by Kyla Stone
Even as she spoke, she knew. A cold, dull dread stole over her. “You mean Mother.”
Her mind scrolled back through the years, through hundreds—thousands—of memories, some still foggy and unclear. But she knew.
All the times they were both in the room, but her mother spoke only to her. The way her mother’s gaze would sort of slide over him, like he was an ornamental piece of furniture or a service bot. All the times her mother would brush back her hair or press her shoulder gently, but never touching Silas. She couldn’t recall a single hug or handshake or…anything.
The words were razors in her throat. She forced them out. “You think…she doesn’t love you.”
He clenched his fists. Blood oozed from the cuts in his knuckles. “She never did.”
It was true. She knew it was. What made them so different? Why did her mother love her and not Silas? It made no sense—
And then she understood. Amelia was not Declan Black’s biological child. Silas was. Amelia was pale and blonde and reserved. She had none of her father’s dark, bristling energy, none of his disdain or contempt or innate cruelty.
But Silas did. Silas was so like his father. He shared the same lean, wolfish face and sharp gray eyes as Declan Black. He was cold, proud, contemptuous, and petty.
Her mother did not love her son. She did not love Silas because Silas belonged to Declan Black. The man she’d chosen to marry solely to save Amelia. The man who humiliated and debased her with his cruelty, his tyrannical control, his verbal and emotional abuse.
Her mother hated him. And because she hated the father, she also hated the son. “Oh, Silas.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Silas hissed between clenched teeth. “Love is a weakness.”
“No, it isn’t.” She was his sister. She should have been there for him. Instead, she’d let him protect her. Sacrifice for her. Shoulder their father’s wrath for her. And she’d given him so little in return.
She should have forced through his defenses, loved him wholly and completely and watched out for him the way he’d protected her. She’d thought she had, but she could see now that she hadn’t. Not enough. Not like she should have. “Love is everything that matters. The only thing that matters.”
He grunted, his expression stony.
But she still saw the pain reflecting in his eyes. She knew him better than anyone. “Please, talk to me.”
“I just did.” He turned his face, retreating into hostile, bristling silence.
Amelia grabbed her brother’s hand.
He flinched as if she’d branded him. He tried to jerk away.
She’d always let go before. He’d spent his life pushing others away. She, of all people, should have pushed back. Should have seen what was right in front of her. That she at least had a mother who loved her.
She had a mother who would do anything for her. And Amelia would do anything for her mother. Silas only had Jericho, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same. Now Jericho was dead, and Silas had no one.
Not no one. He had Amelia. He had his sister.
“I love you,” she said softly. “No matter what.” Maybe it was too little too late. She could never make up for the years they’d lost or the pain and loneliness he’d suffered.
They were facing death. Facing the end. As the last hours ticked down, she would do what she should have done all those years ago.
She gripped his hand, slick and bloody and pulling away as hard as he could. She didn’t let go.
She held on.
25
Gabriel
Gabriel’s red and gritty eyes burned. His muscles ached from the hours of tension and panic. He had no idea how long it had been since they’d been thrown in this room without food or water. Several hours, at least.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, but the others needed it more than he did. So he stayed awake, watching and thinking. The seconds, minutes, and hours ticked by, leading inexorably toward morning, toward their execution by fire.
He did not fear his own death. After the Grand Voyager, he’d longed for release from his overwhelming shame and self-loathing—from the haunting nightmares of the girl in the bright yellow bathrobe, her tiny body crumpled in death, her vacant eyes eternally accusing him of his own culpability.
Nadira had given him a reason to live, a purpose. He’d done what he could to earn his redemption, to pay penance for the things he’d done. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe nothing could ever be enough.
He didn’t fear death. Not his. The terror that choked his throat was for the others in this room, the people he cared about more than anything. The people he loved.
Micah and Amelia first and always, but he cared for Benjie and Finn and Willow, too. Even Celeste had grown on him.
And Jericho, too. But now Jericho was gone. If someone was going to save them, it would have to be Gabriel.
Even now, when things seemed so hopeless, he refused to give up. Micah hadn’t. Nadira wouldn’t, if she were here. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and fingered the blue cloth, soft as velvet now from his constant touch.
Micah had faith. He believed there was a purpose for everything, just like their mother had, always rubbing her Catholic beads. If there was a purpose in Nadira’s sacrifice, maybe it was so Gabriel could save them now.
If only he could figure out how.
There was a sound outside the door. Several new cracks appeared in the smooth white door. Two vertical black lines and two longer, horizontal ones. There was an electronic hiss and part of the door retracted, revealing an open rectangle approximately one foot long by two feet wide.
Cleo, the vicious Indian girl with the shaved head and purple braids, stood on the other side of the door. One of the other Pyros, the guard Cleo had called Li Jun, waited just behind her.
Cleo pointed a rifle through the opening in the door. Her white teeth flashed threateningly. “Good morning, bitches.”
Gabriel leapt to his feet. Amelia and Micah clambered to their feet more slowly, wiping the grogginess from their weary, grief-stricken faces. The others remained on the floor.
She hammered back the slide and aimed her gun at Gabriel’s chest. “Hector was a good kid. Nothing like his father. Such a shame you had to go and murder him.”
Gabriel didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He stood closest to the door. He could keep her attention and take the brunt of her wrath. If she was going to shoot someone, he’d make sure it was him.
Maybe it would be a blessing to die quickly by bullet rather than slowly, tortuously, burning in agony for who knows how long. But he couldn’t bring himself to stand by and watch someone else he cared about die. “What do you want?”
“Maybe I won’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe I’ll just shoot you all now.”
“It’ll be faster,” Silas muttered from where he sprawled on the floor.
She cocked her eyebrows at him. “What happened to your hands? Did the wall attack you?”
He glowered at her. “First chance I get, I’m going to carve your heart out with a rusted spoon.”
Cleo sneered. “And I’m gonna cut off your balls and hang them from your ears.”
Silas gazed up at her, nonplussed. “Sounds unpleasant. I dare you to try.”
Cleo only rolled her eyes. “Now that introductions are out of the way…” The gun muzzle tracked around the room, coming to a stop on Willow. “Maybe I’ll be generous and just kill one of you. You spit on me.”
Willow surged to her feet. “You burned me!”
“You deserved it.”
Willow tried to shove past Gabriel. “Choke on a cactus, you stupid—”
“Play nice,” he hissed. He pushed her back, keeping her behind him. “Leave her alone. Kill me instead.”
He balled his hands into fists, ready to spring into action. The second her attention strayed, or the guards were distracted. Maybe he could fit his arm through that opening and reach the lock on the other side. He could wrestl
e the gun from her and turn this all around …
Cleo studied him. Her sharp gaze traveled slowly around the room. She swiveled the gun and pointed it at Amelia. “Or maybe…I’ll kill her.”
Amelia sucked in a startled breath.
Gabriel’s heart surged in his chest. No one was hurting Amelia on his watch. He’d give his own life for hers in a heartbeat. He stepped in front of the gun, blocking Cleo’s view. “I said take me instead.”
“You have a death wish?” she asked, irritated. “You don’t interest me. Get out of the way.”
“She’s the future. She’s the only chance at hope that we have.”
Her lip curled in a sly smile. “Is that the only reason you’d give your life for hers?”
He raised his chin, his jaw clenched. “She’s a good person. I’m not.”
Cleo’s gaze flickered around the room again, her dark eyes taking in everything in the span of a few heartbeats. “And you…have feelings for her.”
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second. He didn’t look at Amelia or his brother, but he felt their eyes on him, boring into him. “That’s not a secret.”
“We’re wasting time,” Li Jun said behind her.
With Cleo’s gun pointed at his face, he’d forgotten the guard was even there.
Cleo sighed. “And I was so enjoying myself.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am going to open this door, and if any of you try anything stupid, so help me, I will shoot you in the face.”
“Also,” Li Jun added, “Apollo is with me. Unless you fancy having your head ripped off by a lion, I’d listen to her.”
Gabriel and Micah exchanged shocked glances. Why would she open the door? Was it some kind of trick? An easier way to kill them?
This girl enjoyed the pain of others. Maybe she just wanted a front row seat to watch them die, either through a rain of bullets or the savage jaws of an attacking lion.
Indecision gripped him. Should he jump at her as soon as the door swung open? Risk it all to take her down and hope a few of his people could make it out, even if some of them died?
“Gabriel,” Micah said, warning him. Stay calm. Keep your wits. Don’t be reckless.
Gabriel used to be reckless. Was he any more? Reckless could get you killed. It could also save your ass.
The entire door retracted into the right side of the wall. Li Jun and the lion stood on his left, a hover cart loaded with a large canvas bag next to them. Cleo stood directly in front of him in the brightly lit corridor. She was dressed in the same dark, tight-fitting clothing, Jericho’s pulse rod clipped to her belt next to a large hunting knife.
He ignored the pang at the thought of Jericho. There was no time for that now.
He sprang at Cleo. With his left arm, he seized the gun, thrusting it to the side and up, so if she pulled the trigger the bullets would fly harmlessly over everyone’s heads. With his right hand, he jerked the hunting knife from the sheath at her waist and thrust it against her throat.
“Got you,” he said, inches from her face.
She flashed that enigmatic smile, the right side of her face crinkling, her teeth bared like fangs. “You’re good. But not good enough.”
He felt the press of cold steel against his upper thigh, the razor-sharp blade of the knife strapped to her outer leg a moment ago now jammed against his femoral artery. “You cut me; I cut you. Who dies first?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “as long as they escape.”
“How very noble. Unlike your partner in crime, who squealed on you the second we captured him. I didn’t even get to torture him, which was a real shame. Now, put your big knife down like a good boy and we can talk.”
“What makes you think we have anything to talk about?” He jerked the blade harder against her neck, forcing her chin up.
She swallowed, but her dark eyes revealed no fear. “If you refuse, my guard releases that king of beasts over there.”
Gabriel spared a quick glance at the cat. The thing was massive. Its collar shimmered like blue lightning through its tawny mane. It shook its great head and growled, a loud rumble that trembled the floor beneath his feet.
The lion strained against its thin silver chain, hungering to get inside the white room, hungering to devour Amelia and Micah and Benjie and the others.
Li Jun tugged on the chain. “Sit.”
Unbelievably, the lion sat. It stared into the room with ravenous golden eyes, ready and waiting.
“He’s well trained, but starving,” Li Jun said almost apologetically. “Moruga hasn’t fed him since Hector died.”
“So you see,” Cleo continued calmly, “mine is bigger. Let’s all put our dicks back inside our pants and try this again.”
“Go to hell,” Silas spat, scrambling to his feet beside Amelia.
Cleo sighed. “This is why I hate men. If you would shut your pieholes and listen for a damn second, you might learn something.”
“Put the knife down, Gabriel,” Micah said. There was no question in his voice, no quavering hesitation. He spoke with quiet authority, and Gabriel obeyed. He had no choice, really. She had him.
He dropped the knife.
He realized suddenly that he didn’t want to die. Not anymore. He was willing, but he wanted to live, if given the choice. Nadira had died for that choice. He didn’t have much faith in the God his mother had believed in, but he sent up a desperate prayer anyway. He had so much left to do.
Cleo shifted, her blade sliding from his femoral artery to his crotch.
He stiffened, his mouth going dry. Was this all just a game? Was she simply torturing them? Would she gut him like a pig now? Or worse?
She cocked her eyebrows, daring him to move. He didn’t move.
She took a step back and laughed. She slid her blade into her thigh sheath and rubbed her throat. “Just yanking your chain, asshole.”
Gabriel let out a long breath, refusing to let her see how she’d shaken him.
“What the hell do you want?” Willow scowled, her hands fisted on her hips. Finn was beside her, a towering hulk even with one hand gripping his wounded shoulder, his expression contorted with pain. Benjie hid behind them both.
“What I want—” Cleo picked up her rifle and slung it over her shoulder, “—is a mansion with a floating Jacuzzi and five man-slaves to rub my feet with oil every hour of every day. Not because I like men, but because they would hate it, and that would make it awesome.”
They all just stared at her.
She rubbed a smudge of dirt from her damaged cheek with the back of her hand. “I want to save your undeserving asses. But if you don’t stop standing there gawping like idiots, I guarantee I’ll change my mind.”
26
Willow
Willow stared at Cleo, stunned. She was sure she hadn’t heard correctly. Her neck still burned; her stomach felt like it had been turned inside out, her ribs aching. She must be hallucinating.
“Why should we trust you, scar-face?” Silas said, sneering. “You’re just screwing with us.”
Cleo grinned savagely. “If I was screwing with you, silver-dicked rich boy, you’d know it.”
Silas let out a bitter laugh.
Cleo’s grin widened. “Unfortunately, I am not screwing with you today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“We’re here to rescue you,” Li Jun said.
Willow touched the scalded skin on her neck gingerly, wincing. This girl was a sociopath. The Pyros were depraved killers. This had to be some kind of vicious trick. “Why? Why in the world would you help us, when a few hours ago you were delighted to maim and torture?”
Cleo whirled on Willow. “You really are as dense as you look, aren’t you? You should be thanking me.”
Willow sputtered, momentarily unable to form a coherent thought.
“What are you talking about?” Micah asked her.
“Sykes wanted to put a bullet in your head then and there.” Cleo cocked her head, her long purple braids tumbling over her right shoulder. “
Or were you not paying attention to that part? I’m the only reason you’re all alive.”
Li Jun glanced at his SmartFlex. “We need to go.”
“We’re not going anywhere until you give us some answers,” Willow snapped, finally finding her voice. “None of this makes sense.”
Cleo sighed impatiently. She drew out her words like she was speaking to small children, or idiots. “I’m not actually a Pyro. I’m a New Patriot. I’m working for General Reaver, the leader of the surviving remnant of the Atlanta chapter, now Georgia and the whole southeast.”
“A New Patriot,” Gabriel repeated, startled, his eyes widening.
Cleo’s gaze snapped to him. “Is there an echo in here? That’s what I said.”
“Wait a minute, a New Patriot?” Rage ignited inside her chest. This was some horrible, twisted nightmare mingling the past with the present. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse. “You’re a terrorist! You people attacked the Grand Voyager. You killed my family! You created the Hydra virus—”
“I’m going to stop your little rant right there,” Cleo interrupted in an infuriatingly calm voice. “One. What happened on the Grand Voyager did not go according to plan. Two. Our chapter was not involved in that particular mission. Three. The New Patriots had nothing to do with the Hydra virus. I would think your resident New Patriot would’ve cleared that up by now.”
“Well, of course he said that, but—”
“It’s true,” Amelia said quietly.
Everyone stared at her, gaping.
“How could you possibly know that?” Willow asked incredulously.
“I’ll explain later, I promise. The New Patriots are what they are. But they did not create the Hydra virus. They were trying to stop it.”
“But—” Willow sputtered.
Micah touched her shoulder. He leaned in close. “We’ll tell you everything, but right now we have to get out of here. I don’t like this either, but we don’t have a lot of options.”
Willow gritted her teeth and nodded. Micah was right. If it took betting on a demon to get them out of hell, then she’d bet on the demon.
