imagine Elise was a piece of shit to me… and you could do nothing about it. You could only watch, and tolerate it… and watch me love her and fuck her, oblivious.”

  His jaw hardened as he looked up at the ceiling.

  “Honestly? I can barely stand to be in the same room with the son of a bitch.” He glanced at me, frowning. “I would have killed him, too. I wasn’t fucking around that day. They had to hit me with a dart gun to get me to stop.”

  I stared at him, fighting disbelief as I tried to unravel his words.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I said finally.

  “I thought you should know.”

  “Stripped of context?” I said, frowning. “Without any explanation as to why? Jesus, Revik. I’m not an idiot. I know there’s more to this story than you’re telling me––”

  “Yes.” He nodded, once. “There is. But I don’t want to tell you the rest, Allie.” He looked at me, frowning. “The rest doesn’t matter now. And truthfully, that part isn’t my story to tell. Either that piece of shit will tell you, or he won’t. I just wanted you to understand about me. About my issue with him, and how serious it was.”

  Watching me cautiously, he caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers.

  “Is that okay?” he said. “Should I not have told you any of it?”

  Frowning, and confused again, I just looked at him.

  Truthfully, this was starting to feel like one of those weird cultural disconnect things, where he had different ideas than me about what constituted “his story to tell.” At the same time, if it really was about Jaden and something Jaden had done to me, maybe he was right.

  Maybe it really wasn’t his story to tell.

  More to the point, maybe it really didn’t matter now.

  After thinking a bit longer, though, I smacked him sharply on the chest.

  His eyes jerked down to mine, surprised.

  “You need to get over it.” I pointed at his face, stern. “We just got up in front of all our friends, the gods, the Ancestors… Tarsi. We’re married. I’m never leaving you. You’re an idiot to believe otherwise, and you know it. People are trying to kill us, husband,” I added, smacking him again. “The world is fucking dying. We can’t afford to act like this anymore. You need to trust me. I need to trust you. We need to get over it, Revik.”

  When he raised an eyebrow at me humorously, I smacked him again, harder, and he laughed, catching hold of my wrist.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I agree.”

  I heard relief in his voice and smiled, even as he yanked me closer.

  “You keep getting more and more violent with me,” he said, his German accent prominent. “Should I be worried about this?”

  “This, from a man who tried to bully me into group sex earlier?” I snorted, struggling to free my hand so I could hit him again. “Who keeps secrets from me? After promising in our wedding vows that he wouldn’t?” I looked up, half-smiling in spite of myself. “Is this secret of yours going to be like that stupid Lao Hu clothing? Where you let me parade around half-naked in front of everyone for months before telling me what your problem was?”

  His smile crept out wider.

  “The clothes thing… it wasn’t all bad. It was great masturbation material.” He laughed when I struggled harder to free my wrist. “I didn’t have to try to conjure anything at all.” He laughed again when I fought to hit him, jerking my other arm free of his hands. “Do you still have any of those dresses? Maybe you could wear it after the shower?”

  I smacked him on the shoulder and he laughed harder, grabbing my wrist and sinking his weight to pin me down. He was still watching my face when his eyes grew serious.

  “Speaking of which,” he said, gruff. “I may not make it to the shower, wife.”

  “This turns you on?” I said. “Me trying to smack you?”

  “You stark naked and writhing under me, with that light in your eyes?” he said, smiling. “Yes, wife… for the thousandth time. It turns me on.”

  I snorted. “I thought I was barf girl?”

  “I’ll survive. For this one, anyway.” Pressing his erection against me, he closed his eyes for longer than a blink when my pain worsened.

  “Can I give you head?” I murmured, as he pressed into me again. “Before, I mean.” Kissing his throat, I lowered my voice, pulling on him with my light. “You can’t yell at me for teasing you, though. Just this once, you have to let me… and if you’re good, I’ll let you do the same. You can use rope and everything.”

  Pain ribboned off his light, slow and liquid, right before he sank his weight.

  “Yeah,” he said, clicking softly. “You say shit like that to me, then complain because I’ve got issues with you and other men.”

  I bit my lip. When I started to withdraw my light, he gripped me tighter, frowning.

  “I like it, Allie. I like it a little too much, truthfully,” he admitted, stroking my hair. “It still makes me jealous as hell when you do that.”

  “Jealous?” I said, frowning back. “What ‘other men’? I was doing it to you, Revik.”

  “You’re a lot more confident now.” As I opened my mouth to protest, he clarified, “About sex, Alyson. You used to be more shy. Even at the Rebel compound, you were shy. You just didn’t say no very often. But you got embarrassed easy.”

  He tugged my thigh further around his waist, entering me without waiting for my answer. I let out a gasp when he angled to the end of me, then went all of the way in, extending before my mind could catch up. I gripped his arms as his eyes closed. I felt his pain worsen when he opened them, as he watched my expression change.

  “But I’m hearing you wife,” he added, his breath short. “I swear I am.”

  “You’re just choosing to ignore me,” I retorted. My breath stopped when he arched in deeper. When I opened my eyes, he shook his head, serious.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not ignoring you. Not at all.”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it, and he smiled.

  “You like my arms?” he said, gruff. “I felt you. On the submarine.”

  “I like a lot of your parts. But yeah, you have sexy arms… and hands,” I added, as he closed one around my breast. “I like your feet, too.” I gasped when he arched into me harder. “Gods, Revik. Aren’t you going to let me play with you at all? I asked nicely.”

  “Not yet.” He grunted as he rocked into me again. “You played with me the first time and I nearly lost my shit.” His eyes closed when my pain worsened, tautness flickering across his expression. “I need to build up my mental fortitude before I let you do that again…”

  At my burst of laughter, he smiled, his face still taut.

  “I need to fuck out some of my jealousy, wife. Jealousy and whatever else.” He let out a low gasp, arching into me again. “…Before you get mad and start hitting me again.”

  “Whatever else?” I said.

  His eyes were serious when they met mine.

  He didn’t answer me, though.

  Gripping my hips, he angled into me harder. His eyes half-closed when he did it next, then he had a foot on the floor, one hand pinning me down as he held the back of the couch. He lost himself in the motion, his hands clenching tighter the longer we went.

  His eyes still shone with that inhuman light as he lost control.

  Even so, in those few seconds before that denser heat began to blur my vision, I wondered again, as I looked at him, what it was he wouldn’t tell me.

  20

  PSYCHOPATH

  BALIDOR FACED THE silver-eyed seer, his surface mind close to blank.

  Keeping his thoughts from the range of the Lao Hu infiltrator’s aleimi at all times––despite the collar and the constru
ct around the room––formed only one of the precautionary protocols he’d drafted for his infiltrators, when it came to dealing with this particular prisoner.

  He’d made a list, one he kept pinned in the control room.

  Seers had photographic memories, of course, so the list wasn’t strictly necessary, but he didn’t want any of his people getting sloppy, or thinking the protocols might be loosened with time, or with repeated testing of the restraints. He now oversaw more than simply those seers who’d been raised and trained in the Adhipan. He had ex-Rebels under his charge, ex-members of the Seven’s guard––now even recruits from among the refugees.

  As a result, he’d grown more cautious about certain things.

  He’d also gotten more explicit.

  Folding his arms, Balidor sighed.

  He felt the pressures of time, even now. It was why he’d come here directly after breakfast, instead of looking for rack time like most of the seers, or looking for Yarli, for that matter. He’d already received a full debrief on the prisoner’s status from Declan, who was the ranking officer in charge of security here in New York while Wreg was gone.

  He re-reviewed the profile Allie worked up for him prior to San Francisco, too.

  Balidor made the call in Argentina to ship Ditrini to New York ahead of the deployed teams. He’d done it primarily as a security precaution, in case the Lao Hu got ambitious and attempted extraction while they were all distracted.

  It was good he had.

  Ditrini arriving early meant he’d come in ahead of the quarantine, which saved them a lot of potential problems. Unlike the rest of the team, leaving the Lao Hu seer collarless in a packing crate wasn’t an option, even restrained and heavily medicated. If it came to that, Balidor might have recommended they simply kill him, dump his body in the harbor.

  Come to think of it, he could have lived with that outcome just fine.

  Looking at the aged infiltrator now, Balidor could see the faint glass in his eyes.

  He recognized the odd dips in his aleimi from the drugs they’d started feeding him through an I.V. approximately one hour earlier. That I.V. bag hung there now, letting out another fat drip roughly every half-minute.

  Still, those eerie, mercury-colored eyes retained a sharp awareness.

  Balidor gauged the degree of that awareness, trying to decide if he should up the dosage now, or wait. It was often a delicate balancing act, keeping a subject pliable, yet coherent enough to be useful. Ditrini was no Sword, in terms of his resistance to the psychotropic cocktail they were feeding him––but he might be a close second.

  He was still trying to make up his mind, when a series of sharp, detailed images flickered past his awareness, clear enough that he actually winced.

  When his physical vision cleared, the seer was smiling.

  Balidor sighed, exuding patience.

  “Don’t you ever tire of that, brother?” Folding his hands in his lap, Balidor kept his voice bored, politely indifferent. “You are no child. You are a respected member of the Lao Hu, and quite up in years. Have you learned nothing better to do with your mind?”

  “No.” Ditrini’s eyes didn’t waver. “I have not. And I will never tire of it, brother. Never. It feeds me. It feeds me like nectar.”

  Balidor’s lips firmed.

  After a pause, he made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “From what I know of your pattern, brother, that is not true. I am told you break down these obsessions of yours… these objects of your juvenile fixations. You toy with them, torture them, learn their weaknesses. Yet, once you succeed, you grow bored. Walk away.”

  Ditrini inclined his head. “We all need hobbies, brother.”

  When Balidor clicked at him mildly, the other’s smile returned.

  “…And I would never tire of my precious, precious girl, Balidor. I might bring in others, to entertain her, to keep things fresh with us, to keep her excited. I might give her to my dogs, to the lions and the jaguars and the tigers of the City… but she could never be like the others. She would never leave my side. Never.”

  Forcing the images back a second time, Balidor frowned.

  “Yet she has already left you, my brother,” he said. “Had you forgotten?”

  Ditrini clicked softly, shaking his head.

  “This is but a bare moment in time, brother Adhipan. A mere pause in our story. You know this… you are not a child either, Balidor. You know that with seers, such gaps are often mere diversions in a longer, more glorious timeline.” He inclined his head. “What is a few months, to ones like us? We who live centuries? Who love forever? This is inconsequential, Balidor. Trivial. Nothing but a means to grow deeper after our separation.”

  Balidor restrained his eye-roll with an effort.

  Shrugging, he murmured, “Whatever you need to tell yourself, my brother.”

  “I know the truth. As do you. It simply discomfits you, for you like the pretty story of the Sword and Bridge… as so many of your people do.”

  Balidor didn’t answer.

  He’d never really had a heart-to-heart with Allie about her time with the Lao Hu. Truthfully, he’d never really wanted to know that much about it. He certainly didn’t think he was the right person to help her with it, in any case.

  The problem was, he didn’t know of anyone who would be better suited.

  Alyson herself certainly showed no inclination to speak of it.

  She’d given him the bare minimum of personal detail for that op in San Francisco. Her observations and insights were concise, evidence-based, exceedingly useful––even inspired. Yet she’d refused to let Balidor scan her directly. She instead directed him to speak with Wreg, with whom she claimed to have already shared “the basics.”

  Yet Wreg seemed uncomfortable with the small amount of knowledge in his possession. Jon, too, avoided the topic. From things Dehgoies said, here and there, her husband hadn’t pressed her for details, either. Chandre had been gone until recently, and likely did not realize the extent of what occurred. Yumi and the Bridge were not yet close enough for the Bridge to spontaneously share with her, and Neela lacked the requisite people skills.

  Perhaps if Cass had been here––

  Balidor cut off the thought, grimacing.

  Forcing his eyes up, he met those silver irises again.

  “Will you talk to me today, brother?” he said.

  Ditrini smiled. “Of course, brother. We are talking now, yes?”

  Internally, Balidor sighed.

  Externally, he said, “And? Do you wish to tell me something, in regard to what I have already asked? Or would you rather play these games, trying to unsettle me?”

  “Remind me, brother. What is it you wish to know?”

  Balidor didn’t miss a beat. “Will you tell me about Shadow? Who he is? The history you share with this person? What you know of him?”

  “I am of the Lao Hu, brother. I know nothing about this ‘Shadow’ you seem so obsessed with. Who is he? A friend of the Adhipan? Is he close with my precious Bridge?”

  Balidor frowned, studying the mercury irises.

  Perhaps he should up the dosage now.

  “How is my precious girl?” Ditrini’s silver eyes sparked, that time with real-looking interest. His eyes flickered down Balidor’s clothes. “From your condition… and, no offense, my brother… the smell of you, you only just arrived, yes? Was she with you?”

  Balidor clicked in mild irritation. “Brother. You know I will not tell you anything about that. Perhaps you should try cooperating with us for a time. See if we might be more forthcoming on issues of interest to you then?”

  Ditrini’s lips lifted in a faint smile.

  “She did come with you. I am so glad.” The silver eyes remained probing. “Is she tired, brother? Is her husband taking care of her? Has he bathed her yet?”

  Balidor grimaced. He couldn’t stop himself.

  Despite his lack of specific knowledge about Alyson’s time at the Forbidden City,
he wasn’t entirely oblivious, or unobservant to her reactions whenever the topic came up. He knew, for example, that Allie had been deeply unhappy during her time there. He’d picked up enough when she let in stray thoughts, or quashed unconscious memories or associations, to know that with absolute certainty.

  He’d felt trauma of some kind, too.

  He and Vash discussed the matter a few times before the seer’s death. Vash counseled him to wait, to let Allie ask for help, rather than pushing it on her.

  In the end, Balidor agreed.

  Now, faced with Ditrini, feeling his light, he was less sure. More and more, he wondered if a completely hands-off approach with the Bridge was the right one. Even on the carrier, prior to the op in Argentina, he’d already considered approaching the Sword about whether they should force the issue with her, insist she get some help.

  He’d considered ordering Yumi to initiate sessions with her, as well.

  Allie hadn’t once asked to speak to Ditrini, or even inquired about where they held him, not since they’d taken him prisoner. She hadn’t asked how the interrogations were going. She hadn’t even asked if he was still alive.

  That alone was pretty telling.

  Allie had a tendency to involve herself in every aspect of intelligence operations. At minimum, she’d want to be kept up to date at the level of findings and overall progress. With Surli and Raven, she’d asked for every piece of information they gleaned in as close to real-time as possible, and would actually come down on them pretty hard for withholding or delaying transmission of any new facts or even theories from their interrogations.

  With Ditrini, she hadn’t asked a single question. Not one.

  Wreg had his own opinions on the subject, of course.

  He told Balidor in no uncertain terms the guy was a sadist, one who got off on torturing female seers in particular, especially powerful ones. He theorized that Ditrini would likely view breaking Allie as the culmination of his life’s work. That she was already bonded to another would only intensify his obsession.

  From his Rebel contacts, including a few high-ranked females who’d been held by the Lao Hu and somehow stumbled onto Ditrini’s path, Wreg knew enough about the overall pattern to be able to speculate some about what Allie might have experienced.