Before he could act on his impulse, the cooks called everyone in to supper, sparing him a continued battle with himself.
Bastion stayed in the living room as everyone ate. He would eat later, when the house was asleep. After supper, the household continued with their normal routine. Some helped with cleanup; some went off in their own directions; those with children—or who were responsible for the wild boys—went to take care of them.
When Selena went down the hallway, Bastion followed her. He thought she was heading up to her room, but she went into the billiards room. Others from the group were already in there.
Dark paneling on the walls made the space look like a masculine clubroom. A pool table took up the front section. A massive antique bar on one wall was a focal point. Across from it was a large sitting area with two couches and several armchairs. Beyond that were a couple of gaming tables.
Selena picked up a cue stick and chalked the tip. Ace, the pink-haired female, smiled competitively as she took up another stick. The hulking blond fighter Bastion had seen with Ace in the bunker room stayed with her, and though he was entirely focused on Ace, Bastion sensed a strange energy in Selena whenever the giant was near.
That energy made him anxious. Something had transpired between them. Was that what had caused her to be so distrustful of intimacy with men? Had the blond hurt her? Selena and the petite female seemed at ease with each other. There was no jealousy or animosity between them. Maybe Bastion was just reading the energy wrong, though he didn’t usually—he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts.
He watched as the girls laughed through the game, throwing friendly insults at each other. A couple of the other guys on the team came up to watch the game and play the winner.
Bastion wandered around the room, listening to conversations. Interestingly, no one talked about the upcoming wedding. Was it a secret? The groom-to-be didn’t look particularly happy as he sat at the bar, frowning at the women sitting near his female.
Such weird dynamics. Now that Bastion knew a little more about these humans and the energy they emitted, he understood even less about them.
He went to stand in the corner beside the card table. The bosses were seated at the table, along with one of the ops guys and his female, and two other guys from the team. Bastion tried Liege’s trick of slipping into each person’s mind. He couldn’t get a clear reading, other than the feel of their energy. They were all relaxed with each other. It was definitely a table full of friends.
There was another way to achieve his objective—urge them to talk about the Omnis. Bastion pushed that compulsion to the group, then followed up with a question: What is most disconcerting to you about the Omnis?
The cold-eyed blond opened the convo. “How they distort reality.”
The flattop blond frowned. “What?”
“The Omnis,” the first man said. “What I hate most about them is how they lie, cheat, and manipulate without regard to the lives they ruin.”
Oh. Bastion liked that answer.
“I hate how they abuse women,” the flattop guy said.
“They’ve invented a rich mythology that supports their every crime,” the only woman at the table said.
Bastion was so involved in the revelations they made that he didn’t see Selena until she was standing next to the table. She looked pissed.
“What are you doing?” she asked the group.
“Talking about what bugs us most about the Omnis,” one of the guys at the table said.
“Don’t. Just shut up. Don’t say another word.”
Well, merde. She was onto him.
“Sel, what’s up?” the flattop guy asked.
“He wants you to talk about the Omnis,” Selena said.
Blond brows rose over cold blue eyes. “Who?”
Selena opened her mouth and shot a glance around the table, then shut it. She shook her head; she didn’t say because she couldn’t remember. Bastion had stolen that from her.
“Never mind. I just… I don’t know. I don’t think we should talk about it here.”
“No one’s here but those who already know about the Omnis and all we’ve been through fighting them,” the top boss said.
“Right. So why are you talking about them?” Selena asked. Her question cut through Bastion’s compulsion. Irritated, she walked over to the bar and stood there, watching the group rationalize what had just happened.
“She’s right,” one of the guys said. “Why were we talking about them? It’s not like it’s news to any of us.”
“Blade—” the flattop started, but Bastion didn’t hear him finish it. Instead, he went over to stand in front of Selena, still keeping himself hidden from humans and tech alike. I needed to know. Your instincts are phenomenal.
Selena’s anger wrapped around him, needling his sense of honor. He’d done what he had to do, what he was made to do.
“Sel—you breaking this rack or what?” Val asked.
Selena jumped. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
Bastion was tired of this charade. He wanted Selena to himself, in her room. He followed her to the pool table. She took the shot, and he sent the solids down various pockets, leaving the eightball and the striped ones on the table.
Val looked dumbfounded.
Selena studied the table, then called her pocket and sent the eightball right into it. The game was won in less than two minutes.
“Shit. I’ve never seen that before,” the blond said. “We need a plaque to commemorate that.” He laughed and gave her a high five.
“Look, guys, I’m tired,” Selena said. “Gotta call it quits.”
The blond shook his head. “Nooo, you can’t play like that then bail. Let’s go two outta three.”
She smiled at Val. Bastion’s hackles went straight up. “I’m good for a rematch—tomorrow.”
Bastion followed Selena up to her room. She was tired, but not exhausted. Why was she running off to be alone?
And then it hit him—she wanted to go to sleep so that she could see him again. Dumbfounded, he stood in the hallway and waited until her light went out, then waited some more. She was fighting sleep, wanting to be awake when he joined her, wanting to see if he was real.
Selena stared up at the ceiling. She’d tried all day to hold on to last night’s dream, but the details of it had evaporated before she woke, leaving only a vague yearning. For what? Or whom? And what had she meant a few minutes ago, when she snapped at her bosses for talking about the Omnis? There was no one listening in on their convos; Max and Greer regularly swept the house for bugs.
She was confused. She lived by her instincts—they’d kept her alive to this point in her life—but right now she felt disjointed, filled with equal parts dread and excitement. Both emotions were discordant with the reality of her life.
She shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep, hoping last night’s dream made a repeat visit.
If Bastion were a smarter man, he’d stay away, let Selena struggle to find sleep and never see her again. He shoved his hands in his pockets, regretting being weak, but he was hooked on the Matchmaker’s selection. He sent Selena into a light trance, her eyes closed. He didn’t want her to see him come into her room. Leaning against the wall parallel with the bed, he cast an illusion across her ceiling. This one was of a nightscape over the Grand Canyon, with stars and clouds and a distant moon lighting the canyon rim.
Selena, open your eyes.
She did and gasped, then jackknifed into a sitting position, looking around for him. He smiled at her as he remained leaning against the wall.
“You’re here.” Throwing the covers off, she stomped over to him and poked him with her fingertips. They bounced off his hard chest. “You’re real.”
She sent a judgmental glance over his outfit. Tonight, he wore a long-sleeved wool and linen blend tunic beneath a moss-green over-tunic. His trousers were made from earth-toned suede, soft and flexible. He was a big buy and had had to hire a costumer to custom-tailo
r his clothes. He had several pairs of suede and leather pants, but these were his favorite. They were crisscrossed with stitched scars from old fights with ghouls. He liked that the suede was quieter than leather.
He never knew when he was going to have to engage Flynn’s ghouls, so he always wore his sai weapons. And because those needed a belt to hold them, layers of long woolen and leather tunics worked better than parkas and jackets. Besides the two sai crossed at his back, and the third he wore in front, he also had a long Bowie knife. Acier had made all of his weapons. They fit Bastion’s grip perfectly and were like extensions of himself.
The heavy suede pants he wore were another tactical choice that put a protective layer between him and the razor-sharp ghoul nails. His tall boots were military-grade black leather and nylon that gave him the flexibility he needed in a fight situation.
He looked like a Viking re-enactor, but the clothes worked for him. He supposed he should have cast an illusion over himself so that he appeared in regular civilian clothes. He just hadn’t wanted to hide from her. This was what he was, and she should know the real him.
“How’d you get in here?” she asked.
“This is just a dream.”
“No. I’m not sleeping. I barely went to bed.” She looked at the clock, but he compelled her to see it as if several hours had passed instead of the mere minutes since she came into her room. “Oh. Maybe I am.”
“You are.”
Bastion straightened and reached over to touch the tips of his fingers to the slim column of her neck. He leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of her lips near his before she pulled away.
“Why did you come back?” she asked.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
“But why here—why come to me?”
“Because I’m your lover. Your only lover, for the rest of your life—and mine.”
Selena scoffed. “Yeah. No thanks. Pick another victim.”
“I cannot. We are fated.”
“You are so full of shit.”
He nodded. “I am, but on this, I’m not lying.”
Her eyes narrowed, putting him on notice. “For real, why me?”
“I crave you.”
“You don’t know me at all if you think that baloney works for me.”
“I want to breathe the air you breathe. I want to see the world the way you see it. I want to be the one to make you laugh.”
“And curse.”
“Mais, oui. All of it.”
“If you want me, then come to the front door and knock, like a civilized guy.”
“What makes you think I’m civilized?”
She sent a look over him, her gaze catching on his odd weapons. “What makes you think I want a barbarian?”
Bastion let loose a hearty laugh. “I will be glad when we can be together finally.”
“Don’t hold your breath. It was you in the game room tonight, getting the guys to talk, wasn’t it?”
She’d put some air between their bodies. How he wanted to hold her against his heart, a hug for both of them to get them through the next few days. But he couldn’t pressure her. And he couldn’t even stay with her very long. She was already putting the pieces together.
“Oui, it was I.”
“Why?”
“I needed to know if you’re with the Omnis or against them.”
“Why?”
“I was sent to find out.” Bastion tilted his head as he filtered through the thoughts of her that were top of her mind. “You hate the Omnis.”
“I do.”
“But that doesn’t mean they are your enemies.”
“I want you to leave.”
Bastion nodded. She locked her thoughts down, blocking him. She was strong, even though she didn’t yet know what she was dealing with.
“Selena, you won’t remember this dream either. It is the nature of dreams that we forget them.” Bastion felt sad as he sent her back to sleep, stealing this memory as well. His compulsion had an instant effect on her. He caught her as she collapsed. Holding her against his body, he pressed his face against the soft skin of her neck, wondering if she’d ever forgo her dominance for his—in bed, anyway.
Getting her to yield would be a major event. Perhaps that was why he was so jealous of two of the men on her team that seemed to favor—she always softened around them.
“You won’t remember me, but I won’t forget you,” he whispered, compelling those words, at least, to stay with her. Sleep now.
He settled her in her bed, covered her with her blankets, then stepped away until his back hit the wall. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he craved her. He could spend the night in her room, watching her, waiting for another wakeful moment to visit with her.
He swallowed hard. No. He would not be reduced to stealing time from his fated mate. That fucking sucked.
Pivoting, he shielded himself as he left her room. He’d found the attics during his explorations earlier that day. There were two, one on each side of the bridge between the original wings of the house. One of the attics had an old mattress. The forgotten space would make the perfect temporary digs for him.
5
Brett paused at the temporary gate set up on what had been the White Kingdom Brotherhood’s western headquarters as he compelled the gatekeeper to let him through. Thanks to his special skills, no one and no equipment saw him drive past the guard.
The biker gang who had called this compound their headquarters were long gone, thanks to the interference of the Red Team. Now the place was crawling with Feds.
The structures scattered around the surface acreage hadn’t improved the property much. There were old farmhouses, barns, and some steel buildings of varying sizes. The ramshackle nature of the compound had hidden the valuable real estate in the silos below ground.
The bikers of the White Kingdom Brotherhood were valued allies in the Omnis’ recent growth. The government raid on this property had sent most of them to ground.
Brett parked outside one of the larger steel buildings. Inside, he took the elevator down to the bottom of the structure. Only a small portion of the missile silo had been renovated. The genetic scientists of the Syadne Corp, the Omnis’ research division, had been working here right up until the raid, an incursion driven by the Red Team, whose compound was just an hour’s drive down the road.
The Omnis had planned to overhaul the entire Titan missile silo structure, but instead had lost it and some important data in the Feds’ raid on the compound. And for whatever reason, the Omni powers-that-be had decided not to retaliate against the Red Team.
That was where he came in. The trick to success in life was always to find a need and fill it.
The Omnis needed the Red Team terminated; Brett was happy to oblige. And since the big dogs in Omni World Order had decided to let the furor die down over the two subterranean complexes recently confiscated by the FBI, Brett had the time he needed to find a way into the Red Team’s hallowed headquarters.
Of course, Bastion had made things more difficult than they needed to be, with the site protection he put in place. The Legion was gifted with extraordinary powers of protection—the energetic dome Bastion put over the property kept Brett from physically entering the property.
Fortunately, there was always more than one way to skin a cat…he just had to find another way in.
Back above ground, Brett continued his exploration. He nudged aside the tattered Jewish flag that the bikers had used to wipe their boots before entering the clubhouse. The WKB had made no attempt to camouflage their hatred; that weakness had blinded them to the enemy they let infiltrate their nirvana. Brett didn’t know the specifics, but someone had obviously broken the sanctity of the brotherhood from the inside out. This site had been a thriving Omni outpost for decades without issues, which meant even if the Feds had known about it, they couldn’t have hit it without insider info.
For sure, the Red Team was going down.
The steel building of the club
house was now just a shed full of unused dinettes cluttered with empty bottles. The rest of the buildings on campus fared little better.
He walked around, kicking tumbleweed out of doorways. The scattered buildings looked as if they’d seen no maintenance since they were built—all except for one little farmhouse that sported a fresh coat of paint and fairly clean windows. There was a motorcycle workshop attached to it, full of tools that had been scattered around the floor and counters.
Brett continued moving around the grounds, checking out each building, looking for a human somewhere, anywhere. The whole campus was a ghost town, which was why the sound of two boys over by a Quonset hut was surprising.
The ancient steel building was on the very far edge of the WKB compound, out of sight and hearing from the main entrance that was guarded by the FBI. Brett jogged over to see what they were up to. The boys were clearly civilians—they were too young to be agents and weren’t dressed with agency identifiers. Folded moving boxes were stacked in bunches around the hut. The squeal of tape reels being pulled over closed boxes was loud.
The kids were boxing up the hut’s contents—books, personal effects, papers, tools. The dorm looked to have been quickly evacuated, leaving much behind. But now the boys were there, taking what mattered.
Who were they? Keeping himself hidden from them, Brett moved about the long, two-room steel building. The clothes they packed were for children. The books were all primers and historical works, mostly concerning military studies. It was then that Brett realized what he had stumbled upon—a pocket of watchers. He grinned. They belonged to the Omnis. Groups of kids such as these had been used by the Omni World Order for centuries as spies and first-line defenders of OWO properties.
Brett took a closer look at the boys, wondering whose offspring they were. Watchers were almost always selected from top echelon families—they were the tithe that the top Omni families paid in exchange for the privileges granted to them by the Order. The Omnis used their sacrifice as a means of controlling their membership; they couldn’t rat out the Omnis without also revealing their own complicity.
Bastion: O-Men: Liege’s Legion Page 4