black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1)

by Sara Baysinger

  “Well,” I say. “He didn’t smoke me out in the tavern when he had the perfect opportunity to. He actually went out of his way to change my career from being in the Line of Defenders to being a farmer, which is exactly what I wanted. So, yeah. Call me naïve or whatever. But I do actually kind of trust him.”

  The amusement flickers out of his eyes, and now he just looks a little sad. “Right. Okay. Just don’t get too attached. I’ve known a few politicians in my life, and they’re none too friendly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Two blinks. “It was a politician,” he says, “who turned me and my crew of Resurgencies in.”

  Whoa. What? “So, wait.” I try to gather my scattered thoughts. “You’re a part of the Resurgence? I mean, you work for Jonah Walker?”

  He nods slowly.

  Holy Crawford. I knew there might be some Resurgencies in here, but I wasn’t entirely sure. I mean, I’ve never even heard of the rebels until Leaf told me. But now I’m actually talking to a member of the Resurgence. The thought is absolutely thrilling.

  “So, a politician turned you in?”

  “Yes,” Judah says. “We had two politicians show up in the Resurgence just a couple months ago, begging to become a part of us. The first one was caught communicating with Defenders on his phoneband. We disposed of him quickly. The second is the guy who turned me in just last week. He was supposed to be a part of our team, he was the one who would get us through the security into the chief’s offices. But he smoked us out, and it’s because of him that I’m in here.

  “This Turner guy may seem awfully friendly,” Judah says. “But he’s out to get you. He probably knows your friend was helping Walker, and he wants to use you to get to your friend’s father or something. Or maybe he really thinks you’re lying, that you know something about the Resurgence, and he’s hoping to get it out of you. But let me tell you something, Ember, and let me be perfectly clear: Congressman Turner doesn’t want to help anyone but himself. If he knows he can use you to rid the people who are a threat against his people, then he will. And the way he’ll get to you is by pretending to be your friend.”

  Forest’s words echo in my head. There is no my people and your people. We’re all one nation, one tribe. One people.

  “I’ve never met a politician I’ve liked,” Judah says. “Never. Not once. And I’ve met quite a few of them. They’re liars down to the bone. All of them."

  Now I’m confused. Like, mind-bogglingly confused. Because Forest seemed so real. And I don’t really understand how a man who seemed so trustworthy, so down to earth, so completely honest, could possibly be like the politicians Judah’s describing. How Forest with his sincere blue eyes and casual demeanor and non-threatening manner could be bad.

  But maybe that’s his plan. To appear innocent and honest. To gain my trust so he could help his people in the long run. It worked. I’d opened up to him that night at The Tap in a way no one ever should open up to strangers. I’d said some things against the government that could’ve gotten me killed on the spot.

  I’d trusted him.

  “My best friend wanted to be a part of the Resurgence,” I say. “His father housed Jonah Walker on the last night I was there.”

  Judah nods. “Walker was with us the night the Defenders raided our building. We were on our way to Frankfort. When that traitor turned us in, we were scattered throughout the city. But Walker was one of ‘em who got away. He must have been on the run since, hiding in the Garden with your friend.”

  “The Community Garden is the best place to hide in Ky.” I think of not only our apple orchard, but the cornfields in the summer and the pine forests in the winter and how the lights go out two hours after sunset, and how the entire landscape is cloaked in darkness all night.

  “Try second best,” Judah says.

  I look sharply at him.

  “I mean,” he says. “It’s no Louisville.”

  A sharp intake of breath. Louisville, the ashen city. The forbidden city. The ghost town of ghost towns whose ashes have been taken over by vines—according to rumors.

  “Is that—is that where your group is hiding?” I ask.

  His gaze shifts to the ceiling. “I can’t tell you too much, Ember. Cameras and microphones might be wired all over this place. But I can tell you this, and I tell you with the full knowledge that Titus might hear this message himself, we are hiding until our numbers are large enough to match the Defenders’. And the next time we attempt an assassination on Titus, we will succeed.”

  The air is stolen from my lungs. Treason. Judah could be killed for what he just said. But, oh, wait, we’re already headed to our executions. Still, even I don’t have the balls to make such a bold proclamation.

  “D-do you think it would do any good?” I squeak, almost afraid that the Defenders will march in here at any moment and kill us both on the spot. “I mean, if Titus falls, another snotty politician will just take his place, yes?”

  “Not if there’s another member of the Whitcomb bloodline.”

  This takes me off guard. “Um. Isn’t Titus an only child? His dad is dead. His mom—I don’t really know what happened to his mom. But she’s gone. So, I mean, he doesn’t have any children, does he?” Or maybe he does.

  “No,” Judah says. “But he has a sister.”

  “Oh. Weird. I don’t really remember ever learning about his sis—”

  “That’s because Titus’s mom took her when she ran off.”

  “Oh.” So much information left out of our education. I guess they don’t consider this important for us gardeners to learn, though. “So…Titus’s mom just…ran off?”

  “Yes. This is common knowledge,” Judah says with a flip of his hand. “Now, everyone knows Titus’s mom was caught and executed, but no one’s found her other child yet.”

  “She’s not with the Resurgence?”

  “Nope.” He stares at me, his brown eyes filled with some sort of passion. “But when we find Titus’s sister,” he says. “And if she supports our cause, well, then, we’ll have ourselves a new leader. And she will have the power to control the rise or fall of Ky. The power to give us freedom, make us stronger, and make Ky better than it’s ever been.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fear. It’s making me sick to my stomach. Thoughts of my impending death fill every corner of my brain, and I’m scared. Heart-poundingly terrified. And my breaths become short and quick, like I just can’t inhale enough oxygen, and I press my back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus focus focus until I feel it.

  The pull. The whisper. The presence calming my nerves and taming my thoughts. The voice begging me to call out to something, someone that I can’t fully grasp and will never understand. I look around the dim room to see if anyone else feels it, but they’re all asleep, or staring blankly ahead, lost in their own thoughts. I look at Judah, but he’s out cold, the soft sound of his heavy breathing confirming he’s asleep.

  But the atmosphere is pulsing with energy. And it’s calling out to me.

  “Please,” I whisper to the air.

  The air.

  It’s just air.

  But it’s fully charged, alive, filled with some sort of power, a being that’s so incredibly moving it brings me to my knees on the rough, concrete ground. And I hunch forward, dig my fingers into my hair, and again I say, “PLEASE.”

  And it’s all I can say, but somehow I feel like I’m fully understood.

  ***

  We’re released outside early the next morning, and I immediately notice Patricians standing on the balconies that surround the arena. Why do they come here to spectate criminals? What can be so entertaining as to watch us stretch our legs? I don’t want their critical eyes on me, so I sprint along the wall of the arena toward the door that the Patricians will soon exit.

  Breathe. Plan. Judah said there was a green button on the inside of the hallway that will keep the door open as long as I keep pushing it. All I have to do i
s slip through the crowd of Patricians, press that button, and he and Ash will magically fight their way in, and we’ll magically escape. I don’t know how it’s all going to work. But I also don’t want to die, so it’s worth a shot.

  When I run past the gates, some of the spectating Patricians send catcalls down and shout obscenities at me. I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything that’ll make me dinner for the tigers, and continue my trek around the arena a few more times as to look less suspicious. If I wait by the door, they’ll know something’s up. So I run. I breathe. I exchange bad air for good and tell myself everything’s going to be okay. And I wait.

  After another lap, I hunch over by the door, plant my palms on my knees and suck in sharp breaths. Straightening, I look toward the Patricians in the balcony again. When are they going to get the balls to come down here? Are they even going to come out? Did they happen to hear us on the microphones and cameras that Judah’s convinced are wired in the prison walls? If so, of course they’re not going to be stupid enough to open those doors.

  I grit my teeth, fight back the despair that inches into my very being, and glare at the Patricians who stare down at us.

  Is Forest among them? He said he’d try to find a way for me to get out of here, but maybe he forgot. Maybe it just, I don’t know, slipped his mind. Maybe Judah was right about everything, and Forest was just trying to dig for answers, bribe me by offering freedom. And maybe, after that conversation, he decided I was useless.

  Either way, I’m screwed. I almost look away from the Patricians when I spot Rain, his newsboy cap sitting crookedly over his auburn hair.

  Rain. A vile creature if I ever did see one. He has one arm wrapped around the skinny waist of a Patrician girl, and holds a flask in his other hand. Another girl with perfect black curls stands on his other side, clinging to his arm. He gestures toward one of the criminals while saying something in Black Curls’s ear. She giggles, then bites her lip enticingly and says something that brings Rain’s hallmark smirk to his face.

  That smirk. I wish I could smack it off his Patrician face. As though hearing my thoughts, he looks in my direction and his eyes lock with mine. And his smile vanishes. His features become stony. Cold. Almost…dangerous. I want to look away, but I don’t want to seem weak, so I stare him down until he looks away. One word to the girls, and he turns away from the balcony and stalks off.

  If he hates me so much, why didn’t he let the black tiger kill me yesterday? Is watching me suffer by the Rebels Circle really a better form of revenge? For the first time, I actually look forward to returning to my cell. I’m tired of being watched, scrutinized, judged. And it’s obvious they’re not opening the doors. Because they probably heard our entire plan. So I pick up my pace, and I sprint around the arena. One more lap and then it’ll be time to go back inside the cell.

  But just as I’m finishing my lap, the doors open. Patricians begin filing out. My heart takes an overexcited leap. It’s time. I glance at Judah and he dips his chin in a nod. I pick up my pace and sprint straight toward the door. I slip through the cracks of the Patricians, and I can feel their eyes on me. I can feel the Defenders taking aim, but I keep my eye on the prize—the door, the goal, the opening that screams freedom—when someone grabs both my arms and whirls me around.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Hey, easy there, tiger.”

  NO!

  I try to pull free, but the hands grip me too tightly, and when I look back at the door, it slams shut on my dreams and hopes and the only chance of life that I possibly had.

  And life. Life suddenly seems like something I’ve taken for granted every single day until the one day it’s slipping through my fingers. Despair is suddenly fully understood. I take a step back. Stare at the doors through the blur of angry tears.

  “You all right there?”

  I turn to look at my intruder, the jackal who stopped me from attaining that unattainable goal. And my heart sinks into my gut. Because mocking gray eyes are staring right at me.

  “Rain.” His name is spoken through clenched teeth like a curse. “Rain. You—you—”

  “I what?” he asks in a very quiet, but still musical voice. “I rescued you from a suicide mission?”

  “You—son of a jackal!” I rip my arms from his firm grip, surprised that he releases me so easily. “I was—I almost—”

  “Killed yourself?”

  I look at him. “No! The opposite. I almost escaped.”

  “You think you could have escaped? Right in front of everyone here?” He looks around us, and I realize for the first time all the Patricians and Defenders are staring at me.

  “Show’s over, folks,” he says, and they go about their business.

  “I had a plan,” I mumble. I swipe a tear from the corner of my eye before Rain sees it.

  “A plan that would have ended in immediate death.” He pulls a flask out of his back pocket.

  “I’m going to die anyway.”

  “Yes. Well, aren’t we all? Peter Pan doesn’t exactly welcome anyone to Neverland who’s older than twelve, so we adults have to suck it up, plaster a smile on our faces, and pretend like the grave doesn’t completely terrify us.”

  I’m so confused, and I almost ask who Peter Pan is and where Neverland is, but then decide I don’t really care.

  Rain unscrews the lid and takes a deep drink, and I catch a glimpse of his jaw, lightly bruised from where I punched him.

  A sense of gratification fills me. “How’s your jaw?”

  He lowers the flask, nearly choking on that last drink, and glares at me. “It still hurts.”

  “Oh?” I shake my hand and flex my fist. “So does my fist.”

  “You think it’s funny?”

  “I don’t think I punched you hard enough.”

  “No?”

  “No. You can still talk.”

  His eyes become slits of steel, his jaw tensing. “You have absolutely no shame, do you?” He slips his flask back into his pocket and crosses his arms over his chest. “No matter. You’ll die soon enough. Tomorrow, in fact.” His upper lip curves in a line of pure arrogance. “Bus is scheduled to take you and your happy crew of rebels out to the Rebels Circle at nine.”

  I have the sudden urge to puke.

  “Aw, not so happy now, are we?” He puckers his lower lip in false sympathy. “Here.” He pulls his flask back out, leans in until I feel his warm breath on my cheek, and whispers, “Looks like you could use a drink.”

  I jerk back and look at the flask. “I don’t think prisoners are allowed to drink.”

  “Seriously? You’re worried about rules now?” His smile broadens. “I think it’s a bit late for that. Besides, who cares? You’re going to die tomorrow. Just drink. It’ll make you feel so much better. I swear.”

  I would think he was trying to poison me, if I didn’t see him take a swig from it seconds ago. And I’m thirsty. So incredibly thirsty because they’ve hardly given us any water. After all those laps, I do kind of want something to drink, no matter what it is. So I accept the flask and take a deep gulp. The bitter liquid strikes sparks in the back of my throat, and fire flows down my esophagus into my stomach, and I hunch over, coughing and choking while I shove the flask back into his hands.

  “What’s wrong? Never had whiskey?” His grin is broad now, and a laugh escapes him. And I’m humiliated and angry and completely defeated. I call him a foul word and shove past him, but he grabs my wrist. “Wait, wait. I’m sorry.”

  I twist from his grasp. “Let me go!”

  “Ember, I just—I have something of yours.”

  This stops me. I turn to face him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small slip of paper, holds it between his index and middle finger.

  I snatch the paper from his fingers and unfold it to find a picture of a burning apple. The slip Leaf gave me. My heart stops beating, then beats two beats too fast. I squeeze the paper tight in my fist, look around to make sure no one notices, then glare at Rain
.

  “Where,” I seethe. “Did you find this?”

  “In your cell at Shelby Prison.”

  “You’ve had it all this time?”

  He grins. “It’s my job to keep an eye out for Resurgencies like you.”

  “I’m not a part of the Resurgence,” I whisper.

  “No?” He tilts his head. “Just tell me one thing, then.” And he leans in closer so I can smell the sour alcohol on his breath. “What, exactly, do you know of the Resurgence?”

  “N-nothing.” The bigger questions is, what does he know of it?

  “Then why the shoddy inferno did you have this paper?” he asks like it’s the dumbest thing in the world for me to carry around such a treasonous sign.

  “Leaf gave it to me before he died,” I say. “Said it could help me.” I look away, blinking back the unexpected tears that seem to want to flood the earth every time I think of Leaf. “I don’t know how it could help me, though. It’s just a piece of trash.” I look at Rain. “Trust me, I don’t have anything to do with the Resurgence. And, honestly? I don’t really want anything to do with them.”

  Rain’s brows flicker. “And why not? You think you’re better than them? That you’re somehow above them?”

  His sudden defense of the Resurgence takes me off guard. “No—no, I don’t think I’m b-better.”

  “Then what’s your beef against them, huh?”

  I stare at him, speechless, while he waits for an answer. “I think—I think my mom was taken away because of them.”

  He lifts his brows in surprise. “Your mom was taken away because of the Resurgence?”

  “I don’t…I don’t really know.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  I shrug. “Dad thinks she was executed on the Rebels Circle. But we Proletariats have no way of knowing for sure how or when the so-called criminals die. I mean, her execution was never posted in the town square, so…” I sigh. “All I know is Mom was taken away and never returned to the Community Garden.”