by Ellery Kane
Before I finished, he was already protesting. “I can’t let you do that. Do you really trust the police? The military? Xander has them all in his back pocket, you know.”
The voice came again. It was emotionless, almost mechanical, but simultaneously menacing. “Alexandra Knightley. This is your last warning. You have two minutes to surrender or we’re coming in.”
“Xander doesn’t care about me,” I argued. “I’m not a threat to him.” Both Quin and I knew that wasn’t completely true. There was the issue of Radley’s last words, whatever Xander believed they were. And I’d seen Valkov’s tattoo. But that was months ago, and I was still here, still breathing. As far as I could tell, Valkov wasn’t even really hiding it.
Quin was quiet. He took my hand. “You’re a Knightley. You’ll always be a threat to him.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “And that’s exactly why you can’t blow your cover now. You said it yourself, you’re on the inside. Besides, if I don’t go down now, they’re coming in. They’ll find us anyway. And Augustus.”
“Augustus!” Quin’s eyes opened wide. Disbelieving, he stared at his watch. It was 4 a.m. “I forgot! I was supposed to dose him hours ago.”
“Are you sure it wears off that quickly?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Quin shrugged, nonchalant, but his eyes were dark with worry.
“I’m sorry I messed it up for you. If I hadn’t come here—”
Quin gritted his teeth in frustration, then wrapped me in his arms. There was no space between us, and I could feel the wild beat of his heart caged in his chest. He took a breath and exhaled my name. “Lex.” That’s when I remembered—the last thing I told him, before we fell asleep.
“Emma taught me to ride a motorcycle,” I had mumbled, barely awake.
And his answer, soft with sleep. “Sexy Lexi.”
The stairwell was so cold, I gasped. The shock of it cleared my mind like a face full of ice water, but I didn’t think. I just moved. Didn’t stop moving until I reached the wooden door where Augustus was hidden. Just beyond it, the concrete was awash with flashes of blue and red. Even though I couldn’t see them, I felt the eyes. Watching. Waiting. For me. I didn’t go toward them. Not yet. I had to look. Just once more.
I turned the knob and peeked inside. A pair of handcuffs hung from the railing, one opened. Beneath them, a spider’s web glistened with dew, its eight-legged occupant gone, probably scurrying—like Augustus—somewhere just out of my view. Numb, I shut the door and backed away. I took five leaden steps to the entrance and raised my hands in surrender.
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
STANDARD PROCEDURE
WHEN THE FLASHLIGHT hit my face, I winced with the sudden sting of regret. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head from the light.
“Get down on your knees.” Momentarily blinded, the voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. My legs wobbled a little as I lowered myself, hands still raised. “Slow! Slower!”
“Okay,” I mumbled, surprised my mouth could even form the word. My knees pressed into the ground, shards of gravel pricking at my skin even through my jeans. I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath to quell the panic that was swelling inside of me. Mid-exhale, the light was gone. I opened my eyes.
“Alexandra Knightley?” The officer didn’t wait for my answer. He patted down the length of my body, pocketing my cell phone. I was thankful I’d left Edison’s gun with Quin. It would have only made me look guilty of something. And this officer didn’t need any more convincing. He cuffed my hands behind my back. Just beyond him, a barricade of military and police personnel assembled, weapons drawn. They blurred into one unmovable dark line.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked, fighting off another wave of panic.
“Standard procedure.” Nothing about this felt standard. I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. With a jerk, he pulled me to my feet. Though I knew I was too far away to see Quin, I longed to look up to the tower behind me to feel less alone. But it was a risk I couldn’t take. We agreed Quin would stay there until he knew it was safe to come down.
“Is this really necessary?” I held up my hands, the metal already rubbing uncomfortably against my skin.
“Just following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Walk,” he commanded. He grabbed my upper arm and led me down the stairs into the parking lot below, where a group of military vehicles surrounded the perimeter. All this for me? Why? My answer came from the shadows. I heard a car door open and shut. It was mundane, but in the stillness, it sounded ominous.
“My men will take it from here.” I recognized his voice before I saw his face.
“Of course, Mr. Steele.” I went cold. Xander wasn’t alone. Valkov marched at his heels, his predator’s gaze fixed upon me—intense and excited. The officer extended his hand to Xander, passing him the key to my cuffs, to my freedom. Xander regarded it with indifference—a mere trinket—and transferred it to Valkov. Unlike Xander, he appeared to appreciate its importance. I watched him slip it carefully into his pocket.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. My question was ignored, unacknowledged. “I’m not leaving here with him.” I turned my face to plead with the officer, but he was already walking away.
One nod from Xander, and Valkov advanced toward me. I was usually drawn to his tattoo—the outward reminder of his inner disfigurement—but a glint of metal on his waistband caught my eye instead. It was the blade of a knife, barely visible, secreted inside a leather sheath. I thought of Shelly. I knew it wasn’t the knife, of course. Still, I could imagine it gripped tight in his hands, penetrating skin, then muscle, then bone.
“Like what you see?” Valkov grinned at me—wide and hungry—and it was much worse than I could’ve imagined. When I felt his thick fingers wrap around my arm, my heart quivered like a small animal that knew it was easily chomped and devoured.
I summoned all my courage and sneered back at him. “Don’t touch me.” I lunged away, pulling my arm out of his grasp. With my hands still cuffed, I lost my balance and stumbled forward. Xander caught me.
“Easy there, Ms. Knightley. I’ve invested a lot of resources in tracking you down, and I need you in one piece.” He ushered me toward a black sedan, where another of his men was holding the door open for me. In another world, it was a politeness, a courtesy. In this one, it was an act of intimidation.
“You’re wasting your time. And your resources. Radley didn’t tell me anything.”
“There will be ample time to discuss that later.” Leaning into the car, Xander patted the backseat with a condescending hand.
I tried to stall. “How did you find me?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I scanned my surroundings for an escape route—soldiers everywhere. It was undeniable. I was trapped.
Xander smiled. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. McAllister.” I kept my face still, but he seemed to know he had launched a grenade at my epicenter, pin-pulled. I didn’t have time to assess the damage. I could hear Valkov’s raspy breathing over my shoulder.
“Get in,” he growled.
Inside the car, the air was cool and sterile, but with Valkov sitting next to me, I felt suffocated. I scooted as far away from his muscled thighs as I could manage, pressing my body into the door. I turned my back to the door and gently tried the handle. Locked.
“What’s the matter?” he teased. “I won’t bite.” He bared his small, pointy teeth at me, and I grimaced in disgust.
“What’re they doing here?” Xander was standing outside my window, berating a burly, young soldier. Next to him—biceps straining against his uniform—Xander seemed small and weak. He puffed out his chest in a futile attempt to match the soldier’s physique. “I said, No media.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steele. SFTV assured us they wouldn’t interfere.” Xander stood on loafered tiptoe for a better view. Whatever he saw must’ve displeased him. His face reddened. With clenched fists, he swiped at the air, shadow
boxing. I wondered if—and what—he was using.
“Idiot! That’s not SFTV. It’s Eyes on the Bay. Bill Knightley works for that station.” In the wake of Xander’s outburst, the soldier appeared unfazed, but a little confused. “Her father!” Xander bellowed. My father. My father. My father. I repeated those words to myself like a desperate prayer, my soul on its knees. Still, I wasn’t relieved—not with Guardian Force redux on Xander’s side. I was worried. But I wasn’t the only one.
“We’ve gotta go,” Xander announced. He signaled to his driver and slid into the passenger seat.
“Right away, Mr. Steele.” With the sound of the starting engine came a brutal realization. I was leaving here with Xander.
“Where is my daughter?” My father appeared in front of the sedan, smacking the hood with his palm. His voice was shrill with panic. “Lex? Lex!” He stalked to Xander’s window—tinted, of course—pressing his face to the glass to see inside. “Lex!”
“Dad! I’m—” Before I could finish, Valkov’s hand was over my mouth. It smelled musty, sour. For the second time that night, I parted my lips, ready to taste blood.
“Lex!” My father rushed the car as the driver slammed the gear into reverse and hit the accelerator, lurching me forward and free of Valkov. The driver screeched to a stop and gathered himself. Through the windshield, I watched in horror as two soldiers pinned my father to the ground. Langley was screaming at them, but we were too far away for me to hear her.
“Go! Go!” Xander urged. As the car screeched past my father, a soldier plunged a needle into his arm.
CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT
BROADSIDE
THE DRIVER BARRELED DOWN the hill haphazardly, my thoughts racing just as fast.
“What was that? What were they giving him? Docil-E?” Xander didn’t look at me. One hand clung to the console, the other was stiff-armed against the dash, trying to maintain his balance. Next to me, Valkov had a tight grip on Xander’s seat, anchoring himself in place. With my hands still cuffed, I pinballed right, then left.
Did Quin do this to me? That’s what I was wondering at the exact moment another car hit us—broadside—and all thinking came to a breakneck stop.
The car folded in on itself like crumpled paper.
Valkov catapulted toward me, his weight stopping my breath.
My shoulder cracked the window. Bones juddered, but I felt no pain.
Then we were spinning. And spinning. And spinning.
Valkov’s arm hung unnaturally across my leg. I focused on the familiar—his tattoo. One, two, three, four drops of blood drawn in red. I counted each one before the world went dark.
“Let’s go, Ms. Knightley.” Something, someone tapped my cheek. “I’m not going to carry you the whole way.”
My head felt so heavy. The smell of gasoline burned my nose. I tried to open my eyes, but shut them again fast when I saw Valkov’s bone protruding through his skin like an alien creature hatching from inside him. I gagged a little. There was pressure under my arms. I was moving. Being dragged.
“You owe me for this.” I knew that voice.
I can’t say for sure how long I was gone—suspended somewhere between awake and asleep—but when I finally opened my eyes again, I wasn’t dreaming. I knew I wasn’t. The pain in my shoulder was searing, white-hot. Too real to be a dream. Everything else was straight out of an alternate universe. We were driving a police car, where I didn’t know. The front end was smashed; the air bags hung loose like deflated balloons.
“You? Saved me?” My voice sounded strange, groggy. I suddenly realized my hands were free, but moving them—moving at all—hurt.
“I wouldn’t think of it like that.” Augustus turned to look at me, revealing patchy discoloration—burns?—on his cheeks and forehead. “I felt it was in my best interest to maintain our business relationship.” He assessed his face in the rearview mirror, gently touching his irritated skin. “And frankly, I would rather face death or disfigurement than watch Xander Steele get anything or anyone he wants.”
“So you crashed into his car? Is he dead? Is Valkov?”
Augustus chuckled. The airbag strike to the face had done little to rattle his conscience. “Would you have preferred I stuck around? Called the police? Performed CPR? I did what had to be done.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. It was hard to think with my shoulder throbbing. And even harder with Augustus sitting inches away from me. “How did you get the cuffs off of me?” I asked finally. His wrists, like mine, were rubbed raw. “And yourself?”
Augustus smirked, pleased with himself. “As you so aptly put it, Ms. Knightley, a simple thank you will suffice.”
CHAPTER THIRTY - NINE
FIVE MILLION REASONS
“THIS IS A REALLY BAD IDEA,” I murmured. Augustus was next to me, pressed flat to the wall, well camouflaged by the shadows of early morning. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. We’d abandoned the police car several blocks from here and walked—arguing in hushed tones—the rest of the way. I knew our options were limited, but this was unexpected, even for Augustus. He never asked me. He’d already decided where we were going.
“Do it.” Two words said aloud, but many more unspoken. In them, everything Augustus was capable of.
I rang the bell, the soft ding dong chiming on the other side of the door. I waited for the wail of an alarm to signal our presence, but minutes passed—still as stone—and no one came. “It’s too early,” I said. “Everyone’s asleep.”
“Again,” he insisted.
Just as I reached my hand out, the door opened. “Lex? Oh my God! We were so worried when we didn’t hear—”
When his eyes reached mine, Edison stopped speaking. “I’m not alone,” I said.
“Neither am I.” He cocked his head in the direction of the living room, where two of his father’s security team were partially concealed behind the wall.
As if on cue, Augustus stepped into the doorway, looming over a barefoot, pajama-clad Edison. “You must be Edison Van Sant.”
Edison blinked repeatedly, then rubbed his face. “Am I still sleeping? Is this guy for real?” He held out his arm to me. “Pinch me, Lex.”
Sneering, Augustus extended two clawed fingers toward Edison. “Allow me.”
Wide-eyed, Edison jerked his hand back. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”
Augustus shrugged, laughing to himself. Without asking, he sauntered past Edison and into the foyer, pausing to consider the breathtaking print—a Misrach original—of the Golden Gate Bridge, framed in mahogany. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Edison warned, just as a gun-toting Barry pinned Augustus against the wall, forearm to throat. His partner, Scooter, positioned himself alongside Augustus, practically snarling.
“Call off your buffoons, please,” Augustus wheezed.
Edison lingered, staring at me, bewildered. “What is going on?” he mouthed. “Augustus Porter?” Over his shoulder, I watched Augustus squirm a little as Barry held on tight.
“I can explain inside. Right now, we need a place to hide.”
Edison snuck a glance at Augustus. “Let him go.” Reluctant, Barry lowered his arm, and Augustus was free again. He rearranged himself, straightening his shoulders and readjusting my father’s shirt collar at his neck. He strode by Barry, bumping his arm, then sank into the leather sofa, unfolding his long limbs.
“Sure, make yourself right at home,” Edison deadpanned. To me, he whispered, “Have you met my father? I don’t think he’s going to be too keen on a fugitive lounging on his furniture.”
“What if that fugitive had information on Xander—information that might help him win his appeal?”
“I’m listening.” Mr. Van Sant was halfway down the staircase. He was a comical juxtaposition, wearing a silk bathrobe, hair askew, aiming his gun at Augustus. “But it better be good.” Edison’s face mirrored my surprise, but Augustus seemed nonplussed. He didn’t even turn his head. If what Augustus hinted at on our way here was true, i
t was better than good. Yet, a part of me was skeptical. Why hadn’t he revealed it to me before?
“It is,” Augustus assured him. Mr. Van Sant approached cautiously, never taking his eyes—or his gun—off Augustus. He stationed himself in the chair opposite, his security team behind him. The expanse of the living room, vaulted ceilings and all, suddenly seemed much too small for this showdown. Edison and I stayed on the periphery, out of the line of fire.
“Augustus Porter, give me one reason why I shouldn’t turn you over to the police right now—” Augustus leaned back and propped his feet on Mr. Van Sant’s antique coffee table. His face contorting in disgust, Mr. Van Sant added, “—or shoot you myself.”
“Just one reason?” Augustus asked. “I can give you five million.”
Mouth agape, Edison nudged me. “Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about?”
I nodded. “Tell them,” I prompted.
“Patience, Alexandra. Patience.” Augustus stared at Mr. Van Sant when he spoke. “I need to know what’s in it for me. I need assurances.”
“Ha!” Mr. Van Sant scoffed. “I hardly think you’re in a position to negotiate.”
Augustus’ smile was broad. Mind games were his favorite, and he played them better than anyone. “On the contrary, I’m in the best position. I have nothing to lose.”
“What do you want then?”
“It’s mainly what I don’t want, Nicholas. Prison. I wasn’t meant to be caged.” Augustus glared at me. Despite my insistence to the contrary, he still thought I helped Quin kidnap him. “I’m a free bird. Isn’t that right, Ms. Knightley?” I rolled my eyes at him. Yeah, a vulture.
Mr. Van Sant shook his head. “You know I can’t guarantee that. If you’re arrested, I’ll represent you, but your freedom won’t be up to me.”
“Represent me?” Augustus was incredulous. “Didn’t you hear me?” He raised and flapped his long arms. “Free. Bird.”
Edison stepped toward Augustus. “My father’s not going to risk his reputation to help you elude capture. Right, Dad?” Mr. Van Sant’s silence spoke volumes. “Dad?” He quieted Edison with his hand.
