‘Did Morris’s message say anything else?’ I asked between sit-ups. The exercise was frustrating. And painful. It felt like starting from the ground up, but I knew there was no other way. I did as much as I could during the day, and last night, thanks to my new black-market M-Band, I hid myself beneath a hoodie and went out for my first jog. I only made it a couple of blocks, but I would go out again tonight. I had to believe that the conditioning was still there and with regular food and training it would come back quickly.
Gus was going through blueprints. I should’ve been too, but once again, I’d slipped into daydream mode.
‘Yes, he said that Quentin really misses you and that you’re the only thing in the world that he thinks about.’
‘Really?’ I whispered.
Gus rolled his eyes. ‘Of course not really. Christ, who are you and what have you done with Maggie-I’ll-kick-your-ass-if-you-even-think-that-kind-of-crap-about-me? I would really like it if she would return and if …’ his nose crinkled, ‘whoever you are would kindly exit the damn building.’
‘Sorry. You’re right,’ I said, suitably chastised.
He grunted and we went back to the blueprints for a few minutes until I just couldn’t help myself. ‘So, Morris didn’t say anything else, then?’
Slowly, Gus put down his coffee mug, gave me a glare to end all glares and then walked out of the apartment, stomping down the stairs, muttering about how we were all going to die.
I checked on him about an hour later. He was sitting in one of the booths in Burn with a bottle of tequila in front of him. When he realised I was there, he gave me another loaded look until I turned tail and went back upstairs to reflect on the fact that, yes, at some point I’d turned into a pathetic lovesick girl. I shared in Gus’s repulsion. God, stalker tendencies were probably in my foreseeable future if I didn’t seriously get a grip.
I went out for a run later that night, keeping my head down whenever I passed people on the street. I didn’t realise I was heading anywhere in particular until I stopped in front of the Muay Thai centre.
The main lights were out, but I could see a glow coming from the back office, and suddenly I was in the back alley punching in the code that Master Rua had given me a year ago.
The door clicked. I glanced over my shoulder to check I was alone and then slipped inside.
Instinct kicked in and somehow I dodged the first strike. But the second hit me hard, a foot slamming into the side of my gut, knocking the wind out of me and throwing me against the wall, where I proceeded to crumble.
Even in the dark, I knew my attacker, and that he would not stop. I sucked in a fast breath and only had time to pant out, ‘It’s Maggie.’
The round kick paused millimetres from my cheekbone.
‘It’s Maggie,’ I repeated.
Suddenly Master Rua was crouched beside me, pushing back my hood.
‘I thought you were dead,’ he said, and if I didn’t know better I might have thought his voice was thick with emotion.
‘I think I might be,’ I groaned.
He grabbed my chin, turning my face harshly from side to side. Then he grabbed my upper arm, squeezing. ‘You’re weak,’ he stated, standing up.
Yep. Definitely imagined the heartfelt moment.
He held out his hand and I let him pull me to my feet. ‘Come. You need ice.’
I followed the Muay Thai instructor to the kitchen. When he reached for the light switch, I grabbed his hand.
‘No more light. They could be watching.’
Slowly he lowered his hand and nodded.
‘But …’ I said, now with a distinct swelling of shame, ‘could … would you mind if we went into your office?’
Master Rua stared at me, seeing through my words and straight to my fear of the dark. With nothing more than a grunt, he fished an icepack out of the freezer and led me to his softly lit office, closing the door behind us. I was sure he noticed my flinch at the sound of the door, but again, he said nothing until he sat on the chair opposite me. Even then, he simply repeated, ‘You are weak.’
I held the icepack to my throbbing hipbone. ‘Yes.’
‘You need to be strong or you will die.’
I swallowed. ‘Yes.’
He pondered this. ‘Can you come here?’
I shook my head.
‘Can I come to you?’
I considered the risk. ‘Maybe. At night.’
He nodded. ‘You let me know. We start tomorrow night. You run tonight and tomorrow morning.’
I bit my lip. ‘Okay.’
‘Will they come for me?’ he asked, no accusation in his tone. He simply needed to know.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You found him?’
‘I did.’ I looked down.
‘He is a bad man?’
Ignoring the sting in my eyes, I nodded.
‘Are you ready now?’ he asked. Master Rua had always been disappointed by my goals. He always wanted me to look at the bigger picture, but I was determined to put my father first.
I adjusted the icepack and winced. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘What do you need from me?’
I met his eyes. ‘I need a meeting with Preference Evolution.’
He watched me for a few beats before responding. ‘I’ll arrange it for a week from today. We work at making you strong until then.’
I shook my head. ‘A week is too long.’
He stared at me, unmoving.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Okay. One week. But you can’t tell anyone else you’ve seen me.’
‘You come here to insult me?’
I grinned. ‘No.’
‘Get running. Eat carbohydrates. I take care of the rest.’
The next night, my training with Master Rua began. We waited until Burn was in full swing and then he slipped in via the back stairs. On first inspection, he complained that the apartment wasn’t big enough, but after we moved back all of the furniture and explained the dangers of being seen together, he let it go and got to work.
We carried on this way for the next three days – Gus compiling information courtesy of my cyber files, and Master Rua turning up at midnight. For my part, I cooked. I trained.
And I waited for Quentin.
But it was becoming increasingly clear that he wasn’t coming.
After my third consecutive night of training with Master Rua, I could barely make it to the bathroom. Every muscle screamed out in agony and it took everything I had not to drop to the ground and curl up in a ball. Thankfully my humiliation was limited since Gus had gone out to meet an old contact of his. He was hoping to use the last of our cash zips and tech secrets to trade for some extra intel, but the truth was, we were too low on money to make much happen and if we didn’t work something out soon, we were going to have a very real problem.
Stubbornly I dragged my uncooperative body into the bathroom and tried not to cry out as I slid into the bath, which I’d half filled with ice. I shivered through the pain, trying to breathe deep and relax my muscles until the numbness set in. Ice-baths were torture, but they always helped.
After my bath and a sandwich, Gus still wasn’t back, so I grabbed a tub of rocky road ice-cream and made myself comfortable in bed. Lately I’d gone from wanting to sleep all the time to avoiding it. Mostly because I was becoming increasingly aware of the nightmares that seemed stuck on repeat, and let’s just say waking up dripping with sweat never leaves me in the best mood to start the day. The worst part was they sucked me in so deeply that I could never seem to get out of them until I woke in the morning. And something about that gave me the chilling thought that it might not matter how free I was – a part of me would always be locked away in that concrete cell.
But despite my reluctance, after a few mouthfuls of ice-cream my eyes became heavy and my need for sleep took over.
They always start the same now.
My eyes are open wide.
But I cannot s
ee.
I am shaking and starving.
I hear my breathing.
My heartbeat.
I hear the ventilation fan.
I am alone, and yet …
A hand suddenly grasps my arm, fingers digging to the bone.
Then he is there, close to my ear, his whisper echoing off the walls until it becomes a chant that swirls around me like a tornado.
‘You chose this path, Margaret. You forced it when you should’ve left well enough alone.’
My father’s voice mocks me. Then suddenly he is injecting something into my arm.
‘I assured Garrett I would deal with the problem. And here we are.’
My breathing speeds up as I try and fail to struggle.
‘Yes, here we are,’ says a new voice. One that makes me cry out. But he is not here to help me. He stands beside my father, looking more like his own father than ever.
‘Quin,’ I whisper.
‘For the greater good, sacrifices are often made. For Maggie’s greater good, you were one of those sacrifices yourself,’ my father says.
Quentin nods. First sad, then resolute, he turns his back to me. ‘The testing?’ he says.
I try to speak, to explain, but the tornado of words bouncing around the suddenly deafening room overwhelms me. And within the tornado come the faces. So many.
The faces of all the negs I have watched as they were gunned down, locked up. The faces I have turned my back on and walked away from. All because I was trying to save the man who had helped put them there.
My father holds my head up so I can see the chaos that is my own doing. He laughs and points at Quentin, who walks away from me.
‘How could you have expected me to care about you, Margaret? Even your true match cannot bear the sight of you.’
Then they are gone and I am back in the cell. Alone. In the dark. Starving. Quivering. On some level I know it is a dream and yet I can feel the effects of the drugs my father has injected into me as they push me further into my sedated prison. I try so hard to fight it, to scream. But nothing comes out.
I start to convulse.
I think I see death, lurking in the corners of my vision. Like it wants me, but is patient and willing to wait.
Suddenly I feel the strain of my struggles and my body breaks out in a sweat. I feel cold and it only spurs on my battle against the demons that have trapped me.
I convulse again.
Then something hits me across the face.
Quentin’s voice returns. ‘Maggie!’
I look for him in my prison, but he is not there. His voice is far away.
I tremble. He has come back for more. It will go on forever.
‘Maggie! Feel my hands, Maggie. Feel my hands in yours.’
I look down, but cannot see in the dark. I clench my hands. They are empty, and yet …
I feel something. Distant.
‘Again!’ his voice orders.
I clench. This time I feel more. There is warmth and pressure.
He is with me.
Somehow, he is with me.
I opened my eyes with a start.
‘Shh, it’s okay. You were having a nightmare.’
I looked around wildly, clutching at myself. I was in the apartment above Burn. I touched my cheek; it was wet. So was my hair.
‘Shh,’ Quentin coaxed again. ‘Please calm down, Maggie. You need to breathe slowly.’
I looked down to see my body was still shaking uncontrollably, but I couldn’t stop it. I swallowed and my throat was painfully raw.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ Quentin said, glancing guiltily at the empty bottle of water in his hand. ‘I couldn’t wake you up, but you were screaming and you sounded so terrified.’
I stared at him, trying to get control of myself. And failing. The nightmare played over and over in my mind and I couldn’t stop the anger welling up inside. Some towards my father, some even aimed at Quentin. But the lion’s share went to myself and I had to turn my face into the pillow to stifle the cries.
Suddenly I was wrapped in his arms as he cocooned me from behind. I was coming apart, but he held me together. He cradled me through the shaking and the tears. He soothed me as I struggled to breathe again and focus on my surroundings instead of the images still tormenting my mind.
Eventually his M-Band stopped vibrating, and after a while mine did as well.
A quiet settled over me and a semblance of self returned. But with that, also an acute awareness that Quentin was really there. The person I had lied to, deceived, betrayed, played. The person who was my true match.
My stomach sank. There was so much I needed to say to him, and yet my mouth was cotton-dry, and with each passing second I became increasingly unsure.
‘I don’t know what to …’ I started. But he squeezed me gently from behind and shushed me softly.
‘Not yet.’ He disentangled himself from me and sat on the edge of the bed. I thought he was going to leave and felt instantly barren. But then he just took off his shoes and lay back down beside me.
My eyes fixed on the steel-blue eyes that haunted my dreams. But as they stared back at me, there was something in them that had never been in my dreams. Something uniquely Quentin. My M-Band vibrated again with a heart-rate alert.
He looked the same as ever, healthy and strong. But different too. Changed in some way I could tell was permanent.
‘Roll over, Maggie,’ he said.
I stared at him for a beat and then rolled onto my side, away from him. After an awkward few moments, his arm slid around my middle and I heard him exhale.
‘Let’s just hold on for tonight.’
I swallowed roughly, ignoring the tears in my eyes.
‘Sleep,’ he instructed, pulling me closer to him. ‘I’ll wake you in a few hours and we’ll talk then.’
‘But –’
‘You need this, Maggie. I need this too. First. Before the talk.’
My heart skipped a beat and I was sure he could feel my M-Band vibrating again. All I could manage was a small, ‘Okay.’
I breathed deeply, inhaling his scent and relishing the warmth of his embrace. When we woke up, we would talk for what I feared would be the last time.
I wanted to stay awake and cherish every moment, but after my training, ice-bath and nightmare, I was wrecked and eventually I slipped back into the darkness. Safe in his arms.
And holding on for dear life.
Six
I woke in a panic. My eyes darted to my side, even though I already knew.
I was alone.
No!
I sat up, curling over, my hands in my matted hair.
Had I imagined him?
No, he’d been there. He’d brought me out of my nightmares.
Oh my God, would I ever see him again?
Christ! I couldn’t breathe.
‘Did you honestly think I’d do everything I had to do to get here and not hang around to talk?’
His voice was low. The air that had been impossible to breathe a moment ago was suddenly filling my lungs. My fingers flexed.
But still, I couldn’t look up.
I heard him sigh. ‘I’ve made breakfast. I only have a few minutes and there’s a lot to discuss.’
I heard his retreating footsteps and slowly looked up. He was here.
I took in a deep breath and dropped my face into my shaking hands.
It was time to face the music.
After throwing on a pair of jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, I headed out to the kitchen, keeping my movements to a minimum. Every single muscle in my body ached and the day ahead held a whole lot more training.
‘What time is it?’ I asked Quentin. He was scooping scrambled eggs onto toast.
‘Early. Just after five. I need to move soon.’
I nodded. It explained why it felt as if I’d barely slept. I only finished with Master Rua at 2 a.m.
I grabbed two glasses of orange juice and sat down at the small table, wa
tching in a daze as Quentin placed a plate in front of me and sat on the opposite side. He started eating straight away while I could only prod at the food with my fork.
‘You look better, Maggie,’ he said eventually.
I looked up, confused.
‘From last week, at school,’ he clarified. ‘You’re looking much more like your old self.’
I gestured to my plate with my fork. ‘Food does that.’ And time. I’d been at the apartment for a week now.
Quentin swallowed, looking down.
Finally I couldn’t stand it. ‘Why are you here? I mean, I know you don’t … I know you hate me,’ I blurted.
Quentin sat back, his gaze on the table.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I was sorry for so much. ‘But I … I need to know.’
There. That went well.
Of course if I’d just shut up and said nothing that probably would’ve been significantly better. Now the silence was even more awkward.
Slowly Quentin put down his fork. ‘I do hate you,’ he said. ‘I wish I didn’t, but I do.’
My heart felt like it was being squeezed. I gripped the edges of my chair to stop myself from bolting out of the room and hiding away. No. I had to let him say this.
Time stalled, each second carrying more weight than the one before. Finally his voice broke the tension. ‘But it also appears that isn’t the only emotion involved when it comes to you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Gus has filled in a lot of the blanks. But what I really want to know is, when did you decide on me?’
I stared at my food. ‘Two years ago.’
I heard the intake of breath. ‘You weren’t even at Kingly then.’
I kept looking down.
‘I’m the reason you were there.’
I nodded.
‘Wow. No one could ever accuse you of lack of dedication. The entrance exams?’
It was a valid question. The entrance exams for Kingly were brutal. Definitely not the kind of exams someone just knocks over on their way to their next goal. I licked my dry lips and forced out the words. ‘I studied for months. And I bought cheat sheets. Bribed the librarian to keep feeding them to me along the way.’
Corruption Page 6
