I don’t know if he’ll get my message, not while he’s entertaining the receptionist, so I have to try to get her out on my own.
Her body is a dead weight that I drag off the chair and across the floor. My arms ache by the time I reach the door, and yet, I still have such a long way to go. Too much time has passed, and this place will blow any minute.
Walking backward, I drag her down the hall, my hands under her armpits. My back screams at me and my arms quiver from exertion, but I can’t stop. There’s no time for rest.
I’m almost to the stairwell when I hear a voice behind me that makes my blood run cold.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Sienna Preston.”
I lay my mother against the wall and turn to confront the beady eyes of Radcliffe. “I’m taking my mother out of here.”
“And I won’t stop you.”
My eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why not?”
“Because now that I have the leader of the Fringe, I have no use for you or your mother.”
“What are you talking about? Trey’s dead, thanks to your drones.”
Radcliffe’s mouth turns up into a hideous smile. “He did appear to be dead, yes. But we revived him.”
I gasp as his words sink in. Trey’s alive? It can’t be possible. Surely, Radcliffe is playing some sick game in an attempt to beat me down one more time. But what if…
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugs. “You know what I like about you, Miss Preston?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “You are so predictable. Like herding cattle, that’s how easy it was to convince you to do what I wanted. And what did I want? I wanted Trey, the leader of the Fringe.” He shakes his head with a cruel smile. “And you gave him to me. And allowed me to take out the Fringe Compound in the process. So really, Sienna, I should thank you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He leans forward. “I’ve been using you. From the very beginning. Why else would I want a seventeen-year-old nobody to kill one of the most important men in the city?”
My throat seizes. “Using me? How?”
He grins. “The night Trey broke into the SGF, his DNA was everywhere, not to mention the fingerprints we pulled from his truck. That’s when I realized your connection to Trey.” He licks his lips. “I had to back you into a corner, you see. Make you feel like you had no choice but to join the Fringe.”
My stomach clenches as my mind reels through the events of the past two weeks. Who did I call to help me remove the tracker? Trey. Who did I run to for help rescuing my mother? Trey. Who did I call after Zane left me at the SGF? Trey…
Like a puppet master controlling the strings, Radcliffe’s been manipulating me from the very beginning. Anticipating my every move. And what did I do? I led him right to Trey and the Fringe Compound.
Radcliffe pulls out a gun from behind his back and aims it at my head. “But now, you’ve become a bit of a nuisance.”
I stare down the barrel of the nine millimeter, my heart pounding. Pretty soon, we’ll both be blown to bits.
“You know,” he continues. “It’s funny. You actually believed Harlow Ryder killed your father.”
My eyes narrow. “He didn’t?”
“Of course not. I’ve always been the one to clean up Harlow’s messes. Twenty-one years ago. A year ago. I don’t know what he’d do without me. Too bad he doesn’t see it that way.”
My throat closes. “You killed my father.”
Radcliffe shrugs, his gun wavering with the movement. “Are you surprised?”
“Why? Why did you kill him?” My hands are shaking with anger, but I try to hide them.
“He knew too much.”
The sound of the stairwell door banging open diverts Radcliffe’s attention, and I lunge at him, knocking the gun out of his hands. He reaches for my neck, but I slide out of his grasp, pulling my own gun from the back of my pants. “Stop right there, Radcliffe,” I say. My eyes flit for a moment to Zane, who has miraculously come through the door, and then back to Radcliffe. “I want to know what my father found out and why you killed him.”
“I’m sure you would,” he says, his face smug.
I aim the gun at his kneecap. Without hesitation, I squeeze the trigger. His screams reverberate through the empty hall as he collapses to the floor. “You bitch!”
“I’ll ask you again,” I say, leaning close. “What did my father discover? And why did you kill him?”
He stares at me, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Go to hell.”
I shift the gun to his head, my heart pounding in fury. “No, you go to hell,” I say, my fingers tightening on the trigger.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Sienna,” Zane calls out.
Without taking my eyes off Radcliffe, my fingers relax.
“Don’t do this,” Zane says. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. Besides, in a few minutes, it won’t matter. He won’t matter.”
I take a deep breath. Radcliffe has a self-satisfied look on his face, and I can’t stand it. Lowering the gun, I aim at his other kneecap. “For insurance,” I say before squeezing the trigger.
Radcliffe screams in pain and lets out a string of curses, but I ignore him. I refuse to look at his blood spattered all over the floor.
“Zane, get my mom out of here. Now! I have to look for someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t have time to explain, but I think Trey is still alive.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you in here by yourself.”
“You have to,” I plead. “Please.” I glance down at my mother. “Get her out of here. Emily needs her.”
“Here, you might need this.” Zane hands me a keycard. “I swiped it from the receptionist. Apparently, it works on the fingerprint keypad.”
I take it from him and sprint to the stairwell, ignoring the angry yells from Radcliffe. If loss of blood doesn’t kill him, the blast surely will.
Once inside the stairwell, I stop for a second to decide if I should go up to the third level to look for Trey or down to the basement where I was water tortured that first night. Assuming Trey is alive, he’s badly injured and would require medical attention. I don’t think the basement would house the equipment needed to treat him.
Decision made, I race up the stairs until I reach the third level. Grateful for the keycard when I see the fingerprint keypad, I swipe it and thrust my way into the hallway. This floor looks like a hospital wing. Nurses in white, slim-fit uniforms roam the halls with clipboards and false smiles. Plastering my body against the wall next to a jut out, I decide my plan of attack. I don’t really want to gun down a whole bunch of innocent staff, but this is clearly a secure floor and “visitors” would not be welcome.
A petite, dark-haired nurse moves down the hall toward me, and instinct kicks in as she passes. I grab her around the neck, simulating a chokehold. “You cooperate and no one will get hurt. Do you understand?” I hiss in her ear.
She nods. I lift my gun and place the barrel to her temple as I drag her down the hall. Nurses of all shapes and sizes gasp and press themselves against the wall, their clipboards clutched to their chests.
“As long as you don’t try to stop me, no one will get hurt,” I yell to whoever can hear me. Well, at least until Nash blows this place to shreds. “I’m looking for a man named Trey Winchester. He was brought here during the night.”
The petite nurse in my chokehold raises her arm. I release some pressure around her neck so she can speak. “I know Trey,” she croaks. “I’m his nurse.”
“Where is he? Which room?”
The nurse points down the hall, and we move in synchronization. She motions to a door, and I inch closer, dragging her with me. In my excitement to peer into the room, I loosen my hold around her, and she slips from my grasp. She’s like a ninja, small and quick. Her foot shoots out, sending my gun sliding across the floor. Her fist is next. It connects with my jaw. The pain radiates across my face and blurs my v
ision. Clearly, I’ve underestimated this nurse. And Trey would be very disappointed in me for getting my butt kicked.
I bring my fists up near my face to protect my soft spots, and I look for a hole in her movements. A quick jab to the face, which she ducks, but she comes at me with a hard hit to the stomach. My stomach muscles quiver in pain, but I stay upright and turn my fury on her face. I focus all my energy on her nose. I send a fake jab with my left, and then uppercut with my right. The crack is deafening, and I cringe as blood spurts from her nose. She screams and her hands fly to her face, her eyes glaring at me.
“Hey, I told you no one would get hurt if you just cooperated.”
A low rumble shakes the building, and my heart stops. No, not yet.
The nurses on the floor scream, and the petite nurse stares at me with wide eyes, her hand over her nose, and the front of her white outfit stained red.
“Get everyone out of here, now,” I scream. “This building is coming down!”
The nurse nods, grabs a towel from a rolling cabinet, and shouts for her colleagues to get their patients out. I turn to the door and fling it open. Doubt still makes me uncertain that Trey will be in that bed. But when I see him, his dark hair matted against a fluffy pillow and a white sheet pulled up to his chest, there is no mistaking that it’s him. It’s Trey.
I rush to his side and place my hand on his forehead, tears slipping from my eyes and falling onto his face. I’d been sure I’d never see him again, dead or alive, and now, here he is. Alive. The sheer joy I feel is immediately shattered by another blast that knocks me to my knees. If I don’t hurry, this hospital room will be both of our graveyards.
There are several machines keeping him alive. One oxygen tank; an IV probably administering morphine, antibiotics, and food intravenously; a heart monitor; and something else I’ve never seen before in any hospital I’ve ever been in. As I study the machines, I pray he can survive without them.
My hands move deftly, unhooking each tube and ripping out every IV. I pause only long enough to make sure Trey is still breathing. I wait, counting the seconds, watching for his chest to rise and fall again. “Come on, Trey, you can do this,” I whisper. “Stay strong for me.” Then I see it. The slight curve of his chest as he begins to breathe on his own.
“Sienna,” a voice shouts from the hallway.
“In here!” Grunting, I push Trey’s bed away from the wall and inch it toward the door. It flings open and Zane stands in the doorway, his eyes wide. His hands latch on to the bed, pulling while I push. Once we’re through the doorway, we race down the now-empty hall, the bed rolling easily on the smooth concrete flooring. I’m relieved to see everyone cleared out so quickly, which is probably how Zane was able to get on the third floor.
When we reach the stairwell, our eyes connect. He knows what I’m thinking before I even say it. He moves quickly to the bed and effortlessly lifts Trey into his arms.
“He has a wound here,” I say, pointing to his chest. “So just be careful.”
Zane nods and starts for the stairwell. I’m right behind him when another blast rips through, this one from underneath us. The floor crumbles beneath me, and my hands search for something, anything, to grab onto. As I’m falling, my screams ricochet down the cavernous space below. Just when I think it’s too late, my hands connect with the railing on the side of the bed and close over the smooth metal. My heart pounds in fear as I dangle over the unknown below. I struggle to pull myself up, but I’m too weak. Too tired.
“Zane,” I cry, my sweaty hands slipping off the railing. Heat licks the bottom of my feet, and I close my eyes, sure at any moment I’ll be consumed by the raging fire beneath.
“Sienna,” I hear him shout. “Hang on, I’m coming!”
Sweat runs into my eyes, but I hold on. I can’t give up now. Not after everything I’ve been through. And now that Trey is alive… That knowledge gives me the strength I need to hold on even though my arms scream at me to let go.
“Grab my hand,” Zane says from above.
“I can’t! If I let go, I’ll fall.”
“I’ll catch you. Don’t worry.” I open my eyes and stare into his warm brown ones. I trust him. I do.
Letting go with one hand, I immediately feel myself start to fall. I reach out for him, sure I’m going down to a fiery grave. Just when I think I’m at the point of no return, Zane’s strong arms grasp mine and lift me in one swift movement. His arms encircle me as I collapse on the ground next to him. I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s lifting me to my feet.
“We have to get to a safer place,” he says, pulling me through the stairwell door.
“It’s no use. The entire floor below us is in flames. It’s only a matter of time—”
“Don’t talk like that. I think we can survive in the stairwell. Just look at all this concrete.”
Trey lies on the ground in the alcove under the concrete stairs. Zane guides me onto the ground beside Trey before disappearing from sight. Fear grips me until he comes back through the door with the hospital mattress in his arms. He wedges the mattress between the two walls in the stairwell alcove and climbs under, wrapping his arms around me as another blast roars through the building. I lift Trey’s upper body so that his head rests against my chest, and the three of us stay huddled in the stairwell. I hold Trey, and Zane holds me.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” I mutter.
“I told you I wasn’t leaving you alone,” Zane says.
“And now you’ll die because of me,” I say, tears clouding my eyes.
“Hey.” He lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. “No one is dying today. Not you, not me.” He glances at Trey and scowls. “And not him.”
I pull Trey closer and place my hand on his chest, anxious to feel its rise and fall. Smiling, I revel in the fact that he’s alive. For now.
“You love him, don’t you?” Zane says, his voice soft. When I look up at him, I see the pained expression he is trying to hide.
I hesitate, not sure how to respond. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I think I do.”
“You risked your life for him,” he points out.
I nod.
“And I risked my life for you,” he says simply, and then averts his eyes.
My breath catches in my throat. “I didn’t want you to—” I start to protest.
“You don’t get it, do you, Sienna?” Zane scowls. “No matter how much I don’t want to like you, I do. Even when I wanted to hate you, I couldn’t.” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re in every thought, every dream. When I’m supposed to be planning a life and a future with Arian, all I can think about is you beside me.” He moans and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve ruined me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.
“You should be,” he says, his tone wry. “I’m in love with you… but you don’t love me back.”
Before I can wrap my mind around what he’s saying, a loud noise reverberates through the air around us. A grunting, groaning noise like the building is too tired to carry its weight any more.
Zane’s hands grip me harder, pulling me closer to him and deeper into the alcove as pieces of the building above us crumble. The stairwell shifts, and I’m certain the whole thing is about to tumble to the ground, crushing us beneath thousands of pounds of concrete.
Rock falls around us, but in our little alcove, we remain untouched.
With my arms still around Trey, I bury my face in Zane’s neck. The ground shifts underneath us, and then we’re falling as my screams rip through the stairwell. We stop abruptly, concrete slamming against concrete. We are still enclosed in our alcove, but our little fortress has moved down a floor. From here, I can feel the heat. Beads of sweat dot my skin, and my heart hammers an uncontrollable rhythm. The air feels thick and heavy, as if there isn’t enough oxygen for all three of us. I breathe deeply, willing my lungs to fill with the precious air, but finding none.
I blink as fuzziness clouds my vision. And for the first time since I stepped foot in the government building, I realize with perfect clarity. There is no way out. There is no escaping the inevitable. We will die here. All three of us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I just want to sleep. Sleep sounds so good. It feels as if I haven’t slept in days. And it’s not fair. Trey’s asleep. Zane’s asleep. Why shouldn’t I sleep?
Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the hot concrete wall beside me. I don’t know why the wall is so hot. Maybe the sun has been beating down on it too long. Ahh, I like the sun. Especially the way it slants through the clouds and lights on my face when I ride my Harley. I miss my Harley. Where is my Harley?
I blink my eyes open and try to focus. Where am I?
Shouts echo through the stairwell and produce a lightning response in my brain. The events of the past twenty-four hours flood my mind.
“Rescue Services! Anyone alive in here?” someone shouts.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My mouth is too dry. I try to swallow, but there’s no spit, just like there’s no air.
“Anyone in here?” the voice hollers, drawing closer.
“Here,” I whimper. “Over here.”
“Hello?” a man’s voice calls.
I try again. Louder. “Here. Help us, please.”
“Is anyone in here?” he calls again, but this time, it sounds like he’s headed in a different direction.
No, don’t leave us. Please.
My fingers fumble along the concrete floor, searching for something, anything I can use to make noise. They close around a rock the size of my fist. I drag it across the ground—even this simple rock is too heavy for me to lift. Then, with power that comes from beyond me, I heave it against the wall, my fingers colliding with concrete and scraping my skin. Over and over, I bang the rock, willing the man to come back.
“Hello?” he calls. “I think I got something!” he says, and I imagine him speaking into a Lynk. I continue to bang, over and over, until warm blood runs down my arm and falls into my lap. When the man pulls the mattress off our hiding place, I collapse in exhaustion. It isn’t until he pries the rock from my bloodied fingers that I realize, through my hazy world, that I’m still banging the wall.
Catalyst Page 28
