Golden Dreg Boy, Book 1

by D. K. Dailey

  “First lesson is using body momentum against an opponent,” she revealed on day one of training.

  “Why would I need to do that?”

  “In case you come across someone who’s bigger than you or heavy on their feet.”

  I squint at her. No one can take me. “If someone charges, I’ll move out of the way.”

  “Are you going to take this seriously?” Blowing out a long breath, she tucks longer strands of hair behind an ear.

  “I don’t know if I can.” I smile.

  “Charge at me with all your might.”

  “Really? Can’t you teach me another lesson?”

  “Charge. At. Me. With. All. Your. Might.”

  “How about just a little of my might?” I chuckle.

  She runs toward me, and I retreat backwards. Tripping over a rock, I stumble. She doesn’t hesitate and ends up on top of me, straddling my waist. “You’re dead.” She shakes her head. “You didn’t put up a fight. Could you be any more pathetic?”

  My head and back throb, but I raise my head, enjoying her beautiful brown face hovering inches from mine. “I can be motivated, you know. Give me a kiss every time I win?”

  She gets up and dusts herself off. I rise rather slowly, surveying my body while she paces. Scrapes pepper my elbows, my head throbs, and a lump has formed on the back of my head.

  “You could use motivation,” she says thoughtfully. “Okay. If you win, I’ll give you a peck on the lips.”

  “A peck?”

  “Take it or leave it.” She crosses her arm over her chest.

  “Open mouth or closed?”

  “Closed.”

  “How long?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “For a couple of seconds or for ten seconds? Cuz there’s a big difference.” I flutter my eyelashes.

  “Like two.”

  “Aw, come on.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  I don’t hesitate. I lunge, hands out, ready to strike.

  She dives out of the way into a roll. Before I can turn to face her, she kicks at the back of my leg and cradles my head in the crook of an elbow, putting me in a painful headlock.

  I shake my head, trying to get away, but she has a good grip…for a girl. This is not like when Noodle and I practice getting out of headlocks. My face is red when she finally lets me go and springs backward.

  Maybe she jumped back because of a countermove I could’ve made, like a head-butt or body grab. But as a Golden, what to do in a fight doesn’t come naturally.

  I’m already exhausted. She bet me because I had no chance of winning. A way to get me to comply. She focuses on tasks and missions with her whole being. I wouldn’t be surprised if she goes head to head with Rigo or Zee and wins. Probably how she learned to fight so well.

  Attacking her again lands me on the ground in no less than six seconds. This time, she doesn’t jump on top of me. Instead, she stands and waits for me to get up.

  My clothes are dusty from the loose, dry dirt and I’m bruised and scratched all over my arms. I want to give up, cower, and tuck my tail between my legs. She won easily because she’s been fighting all her life. The closest I’ve come is playing sports at the recreation center or pretend fighting in digital games.

  “Come on, pretty boy.” Her taunt doesn’t anger me. It makes me more determined. She thinks I’m pretty.

  I fake a maneuver at her, and we circle each other, several feet apart, trying to anticipate the other’s next move. She ducks and charges at me, and I lurch forward. At the last second, she swings to the right like a pendulum and shoves me down without much effort because I was off-balance.

  “Knees and shoulders normally broadcast moves,” she says after I get up from the ground. “You broadcast all your moves with your whole body.”

  “You got this.” Zee’s cheer makes me look over. A crowd has gathered around us. Please go away. Seeing me get my ass beat must be the new show they like to watch. With no streams or digital entertainment, I don’t blame them. Must look funny for a tall guy to be getting his ass kicked by a five-foot-two girl.

  Someone in the crowd yells, “Kick his ass.” I look over to see Ping, the mannish-looking middle-aged woman from the cafeteria. Some teens from the center yell insults too, trying to rile me up. But after Ping’s comment, I close my ears to their uncouth banter.

  I charge again, and Saya roundhouse kicks my chest like a training bag. I stumble back but don’t let the blow stop me. I charge yet again, lowering my body to aim my attack at her knees. Gracefully ducking under me, she punches me with a tiny fist as I pass. I manage an awkward elbow-led arm-jerk block, but she takes hold of my wrist and kicks at my ankles, sweeping me to the ground.

  “Redirect their energy. Find their blind spots. Parry their moves.”

  The crowd laughs and claps. Five minutes later, they’re bored and thin out. Ten more minutes of torture pass, and we’re done for the day.

  Despite that first lesson failing to end in a kiss, I haven’t stopped making the same bet at each lesson. Eventually, she’ll drop her guard, or I’ll be better at a move or counter move than she is. Maybe I’ll learn faster than she expects. But so far, she’s kicked my ass each and every lesson.

  Most lessons take weeks to master. Since the first day, I’ve taken her lessons more seriously. I still crack quips, flirt, and bargain for kisses, but a newfound respect for her talent has developed. Proving to her I can do this has become important.

  The second lesson was about adapting my strengths. Once we finished the first fight, Saya said my height and body are my advantage. In most hand-to-hand combat situations, I’ll be taller, so keeping my distance to force my opponent to cover more ground makes sense.

  The third lesson was about fighting dirty to execute moves with enough strength behind them to throw off my opponent. Go for the head, neck, or joints. Of course, she relentlessly showed me that as well, taking out the backs of my knees, jabbing at my neck, and twisting my arms behind my back. I’m just glad she didn’t go for my package, though I know she is not above that cruel maneuver.

  The fourth lesson was on how to get out of holds, which involved a bunch of kicking, kneeing, elbowing, and head-butting tricks she had attempted during the first lesson. In this one, Carson decided to get in on the action per Saya’s request since he’s muscular and has experience wrestling. Needless to say, they both kicked my ass, and my ears and head were hot and red the rest of that week. I could’ve done without his participation, thank you very much.

  Finally, the fifth lesson arrived after two long months. I had to learn to conserve energy during a fight because I needed to be stronger, faster, and one step ahead of my opponent. I had four opponents that time. And ouch. A lesson learned the hard way.

  Before I know it, I’m a trained fighter and trained by a girl, no less. Between you and me, I regret my flash judgments about her, like how I was better because she was a girl or a Dreg. She’s smart and talented. A trained solider wouldn’t stand a chance against her skills. She has taken me through a mini boot camp on how to defend myself, and I’m better for it. No one can compare to Saya.

  It’s hard to admit, but I’ve started to think I’m better every day for being with Dregs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A weapon haul is laid out on Pike’s table. Carson and Pike stand behind it. Since meeting by the bathroom, I’ve seen Carson repairing bubbles and fiddling with numerous contraptions around the center. We’ve shared several what’s-that conversations.

  “Don’t be shy,” Pike’s voice encourages.

  Cherry swans forward, followed closely by Ping. I follow them and others into the room. A group of thirty is packed inside, including Zee, Rigo, Isa, Yimi, and Mrs. Shelby.

  I want to examine Carson’s gadgets and weapons firsthand but refrain, falling behind everyone else.

  “This is so lush.” Yimi rushes to the front. His zest for everything—food, helping the cause, and learning in general—is
refreshing. As everyone finds a place to view the table, I scoot as close to Saya as possible.

  “Carson is a genius at many things. He’s my go-to techie man as many of…”

  As Pike continues, I can’t help but think Carson’s talent would have gone to waste if he hadn’t found Pike or a cause to work for. They rarely let Dreg contribute to society on higher levels like technology and inventions, they always have to be a part of some program.

  I tune back in. “When we infiltrate Shaw Technologies’ annual gala, I’ll control the system remotely.”

  “Wait, we’re going to Shaw Tech, again?” I ask.

  “Yes, we need more data, and they only have it there.”

  My stomach drops into an uneasy free fall.

  Pike points to his computer. “I’ve found a way into their systems and have been able to maintain the connection. That’s what the Shaw Tech food-truck mission was about. We could have robbed any food truck.”

  “So that’s the big plan?” Zee asks.

  “That’s what we’ve been leading up to. We needed plenty of intel and inventions to navigate inside the secure building. So, this has been a long time coming.”

  “What are we going there for exactly? Just data?” Rigo asks with a tinge of attitude.

  “To retrieve data, we need to keep our cause going. We need proof of what they are doing to us.” Pike remains stone-faced. “To our people.”

  “But the last mission there put me in harm’s way. Going to Shaw Technologies for the gala seems like another chance for them to—” I stop short, unable to find the right word.

  Pike shoots me a smile. “I think I know what you are trying to say.”

  Rigo gives me a look I don’t bother to read. Green jelliness seeps through his words and actions. He can’t help being envious.

  “All the tasks I ask you to do have a purpose. They’re well-thought maneuvers.” Pike makes eye contact with me, and his silvery blue eyes shimmer with undetectable emotion. “We’ve been surveilling Shaw Technologies for a long time. I’ve studied your father even longer.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Some people shift in the room, but I don’t care if my questions make them uncomfortable. Pike owes me an answer. I also don’t care if this isn’t the right time.

  “Everyone knows your father is the brains behind the premier. So, we studied Bennett Shaw to keep up with the premier.”

  I nod. That makes sense. “Did you know I would be arrested and charged with being a Dreg?”

  “No, but I knew something was going on. I knew about the Taken and that the government had demoted statuses before. I knew it could happen to anyone.” Pike seems sincere. Would he lie in front of all these people?

  Guess I’m satisfied…for now. He knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t intentionally place me in danger after investing so much time in saving me. My gut doesn’t object to his reasoning.

  “So now that we got that settled…” Carson holds up a black, shiny, golf-ball-sized device. “These are flash bombs.”

  “Whoa there, Carson. Bomb in your hand!” Zee steps back. Yimi eyes him and then backs up, too.

  Ping’s smile widens as her eyes narrow in on the object like she can’t wait to use one.

  “Don’t worry. They have to be activated before they can be used.” He palms the ball. “Not live. Easy to use with button depressions for activation.” He rolls the flash bomb over in his hand to reveal two red buttons. “One is for a ten-second delay. The other is for twenty seconds.”

  “So, we get to blow shucky up?” Zee’s comment spurs laughter.

  “Yes, you get to blow shucky up.” Carson’s smile ignites a glow over his dark skin.

  “Well, I’m in!” Zee chuckles.

  Carson holds up some funky-looking masks. “For the people who will be inside the venue, these will shape your faces into new ones to gain access to the gala.”

  “Lush!” Yimi practically yells.

  “I don’t need one. I don’t hide this face.” Cherry seems to stand taller even though she’s my height.

  “Yeah, you don’t.” Zee’s words have a rhythmic bounce to them.

  Laughter slips from my mouth. I really like that guy.

  Carson beams with pride. “Glad some of you are as excited as me. But with hard-to-find supplies and limited time, this still has glitches. Coldness, sweat, and blunt force can alter the electromagnetic connections to the facial points. For whoever will be wearing them, we will discuss this one further.”

  Yimi’s hand goes up, but Pike waves it down. “Let’s keep going with the inventions so we can get you guys a hearty lunch. Everyone has things to do.”

  “I’ve also made disposable c-chips.” Carson doesn’t hold anything up for this show-and-tell. “They’re made from a soluble iron protein that will disappear from your systems in exactly eight hours, long enough for mission purposes and if you were to get caught.”

  Next, he holds up the familiar flat, black stars used in my rescue. “These are ninjas for throwing a dose of sleeping agent at people, and these,” he holds up sleek, backpack-looking contraptions, “are gliders. They work remotely to fly people in the air.” He then rambles on about a few more inventions.

  I’m awed. Hearing about their preparedness for the next mission puts me at ease. Excitement buzzes in the room, and Pike gives everyone a pep talk. Words like “fight together,” and “never give up” echo in my mind. I don’t realize I’ve blanked out until a hand on my shoulder catches my attention.

  “You coming to lunch?” Zee asks. Evidently, we’ve been dismissed. I shake my head, wanting to speak to Pike first. Nodding, Zee leaves with Rigo and Saya.

  I force what I hope is a warm smile on my face.

  “Did I answer all your questions?” Pike asks.

  I fiddle with the bottom of my shirt. “Why do you insist on going back to that building? Even with all of Carson’s inventions, it’s a huge risk.”

  “I know, but we need to get into your dad’s lab. There is no other way.”

  My dad. “When will I be seeing him? Is it safe now to go?”

  He shakes his head. “They’re still surveilling your parents’ home.”

  I sigh. “Well, do I get a gun when I go to the gala? I’ve been training hard.”

  “You still don’t need one. Not yet. And let me just say, I knew the guards were not a threat at the truck dock. Going that time of night was less risky. I also needed to see if placing you on the mission would compromise it. You had to realize that seeing your bestbud didn’t make a difference, though I knew he would tell them he saw you alive. You’re Dreg to them.”

  Pike is so definitive. I am Dreg now. I didn’t need a gun. I still don’t need a gun. The guards weren’t a threat. My home is under surveillance. So far, he has been right. Should I continue to believe him? To trust him?

  His hand lands on my shoulder. “One day you’re Golden, and the next you’re Dreg.” He drops his hand. “But I promise you, Kade, you’ve always belonged here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two months since I started training with Saya—three months since I started training at all—and I’m slowly gaining Saya’s respect by improving. Nothing could please me more or make me more confident. Although she remains unenthusiastic about working with me, spending time with her is a huge plus.

  Today is a gray, cloudy Tuesday, and I’m surprised when Pike walks toward us. Saya has been talkative lately, deciding breakfast is a good time to start drilling me in preparation for the day’s training. Now, she stops talking. Her good humor vanishes the instant the leader reaches the table.

  “Today’s the day,” he says gruffly. “Thank you for being so patient. But like I said, I needed to be positive they stopped surveillance. The more time passed, the more likely all security on your old house would be dropped. You’re to infiltrate Hill Sector One as discreetly as possible tonight. Night is best for lurking.” He smiles. “Make positive you come back. Both of you.” He look
s at Saya when he says that, but she merely nods with a grimace. I nod, too.

  I’m unbearably excited—and afraid—to go. I want to see my family so bad it hurts. Anything could await me in my old home. We eat the rest of our meal in silence.

  Night finally falls. Time to change clothes. When Saya appears, I stare like a doink. Black leggings hug her muscular legs, and a long-sleeved, dark-gray coat contours a fine body. The asymmetrical zipper and collar make her look cute, but badass.

  I’ve scrounged tenth-hand me down torn black jeans and a black hoodie over a plain black T-shirt. I’m mismatched next to her. At my parents’ house, I have a closet full of clothes girls dig. Suddenly, the idea of picking some up becomes a high priority. Being reduced to wearing hand-me-down clothes is one of the worst drawbacks of being Dreg. Of course, I have a long list of other gripes too.

  Saya hands me a flutterboard. Turning the long board over in my hand makes me miss mine badly. Another high priority: my flutterboard. Though I want to complain about this crappy board, it’s wonderful to be holding one again. “We going by board?”

  “No, we’re going by bubble,” she replies sarcastically. “Please stop acting like a doink.”

  We set out. The rickety flutterboard is at least ten years old, so it slows and catches a lot. Running on low power with every mile we travel, it’ll have to do.

  On the back, Saya holds tightly on to my waist. Her breaths warm me. With the wind in our hair and the sweet smell of her shampoo arousing my senses, heaven is within my grasp.

  She gives me directions on how to avoid cop squads. Snaking through familiar back roads in Hill Sector One, we finally close in on the house.

  “There it is. Up there.”

  “I forgot you lived at the top of the hill.” Saya replies. “No wonder you’re such a doink…”

  Jumping off the flutterboard, we land. I pull her into the bushes outside the backyard. I’m happy to see the deck and mirrored glass that wraps around the full length of the ground floor and all the way to the front porch. The swings I used to push Ems on creak back and forth in the wind. Knowing I won’t ever be able to push her on them again saddens me.