by Anya Bast
He bowed his head and sighed.
Daria shifted and stared at the back of his bent head. “You’re going in not only for the murders of Julia Harding, Vincent Almeda, Trudy Horowitz, Stephen Miller, and Brandon Nichols; you’re also going in for distributing carmin, Sante.” She regarded him for a moment. “And I know you have blood slaves under this dome somewhere. We’ll find them before this day is over.”
The murders would put him away for life, but she wasn’t going to let anything else slide by when she had the chance to charge him. She’d add as much insult to injury as she could before the end of the day.
“Care to change your mind?” Alejandro asked.
He raised his head and held her gaze steadily. “No.”
Not missing a beat, she looked at Alejandro. “Let’s get the ABI and GBC in here immediately.”
They had no time to waste. Just because Sante was willing to confess and surrender didn’t mean his people would be. They were surrounded by three hundred and fifty hard-core Christopher Sante worshippers.
She started for her dune bike. “We need to get him out of here as quickly and as quietly as possible.”
Alejandro nodded. “Once we get him back to the house, we’ll make the calls.”
“I ask one thing,” Sante said. “I’ll go without a fight, and I’ll keep the others from fighting for me, but I ask you to allow Carlos to take over management of the Shining Way.”
Daria stopped in her tracks, turned, and scoffed. “Carlos will just continue the trade of carmin, Sante. That’s not a deal.”
Sante shook his head. “He doesn’t know about any of it.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I had to hide it from him because he’d kick my ass if he knew.” He paused. “He’s protective of me and mine, Daria. To a fault. He is not corrupt. He’s not the man you think he is.”
None of them were, none.
She considered his words, considered what this place meant to so many people, people like Jia Ying, Rodrigo, and Emmet. This was their home, their one safe place in two galaxies filled with people who feared and hated them.
She licked her lips, hating to give him anything he wanted. “I’ll research him. If I find out you’re telling the truth, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Go ahead. You’ll see I am.”
“After I’m certain, we’ll take it from there.”
It was true that in the initial research into the histories of Carlos Hernadez and Eleanor Matthews, there had been few warning flags. There’d been no criminal histories for either of them, though Carlos’s actions here under the dome made it hard for Daria to believe him clean. Anyway, Sante’s word was not to be taken at face value. She would dig deeper.
He closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” The words sounded like the lash of a whip. “I’m doing it for those who call this place home.”
“That’s why I want it done, too.” Sante swallowed hard and averted his gaze from hers. “And Ari. Please make sure she’s all right.”
Daria started to say, “We don’t owe you any favors,” and then stopped. “I will protect Ari as much as she’ll allow me to.” Ari Templeton would hate her with the heat of a thousand suns by the time this was over. “Whatever I can do for her, I will.”
“Thank you.”
She turned on her heel and walked to her dune bike. “Don’t thank me any more. It makes me want to kill myself.”
Alejandro had one hand firmly on Sante’s upper arm and wished for a weapon. Daria walked on Sante’s opposite side, her expression grim. Sante’s body stiffened in the face of his lover’s bewilderment.
Guards poured out of the house behind her. He and Daria both shifted position, ready to fight if they had to.
The men took in the situation from afar—their boss cuffed and in the custody of two Chosen they’d thought were on their side less than a hour ago—and moved toward them, drawing their weapons.
“Sante,” Daria snapped, her body going taut.
“Stand down!” Sante barked. “Guards, I’m giving you a direct order to follow the instructions of these two officers of the ABI and the GBC.” He paused and seemed to gather his strength. “I’m being arrested.”
The color drained from Ari’s cheeks and the angry forward stomp of the guards died.
“Christopher?” Ari asked again. “What’s happening?”
Sante studied the ground for several long moments before he raised his gaze to hers. “I’m doing this because I love you, Ari. One day you’ll understand. You and I . . . would have been great, but the timing was bad.” A sad smile flickered across his mouth. “Turns out I’m too old for you after all, baby.”
Ari shook her head, trying to understand. “Too old for me?” She rounded on Daria. “What have you arrested him for?”
“At the moment, he’s being charged with the murders of five people, plus the smuggling and distribution of carmin. I doubt that will be all, however. There might be a carmin field around here somewhere, so we can add drug manufacturing. Plus, I expect we’ll be including the trafficking of blood slaves to the list soon.”
If it was possible for Ari to go paler, she did. “Are these charges true, Christopher?”
“They are, but that’s not the real reason I’m allowing myself to be taken in. I’m going age insane, Ari. I can feel it more and more every day. I need to be locked up . . . for your protection.”
Ari’s face twisted. She leaned in, a teardrop rolling down her cheek. Her voice shook. “If you did those things, you deserve to be locked up. I want nothing more to do with you.” She sniffled. “I don’t even know you!” She turned and ran back into the house, leaving Sante to sag where he stood.
“Allowing? Did you say you’re allowing us to take you in?” Alejandro growled. His grip tightened on Sante’s arm, rage surging through his veins. “Sante, from day one we were taking you, come hellfire or high water. We never would have backed down. You allow us nothing.” He pushed Sante forward hard, making him stumble.
When they reached the clutch of somber, watching guards, Daria divested two of them of their pulse weapons and gave one to Alejandro. Then she ordered the men to disperse, and the three of them entered the house.
Daria cast Alejandro a look as they walked into the foyer. They were thinking the same thing. How long would it take for the guards to raise the other men and return? They’d been ordered by Sante to stand down, but the looks on their faces when Daria had taken their weapons had been anything but passive. They would have to make their call and move Sante somewhere else under the dome to await reinforcements.
The house was filled with the soft sound of Ari’s tears. Alejandro herded Sante up the stairs and into the living room with the butt of the pulser he held. Sante’s former lover was on the couch, curled up in a ball.
Daria stared at Ari for a moment, her expression sad, then turned to Alejandro and said, “I’ll make the call.”
Ari lifted her head. “You! This is all your fault. You came here, deceived us, pretended to be my friend. Now you’re taking away the only man I ever loved.”
“Would you rather have lived in ignorance?” Daria asked. “Would you rather have continued on, not knowing what a monster your mate is? Ari, really, is that what you wanted?”
Ari’s lower lip trembled, but she said nothing in return.
“We came looking for you,” Alejandro added. “Your father reported you kidnapped. We thought Sante had taken you against your will.”
Ari’s eyes widened. She sputtered for a moment and then her face melted into acceptance. “Bastard. He used my disappearance to fuel sympathy for his cause.” She paused, closed her eyes for a moment. “I should have expected no less. He sent that man to kill me, didn’t he?”
“I’m sorry, Ari,” Daria said softly. “I really am sorry this happened to you.”
“Don’t speak to me. I don’t want sympathy, especially yours,” Ari snapped in response and turned away, her
sobbing beginning again.
With a heavy sigh, Daria turned and left the room to summon reinforcements.
Alejandro guided Sante to sit on the couch and stood near him, one hand on his procured pulser, ready to fire. He didn’t trust Sante, even if he had surrendered, not an inch, not with Daria . . . never.
Christopher Sante could say he regretted the murders all he wanted, and it might even be true . . . a little. But Alejandro had seen the look in his eyes right before stepping in to help Daria. Her death would have appeased some black, insane part of him that demanded death as a tribute to his ego.
Alejandro had no doubt he’d had fun that night so long ago, fun killing Julia and the others. The man might be capable of love, sure, but there was a savage portion that Alejandro suspected Sante had a hard time controlling.
Right now Sante looked far from dangerous. He slumped on the couch, about seven feet from Ari, looking defeated and oddly vulnerable. His zipstrainted wrists lay in his lap and his gaze rested on his sobbing former lover. He stared at her like he wanted to memorize every inch of her face and body, like a man knowing he would soon be walking into the desert wanting to store up as much rain as he could to last him awhile.
Alejandro recognized it, because that’s how he felt about Daria.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Daria entered the room, took a seat to the left of Sante, and gave Alejandro a thumb’s-up. Everyone who needed to be contacted had been. The calvary was on its way.
By dawn the dome would be swarming with law enforcement, ABI and GBC alike. This mission would be over, and Daria would move on, taking a huge chunk of his heart with her.
He’d move on, too, just like he had the first time she’d left. He loved her, but he wasn’t going to beg her. The woman loved him back, but she was too stubborn to see it. Alejandro knew he couldn’t force her to open her eyes; she had to come to that on her own.
The truth could be so hard to see sometimes. Ari Templeton was learning that right now. She deserved the truth, though. All of it.
“What about the blood slaves, Sante?” The question fell like a rock into the silence of the room. Daria looked up at him from where she sat and then studied Sante. “Was Daria right about that?”
Sante shifted his gaze to the floor. “I’ll bring you to them.”
A disgusted look passed over Daria’s face. “I knew it.”
Ari leapt up, her face flushed bright red with anger. “Why?” She whispered the word. It came out hoarse and strangled. Then louder, “Why, Christopher? Why?”
Slowly, he moved his gaze from the floor to her face. “I learned how to manage the carmin and slaves from my blood mother. It makes money. It keeps the dome running. It provides a safe home for everyone who stays here. It was a little sin for the greater good.”
Daria snorted. “A little sin? You call the enslavement and sale of human beings a little sin? I fail to see the little and I really fail to see any good.”
Ari didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, perhaps. She stared at Sante like she’d never met him before.
“Humans are cattle,” Alejandro interjected. “Only weaker. Right, Sante? That’s what Lucinda used to say. Their value is minimal and they’re fragile. You have to buy them in bulk and use them quickly, before they die.”
Ari made a low gagging sound.
“Shut your mouth!” Sante snapped at him.
“That’s it, though, right?” Alejandro pressed. “That’s the prevailing attitude among many older Chosen.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “If they’re stupid enough to get themselves addicted they deserve anything they get.”
Ari turned her head away from him and closed her eyes.
Daria stood. “Well, on that cheery note, let’s go.”
“Ari should remain,” Sante said softly.
Ari’s head snapped around. “No! I want to see this. I want to see what you’ve done, Christopher. I have a right to know all of it.” She stalked out of the room and down the stairs. The front door slammed behind her.
A few minutes later they mounted two dune bikes. Alejandro with Sante on one, and Ari and Daria on the other. With the pale gray fingers of dawn just beginning to spread over the roof of the dome, Sante led them toward the honey fields. Not a big surprise to Daria or Alejandro.
They set down in the restricted area about three miles from where he’d been working with Brandon, in front of a large metal warehouse.
Two tall, well-built guards snapped to standing position where they’d been lazing on either side of the door and picked up their pulse rifles. Once they caught sight of Alejandro helping the zipstrainted Sante from the bike, they both bristled. The men glanced at each other and moved toward them, hands tense on their weapons. Alejandro touched his pulser, set to stun, hoping there wouldn’t be trouble.
“Stand down,” Sante commanded. “Stand away and let us through.”
The guards, clearly aching with the desire to defend their leader, hesitated, but didn’t lower their weapons. A tense moment passed in which both Alejandro and Daria charged their pistols, the soft whirring sound loud in the suddenly quiet air.
“Obey me,” Sante snapped.
The guards immediately stepped away from the door and lowered their weapons. They clattered to a rest, the pulse lights at the top of their weapons, keyed to their brain wave patterns, still violently red. Their boss had told them to stand down, but they were pissed as hell he was being held and might just try and play hero anyway. These guards seemed even more likely to go vigilante than the ones back at the house.
Alejandro glanced at Daria, who gave him a knowing look. They would have to watch their backs with these guys. If they were going down, they were going down swinging.
They entered the warehouse and immediately darkness and stench enveloped them. Beside him, Ari caught herself against a wall and dry heaved.
Unwashed bodies. Blood. Urine. Fear.
It clung to the inside of their nostrils and curled into the back of their throats.
Noises filtered to them. Coughing to his left. Murmuring straight ahead of them. Somewhere to the distant right, low moaning.
“Illumination,” commanded Sante in a hoarse voice.
Light flooded the building, making all the humans in the large area in front of them flinch and cover their eyes.
But not the Chosen, who had immediate pupil dilation in light changes. Alejandro and the others saw every detail right away, in its full, terrible reality. They stood in horror at the sight before them.
Daria’s only reaction was a quick intake of breath at the cringing sea of enslaved humanity. There had to be close to four hundred men and women crammed into the small area, so close they probably had trouble moving. They were dressed in tatters, their bodies gaunt from hunger.
29
ONE piercing cry rose above the others. A small child, a boy of perhaps six or seven, pushed past the adult legs around him to the front of the crowd. He was dressed in ripped adult clothing. The boy turned a pale face up at them, his dirty cheeks tear-tracked. Hunger, not for food, but for veil, lay openly on his tiny visage.
Alejandro turned and caught Sante hard in the cheekbone with his fist. Taken unaware, Sante plummeted backward under the force of the punch, hit the wall behind him, and crumpled to the floor.
“You bastard,” Alejandro growled and went down after him, taking him by his shirtfront and pummeling him with his free hand.
With rage thundering in his ears and the need to punish zinging through his veins, Alejandro didn’t hear Ari and Daria screaming at him until both women were hoarse. Female hands pounded on his back and pulled at his arms.
When their protestations finally registered, Alejandro paused and looked down at his handiwork. Sante was still conscious, but barely. If he hadn’t been Chosen, he’d be out cold. Sante’s face was a mess, and blood marked Alejandro’s knuckles.
Alejandro released Sante and rocked back on his heels. “Fuck.”
“Anger management, Alejandro,” murmured Daria. “You might work on that.”
Ari rushed past them both and gathered Sante in her arms. The older Chosen male groaned and his eyes fluttered open.
“I wanted to kill him with my bare hands,” Alejandro said, rising to his feet. He pushed a shaky hand through his hair.
“Past tense? Alejandro, I want that with every breath I take.”
He and Daria turned to view the ravening horde again. Luckily heavy metal mesh separated them from the slaves, because once the slaves’ eyes had adjusted to the flood of light in the room, they’d realized Chosen stood there. Normally slave traffickers drugged their stock to mute the drive to seek stimulus from the Chosen. Usually it was done through the food or water supply. It had to be close to dose time because these slaves weren’t controlling their urges very well.
Like something out of an ancient horror movie, they moved toward the metal mesh separating them from the ones who could give them the dark kiss and the fix they so badly craved. They’d come to stand just inches from them, their grimy fingers threading though the barrier, trying desperately to reach them. All of them mewled, whined, and whimpered like nothing human anymore. The little boy was gone, lost in the crush.
“There’s no way to get the child out,” Daria stated in an emotion-laden voice. “We can’t open those doors no matter what. They’d kill us trying to get a fix.”
“Where there’s one child, there’s more children. We have to get all those people out of there.”
The humans curled their fingers around the wire mesh and banged in an effort to pry it off.
Both he and Daria took a step backward, but it was clear their prison was too strong and the slaves too weak. They’d never get through.
The scent of blood and sweet, willing human infused Alejandro’s nostrils, but not a wisp of hunger curled through his stomach. These blood slaves were too pathetic, too victimized to be looked at that way. Not even the hardcore animal part of him, the pure Chosen heart of him, could look at these people as food. They needed help, every last one of them.
Sadder still would be the individual stories. Alejandro had heard them all. Some of them would have courted the Chosen’s dark kiss once, maybe on a whim or a dare, only to find they possessed the genetic makeup that made addiction instantaneous. Others would have been kidnapped and forced into the addiction because they were attractive, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The children had perhaps been sold by their parents into slavery to pay off debts. Some of them had simply been careless, gone too far one night. No matter the reasons behind their addiction, this was wrong, pure and simple.
