Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4)

by C. S. Churton

  “Had tae make it look real. For the camera.”

  “You could have just changed what he saw on the monitor, of course.”

  He cracks a smile.

  “Where’s the fun in that, lass?”

  I shake my head with a wry grin and immediately regret it.

  “Here.” Scott offers me a bottle of water while Mika holds one to Duncan’s lips. For a moment we both shut up and savour the refreshing liquid. I watch Helen as she pulls the phone away from her ear and redials.

  “What the hell did you do to him, anyway?” Nathan asks. I shrug.

  “I threw him in Pearce’s basement, threatened to leave him there, then shot him.”

  Nathan lets out a chuckle.

  “You’re badass, Anna, anyone ever tell you that?”

  I set my water on the ground and frown.

  “Too badass, maybe. He should be answering him.” I shoot Scott a worried look. “Do you think I went too far?”

  Helen waves frantically, and points at the phone.

  “Thanks for answering,” she says, then pauses as someone replies. Scott squeezes my shoulder.

  “I’m sure. But if you don’t want that to become a reality, then we need to talk. Flag of truce, Ephraim, what do you say?”

  She’s silent for a moment and I can just make out the muffled crackle of a voice down the line – you could hear a pin drop in here – before she raises her eyebrows and pulls the phone away from her ear again.

  “Well?” My heart’s hammering: I hope to hell I haven’t screwed this up. I’m not Ephraim’s biggest fan – I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a certain amount of satisfaction from shooting him – but we need him. Or at least, we need the Ishmaelians, and that’s pretty much the same thing. They’re damned near fanatical about their leader.

  “Whatever you said to him in that illusion has him riled up. He’ll meet us.”

  *

  “On a scale of one to ten, how likely is he to have us shot?”

  I glance over my shoulder at Nathan and plaster a nonchalant expression on my face.

  “Oh, no more than like, an eight… eight and a half?”

  “Oh, good. I mean, you do know that not all of us can teleport out of the way of bullets, right? Just to be perfectly clear?”

  “Aw, don’t worry – if bullets start flying, I’ll shift you someplace safe before I kick their arses.”

  “Of course, if we hadn’t agreed to come unarmed,” he continues, ignoring me, “we’d have had some way to defend ourselves.”

  Helen shoots him a withering look, and I for one don’t blame her. Nathan’s been pretty vocal about that particular concession.

  “Not that I’m blaming you,” he back peddles with his hands raised in surrender as he catches her look.

  “I’m sure Rohan will protect you if you ask him nicely enough,” Helen suggests, her voice saccharine sweet.

  I shut out of the rest of their banter as the building looms into view. If we can see them, it means they can see us – and that means Ephraim’s men might already have weapons trained on our party. I can only hope I’ve scared him enough that he’s not about to double-cross us, because as usual we’re hopelessly outnumbered and, joking aside, if they pull an assortment of weapons there’s less than no chance of us all getting out of here alive. And I quite like being alive. And I like Scott being alive, and I sure as hell wish there’d been some way I could have convinced him to sit this one out, but I’m not foolish enough to think he’d take a backseat while I walked into danger, any more than I’d have let him risk his neck while I sat tucked up in my room. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.

  I reach out and take his hand, and the eight of us cross the crumbled asphalt in silence. Joe lengthens his stride until he’s alongside us. I allow the question mark to form in my mind, and he flicks his eyes just slightly to the right. Figures they’d have guards out here, not that I can see any. I give no sign that we’ve made him – better to let the Ishmaelians think they have the element of surprise, if things get ugly. I take a breath and exhale slowly, allowing my mental muscles to relax. If I need to shift, there will be no hesitation. The first sign of hostility on their behalf, I’ll shift in behind the aggressor and take him out, and it won’t matter that I’m unarmed. And when I’m done with that, I’ll find Ephraim.

  “Stay where you are!”

  The voice comes from the guard Joe spotted, and as a group we come to a halt. The voice is just a hair shy of confident. I don’t bother to look at him. I already know he’s armed, and I know he won’t pull the trigger unless we spook him, or Ephraim gives the order. He’s not the threat.

  “Put your hands up!”

  This voice comes from our left rear. Sloppy much? I gibe Joe, but of course I don’t mean it – he still spotted one more than the rest of us. Looks like the Ishmaelians finally took Scott’s security protocols to heart. I reluctantly let go of the tracker’s hand and raise my arms slightly to my sides. Wonder if they listened to his search protocols, too.

  “Spread out,” the first voice orders, closer now. I frown in annoyance. I don’t remember Ephraim being such a pussy. Guess I really put the wind up him. Seriously, some people – no sense of humour.

  “Nuh-uh,” I shake my head. “That’s not going to happen. You want to search us? Fine. But we’re staying together. If you’ve got a problem with that, get Ephraim down here.”

  “I’m already here, Anna.”

  My throat starts to constrict as my eyes lock onto the figure emerging from the shadowed doorway, flanked by another pair of armed guards. Air burns as it rushes into my lungs, and I reach a hand up to claw at my windpipe but my fingers curl in on themselves in a rigid talon. My lips peel back in a feral snarl and the Savage is rattling her bars. My stomach boils with rage and before I know it, I’ve shifted behind him. My elbow takes down the guard on his right and my kick the guard on his left. He spins round to stare at me, his eyes wide with shock and alarm and all I can think is that I want to claw them from their sockets with my nails and shred his vile face. I want to kill him. I launch myself forward and suddenly an invisible force thumps into my chest, hurling me back into the solid brick wall. Someone – not Ephraim – is shouting not to shoot, but I don’t pay them any attention. As soon as I hit the ground I bounce back to my feet and launch myself at the rebel leader again.

  “Rohan, no!” The traitor’s voice is strained – no, not traitor, he’s Scott, he’s on my side, he– The telekinetic drops his arm and some part of my mind dimly notes that he’s no longer a threat. He’s not important. All that matters is the mission. Kill Ephraim. Kill Ephraim. Kill Ephraim. Pearce’s voice pounds through my skull, crushing me under its weight and filling my vision with red mist. I have to kill– An arm thumps into my chest – a real arm, this time – and wraps around me. I fling my head back toward my assailant’s face, but he moves and my attack misses.

  “Anna! Anna, stop!”

  I struggle in his grip and suddenly two more pairs of hands are holding me. I don’t care! I’ll kill them all! I have to kill Ephraim, I have to get revenge on him.

  “Listen to me, Anna!” The traitor’s – no, Scott’s – voice is urgent in my ear but I can barely hear it above Pearce and the Savage. “Calm down. Listen to my voice. This isn’t you. You’ve got to fight it.”

  Fight? What does he think I’m trying to do?! I try to yank my arm free from the hands holding it but all I get for my trouble is a wrenched shoulder. With three of them holding me I’m powerless. Never powerless, Pearce’s voice floats inside my head. No, I’m never powerless… I need to shift, I need to kill Ephraim.

  “You need to focus, Anna.” Scott’s voice is insistent in my ear as I try to shut him out. Kill Ephraim.

  “Listen to my voice. Listen. To. My. Voice. Pearce did this to you. Don’t let him win. Stay with me.”

  Always.

  What the hell am I doing? I sag against the arms holding me, blinking rapidly. The two remain
ing guards both have their weapons pointed in my direction but they’re not raised – probably because Helen is behind them, talking in hushed tones. Their unconscious comrades are lying flat out on the floor. I haven’t made any friends there, that’s for sure. Nathan and Joe are helping Scott hold me still. And thank God they are. I almost killed Ephraim. I could have blown our only chance. Abruptly my stomach tries to reject its contents, and it’s all I can do to keep from retching in front of the Ishmaelian leader.

  Belatedly, several more figures burst from the door behind me, but Ephraim dismisses them with a curt shake of his head, then eyes me with equal parts suspicion and disapproval.

  “Let’s take this inside, shall we? We try to keep a low profile out here.”

  I can feel Ishmaelian eyes boring into my back as we go inside, but I’m too shaken to pay them any attention. How can Pearce have planted that inside me without me knowing? Worse, how many other people will I react that way to? What if Scott’s not around next time? I could kill someone. I’m not safe, I need to be locked up again until we know what’s going on, until we’ve found some way of working out what else Pearce has programmed into me, I need–

  I flinch as something touches my hand, then realise it’s Scott. I let his hand envelop mine as we move through the warehouse, and try to focus on what we’re here for. One crisis at a time.

  “Just Scott and Anna,” Ephraim says. “The others will wait here.”

  I open my mouth to object, but before I can, Scott nods his agreement.

  “It’s fine,” he says, either to me or a very agitated-looking Nathan. “Ephraim knows he has too much to lose to risk hurting us.”

  Nathan doesn’t look any happier, but he stays where he is. I’m not sure it’s such a smart idea to allow ourselves to get separated, but I’m not about to undermine Scott’s decision in front of Ephraim. Scott’s right: Ephraim can’t risk trying to hurt us, and if he does, well, I’ve still got hold of Scott’s hand. We’ll be out of harm’s way in the blink of an eye.

  I’m mildly surprised when our escorts lead us into what’s clearly the base’s canteen; I’d expected Ephraim to take us somewhere private. He’s always struck me as a strictly need-to-know kinda guy, but this room is packed – every Ishmaelian on the base must be here. I glance back over my shoulder in time to see his eyes tighten just slightly. Interesting. I guess this wasn’t his plan, but he can hardly tell our escorts to take us somewhere private now without looking like he doesn’t trust his own people. I wonder if they disobeyed an order in bringing us here, or if my attack on him rattled him enough that he forgot to give the order in the first place. Either way, looks like we’re going to be giving our speech to an audience.

  Ephraim doesn’t miss a beat. The man oozes charisma – it’s easy to see why this rag-tag bunch of rebels choose to follow him. Except they’re more than that. Given Ephraim’s disdain for what he refers to as “ungifteds”, it’s a fair bet that almost everyone in this room is an absa, and that makes them a fearsome army, albeit an untrained one. There’s absolute silence as Ephraim steps forward, and sweeps his gaze to encompass the entire room, holding eye contact for just a split second with many of them. Each person who’s eye he meets swells with pride at his recognition. I may not like the man, but even I can see there’s no way we’ll ever convince the Ishmaelians to act without him. We need him, and there’s no telling how far my stupid attack on him has set us back.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he says, raising his arms. “I have gathered you here today to discuss matters that will affect the future of us all. As such, it is only right that each of you hears what our visitors have to say and makes your own decision. It is no small thing they ask of us, so listen well, and think carefully, and I implore you, do not allow their past transgressions to cloud your judgement.”

  Past transgressions? Is he kidding me? I set my jaw to keep from retorting. So that’s how he’s going to play it – going through with this farce of a meeting, whilst reminding his little cult that we’re outsiders, and not to be trusted. Well, no-one ever said he was stupid. Stubborn as a mule, sure, but not stupid. I kinda wish I’d thought to prepare a speech. If we want to convince them, we’re going to have to convince him. I glance at Scott from the corner of my eye, and see that he sees it, too.

  “Traitors!” a voice shouts out from the back of the room. I search for the source of the accusation, but there are several heads nodding in agreement. Ephraim lets them grumble for a moment then raises a hand.

  “Now, friends, let us hear them out.”

  The rumbles die down and they eye us resentfully.

  “Thank you,” I say, “for letting us into your home. Most of you know me, and Scott. We used to be allies. We can be again.”

  A man in the front row snorts and shares a look with the person beside him. No prizes for translating that reaction. I take a breath and try again.

  “Okay, you don’t trust me. I get that. And maybe you wouldn’t have made the same choice I did in my position.”

  I single out the guy in the front row.

  “Maybe you’d have found a better way to save the life of your loved one than sacrificing your freedom.”

  He looks down at the ground and shuffles his feet.

  “It wasn’t just yourself you risked,” a woman calls out from somewhere near the back, and a few Ishmaelians voice their agreement. I search through the sea of faces until I find her. She’s easy to find: her face is the one that’s full of hatred.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, with absolute sincerity. “I know you had to move again…”

  “You think that’s what this is about? How many people did you capture for Pearce? Kill for him?”

  Bile rises up, burning my throat, and I force it back down before I speak.

  “Too many. And I regret every single one of them.”

  “And that’s supposed to wipe the slate clean?” another man demands. My head snaps to him.

  “Nothing,” I say, “nothing will wipe the slate clean. But saving all of your lives might make a good start.”

  “How are we supposed to trust anything any of you say?” another voice shouts – I don’t see where this one came from. “Who are you now – Ishmaelian, or AbGen?”

  “Neither,” Scott replies coolly, squeezing my hand. “But we’re a part of this fight, and right now, that’s the only thing that matters.”

  “And Anna?” Ephraim asks from behind us, his soft voice carrying across the room. Scott bristles, but I lay my hand gently on his arm.

  “I’ve been through hell, Ephraim, but I’m still standing. I took the worst Pearce could throw at me, and I survived. And if you’re going to survive this fight, you need our help. Hiding isn’t an option anymore.”

  I cast a look round the room and continue.

  “AbGen outnumber you. They’re stronger than you, better trained, and better equipped. But you have something they don’t.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Me.”

  “Little full of ourselves, Ms Mason?” Ephraim asks, raising an eyebrow. I shake my head and curl my lip into a grin that isn’t quite civilised.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of. What we showed you barely scratches the surface. Pearce spent months turning me into a weapon, and he did a damned good job.”

  “We can prepare you,” Scott says, sweeping the room. “We can source weapons and teach you to use them. We can train you in unarmed combat, and we can show you what AbGen’s weaknesses are. And when the time comes, we’ll fight alongside you.”

  “And believe me when I say, you wouldn’t like the alternative. You don’t want to go through what I went through. How long until Pearce comes for you? It’s not as long as you think, I can promise you that.”

  A couple of them share panicked looks. Exactly how sheltered has Ephraim been keeping them?

  “You all know what he did to me,” I continue. “And I don’t blame any of you for not risking your lives to get me out. B
ut make no mistake, hiding here won’t keep you safe. Sure, it might not be today, hell, might not be this week, but he will find you. He will pick you off, one by one. We either stand together, now, or we die alone. That’s your choice.”

  Scott turns to the Ishmaelian leader.

  “What do you say?”

  Ephraim looks at his people before replying, raising his voice slightly so it carries to them all.

  “I cannot condone your actions,” he tells Scott, “but I can understand them. You erred in judgement, but never in intent. I will fight alongside you.”

  Translation: he doesn’t like us, but he needs us. That’s good enough for me. He looks out across the sea of faces.

  “Who will follow me?”

  They give a ragged cheer that builds and builds until it’s echoing around the room and drowning out every other sound. I share a smile with Scott as the din grows, and he gives me a nod. I think we’ve just about pulled it off.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The eight of us are crowded round one table and the rest of the Ishmaelians are giving us a wide berth. A few of our former friends and acquaintances cast furtive nods in our direction, but none of them venture over to welcome us back. Not that I blame them – we’re outcasts, and as a group we look pretty intimidating. I make a mental note to get everyone to split up later and try to integrate, then immediately scratch that note. We’re not here to make friends. There is one friend I wouldn’t mind catching up with, though, and I thought he’d have been above Ishmaelian politics. I glance round but there’s no sign of Iain. Later.

  “Uh, I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Joe says, staring across the room. I follow the direction of his gaze as he rises from the table, and smile as I see an older lady sitting prim and proper across the hall. Nora. She was Joe’s handler when he worked security back at AbGen. He didn’t involve her in my rescue attempt, not wanting to put her life in danger – a smart move. Nora’s skills are more secretarial than combative, though of course like all our handlers, she can read her absa like a book, and knows exactly how to help him focus. I’m glad Joe was sensible enough to keep her safe, and even more so that she seems to have found a place here with the Ishmaelians. Wasn’t so long ago that Ephraim had refused to have “non-gifteds” playing any sort of role within the rebel effort.