He let out a snort, watching me in the vanity mirror. “So how does a MoiRaine warrior wind up being disgraced and outcast? I’ve always wanted to know.”
He left that dangling, hoping I’d lose my focus. I shook my head and swung the butt of the gun at the back of his head to knock him out. But at the last second he snapped around and grabbed the end of it in a move so fast it didn't exist, struggling to take it from me. I squeezed the trigger and fired the rounds aimlessly at the ceiling, emptying the chamber. I let go and it clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Cain whipped around and produced a switchblade from his left pocket. I drew both of my blades slowly with an exaggerated smile. He grinned wickedly in return. “You don't play nice, beautiful; I’ll give you that. You’re not making this easy on yourself.”
“I have no interest in killing you.”
He cocked his head. “There’s only one way out and it’s through me.”
“I beg to differ,” I said, throwing his dagger through the window, shattering it. And then I ran at it. It was only the fourth floor. That was only a small drop. I would land in a dumpster and run on foot. There would be a stir considering my state of undress, but that was easily remedied. But as I was just about there, a set of arms seized me around the middle and hauled me backward.
I shoved my feet against the floor as hard as I could, pushed off into the air while twisting sideways, attempting to unbalance him and cause us to fall. But he anticipated that, twisted to the side as we were falling and landed on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I thrashed and attempted to knee him in the groin, but he blocked my knee with his leg. “Now that’s really playing it low.”
He had no idea how low I could go. I spat in his face and arched my back, trying to hit his head with mine. But he was too big. He had sheer mass to outweigh me. He blinked and glared down at me. “Temper.”
I had one last game to play. It had already worked once so maybe it would work again. I pretended to give up. I panted underneath him, eyes wide like I had never been beaten before. Too bad he didn't know that my foster brother and I used to wrestle just like this. He continued to stare down at me. “Now, I will suggest again that you cooperate with me.”
“I would rather die,” I rasped.
“That’s not my decision unless you force my hand. I’m supposed to take you alive.”
He sat straddled on me and gathered my hands into one hand, producing a pair of laser handcuffs. I lay passively, waiting again. I would easily break those just as easily as the metal ones from earlier. He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make me use these. I know you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake. But make none about me. I’m used to criminals like you. You’re nothing. You go after unarmed-”
“Spare me the lecture. Next you’ll be saying they were innocent.”
“Senator Jennings was my friend,” he growled. “A good man.”
“I know he was your friend,” I said, probing for weak spots. “But I find it curious you say he was a good man. Then how do you explain all of the shallow graves in his backyard? Unless you dug them yourself and already knew.”
He ignored me and radioed for backup. I stared up at the ceiling. Calculating.
“You should really watch your back,” I said conversationally. “I didn’t accept the hit that’s out on you, but others will.”
“I’m sure,” he snapped, shifting his weight slightly to get off of his knees.
It was then I saw my next opportunity. I jammed my elbow hard into his kneecap and kicked my other leg up underneath him. He grunted in pain but tried to remain in place as I moved. We wound up rolling across the floor, each of us struggling to come out on top. As we rolled, I saw a glint of silver to my left. I seized it, broke free, and raised it, poised for the kill.
His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he landed heavily on his side and stared up at me. He knew exactly what I was contemplating doing. I hesitated as I stared down at him. He had had the opportunity to kill me twice now and didn’t take it even though he had full right to. I was considered a dangerous fugitive. And on top of that, I had no urge to kill him. Reluctantly I admitted to myself I had the feeling he was a good man. And with the expression he was staring up at me with, I couldn’t do it.
He screwed his eyes up piteously as I plunged the dagger downward. But he peeked one open when there was no bodily impact. I had stabbed it through the collar of his shirt so he was effectively pinned to the floor. It went through the tile grout with a crack. He watched it zoom past his face.
“Don't cross my path again or I might not have the time to take pity on you,” I murmured, chest heaving as I rose. I sheathed my blades that had fallen to the floor, grabbed the rest of my clothes, and made for the window. But I made one final mistake.
As I stepped over him, he suddenly reached out and grabbed me by the ankle. I fell. The last thing I saw was the white tile floor zooming toward my face.
* * *
I smelled alcohol and bleach. And blood.
I opened my eyes a crack and found myself bewildered for a moment. How had I found my way into the sterile environment of a hospital? Upon further inspection, I realized it was a military hospital. I was bound to the bed by cuffs on my hands and feet. I groaned. Now I was in for it. The question was why my ass hadn’t landed in jail.
I must have conked out when my head hit the floor. Damn Cain for doing that and damn me for taking pity on him. My head throbbed from where the cold marble had struck. I scrunched up my forehead and pain shrieked through me. It wasn’t too bad, but I bet that I had split my head open. It felt like I might even have stitches. And worse, I thought they had given me painkillers. I had the strange spacey feeling I got when I had them, not to mention nausea. I moved my head and I realized that there were bandages around it. That didn’t bode well. Did I have a concussion?
Willing the pain to go away, I focused on the present. I wasn't going to get free of the cuffs immediately. I tugged slightly on them. They were tight enough that I would really have to work them, but also tight enough that I was starting to lose it.
I felt a slow panic building in me as I struggled with the cuffs. Old images began to spin in my already woozy mind. I yanked hard at the cuffs, losing control.
“Whoa, there kitty! None of that.”
I looked down to see the slightly older fellow sitting at the foot of my bed. His premature salt ‘n pepper grey hair contrasted with his warm green eyes. Argon. “You can fight with your bindings when your skull has healed. It cracked, you know.”
That would explain the pain. I stared at him mutely, willing him to go away. I could hear my heart monitor beeping faster and faster.
He didn’t seem to get the message as he sat forward, studying me. “Forgive me. We never were formally introduced. I’m Charles Redlinton, but everyone calls me Argon because I dyed my hair neon purple as a kid. It didn’t suit me very well, but the name stuck. And yours is Sierrenna I’m told. Tell me, how does a pretty young lady such as you wind up in such an ugly profession?”
I stared at the ceiling, willing myself not to scream out. I was trying not to panic and I had some idiot prattling away at me. My PTSD was really triggering off with gusto at being bound like this.
“Not much of a talker, eh? That’s okay. I talk no matter who is or isn’t listening. Are your pain meds strong enough, hon? You look a bit strained.” And with that he placed his hand on top of my hand and patted it. I lost control. He had hit my hot button. My trigger.
I whimpered and yanked on the bonds all the more. Horrible memories shredded through my mind before I could stop them. Metal shackles encased my wrists and strong hands hit me across my face. The burning as I worked the skin around my wrist bones off to break free. The splintering of bone. Running across an endless desert starving. Blood dripping down my fingers -
“Hon? Uh, oh. Nurse, I think-”
“Get them off,” I moaned. “Please!”
“What’s going on?” A female voice a
sked. “Oh, my goodness. I think she’s having a bad reaction to the bone repair serum. Her heart rate is through the roof. Mia, get me the adrenalin.”
“No,” I cried. “Get them off of me!”
Reason had left me entirely. I was back in the camp, seven years old again, staring into the face of my master. Tiranshyck was angry all over again that I had accidentally spilled the wine on his vellum parchment. I cowered in the corner, unable to shield myself with my hands due to the heavy chains encasing them.
But somewhere in my mind, I could still hear my tormentors.
“Is she hallucinating?”
“I’m not sure what is happening. The adrenalin is in her system, but her heart rate isn’t coming down. I’m going to have to sedate her.”
I felt the pressure dissipate on one of my wrists and a sharp sting took its place. I cried out.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“She’s having an allergic reaction to the medicine, Cain. She started freaking out.”
I cried out and thrashed, trying to break free as Tiranshyck loomed over me in my mind. “Don't hurt me, please! I didn't mean it-”
But Tiranshyck’s angry, evil face was growing dim. Now I felt like I was swimming through maple syrup and drowning in it. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. All I could feel was this strange tickling sensation through my veins and up through my skin.
Suddenly the nurse’s relieved murmuring was more focused in my ears, even as my brain slowed in response to what they had done. “I think it's kicking in now. Her heart’s coming down.”
“No,” I murmured, struggling to stay awake.
I failed.
Chapter Five
I had no idea where I was being taken. I had woken up in yet another strange room (no bindings this time, much to my relief) and then, promptly examined by a nurse. She had prodded my now-healed skull and I was cleared to go.
My double heavy handcuffs clinked as we now walked. There was no use in me breaking them. I was being escorted by two serious, aggressive-looking green berets. I felt some smug satisfaction that I was being escorted by the best of the best. At least they recognized I wasn’t some school girl like the general had said. I wondered where they had hidden my blades. I could escape easily enough probably, but they would take time to locate.
We drew stares through the halls and I kept my chin squared. Everyone clearly knew who I was. Some were openly admiring. Others glared with sheer hatred. I made eye contact with no one. I was too busy noting the structure of the barracks and ways I could exploit them when I made my break.
We arrived at a painted wooden door, the first non-monochromatic one we had encountered and they pushed a code on the keypad. I made note of the numbers for later and pretended to be staring at the floor. It opened and I was shoved through it.
The door was slammed shut behind me. I realized I was in the VIP quarters by the make of the lengthy, oval mahogany table in front of me, along with all of the plush leather chairs. And by who was sitting at the head of it.
One of my least favorite people on the planet, Prime Minister Greyson Rogee, was reclining in a large, black leather office chair. A number of soldiers were sitting around him. The one on the right I recognized as Argon. And next to him sat snake puss McRattin. The others I didn't recognize. They weren't of higher rank. That is, they didn’t matter.
But Rogee was the one who held my attention. Few men had such a spotless reputation as him. But the only reason he squeaked clean was because he washed himself so thoroughly of his crimes. While a favorite of the people, he was an even bigger favorite among the elites. He pandered to their policies while pretending to be a gift from God to the poor. Like hell he was.
Somehow under his regime, unspeakable cruelty went on unpunished and the slave industry had flourished. Taxes continued to rise and poverty continued to grow at an alarming rate. He stood for everything I came to hate. But I couldn’t prove his guilt. He was so squeaky clean his ass probably was shiny from the regular polishing he gave it.
Eliminating him would have meant his replacement taking power and that man was far worse. He openly flaunted his opulent and debauched lifestyle, keeping a dozen slaves with him at all times. So my hands were tied. And that incensed me.
The snake Prime Minister stood up. “Welcome, Sierrenna. Please sit.”
I remained silent and impassive. I had learned long ago the first to speak was almost always the loser in a negotiation. I remained standing in silence.
“My goodness, McRattin. You weren't kidding. If I hadn't seen the footage, I wouldn't have believed it. You certainly aren't what you appear to be,” he said, turning back to me after addressing Cain. “Won't you sit? We have business to discuss.”
Business? This sounded interesting. It was obvious by the various reactions around the table that most of them weren't happy about it. I saw a lot of exaggerated scowls.
I sat on the edge of the chair, keeping perfect posture, and continued to analyze my surroundings while never breaking my impassive stare down the table. There was a plate of steaming food in front of me and my weapons were down the table a little ways. My stomach ached for the food but I studiously ignored it. Knowing the rats in this city and in these barracks, it was spiked.
“I thought you might be hungry,” the minister continued, clasping his hands together while trying to look friendly. “You may eat if you wish.” I remained still and kept staring. I knew better. His public image may have been blemish free, but I had a long standing suspicion that the tall, lanky Aryan looking man was less than angelic. He cocked his head. “Not a woman of many words, are you?”
“She wouldn't talk too much in front of me,” Argon said gaily, breaking the silence and reclining back on his chair so far that it crackled under his weight. “But she has a voice.”
“She speaks English,” Cain added, not looking at me. “But it’s obviously not her native tongue.”
I stifled the urge to snort. I was a MoiRaine warrior for many years and still was in some sense. He obviously didn't know that we generally spoke English. Just how ignorant was he? Were all of the officials that poorly educated in foreign affairs? Then again, I spoke three languages so maybe he had picked up on the first.
The minister sat back in his chair. “I see. So you’re just playing this the hard way. Okay. Well, you see, we sought you out because we have a job for you, Sierrenna. We have known where to find you for a while but have had no need for you until now.”
That was a flat out lie. They hadn’t known my identity until recently. Cain wasn’t that good at fibbing and he had told me how he had found me. He shifted uncomfortably as he heard Greyson’s first slipup.
“You have an impressive skill set and kill record,” Rogee continued. “But it is said amongst certain circles that you are from the desert and that is why we needed to speak. A mission is being planned for a foray into the desert sands. An important one.”
So the Prime Minister needed my help? That was interesting. I was an assassin. Why would he be coming to me for assistance? That didn’t make any sense.
“Intel has discovered a terrorist sect has somehow gotten their hands on an old, undetonated nuclear warhead. As far as we know, they intend to detonate it here in the city. They have made no demands, so we do not know their other intentions. Now as we all know, nuclear weapons were discontinued over a hundred years ago for their instability and their capacity to destroy the planet's limited inhabitable areas. And since we have so little left…”
Oh so very interesting.
“It is imperative we reclaim it,” he said, eyes narrowing on me. “We had monitored the area with all of the old missile silos out there for activity, but since it remained buried under the sands for the last century, it was safe. However, it seems that a desert storm must have unearthed the building and the terrorists somehow found it. We had been under the impression that none of the missiles were weaponized, but it would appear we were wrong. One of o
ur agents discovered terrorists had stolen the warhead from before the sands reclaimed the building and submerged it again. The terrorists have apparently taken it but unfortunately left behind the antique cooling system placed around it to keep it from overheating. We have little more than a week before the bomb overheats. That in itself could detonate the nuke if it melts through the metal encasing it.
“Unfortunately, the agent was killed before he could do more than warn us. We don’t have the location of the weapon or which silo it was stolen from. All we know is that the terrorists have it. We placed the device somewhere out there beyond the boundaries of the bubble, deep in the New England desert.”
I monitored all the military personnel's reactions to this news. No one seemed surprised, though a great deal of them kept glancing at me. Apparently they weren’t comfortable with this information being shared. Greyson ignored them and kept his emotionless eyes trained on me.
“Making this even more disastrous, the bomb has stored up so much energy it could theoretically permeate the force field protecting the city and knock out the generators, permanently taking the force fields down. As it is, every time we come close to the bomb, our electrical and solar equipment fails due to the energy it is already putting out. Everything goes dead, down to the hydrators. No navigation, no weapons, no nothing. The crew needs a guide who is familiar with the climate and topography. In particular, one who knows where to get water and shelter. And that is where you come in.”
I remained motionless as my mind sped along, plotting. This was exploitable. I would have very little trouble getting what I wanted. They had to be desperate if they needed an outlaw assassin’s help to track it down. I wasn’t even bothered by how stupid they all had been, leaving the nuke unguarded. How they had managed to flub this so badly I couldn’t imagine. But it certainly was to my advantage.
“Our soldiers are going to hunt it down. If you help us, you will have your freedom returned and there are a number of lucrative contracts we could provide you with on an ongoing basis.”
War Machine: Book One in the Destiny In the Shadows Series Page 5
