by Stacey Nash
“Why?”
“Dad needs me. We only have each other. My mother’s gone.” I glance at the curved trees in a painting on the wall. “I have to tell him I’m safe. He can’t lose me too.” The words rush out through my aching throat.
A noise like mice gnawing on cardboard draws my eyes to his fingers. They pick at the doorframe, scratching off the paint. “I’ll help.” The corner of his mouth turns, just a little, and he shakes his head as if he’s surprised by his own offer.
He’ll help me. I reach into my pocket and pull out the phone.
Softness warms his eyes for a brief moment, then they return to their usual bored stare. He detaches himself from the doorjamb and moves closer. His eyes never leave mine. They hold me without letting go, and it’s like I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe. He slides his hand under mine, uncurls my fingers, and takes the phone. He places it back inside the drawer.
“You can’t call, but I’ll take you there,” he says evenly. “You can see him, briefly. Exchange heartfelt words of endearment, dance a jig for all I care, and then I’m bringing you straight back.”
Not what I expected, but I nod. This is ten times better than a call. I’ll let him take me anywhere if it means seeing Dad.
His eyes continue holding mine, steady, serious, strong. “You have to promise me you’ll follow my instructions. If a situation arises, we’ll need to return immediately. I can’t have you jeopardizing the safety of this base.”
The tension seeps out of my body, and my shoulders sag. I’m going to see Dad, so everything will be all right. Looking Jax straight in the eye, I tell him, “I promise.”
I follow him outside in silence. The lack of city sounds almost rings in my ears. Instead, the wind rustles through the long grass. The crisp night air smells fresh and pure, a good match for my new mood. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the wholesomeness which doesn’t exist in city air. We head toward the paint flecked outbuilding which houses Marcus’s workshop.
“Ever ridden a bike?” Jax asks.
“Yeah, Will has a road bike. I ride on the back all the time.”
“Good, this is almost the same.” He opens one side of the double wooden doors.
The motorbike I saw earlier still rests by the wall. Once a muscle bike perhaps, but now it’s stripped to its bare essentials, almost naked to the bone. It’s merely an engine with a seat and two wheels. It is really rather ugly. The handlebars laze back like those on a Harley.
I take a small step backward, pinching the corner of my lip with my teeth. “Is that thing safe?”
“Thing? That bike couldn’t be safer. Marcus built it from scratch.” He tilts his head a little. He sounds like he’s talking about a favorite toy. “He’s still got to pretty it up, but the turbo boost makes it faster than fast.”
“Does it have any special abilities?”
His mouth rises from the left corner. “Not everything around here is tech.” He points to a cupboard against the wall. “Grab a helmet.”
I toss him a black full face helmet and take an identical one for myself. My hand drops under its unexpected weight. It’s so much bigger than my usual helmet at Will’s.
Jax pushes the bike out of the workshop. A small backpack slung over his shoulder rests against his hip. I’m not sure when he got it. Maybe he picked it up while I grabbed the helmets. He pulls the workshop door closed, leaning back and pulling his weight against it. It must be really heavy. After everything’s closed, he mounts the bike and starts the engine. It’s quiet, like the hum of a loud insect, which is nothing like the enormous growl of Will’s roadie. Jax tosses his head in a gesture for me to climb on behind him.
I throw a leg over and wriggle into place. The warmth of his body touching mine contrasts sharply with the cool night air. Touching him makes my skin tingle in a mixture of good and bad. So I scoot as far away from him as I can, wishing for the warmth of a jacket instead.
“Hold on,” he says.
I rest my hands on his shoulders. The bike jerks forward, almost throwing me off and evicting a sharp squeal from deep inside me. I throw my arms around his middle to stop myself from falling.
The sound of his laughter rings through my helmet, sending hot embarrassment to my cheeks. Thank God he can’t see me. The helmets must have wireless Bluetooth.
“I told you to hold on; this beast is fast.”
We speed along the dirt road in a cloud of dust. Dark trees and strange shadows whiz by. Out on the paved road we accelerate faster than I’ve ever traveled before. My thin shirt flaps in the wind, and goose bumps cover my arms. It’s far too cold for autumn. The pendant, made cool by the night air, stings where it sits against my chest. I shiver and, relenting, lean closer to the warmth of Jax’s back.
Thinking of Dad’s relief when he sees me brings a smile, but how will I explain this situation? I can’t just tell him about the pendant or what happened in my room—he wouldn’t believe it, and it may put him in danger. I can’t tell him I’m in trouble and not explain further, or he’ll go out of his mind with worry. I can’t lie either, say I’ve gone on a road trip with Will, or something. It won’t explain my disappearance, reappearance, pending disappearance, and the photo of me on the news. Maybe I’ll just tell him I’ve been working extra shifts at the diner—doubles, back-to-backs, something like that. No need to explain Jax; he can stay out of Dad’s sight.
Perfect.
We reach the city while the sky’s still shrouded in darkness, the high-rise buildings bathed in the night. The normally crowded streets are deserted, with not even a garbage truck in sight.
“I need to know where to go,” Jax says through the Bluetooth. I was so deep in my own thoughts that the broken silence makes my breath hitch.
“But you’ve been to my house.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It’s on the far side of city, out in suburbs.”
The bike leans to the side as we round a corner. “Let’s get a coffee,” he says. “We need a plan.”
My stomach growls in agreement, and my aching back does too, but Dad’s probably been up half the night pacing the living room. “No, Dad will be worried. We should go straight home.”
“You promised to follow my instructions,” he reminds me. “It’s four thirty in the morning. Half an hour’s not going to make a difference. Besides… you look like you’ve been awake all night. You should freshen up.” There’s a light jest to his tone, like Will’s casual tormenting.
“Because I have been awake all night.” I rub my shoulders, and my head pounds. I’m so tired. “Are you offering to pay? Because I don’t have a wallet.” This is such a waste of time.
“Settled. Call it our first date.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take a deep breath. He might think he’s being funny, but when I’m tired and stressed it’s not the right time for jokes.
The bike slows, and he pulls into a parking lot. Multicolored lights circle a diner right beneath a flashing neon sign: Diner Open 24 Hours.
We swing down off the bike. My legs protest against moving out of the position they’ve been resting in for the past four hours, but I kick out and jiggle them around while Jax stretches to the side like a wrestler warming up for a fight. After a few moments, he walks to the diner, pushes the door open, and a bell jingles. Shoulders sagging, a waitress shuffles around the floor, the only server for a handful of early morning customers. Two women sit in a booth wearing nicely pressed nurse’s uniforms, their faces fresh, ready to start the workday. Three men and another woman perch at the counter, all sporting the telltale bleary eyes of those who’ve been on nightshift.
I run my fingers through my messy, tangled, helmet hair. I’m still wearing yesterday’s dirty clothes, and Jax is right, I must look a mess. A sideways glance tells me I’m the only one. Other than his usual unkempt hair, he looks infuriatingly nonmessy. At least he looks tired, dark circles smudging the skin under his eyes.
; The waitress’s gaze slides right over me, drawn to Jax where it rests with a beaming smile. A smile which says, I think you’re hot.
The smile he returns actually looks friendly, not like he’s privately laughing. “Two black coffees and two orders of bacon and eggs, please.”
I hate it when people order for me, but with him paying I wouldn’t have ordered food. So I let it slide, appreciating the fact he’s buying. I slip into the red, faux leather booth opposite him. Grabbing a napkin from the holder, I twist it between my fingers. “I want to go home alone.”
“I thought you might,” Jax says. “I’ll stay out of sight. You have exactly twenty minutes. A second more, and I’m in.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
The waitress sets two steaming cups onto the table without any care, sloshing coffee over the sides. I eye the mess of her sloppy work and shake my head. If I served like that, I was sure to lose tips. A feeling of unease warns that Jax’s gaze rests on me. I raise my eyes. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I can.”
“Another answer without answering.” I sigh. There has to be something in this for him. Otherwise, why bother?
Plates clattering onto the table announce the waitress’s return. The eggs almost slide off the side. Jax gives a wry smile, picks up his cutlery, and starts eating. Looks like I don’t get a real answer again.
* * * *
When we enter my neighborhood, Jax slows the bike to a crawl. I nudge him as we get closer, and he stops just before the corner into my street.
“We’ll walk from here.”
“Sure.” I smile, pleased to finally be home.
We walk around the corner, and my house comes into view at the end of the cul-de-sac. Its white-washed timber boards almost glow in the predawn light. Dad’s blue Chevy sits in the driveway, and the garden’s full of weeds. Huh, it looks… well, normal. I’d almost expected it to be different, like the house would have noted my absence. The only thing that’s out of the ordinary is a soft light seeping through the living room window curtains. That’s weird for this hour of the morning. Dad should still be sound asleep. He doesn’t leave for the university until 8:00 a.m., no exceptions. It’s not like his students drag themselves out of bed for early classes, so he never has reason to be earlier either.
I stand on my toes to peer over the rails lining the veranda. A silhouette moves back and forth across the room, confirming what I suspected. He’s awake. I clamp my mouth shut to suppress the urge to tell Jax I told you so.
The sight of Dad’s shadow makes me want to bolt up the stairs, through the door, and into his arms. To tell him about everything that’s happened. I quicken my pace to a fast jog, but Jax grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“He’s worried,” I say, trying to move forward, but Jax’s grip is too tight.
“Wait. Watch for a bit before you go rushing in.”
Unable to shake free of his grip, I pull him with me, edging a little closer. The cracked window I’ve cursed Dad for not fixing finally comes in handy. It allows Dad’s loud voice to carry from inside. He talks and laughs and sounds happy.
“Then he said to me: Well, if that’s true, Richard, I’ll be damned,” he trails off into more laughter like he’s just told a joke. He turns and walks back across the room with his hand raised to his ear, pacing while he talks. He’s on the phone at five thirty in the morning? I’m drawn closer still, leaves from the huge maple crinkling underfoot.
Dad turns, and his shoulders drop, making his silhouette look smaller. “Thanks, it’s always a tough day for me, but this year I actually feel a little better. It hurts a little less….” He stops moving and sinks into his favorite chair. “A little less, knowing Anamae is with her mom, that she left this world as an innocent child… this year, it feels… you know… right.”
With Mom? Left this world? What? My heart sinks.
“Okay, thanks for the call. I’ll talk to you soon… bye.”
I stare at the window, trying to make sense of what he just said. “He thinks I’m dead. He thinks Mom’s dead.” My voice feels flat and hollow.
Jax grabs my arm and tugs me forward, closer to the house and behind him.
“What the heck?” I turn and frown, ready to launch into a stream of abuse, but then I see them—two men dressed all in black advancing on us. Advancing from each side of the front yard.
“Stay behind me,” Jax orders, “and out of the way.”
Both men point short, chunky guns, one toward each of us. They’re still two car lengths away, just crossing the fence line. Jax stands in front of me and edges backward, pushing us both closer to the house.
A loud whoosh comes from the direction of their guns. Something sails through the air. Another follows, black and snakelike, knocking me to the ground. I try to stand, but can’t. A net of webbing surrounds me, anchored to the ground, pinning me beneath it in a hunched ball.
I push at the net with my hands, my feet, my head, struggling to get free. I can’t. The coarse rope rubs against my bare arms, chafing them until they burn. My gaze darts in every direction at once. My heart pounds in my throat. Where’s Jax?
I spot a hunched figure, so close I could almost reach out and touch it.
He’s trapped.
There’s no one to help us. No one knows we came here. Panic tightens my chest.
The men continue to move closer. One of them is almost upon us. The second spins away, striding toward a black sedan parked across the street.
“This is not the target.” The closer of the two gestures to Jax with his weapon. “What is protocol?”
The second man turns, looks from me to Jax to the other man. “Protocol is to eliminate.”
I freeze, breaths bursting in and out. Eliminate?
“Ha.” Jax laughs humorlessly. “Try it.”
My hands rip at the net, scraping the flesh off the pads on my fingers. I have to escape.
Jax struggles to reach over his shoulder to his backpack. I hope he has something useful inside, because I have nothing. He pulls out a small, curved cylinder twice the width of his hand. Great, like that will help.
There’s a sharp noise, similar to the grating of metal on glass, which pops a curved blade out from the top of the cylinder. He slashes it across the webbing, which falls to the ground around him. He springs onto his feet. Jax raises his arm and takes an angry swipe at the man.
The man stumbles backward, taken by surprise. He rolls to the side, narrowly dodging the blow. A slash in his left sleeve exposes his pale skin and a line of beading blood. He pulls a similar, but smaller, collapsible blade out of a holster in his belt. Jax thrusts forward again with three heavy strikes, each blow driving straight down in a fearless, rage-filled swoop.
I curl both hands around one of the metal spikes anchoring my net to the ground and pull with all my might. Inch by inch it slides free, leaving a small gap. I drop to my stomach and crawl under the netting commando style. My hair tangles in the frayed ends, but I keep inching through.
The man blocks each of Jax’s strikes with ease, but each blow forces him further backward. Away from me.
Jax raises his left arm high and, with a massive sweep, knocks the man back. Jax raises his knee in a sharp kick to the man’s chest. The impact makes a loud thud.
Free from the net, I scan the yard, looking for the other man. My gaze lands on him running back from the black sedan to help his accomplice.
Jax moves in and stands over the crouched man; he raises his blade, ready to bring it down. The second man reaches the scene without a single glance in my direction, intent on taking out Jax.
Help him. I melt into the shadows cast by the tree. Certain I’m hidden, I make a dash for the garden separating my lawn from Will’s. I need to find something to use, anything. I glance back and see the second man blocking Jax’s swing with a blade. Their weapons stick together in a fight for dominance.
“Confirm primary target. I will deal with this issue,” the se
cond man says to the first. He’s still on the ground.
I slink deeper into the shadows. My chest heaves. I gulp down a long, fast breath and hold it. Be quiet. Stay hidden. I must be the primary target.
“Primary target is missing.”
Chapter Five
THE FIRST MAN RUSTLES the bushes by the veranda in his search for me. It sounds like leaves whipping in a fierce wind. Jax continues to struggle with the second man, striking at him three times, hard, fast, and strong. The man grunts and twists out of the way like a pro wrestler, barely evading each hit. Jax hisses as he slashes out again.
The man swings his weapon back, then down, the blades clashing with matching force. It knocks Jax’s hand off the hilt. Another blow to the right smacks his hand down toward the ground. A third to the right, and the blade slips right out of his grip. Clattering to the ground, lost.
I need to help him, find something to fight with, but my gaze is glued to their struggle. The only thing pulsing through my mind is NO.
Jax snatches his swordlike weapon from the ground and brings it back up, blocking each blow, but he’s driven back and cornered in the driveway against Dad’s car. With only one feeble hand gripping the hilt, it flails around in his grip. All steady control gone.
When I finally tear my gaze away, it lands on a heavy elephant statue resting amongst the spiky plants. Perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Avery. It takes two hands to lift, but I manage to balance it on my hip with one arm wrapped around it. Creeping back through the shadows, near to where they fight, my main goal is remaining unseen.
The first man gives up his search and joins the second’s attack against Jax. He comes at Jax from the side and slices downward with his weapon. He misses, and tiny sparks and screeches shoot along the side of Dad’s car as his blow glances off it. A long, deep cut is left in the blade’s wake. It barely misses Jax. All this happens so fast I have no time to move, not even an inch.
I creep closer through the shadows. I’ve never done anything like this, so what angle should I take?
