by J. R. Ward
In a loud, clear voice, she spoke over the choking sounds and the thrashing of the robes. “I will fucking kill her. I will snap her fucking neck right now if any of you move.”
As Jack saw Nyx jump forward, he would have yelled at her to stop, but there was no time. One moment, she was standing behind the Command, the next she had her handcuffs around the female’s throat and was hauling back as if her life depended on the Command’s losing hers.
Which was the truth of the situation they were all in.
His female was in a magnificent fury, her eyes glowing with retribution, her body strung like a bow as she strangled her prey. And when she ordered the guards, her voice was like something that had come from on high, from a deity of war. Meanwhile, the Command’s hands clawed at the constriction, her face flushing, her eyes bulging—
Jack’s awareness instantly bifurcated. Part of his brain stayed on the situation before him, his female ahvenging his honor like the warrior she was. The other part was looking at the two faces side by side, Nyx’s right behind the Command’s.
He refused to believe the conclusion he was coming to. But if one disregarded the difference in hair color . . . there was a shocking similarity between the shapes of their faces, the arches of their brows, the tilt of their eyes. They were even the same height, tall for females, and . . .
“No,” he whispered as Nyx continued to bark orders. “It cannot be.”
That was the last thing that came out of his mouth, the last conscious thought he had as everything went to senses and reaction rather than logic and reason: In a strange, slow-motion kind of dreamscape, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Kane was getting to his feet in a wobbly manner.
Kane looked at Jack. Then his eyes went to Nyx.
At that moment, a fresh phalanx of guards jogged onto the platform from the shadows off to the side. As they drew their guns, Nyx’s forehead glowed ruby red from all the laser sights trained on her frontal lobe, but none of the males discharged their weapons.
They couldn’t. The Command was too close, and the two females were moving around.
And that was when Kane, who had been badly beaten about the face and head, stumbled back toward the guards, both those lined up and frozen at attention, and the new ones who were getting up to speed on the unprecedented situation. None of the males paid any attention to him. They were all focused on Nyx and the Command—
So when Kane lifted his hands to the back of his neck, none of them noticed.
Jack opened his mouth. But there was nothing to say. He knew what the aristocrat was going to do—
There was a final moment as their stares met. The sadness in Kane’s eyes was palpable, all that he had lost, all that he had had to endure, coming out of his soul. Then he nodded once, in deference and commiseration—
“No!” Jack yelled.
—as he unclipped the monitor collar.
The instant the contacts were separated, there was a shrill beeping noise that was so loud, it cut through everything. The guards with those laser sights wheeled to the sound and so did the ones standing in formation.
Their shouts of alarm were immediate, and they tried to run, but it was too late.
Jack was looking right at his dear, dear friend as the detonation occurred.
The flash of light was blinding and the energy released so great that it banged Jack against the post. And blew the guards off their boots. And blasted Nyx and the Command off the dais, into thin air. The deafening sound echoed around the Hive, and the shockwaves were so strong that there was a smoky aftermath that lasted either a split second or an entire year, Jack couldn’t tell.
Then the groaning began.
At first, he thought it was the guards closest to where Kane had been, mortally wounded and begging for help. Except a fine mist floated down—no, not mist. It was dust. Dust from the—
The roof collapse started directly over Jack’s head, chunks of the ceiling falling down and landing with thunder, shattering into pieces. He tried to duck—but then he was being lifted up, his feet popping free of the ground, his body falling back as the post he was on lost its verticality. As his vision swung accordingly, he knew the wood trunk was heavy as a car and capable of crushing him—or at the very least mauling his arms and hands, which were chained to its verso—when it landed.
All he could do was brace himself for broken bones—
The ten-foot-tall, three-foot-wide post landed at an angle, his upper limbs surviving, his back cracking like a bat. He had a momentary paralysis—nothing working, not his heart, his lungs, his eyelids— but then he came back to his senses, his vision clearing.
So he got to watch a boulder the size of a fully grown male break loose from the ceiling and head directly for him.
With a holler, he wrenched to the side, rolling the post out of the way—and then he planted his feet and pushed upward, lifting the heavy weight. As more debris fell, he shucked himself off the beam, pulling the chains with him down the stained expanse until they fell free off the bottom. The pile of metal was weighty, and the shackles persistent, but it was a hell of a lot better than the whole tree trunk.
Dragging the links with him, he sought cover by leaping off the stage—
Another great groan from up on the dais announced the collapse of the post Mayhem had been chained to. But there was no helping him. No helping anyone.
Total chaos.
Where was Nyx?
Right before the explosion, Nyx had been too busy screaming at the guards to drop their weapons to notice what Kane was doing. But the instant that high-pitched beeping had gone off, both she and the Command had looked toward him.
His collar had been in his hands.
And he had looked at Nyx. Even though it had only been for a split second, his expression was engraved in her brain. He had seemed so incredibly sad and resigned . . . but there had been an affection in his eyes as well.
After which he had looked at Jack.
It was clear Kane was doing what he was to give them a chance to survive.
The blast had been so violent, she had flown back into thin air, or maybe the Command, who was in front, had pushed her—either way, Nyx had known the landing was going to be a bitch. Not only had they traveled a distance away, there also was a five-foot drop to the stone floor—and she was right. All of the breath was knocked out of her lungs as the Command landed on top of her.
Fighting to stay conscious, Nyx told her arms to continue pulling— she needed to keep the pressure on or the Command was going to escape—
The elbow went into Nyx’s side like someone had stabbed her with a crowbar, the pain blooming in a new place unrelated to her shoulder blades, her ass, or her head. As the remaining oxygen pushed out of her lungs, her vision went black and white and her arms became nonresponsive, falling loose. The Command took immediate advantage of this, those black robes left behind as the female wriggled out and jumped free.
From her sprawl on the rock floor, Nyx caught an indelible image of the female she had once known as her sister standing up. There was nothing but a black bodysuit and leggings under those folds of black, and with her red hair spilling down her back, she was a discordant flash of beauty as she looked up at the ceiling of the prison’s largest open space.
The Command twisted around and glanced down at Nyx.
For a moment, there was a flare of recognition, a return to who they had once been to each other, the reconnection brought out by the mortal near-miss of the explosion. Or . . . perhaps Nyx saw the instant for what she wanted it to be, because part of her was stuck in the past.
And then the ceiling collapsed.
Fissures spread like tears in paper over the three posts, and the fall of rocks was not gradual, but a dam released.
Directly over Jack.
Nyx screamed and jumped up from the floor—only to rear back and cover her face with her cuffed hands. Through the lattice of her fingers, she saw bad news get worse. The post Jack was chained t
o began to list, and it didn’t stop with a tilt. It went all the way over, crashing onto a pile of bleeding, disorientated, de-limbed guards. The fact that it didn’t land flush to the ground was all that kept Jack from losing his arms.
Yelling his name, she lunged for the dais—but as more fell from the ceiling, she was forced back, rocks the size of her bouncing off the stage, rolling toward her as if they were on the side of the guards. Slipping, skipping, paddling with her pinned arms, she dodged them, lost her balance, got up again.
“Jack!” she screamed into the noise, the debris, the dust.
He must have been killed. There was no way he could have—
The second post fell, the one Mayhem was chained to.
“Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!”
Fuck it, she was going in.
Just as she rushed forward, a figure was revealed in the midst of the collapsing cave, a figure strong and true, who defied the destruction around him.
The instant Jack saw her, he took two leaping strides and went airborne like Superman, flying through the air with his arms out in front. Chains, heavy and silvered, came with him, tendrils of the prison dragging him down. And yet somehow, he landed on a roll and sprang up to his feet—and he wasted no time at all. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her away from the dais, and they ran together, down the center of the Hive’s littered space.
Faster, faster . . . in spite of the chains they both wore.
When they came to the main tunnel, he took her to the right. Nyx’s lungs were burning, her throat sore from the dust and the yelling, her nerves shot. But she couldn’t slow down.
The next thing she knew, they were back on his cell block, and he took her past where he stayed. There was no one on any of the beds or in the shallow spaces. Gone. The prisoners were all gone—
Jack grabbed her wrists and yanked her around a corner. Then he stopped.
They were both breathing so hard, there could be no words. Not until they had panted enough to do anything other than suck in the stale, earthy air.
“. . . secret . . . way . . . ,” he panted, “. . . out. There’s a secret way out.”
“Let’s go,” she gasped. “Where?”
His brilliant blue eyes bored into hers. And then he brought his hand up, as if he were going to stroke her cheek. The chains, so many of them, came up with his arm.
“Goddamn it.” He looked around at the tunnel. “We have to move fast. I don’t know how structurally sound anything is. This whole place could come down on top of us.”
Sure enough, under her boots, she felt the earth moving. At his nod, they took off again, running, running, their footfalls drowned out by the sound of the chains that bound them, their strides slowed by her pinned wrists and shuffling gait.
She lost track of where they were, but then she smelled . . . bread?
Was that bread?
He pulled her to a halt at the end of whatever passageway they were in.
“Shhh . . . ,” he said as they breathed heavily.
They rounded a corner slowly, him in front.
Empty. The industrial kitchen, with its stainless steel counters and ovens and professional-grade mixers, and dishwashers and stoves and hanging racks of saucepans, was empty—and had been left in a hurry. There were bowls with floury dough in them, and meat partially cut on wooden boards, and measuring cups still filled with liquids to be poured.
“This way—”
The rumbling in the distance brought their heads around.
“Come on,” Jack said. “The collapse is spreading out from the Hive.”
Nyx stayed on pace, keeping up with Jack as there was yet another tunnel, another passage, another straightaway, another corner. She had no idea where they were—and then . . . Jack slowed. And finally halted. He looked back and forth, and then put his hand on the wall.
“What now?” she said through sawing inhales.
Jack took her hands and pulled her in close. His eyes went around her face, and he lifted up his chains so that he could brush a strand of hair from her mouth.
And that was when she knew.
“No, you’re coming with me,” she said before he could speak. “We’re going together. Right now—”
Lowering his arms, he put his hand back on the rock wall. When he hit something, a panel slid open. The air that was released was moldy and damp.
She sneezed and didn’t give a shit. Grabbing his arm with her cuffed hands, she put her face in his. “Let’s go. We’re doing this together—”
“No one knows about this.” He looked into the darkness that had been revealed. “It’s a secret I’ve kept. I’ve been hoping to use it, but there was never the right time.”
In the passageway, down thirty feet or more, a dingy bulb flared on the ceiling.
“Jack.” She bent down and bundled up the chains that hung from his wrists. “I’m not going alone—”
“Follow this as far as it goes. There’s only that one light bulb, so you’ll have to feel your way toward the—”
“Jack! You’re coming with me—”
“When you get to the end, the switch is on the right. About three feet from the ground. You’ll feel it—”
“What the hell is wrong with you! She abused you! Why are you staying for her!”
Jack recoiled. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you really going to pretend I didn’t hear what you said to her—to the Command? And still, after all that, you won’t leave her?”
“You think this is about the Command?” The laugh that came out of him was harsh. And then his eyes narrowed and he grew remote. “Tell me. Who is she to you. And don’t deny it. I saw you two side by side.”
When Nyx replied, she felt as if she said the words across a vast distance—even though she and Jack were close enough that she could feel his body heat.
“She’s my sister. Or she was. That was . . . Janelle.”
“Dearest Virgin Scribe,” he groaned. “How is it possible?”
As he closed his eyes and collapsed on the wall, he seemed so exhausted that he could barely stand, and she had a thought—a fleeting thought—that she should have fed him when she’d had the chance.
“She hurt you,” Nyx said in a voice that cracked. “My sister . . . hurt you. Oh, God, Jack, why are you staying for her?”
His eyes popped open. “It’s not about her. It’s about . . . my young. She has my young in here. I need to go find . . . my young. That’s why I couldn’t leave—why I can’t.”
“Oh, fuck . . .” Her sister’s young. Jack’s young. “You had a . . .”
“I’m not in love with her. I hate her. But the young is innocent of everything she did to me.”
Jack lowered his head, the shame and anger around him charging the air with emotion. And Nyx wanted to help him somehow, but there were complex emotions for her, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, aware that the words covered so much about the situation. About him. About her. About what Janelle had done.
As his eyes finally focused properly on her, she was reminded of him waking out of that nightmare, back by the pool. Just as then, his stare was haunted and confused. But that changed quick.
“You need to go.” When she went to speak, he put his palm up to stop her and then pointed into the passageway. “Listen to me. I dug this out with my bare hands. I kept this to myself all these years because I was going to take the one thing in this hateful place that I love out of it. It makes all the sense in my world that you would be who uses it.”
Nyx grabbed at his tunic. “But I can help find—”
“Don’t ask me to carry that guilt with me.”
“What are you talking about? Carry what—”
He put his hands on her shoulders, the chains draping down the front of her body. “I just watched the closest thing I had to a friend kill himself. For you and me. For us. So we could survive. If you die down here? Then Kane sacrificed himself for nothing. And if I leave here without
my young? I’m dead up there. So you’re going now, and you’re going to get out, and you’re going to live—”
“We can do this together,” she said desperately.
“No, we can’t. If the Command finds you—”
“She could be dead.” Nyx winced as she remembered Kane reaching up behind his neck. “There’s a possibility she didn’t get out of the Hive’s collapse alive—”
“She doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care whether she lives or dies. But my young . . .” He shook his head. “I need to go. I can’t stay any longer. You can hear what’s going on where we were.”
“The cell. That’s whose cell it was—”
“I have to go.” Jack’s eyes watered. “I wish it didn’t have to end like this—”
“You’re choosing this.”
“We’ve been through that before. I haven’t chosen any of this.”
Don’t step away, she thought.
Just as he stepped away.
Nyx glanced into the passage at the soft glow of the light. In a low voice, she said, “You’re killing me right now. I might as well stay here because you are killing me.”
“Nyx, I’m sorry—”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Stumbling into the tunnel, Nyx did not look back. She was in too much pain. If she saw Jack’s hollowed-out face, those blue eyes, that sorrow, she would turn around and start begging—or, worse, just follow him wherever he went.
She was about ten feet into the passageway when she heard the click of the panel shutting.
That was when the tears came. She cried as she continued forward, as she passed underneath the bald light bulb, as she started to limp. She wept so hard, it was as if she were running again, her lungs on fire, her throat raw.
Loud as her sorrow was, there was no reason to stifle the sounds. What the hell did she care at this point.
As the light faded, she found herself on an ascent, and as she adjusted her weight forward, a sensation of wetness inside her right boot barged to the forefront of her awareness. She wondered what puddle she had stepped in—but then she smelled the blood.