I lifted my head and heard shouts from above and then felt myself fall backwards into someone's arms. The boots before me shuffled in the wet puddles, as the hands that gripped me from behind lifted my body up into the air.
I thought I lost consciousness, but when a bolt of blistering heat shot through my ankle like a knife, I opened my eyes sucking in air as I swallowed my scream to see someone - the booted feet I presumed - lifting me up by my legs. A big hand right over my injured ankle, searing my skin and grinding what had to be broken bone against broken bone.
My body rocked as I was deposited into a van, more detail than the fact there was a bench seat across the back wasn't available. My sight waxing and waning and making it impossible to make out faces or colours or even the model of the vehicle which had started to move.
"Is she OK?" I heard Trent say, and for some reason that made my entire body relax.
And then we turned a corner at high speed and I just about fell off the seat, jostling my ankle and making me want to throw up.
"Here," he said, closer than before. "Let me hold her steady."
I didn't hear the grumbled reply, too distracted by the bitter-sweet agony that suffused my body.
Bitter, because my ankle hurt like fuck.
Sweet, because Trent had lifted my head up and cradled me in his lap tenderly.
"She'd better be worth it," a guy's voice said. It was hard to tell who in my current state, but my money was on the black clad man from Wántel.
"The file she carries in her bra is," Trent replied steadily, and I tried to reach up and cover my breast to stop anyone, especially him, from taking it. But my arms didn't seem to want to obey the command.
A chuckle from the other side of the vehicle, then, "Do you want me to fish it out? Your hands are currently occupied holding her steady."
I heard the growl rumble through Trent's chest directly into my ear where my cheek rested.
"If anyone is fishing around in her underwear, it'll be me."
Laughter rang out and then the gentle caress of his hand in my hair, brushing it away.
"Lena?" he said softly. "Zebra, you with us?"
I played dead. It wasn't hard. I felt halfway there as it was.
"She's out of it," the other voice said.
"No time like the present," Trent replied, voice level and detached.
And then his hot hand snuck under my sundress décolletage and brushed the top of my breast.
I had my switch-blade up under his chin in a second, despite not being able to see what the hell I was doing too well.
"I wouldn't if I were you, Citizen," I snarled.
His hands came up empty, palms open, surrendering under the pressure of my knife. Tension hung in the air, the sound of rain splattering on the rooftop of the van and the swish of wiper-blades the only counterpoint to my harsh breathing. I think Trent had stopped breathing completely. I wasn't entirely sure what the other man was up to, and I needed to be. But right then, focus was damn hard.
"A gentleman always asks first," I added for effect.
"Lena," he warned. "You're about to pass out."
"I'm more tenacious than you think."
"I've noticed." Pause. "Put the knife away. I promise not to touch you again."
"And the thumb-drive?"
He hesitated. Then offered a short nod he must have known I would have had trouble seeing.
I flicked the blade closed and pocketed it automatically, then forced myself to sit up. I felt too vulnerable cradled in his arms and I needed to remember why he'd saved me; it had nothing to do with being kind.
My ankle ached as I rested it gingerly on the floor of the still moving van. Blood rushed to the site of injury aided by gravity. And the ever present rapid beat of my heart. My head swam, and for a moment I was sure I'd black out. Sheer will and stubbornness had me clinging to consciousness, even as bile surged up my throat.
"If it's any consolation," Trent said, "I don't think it's broken."
I attempted to glare at him, but my pupils could have been a little cross-eyed. God, I felt ill.
I rubbed my face dry with both hands and fished a tie out of my wallet, pulling my hair back and scrunching it into a very messy and entirely inappropriate bun.
Then I focused on the guy across the other side of the van. I'd been right, it was the black clad man from Wántel. Now dressed in Citizen appropriate jeans and t-shirt. His were the scuffed boots of before. I stared at his big hands. It wasn't that he was huge, he was of Wáikěinese descent, so not enormous. But he must have had an ounce of Anglisc in him, because he was broad and possibly tall and those hands had been huge against my injured leg.
Or they had seemed so at the time.
"And you are?" I demanded, falling into Elite mannerisms with such ease.
"The man who saved your Honourable arse," he replied with a sneer. "Feel free to show your appreciation."
I flicked my gaze to Trent, not bothering to answer. Part of me wanted to ask if he was hurt in our escape. A bigger part, made up entirely from my pride, couldn't do it.
"What now?" I said instead.
"You wanted to see my home," he replied in a low and seductive voice. I was sure he was doing it on purpose. "Now's your chance."
"Well," the guy opposite, who I realised hadn't actually introduced himself despite my earlier question, interrupted. "Not exactly see."
"Excuse me?" I asked, eyebrows raised in what I was sure looked pure Elite. Something about this man called forth the Honourable in me.
He made an elaborate and slightly sinister show of unfolding a bandanna from his pocket, his gaze holding my stare. It took a second or two for me to comprehend what it was for. The way Trent sighed, scrubbed a hand over his damp and dishevelled hair uncomfortably, and then offered me an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, helped decipher the moment.
"Ah," I managed to inarticulately say, just before the bandanna wielding man moved to cross the rear of the van towards me.
"I'll do it," Trent growled, reaching out to snatch the slip of material.
"No you won't," I argued at the precise moment the guy opposite suggested, "Make sure it's tight."
"Lena," Trent said, an edge to his tone. "We don't know if you can be trusted."
For some reason his words hurt, when they shouldn't have. But I was damned if I'd show them that.
"Very well," I replied with every inch of me that was still an Elite.
The guy lounging, almost couch comfortably opposite, barked out a laugh.
"Relax, Honourable," he drawled. "You might even enjoy it. That's if you can take the stick outta your arse."
"Alan," Trent warned, then moved closer to me, bandanna raised.
I held his steady gaze, showed him I was not afraid, and then let him blindfold me.
"There now," he murmured in my ear, hot breath skittering over moist rain slicked skin. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"
I didn't answer. Just sat back in my seat and casually pulled out my knife. Then proceeded to flick the blade in and out familiarly, over and over and over again.
There was a chuckle, I was guessing from both men, but it was Alan who said, "Glad your balls are closer than mine, boss. It looks like she's had practise."
I didn't slow my movements.
But I did smile. It was probably a little scary.
Or at least I hoped.
Chapter 21
Safest Place There Is
Trent
She was like a little hissing and spitting kitten. Quite adorable. Delightful even. But with an air of conviction that made me think she'd carry through with her threats and scratch someone's eyeballs out. I'd have to change my nickname for her. Zebras weren't known for being feral, were they?
I sat back in the van and let a long breath out. That had been too damn close. I could still feel the cold metal touch of the drone's hand, as it scraped past my neck, glancing my shoulder and shirt. It hardly seems possible that I bested it with a laser po
inter. Still, I was sure when I looked into its artificial eyes, just before its lights went out, that I saw the Cardinal operator at the other end.
It had almost seemed alive.
I lowered my head into my hands and tried to get my breathing under control. We'd pushed hard to escape them and she'd kept up, right until the end, where she was prepared to sacrifice herself for me. I saw the look in her eyes when she believed it was our only chance. I saw her reach for that fucking flash-drive in her bra and then think better of it.
I saw it all. And I'm not quite sure how to process that.
I glanced across the van at Alan, who hadn't taken his eyes off Lena once. He was still a little upset she'd beaten him at Wántel, but I knew in his heart he wouldn't harm her. The others? I wasn't so sure. We hadn't agreed that bringing her in was safe and here we were approaching the hub. I was going to get an earful for this.
Reminding me I hadn't heard a word from Si since his last transmission of, "Tracks." I reached up and pulled my earpiece out, stuffing it in my jeans pocket.
"Si's gone silent," I remarked to Alan.
"Ordered a cease communications earlier this morning," Alan replied, still watching Lena flick that knife like a pro. "You were already incognito at the time, couldn't get the message to you safely."
"Why?"
His eyes darted to me briefly and then back to Lena. He shrugged, but I think it was more because he didn't want to say anything aloud in front of the as yet not trusted Elite.
I turned my head and watched her for a moment. It was hypnotic really, and not just because she was damn fine to observe. Her movements with that blade were fluid, rather like the way she swan-dived off buildings in the rain.
There were still so many unanswered questions, Alan was right to be cautious. I needed to remember who her father was. Who her god-father is. Who she lived with for three years after her father's death until she came of age. There was still a possibility she was a mole, sent to infiltrate us and destroy us from within. Tempt us with the Sat-Loc codes, lure us into a web. Hell, she may not even have them. This could all be a ploy.
And suddenly I felt so damn fucking old.
I leaned back, tilted my head to the seat, and closed my eyes. Alan would watch her and I was exhausted, aching, hollow inside. I'd take a moment to recharge and then address the challenge that was Honourable Selena Carstairs, call me Lena. I felt my lips twitch, but tamped it down in case Alan had good peripheral vision.
Five minutes later we were there, the van rolling to a stop right outside the doors. We wouldn't leave it here, but considering she was blindfolded, we needed her inside and under wraps quickly, before any well meaning Citizen advised sPol.
I climbed down from the rear of the vehicle and stretched, meeting the startled eyes of Zikri and Damia who were obviously on guard. I'd intended to let Alan help Lena out of the rear of the van; I needed some distance to gain perspective. But when she hopped down unaided, clearly having refused his hand to guide her, and then lost her footing on a bit of debris on the ground, it was me who reached her first.
She jerked under my hold, inhaled deeply, and then miraculously relaxed. Huh.
"Let's get you inside, Honourable," I murmured, purposely using her title to remind those listening just who she was.
Ah, hell. Who was I kidding? I was trying to remind myself.
I didn't let go of her until we were inside the building and the door had been secured at our backs. Zikri and Damia still outside, probably lighting up cigarettes and pretending to chat, and not look too much like guard dogs. The lights buzzed overhead, the sounds of many voices raised in laughter could be heard from down the hallway, the space as hot as it had been outside, but at least not wet. And I wondered what Lena was thinking.
I reached up and untied her blindfold feeling a strange kind of fascination as she sucked in her breath and held it. Her body trembled ever so slightly. The pulse in her neck drew my eye, and for a crazy moment I wanted to lean in and lick it.
Someone cleared their throat and I took an abrupt step back letting Lena get her bearings.
She blinked, looked around, eyes darting from side to side, taking in the bare concrete floor and walls, the multiple locks on the reinforced steel door at her back, the camera lenses dotted down the hallway. The heat. The artificial lighting with no chance of daylight breaking through. The feel of entombment.
Her intelligent gaze flicked over Alan, over those who had come to see who I'd recklessly brought inside, and landed on me.
She held my eyes with the steely pale blue of her own. If I hadn't just been close enough to smell her sweet scent I wouldn't have known she was shit-scared. Head high, trembling invisible, cool, calm and collected.
She was so fucking hot.
For a moment I was lost in the fantasy.
And then she demanded, Elite perfect tone that set my blood racing, "Who are you?"
I smiled, it was probably wicked. Everyone else held their breaths and waited to see if I'd lost the plot completely.
"If I tell you," I started, but Carla interrupted my tease.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she exclaimed. "We're the ones who are going to wipe out your kind."
She did not just say that. My eyes bore into hers and I barked, "Everyone back to work! Now!" They scattered like loose leaves in a brisk breeze. I was left alone with Lena and Alan, who wouldn't vacate his position until I directly ordered him to. It took everything in me to say the next words in a detached tone.
"Take her to my room and lock her down."
"Your room?" he queried.
"Safest place there is," I shot back, already walking away.
"For who?" I heard him say, but I was done explaining myself. If I left her anywhere Carla could get at her, shit would hit the fan. If I didn't get away from her right this instant, I was going to be in deep shit.
All in all, I'd created a pile of shit for myself and now I just had to live with it.
So, why was there a skip to my step?
Chapter 22
Where The Hell Is She?
Lena
I had no idea where I was. What suburb. What the building was. What time of day it might have been. It was hot in here, so no air-con in at least the hallways. But cameras followed our slow progress down the hall. Because I refused Alan's assistance I hobbled. Thankfully all the welcoming committee had disappeared. I wondered if they were watching my pathetic display on a vid-screen somewhere.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me what this place is all about?" I asked Alan.
"Above my pay scale."
"You called him 'boss' in the van," I offered.
"You heard that, huh?"
"Is he in charge of this little group?"
A grunt, neither commitment nor rebuttal.
"Very cloak-and-dagger," I muttered.
"Wánměi has eyes everywhere." And the way he said it, made it obvious he thought I was part of those eyes.
We stopped outside a door and he nodded for me to enter. I crossed the threshold and felt the welcoming relief of cool air. At least their bedrooms were air conditioned. And this was a bedroom. Trent hadn't been kidding when he said, Take her to my room. This was his space. I could tell, from the scuffed boots in the wardrobe, beneath an array of clothing that matched what he'd worn today. The unmade bed which seemed so him; too busy to be dealing with mundane things such as tidying up his place. The scent of whatever cologne he wore hung on the air. And a Cardinal uniform draped over a chair at a desk covered with papers.
I pulled my gaze away from the mess spread over its surface, hoping Alan hadn't noticed my interest.
"So, what am I expected to do in here?" I demanded, the Elite tone back.
"Don't particularly care," Alan replied, and then slammed the door in my face. The sound of a lock electronically engaging sounded ominous.
I frowned at the back of the door which had a poster attached. One you couldn't see if you looked inside the room from the hallway. I
t was only obvious when the door was closed and the rest of the world was locked out.
A city. But not Wánměi. It had strange buildings, old and constructed of brick and concrete, like those dotted throughout Wánměi. Colonial they called them, a part of our history prior to General Chew-wen. Despite our insular existence those buildings were treasured and only available to the Elite. But here in this detailed picture, an enlarged photograph I realised, they were dotted between tiled roofs, dormer windows, church spires, domed cathedrals, and then the modernity of glass and a giant passenger wheel like our Pherres. A river snaked through the city just like ours.
I stared at the image for too long, drawn to a city that had similarities to mine, but was not the same. A city that had to exist elsewhere. A city we couldn't visit or know of because Wánměi had closed its doors. I wanted to know this city's name, but there was no writing on the poster to identify it. Just buildings and cars and boats and people, a whole world of lives that went along happily without any of us being aware they lived at all.
I sat down heavily on the edge of Trent's bed, uncaring of the impropriety. I gazed at that poster for long, long minutes. Taking in every minute detail I could. There was a bridge that crossed the wide river, but I couldn't see where it went. I wanted to know. Sunlight glinted off various colours of roof tiles. Arches framed inset windows, their ledges deep. Providing, I imagined, a good resting place to view their world from. The domed cathedral stood tall above its neighbours. Not the tallest building in the city, but grand and imposing and so very old. How old? The houses looked narrow and tall, sentinels down tree lined streets, standing guard over their inhabitants, leading off into a distance I couldn't see. I wanted to follow where they led, to discover if they stayed the same or changed.
My eyes skipped to a glass structure that seemed out of place. Either side stood colonial concrete, but this building was shaped like a bullet, aimed for the heavens as if to warn adversaries to stay away. A sound escaped me; pained, shocked, in awe. People worked there, lived there, loved there. Did they know Wánměi existed at all?
Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) Page 14
