“I looked up the directions you got from him. He’s staying in a lower-end boarding house that can be rented on a weekly basis. Our intel shows that most of the residents in his building are young men who are aligned with various crews but haven’t yet proven themselves enough to be granted space inside protected crew bases,” Zane said. Lilah’s instincts were right on. It sounded more and more like Damon was entangled with the Lobos. But he hated sending her in there. It was worrisome that her brother refused to meet her anywhere else. Someone was putting pressure on him. It meant that most likely he did have information that could help them find the Forrests.
“I think the security guards are going to have to wait outside,” Lilah fretted. “He insisted that I come alone. I’m afraid if he even sees them he’ll clamp his lips together so tight I’ll never learn anything.”
“Fine. We’ll station them outside the building, where they can come right in at the first sign of trouble.”
Within the next quarter hour, the security team was assembled and loaded into the armored transport Quintan Security used for hairy situations inside the zone. It would protect them from most of the worst of small arms attacks. Lilah had donned a plain black protective gear suit. It didn’t offer as much protection from weapons as the security guards’ uniforms did, but it looked more normal, less likely to occasion comment in Damon’s building while still giving her a least a little barrier between her vital organs and any attackers. Zane hoped it would be enough. It would have to be enough. He would hate to see anything happen to Lilah.
“Good luck, Lilah,” he called as she climbed into the transport. She merely waved at him before she disappeared inside. He couldn’t see in through the darkened windows, and a minute later the door sealed itself shut. Moments later the transport rumbled out through the security gate.
Now the waiting game truly began. Hopefully Lilah would strike intel gold—and come back to the QE safely.
22. Damon
Lilah knew the minute that Damon opened the door that something was even more wrong than she’d feared. He wouldn’t even look at her. Instead his eyes flicked over her head and down the hallway, probably to verify that she had come alone, as he had demanded. “Hey, sis,” he said without even turning his head. “Come on in.”
She followed him in and stood to the side as Damon slid the door shut by hand. Lilah looked around the room warily. It was tiny and decrepit. The glass was missing from the only window; it had been blocked by a sheet of plexiboard. Her critical gaze continued around the small space. There were no beds—instead four pallets were crammed across the back of the room. There was a tiny alcove that she supposed was the attempt at a kitchen. It contained a single bank of cupboards with a sink, an ancient cooler sitting in the corner, and a flimsy folding table against the opposite wall with two stools. Everything was faded or covered in grime or both. She couldn’t even tell what color the walls had originally been painted. Paint had chipped away from the walls in places, showing the gray plastine underneath. Apparently the whole place had been built out of blocks of the molded plastic-like building material. It was cheap and had often been used for colonizing places where wood was scarce, but it made for uncomfortably sweltering living spaces. Already she felt like she had stepped into a swamp.
He brushed past her and headed into the tiny kitchen and opened the cooler. “I’m starving. Want some lo mein?” he asked, his voice echoing from the cooler.
“No thanks, Damon, I just ate.” She started to lean against the corner of the kitchen and then thought better of it. She didn’t need smears of filth on her back. Instead, she pulled out one of the stools at the table and sat, folding her arms.
“You need to level with me,” she began bluntly.
“About what?” he said, his voice muffled. He was still sticking his head in the cooler opening, as if there could possibly be many foods to decide among.
Lilah stifled a sigh. “Don’t play stupid. I know something is going on.”
He finally pulled a carton out of the cooler and swung the door shut, rummaging in a drawer for a fork. He still hadn’t looked at her.
“Damon.”
He finally met her eyes, a forkful of noodles already halfway to his mouth.
“What exactly are you doing for the Lobos?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, his eyes dropping back to the food as he stuffed a wad into his mouth and started to chew eagerly.
“No. I’m not going to sit here and listen to you lie to me.” She kept her voice even and controlled, but inside her heart was pounding. There was no doubt any more. His guilt was painted as clearly by his evasion as if he’d confessed.
“I’m not doing anything now,” he amended pathetically, pushing around her and going to the other side of the little table, where he kicked the other stool out and dropped onto it.
She swiveled, staring directly at his downturned face.
“Did you tell the Lobos that Jenna and I were having dinner at the Hanging Gardens?” she asked, her voice brittle. He didn’t answer. Of course. That was answer enough, but she wanted—needed—to hear him say it. “Well?” she demanded.
He kept his eyes glued to the takeout carton. She waited, though one of her feet tapped impatiently.
“Yes,” he finally answered in a low voice.
Her stomach clenched. She’d guessed it, but to hear the truth still left her breathless by the betrayal. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do that to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her,” he said.
Stars help her, she was going to throttle him. “What, you thought some Red Zone gang wanted to know where Jenna was going to be spending time in Omphalos just out of curiosity? If you were that stupid, you wouldn’t be able to walk and talk at the same time!” she shot back at him.
“They promised me nothing would happen to her, OK?” he cried, finally goaded into raising his eyes. He threw down his fork. “It was just a job, just a little info on her, and they offered me protection for it! I’ve made a couple of enemies, and the Lobos made them back down.”
Tears welled up in Lilah’s eyes. Her body shook from the anger. She leaned across the table and stared at him from only a handspan away. “Family. Always. Comes. First,” she snarled. “How many times have I said it? How many times have you agreed? You, me, Shawn, Jenna. We don’t have anyone else, Damon.”
“She’s not family!” he protested weakly.
Lilah stared at him in contempt. He dropped his eyes back to the carton.
“They promised me that she wouldn’t get hurt,” he repeated dumbly. “I didn’t know they were going to auction her. I thought it was just a ransom job.”
“So the Lobos are behind this?” Lilah confirmed.
Damon hesitated. Lilah fixed him with a stony glare.
“Not exactly. It was an outfit from outside the zone. But they needed someone to work with, and I guess they had some kind of deal worked out with the Lobos.”
“Where is she, Damon?” Lilah asked, her voice hoarse. “Where are the kids?” Damon flinched. In that moment, Lilah would have bet money that Damon hadn’t known the kids would be taken also. He hadn’t totally sold his soul. Not that it mattered. He’d sold out Jenna. He might have well as sold Lilah herself.
“I don’t know,” he groaned. “Do you think I would keep that from you if I did? I only know the few details that I do because some of the Lobos like to talk.”
“I should just turn you over to the Quintans now,” she threatened. His eyes widened in fear. “What?” She laughed derisively. “Did you think that the Quintans would just let it go? Jenna married a Forrest, Damon. Lev Quintan is going to string up every one of the Lobos before this is over, and he’ll add you to the list. Can the Lobos protect you from that?”
Damon muttered something she couldn’t hear.
“Louder, kid,” she ordered.
<
br /> He scowled at her, but spoke more loudly. “I figured the Quintans would leave me alone. After all, you work for them!”
Lilah snorted. Damon truly was an idiot. She almost was angry enough to call in the Quintan Security guys to pick him up right now. But she still loved her brother, for all his idiotic choices, and she knew that it might be a death sentence. Quintan was not likely to show mercy to a traitor.
The door rattled. Damon cursed, shoving his stool back. Lilah was on her feet in a second, her gun drawn and aimed at the door. With a screech the door was shoved open, and a large, brawny man with a coppery skin and a flaming red goatee stumbled into the room. He blinked with surprise.
“Hey, Damon, didn’t know you had company. Colorful company, too,” he said with a leer, his eyes flicking to Lilah’s hair. She bristled, but she didn’t say anything. All her zone survival instincts kicked in. Better to remain silent until she knew what she was dealing with.
“Grainger,” greeted Damon warily. “I thought you were going to be home late.” Lilah heard the caution, and immediately chills ran down her spine. This man might share a room with her brother, but he didn’t trust him. This was not a friend.
“Boss sent me to have a word with you. Might as well do it now,” the man said. “I’m sure your little girlfriend here won’t mind,” he added with a smirk.
“She’s not . . .” Damon began, but Lilah glared him into silence. Was he really so obtuse as to give a threat any more information than strictly necessary?
A sudden crack startled all three of them. Lilah whirled around just in time to watch the plexiboard fall from the window. She didn’t hesitate. Shoving past Damon’s stupified roommate, she yanked at the door just as the glass bottle crashed against the wall and exploded. “Damon!” she cried, though she didn’t turn around. She was into the hallway in seconds, away from the searing heat and the flames that were already racing up the plastine walls, her gun up and ready to fire at any waiting attackers. A figure in a gas mask was pounding toward her in the hallway, but she held her fire for just a second.
“Sparrow!” shouted the man in a muffled voice. She exhaled in relief just as a pair of large hands shoved her into the wall from behind. Her shoulder cracked against the plastine, and she stumbled, trying to bring her gun around. But Grainger wasn’t attacking her; instead, he was dashing down the hallway the opposite way.
“Damon!” she screamed. Her brother had not left the apartment yet. Smoke surged out of the doorway. It was too thick to see anything. She wasn’t going to be able to breathe in a second. She pulled up her shirt over her mouth and steeled herself to dart back into the room, but before she could move, the Quintan Security guard reached her and grabbed her arm, towing her back the way he had come.
“My brother!” she cried, struggling, but he didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened as he almost dragged her back down the hallway. There was another explosion, and a ball of flame flashed through the doorway. Lilah found her feet running with the guard against her will, tears streaming down her cheeks, a voice screaming inside her head that she needed to go back, she had to get Damon, but another urge, a stronger, undeniable urge to get away from the flaming inferno, drowned it out. They reached the exterior door in mere seconds, and it was already open, another security guard in his uniform scanning the street through the scope of his laser. In fifteen more seconds, they were back in the armored transport. Lilah slumped in her seat, sobbing now, staring out the window at the clouds of black smoke billowing from the building. She stared at the door, willing her brother to come out. Oh Damon. No, no, please, not my brother, she pleaded, though she didn’t know to whom.
The last two security guards appeared around the corner of the building, dragging a figure between them. For a moment Lilah’s hopes soared, but all too soon she knew it couldn’t be Damon. By the time they reached the transport and her guard flung open the doors, she had already recognized the hulking figure and flaming goatee of her brother’s roommate. The guards shoved him in, none too gently, his wrists and legs already bound. Then they jumped in beside their captive and pulled the doors shut. The transport lumbered to life immediately. Lilah watched the building, now a fully engulfed inferno, recede into the distance. She pressed a hand to the window.
“No,” she whispered. It didn’t make any sense! Why hadn’t Damon followed her out of the room? He had been standing right there by her, right by the door! Had that man—Grainger—somehow prevented him from escaping? She turned to the bound figure slumped on the floor of the transport. One of the guards had his gun trained on the prisoner. Grainger’s eyes were open, and the guards hadn’t bothered to gag him, but he merely lay there unmoving, staring upward. She moved until she was in his line of sight. He focused on her, and his mouth curved slightly.
“Where’s Damon?” she demanded. Her voice was raw and hoarse from the smoke. Grainger ignored her.
She slid onto the floor and screamed at him. “Where’s my brother, pit spawn? What did you do to him?” Grainger just stared back at her defiantly. Then a coughing fit struck her, and she doubled over in pain. One of the Quintan Security guards placed his hand on her arm. She didn’t know if he meant to restrain her or comfort her. When the coughing finally stopped, she raised her watery eyes to the back window again. She could still see the plume of smoke reaching upward and spilling outward.
“Damon,” she croaked.
23. Next of Kin
Back when Zane was general manager of the Quintan Edge, some of the worst tasks had fallen to him. One of them was having to personally notify the nearest family member of every security guard killed in action. Sometimes his father would take on the responsibility, but usually it had been Zane’s job. Those visits had never gotten easier; telling someone that their brother or father or husband had died was a gut-wrenching experience.
This was worse.
Of course, Lilah almost certainly knew. She had been there; from what Zane had been told, a guard had literally kept her from running back into the blaze for Damon. But a Quintan Security officer had gone along with the body retrieval crew after the fire had been extinguished, and they found what was left of Damon’s body in that smoldering carcass of a building. The fire had killed at least six other people, and they had been lucky that it hadn’t spread to other structures. Other fires in the distant past had wiped out entire blocks before reaching the fire crews of Omphalos at the Red Zone boundaries. One of the first things that Zane’s father had arranged with some of the other big bosses in the zone (besides the body retrieval service) was a contract with a specialized fire air crew that could be called in to dump retardant chemicals on any fire that seemed likely to get out of control. These bosses shared the cost incurred, and by the same token protected themselves from being swamped by a block fire.
But the fires were never put out quickly enough to save any lives, especially if the building had no fire protection of its own.
As soon as he got confirmation that Damon’s body had been re-trieved, Zane set out to find Lilah. Normally, she would have been working, but her assistant had stated that Lilah had taken a personal leave day. Next he tried her apartment but got no answer. Then he tried comming her, but she didn’t respond. Finally, worried, he paid a visit to the security hub for Quintan Tower. Running through the current vid feeds, they found her for him. She was sitting on the far corner of the pool deck.
When he walked through the sliding door toward her, she didn’t even look back. She was huddled in a chair at the very far edge of the deck, facing outward toward the rest of the Red Zone. The rest of the deck was empty; it was the busiest night of the week at the resort, and most of the people living in the Tower were at work. He ran through half a dozen different things to say, ways he could broach the subject with her, and discarded all of them as useless. But when he reached her, she spoke first without even turning around.
“You found his body, didn’t you.
” It wasn’t a question. Her voice was flat and lifeless.
“Yes,” he said quietly. He hesitated for a moment. “I’m sorry, Lilah,” he added.
She said nothing.
Zane stood there for a moment, feeling like there should be something more he should say but not knowing what. His easy way with words seemed to have deserted him. Finally, he pulled a nearby chair closer and sat down, staring out over the zone also. It was more than an hour after sunset, and the lights of the Red Zone sparkled off distant windows.
Eventually, Zane took a deep breath. “Would you like to make arrangements?” he asked. He wasn’t sure Lilah had the funds to pay for a funeral.
Lilah sighed shakily. “I guess that does fall to me, doesn’t it? My parents are dead, Shawn is deep space, and Jenna is . . . missing. Who else?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, wretchedly. There was nothing he could do for her. There was nothing he could even say.
“My mother died when I was just six,” she said, her voice low. “She was sick for a while, and I know she worried about us all. She told me that my family was my family, no matter what. That I needed to be strong for my brothers. She made me promise.” Lilah’s voice broke on that last word.
“That promise became my life. I did everything I could to take care of my brothers, even though I was just a kid myself. When my dad was gone more and more of the time, it was me who made sure they ate, me who made sure they were dressed and got to school, at least sometimes. When my dad moved us into the Red Zone, it was me that kept us all alive.” She paused, swiping first at one cheek and then at the other. Zane waited, his breath held. He’d never heard any of this about Lilah. They had more in common than he’d realized, though he’d never had to physically look after his sisters. There had always been staff to do that. But their father had all but disappeared from their lives for years after their mother died.
“When my dad was killed,” Lilah continued, her voice low, “I didn’t blame myself. He’d made his own choices, and though I’d always tried to look after him too, I knew there was nothing I could have done. All I could do at that point to keep my promise to my mother was keep Damon and Shawn alive and well. We fled the Red Zone—something I should have done years before, whether my father would go or not—and went to a crisis center.” She stopped for a moment again, taking a breath and trying to compose herself.
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