Replica

by Jenna Black

  “No one you know,” Dante said, but didn’t elaborate.

  Whoever was driving didn’t give a damn about his passengers’ comfort, jackrabbiting through intersections and taking turns more sharply than necessary. The van banged its way through a pothole so deep Nate thought they were going to overturn. All three of them reached out to steady themselves, and when they did, Nate saw the butt of a gun sticking out of the inside pocket of the loose jacket Dante was wearing. Dante met his eyes and practically dared him to comment, but Nate managed to keep his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t a bad idea to have an armed escort when traveling into the Basement, and he had a feeling Dante knew how to use it.

  Nate wasn’t wearing a watch, but he had the sense that they drove far longer than it should have taken to get to the Basement from his apartment. Either Dante had lied to them about their destination—which seemed unlikely, considering the costumes—or the driver was taking a deliberately circuitous route, perhaps to make sure they weren’t followed. Nate tried to guess where they were by listening for clues, but there were no telltale sounds. Or if there were, he didn’t recognize them.

  After a while, the van’s progress slowed considerably, the road getting rougher under its wheels, and Nate guessed they’d finally crossed into the Basement. He expected the ride to end shortly after they crossed the border, but the van continued on, the ill-maintained roads doing a hatchet job on its suspension. Nate gritted his teeth to keep from biting his tongue with any of the unexpected impacts.

  At last, the van came to a stop, and the driver pounded on the wall between the cab and the back.

  “We’re here,” Dante said, and Nate’s heart leapt into his throat.

  Nate wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought that he was about to see Kurt again, or the thought that he wasn’t. His pulse raced, and his palms were damp with sweat as he waited for Dante to open the back doors and let them out. Nadia put a comforting hand on his shoulder, sensing his anxiety.

  “It’ll be all right,” she murmured in his ear, her voice too low for Dante to overhear. “Whatever happens, it’ll be all right.”

  But Nate knew there were no guarantees for either of them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nate hopped out of the van behind Dante, then turned to help Nadia down. She wobbled a bit on the stiletto heels of the knee-high boots she was wearing, and Nate decided no matter how much he liked the outfit, he wanted to punch Dante again for making her wear it. Then he took a couple of steps forward to get out of the shadow of the van and take a look around.

  They were in a dark, crumbling underpass, the van parked horizontally across the road, blocking any potential traffic. Though judging by the state of the road, traffic here was far from common. There were more potholes than asphalt, and grass and weeds had grown up in the gaps. A storm drain on one side of the road was backed up with litter and unknown debris, packed so tightly it formed a stagnant lake even though it hadn’t rained since Nate had awakened as a Replica. The walls were thick with gang tags, all done in red spray paint.

  There were no lights in the underpass, so only the ambient light of the city made the road and the walls by the entrance visible. Nate could see the same ambient light from the other end of the underpass, but in between was a menacing pool of impenetrable darkness. A tiny spot of red glowed briefly in that darkness, then went out. There was a sound Nate took for the crushing of a cigarette butt underfoot, then the echoing of footsteps.

  Nate reached for Nadia’s hand as the sound of those measured footsteps approached, not sure if he meant to give or seek comfort. Maybe a little of both.

  At first, Nate didn’t recognize the figure that emerged from the darkness. He’d been looking for Kurt’s familiar scruffy hair, for the rings in his ears and the tattoos on his upper body that he displayed whenever he wasn’t in uniform. He hadn’t been looking for a kohl-eyed bald guy wearing a torn crimson muscle shirt that displayed a nipple ring and no tattoos. It took a couple more steps into the light before Nate was able to see past the trappings, to recognize Kurt’s unique way of moving, though even that was camouflaged by the high-heeled boots he was wearing and the sway they put in his hips. Kurt had too many hard edges to ever pull off a truly androgynous look, but this was a close approximation.

  Emotion clogged his throat, but Nate wasn’t sure what he would say anyway. He wanted to cross the distance between them, but the lingering aches in his belly and back reminded him that he didn’t know his boyfriend as well as he’d thought he did. And though Nadia might not have come right out and said it, Nate was aware of the implication that Kurt had deliberately infiltrated his household on a mission from his resistance movement, not because he was in love.

  Kurt looked him over, frowning when he saw Nate was still holding Nadia’s hand. Nadia tried to let go, but Nate squeezed harder. Kurt had no right to disapprove. For all that had gone wrong between them, Nadia was Nate’s friend, and he needed one. It remained to be seen if that was a role Kurt could ever fulfill again.

  Kurt was giving Nadia the evil eye, so Nate put himself between them to draw Kurt’s full attention.

  “Don’t look at her like that,” Nate said, and was surprised at how cold his voice came out.

  Kurt made a little snorting sound and stepped even closer, until he was only an arm’s length away.

  “You are such a fucking pain in my ass,” Kurt said.

  Behind Nate, Nadia gasped in indignation, but she couldn’t see the little spark in Kurt’s eyes when he spoke. He might very well mean the words he said, but Nate would stake his life there was at least affection behind them, if not love. Something tight inside him loosened just a fraction.

  “Says the man who stole all my money, paid to have some thugs beat me up—probably with the very money he stole from me, no less—and tried to convince me he stabbed me to death.”

  “Like I said. A pain in my ass.” But there was a hint of a rueful smile on Kurt’s lips, and he opened his arms.

  Nate had a thousand and one questions, and a thousand and one doubts, but he couldn’t refuse the invitation. He stepped willingly into Kurt’s arms and didn’t complain when the hug got too tight and made his bruises ache. For that one moment, he allowed himself to forget everything, to simply revel in the fact that Kurt was here and he was safe. It felt so good to hold him that Nate’s eyes burned.

  Nate forced himself to end the hug. The lack of the vigorous back thumping that was the trademark of the guy hug was probably already making Dante look at them askance. He backed off a little, trying to see Kurt with dispassionate eyes, to judge how much he really knew about his boyfriend and how much was just wishful thinking.

  An awkward silence descended. There were so many questions Nate wanted to ask that he couldn’t pick just one, and Kurt didn’t look like he had any better idea where to start.

  Since Nate couldn’t settle on which important question to ask, he settled for an unimportant one, just to break the silence.

  “So did you come down with a raging case of head lice or what?”

  Kurt grimaced and ran his hand over his bald head. “Most people change their hair by dying it or wearing wigs,” he said. “Wigs come off, and dye stinks, so I went a different route.”

  Nate had to admit, it was a good disguise, especially with the added touch of the boots to change both his height and his gait. Even expecting him as he had, Nate had taken a few moments to recognize him. The bald head and the kohl-lined eyes made him look older and far more dangerous. Forgetting for a moment about his audience, Nate reached out and touched Kurt’s chest where it was exposed by the rips in his shirt.

  “And what happened to your tattoos?” He felt a pang of loss, though he’d always claimed to hate them. But they were a part of the Kurt he’d known and loved, and he missed them on this near stranger standing in front of him.

  “It’s just makeup,” Kurt said. “Having them removed would have taken more time than I had.” He gave Nate the same he
ad-to-toe examination Nate had just given him. “You still look the same. Except for the shitty makeup job. Is that a Replica thing, or were you in a hurry?”

  “In a hurry,” Nate mumbled, and wondered if the fact that he was a Replica had made it easier for Kurt to have him savaged. Maybe he figured that the Nate he knew and loved was dead, and this Replica was less than human. The rioting crowd had certainly thought so. Could Kurt love a Replica? Then again, Nate had no proof besides a hint of affection in his eyes that Kurt had ever loved him at all.

  It was time to get some answers. “Tell me what’s going on,” Nate demanded. “Tell me why—” He choked on his words.

  Kurt gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. “Let’s go sit in the van and talk. That’ll be more comfortable than standing out here, no?”

  Nate looked over Kurt’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes, and that’s when he saw the minute glow of a cigarette in the depths of the darkness from which Kurt had emerged. A chill of alarm traveled down his spine.

  “There’s someone out there,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and steady as he moved sideways to put himself between Nadia and the threat.

  Kurt followed his gaze, but didn’t look alarmed. “My hosts,” he said, turning back to Nate. He waved at the graffiti on the walls. “We’re in the very heart of Debasement here, in Red Death territory.” Kurt plucked at his red shirt. “I’m an honorary member. As long as the money holds out, at least. They’re here as backup in case anything goes wrong.” He darted a glance at Nadia. “I’ll explain everything, but it’s going to take a while, so let’s go in and sit.”

  The back of the van didn’t exactly make for cozy seating arrangements. The milk crates were hard and low, and Nate had seen candles shine brighter than the little emergency lights the driver turned on. But the cavelike interior did feel more secure and private than the underpass, and Nate was pretty sure Kurt was going to say things he should be sitting down to hear. Nate sat on one of the crates. Kurt sat across from him. Nadia sat beside Nate after moving her crate a little closer to his. He gave her a small smile, glad for the solidarity.

  “Let me know when you’re ready for me,” Dante said, still outside the van. Then he closed the doors.

  Nate raised his eyebrow at Kurt.

  “I’m pretty sure Dante suspects about us,” Kurt explained, “but I don’t want him to be sure, and I don’t want to have to watch what I say. I told him we needed some private time, just the three of us.”

  “All right,” Nate said, nerves fluttering as he realized he was so close to getting the answers he’d been searching for.

  “You have to promise to keep your cool.”

  Nate opened his mouth to give a glib promise, then shut it again to rethink his words. If there was one thing he had learned in the recent days, it was that his temper had hurt the people around him without him even noticing. But making an empty promise to control it wasn’t the way to make things better.

  “I’m going on about four hours of sleep in the last couple of days, and my whole body hurts from the beating your friends gave me last night,” he said. His temper tried to stir at the reminder, but he shoved it ruthlessly down. “I’ll try not to fly off the handle, but I’m hanging by a thread here.” His voice got raspy toward the end. Nadia reached over and took his hand again at the same time that Kurt leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. The two of them shared a glance Nate couldn’t interpret, then Kurt squeezed his knee and let go.

  “I’m real sorry about that, Nate,” he said. “Angel promised me they wouldn’t hurt you too bad. And it was the only way I could think of to make you back off.”

  “It might have worked if you hadn’t sent me the tracker,” Nadia said.

  Kurt made a face and rubbed his bald head. “Yeah. Guess Nate’s not the only one with a temper after all. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Why?” Nate demanded. “Why were you so desperate to keep me away?”

  Kurt met his eyes grimly. “Because it was Dirk Mosely who killed you.”

  Nate’s jaw dropped in shock, and Nadia gasped, letting go of his hand to cover her mouth.

  “You ’n’ me heard something while we were”—Kurt’s glance darted quickly to Nadia and back—“together. Something that Mosely was talking about with your father. We were in a supply closet. We decided to get out as soon as we heard them come in the room outside. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, except they were talking about someone named Thea.”

  The words sent another bolt of shock through Nate’s system.

  “Anyway, you boosted me up through a ceiling panel. You were going to follow me, but you heard something else. Something that really rocked you. You made shooing motions at me and pulled a joint out of your pocket. I guess that was supposed to be your excuse for what you were doing in the closet if they caught you. Which they did.

  “I closed the ceiling panel right as Mosely was opening the door, but there was a little gap I could see through.” Kurt shuddered and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t do anything.” He shook his head, eyes still closed. “I didn’t know I had to. Didn’t ever think he would kill you, for fuck’s sake.”

  Nate shook his head in denial.

  “That can’t be what happened,” Nadia said breathlessly. “You said Nate’s father was there, too.”

  Kurt opened his eyes, and the pain and sympathy in them conveyed his message before his words did. “Yeah, he was. He’s the one who gave Mosely the order.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Nate couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t fucking breathe.

  “I don’t know exactly what you heard,” Kurt said in a voice so gentle it hurt. “But whatever it was, it was so big your father was prepared to kill you to keep it secret. Keeping in mind that from his point of view, your death was only temporary.”

  Kurt had probably meant that reminder to soften the blow, but it had the opposite effect. As far as his father was concerned, it didn’t matter what happened to Nate, as long as he, the Chairman, didn’t have to lose his heir.

  The paralysis exploded into a kind of rage Nate had never felt before. He turned and punched the wall of the van with his already-bruised knuckles. He was dimly aware that it hurt like hell, but the rage wasn’t finished with him, so he did it again. He tried for a third time, but someone grabbed his arm. He tried to jerk free but couldn’t, which meant it was Kurt restraining him, not Nadia.

  The rage inside was still rampaging, so he whirled around and threw a decidedly awkward left-handed punch somewhere in the vicinity of Kurt’s face, not really trying to hurt him, just trying to make him let go. The blow glanced off Kurt’s chin, but Kurt kept his grip, and when Nate tried again, he found himself jerked off the milk crate and wrestled to the floor of the van.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Nadia was crying, but Nate didn’t know if she was talking to him or Kurt.

  “Don’t make me hurt you,” Kurt growled, his lips so close to Nate’s ear he could feel Kurt’s breath on his skin.

  Nate tried a feeble twist, but he was facedown on the floor, and Kurt had him thoroughly pinned. His battered knuckles throbbed, sending shooting pains up his arm, and Kurt’s weight on his back wasn’t doing his old bruises any good, either. The rage bled out of him as fast as it had swooped in, replaced by pain, and Nate went limp. A sob tried to push its way up his throat, and he swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to hold it back. Even so, there was a telltale wetness on his face.

  Kurt pressed a kiss to the side of his head, then rolled off of him. Nate might not have had the will or energy to move, except neither Kurt nor Nadia was willing to let him crawl into the hole of self-pity he’d dug himself. Kurt “helped” him up, and Nadia threw her arms around him in a hug tight enough to hurt. Nate didn’t care that it hurt, pulling her even closer, grateful for her presence even as he was embarrassed by his own weakness.

  “Everything all right in there?” Dante called from ou
tside the van, and even Nate had to admit the bastard showed an admirable amount of restraint not opening the doors to see what was happening.

  “We’re fine,” Kurt answered. Nate almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement.

  Kurt sat cross-legged in front of him on the floor of the van, a sad smile on his face. “If that’s you trying to keep control of yourself, I’d hate to see when you really let go.”

  Nadia made an indignant sound. “How dare you make jokes at a time like this?”

  “It’s all right,” Nate said to Nadia. His voice was raspy and his throat hurt. He must have shouted more than he’d realized. There was no lightening this particular mood with jokes, but the normalcy of it was comforting. “Sorry I hit you,” he said to Kurt.

  Kurt snorted. “Tried to hit me, you mean. You can’t punch for shit.” He grimaced. “At least, not with your left. Let’s see that right hand. You beat the van down pretty good.”

  Nate felt the blood rushing to his face and hoped his makeup hid the embarrassed blush. As losses of control went, that had been pretty epic. “It’s fine,” he mumbled.

  “No it’s not,” Nadia countered, extricating herself from his arms and maneuvering his right hand into the light.

  The knuckles were swollen and split, and blood trickled down his fingers. Kurt gave a low whistle of appreciation.

  “Yeah, you showed this van what for all right. Can you move your fingers?”

  Wiggling his fingers hurt, but he could do it. “It’s not all from the van,” he admitted, wondering if Kurt would be appalled or impressed. “I, uh, kind of punched Dante earlier, too.”

  Kurt gave him a look of surprise, then burst out laughing. “I’ve wanted to do that a couple of times myself.”

  “I’m glad you boys are finding this so funny,” Nadia said scathingly.