The Gamble (The Gamble Series Book 1)

by Kathryn Jacques

  “Take care of him, Charlie!” I scream as I’m wrenched away, slowly enveloped by the League swarming around me. Someone binds my hands behind my back, twisting my shoulders in their sockets, but I’m only barely aware as I continue to yell. “Please take care of him! And don’t let him come after me! Tell him he has to take care of Nadia! Promise me!”

  She shouts something back, but I can’t hear her. Then someone slams a burlap sack over my head, and I can’t see her either and The League hauls me away. I know I’ll eventually end up back in ROC and that in all likelihood either they will kill me for what I’ve done, or The League will kill me when I am no longer useful. I suppose this story will end with my death after all.

  That’s when I realize I want one last thing. Something so simple, I hadn’t even thought of it. Before I am prisoner again, before I am lugged back underground and before I face whatever punishment or torture or even death fate has in store, I wanted to kiss Jax just one last time. Now it’s too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hours pass before someone yanks the sack off my head, leaving my hair clinging to my sweat-drenched skin. I gulp in a lungful of fresh air and wish I could wipe my face. My bound hands have gone numb while my shoulders burn in angry protest.

  As I take in my surroundings, the League’s mall looms tall before us, stained white walls gleaming pale blue in the moonlight. Even though I knew this is where they intended to take me, my heart sinks anyway, but I grind my teeth and glare defiantly at Elijah.

  “Welcome back, princess,” he says with a snicker. “Let’s go hand you to Sawyer.”

  I really, really wish I could punch him in his stupid over-sized teeth.

  Most of the League members in Elijah’s little entourage break off to return to whatever old stores they call home. Elijah and two men escort me to the left side of the building, through a set of doors, up two flights of those stairs that once moved but don’t anymore and through a wide-open space with old, vacant food counters running the perimeter.

  As I’m steered forward, we enter a room with two rounded staircases curving gracefully up to the top floor. A glass elevator shaft stands between them, the elevator car’s cable having snapped long ago and it now rests in a mangled heap of busted metal on the floor.

  Turning my gaze skyward, over our heads arches a glass dome so large I wonder how it’s still intact, its rusted frames slowly eroding away. Someday all that beautiful glass will come crashing down, exposing this entire space to the weather. I hope I am nowhere close when it does.

  I’m prodded forward, up one staircase, down a long hallway lined with stores that are now used to house supplies and weapons, and into the last store anchoring the building with a large overhead sign that reads Nordst.

  Guards stand inside the doorway, but upon seeing Elijah they immediately let us pass. We pick our way through the giant open area decorated with old mismatched furniture, display tables, empty clothing racks, dusty glass cases and check-out counters that clearly haven’t been touched in decades. Even though the League has electricity in the building from their solar panels, dozens of lit lanterns, candles and candelabras are placed at random, casting the room into a frightening mix of dancing golden firelight and writhing black shadows.

  Someone scattered decrepit grey and yellowed mannequins throughout; some missing heads or arms, others hand-painted with ghastly, crude faces and still more clothed in rags and glittering jewelry. One near the walkway is bedecked in necklaces and bracelets of diamonds and rubies and pearls; stones that would be worth a Councilmember’s year’s salary inside ROC, but on the surface prove no more useful than a pile of dirt.

  Beside the bejeweled figure is another mannequin, meant to look like a man, covered in bird feathers and dried moss stuck to his plastic skin with tree sap, as though he had been left in the woods for the last century and nature took free reign.

  “Sawyer likes art,” Elijah says, gesturing to the creepy statues that cause the hair on the back of my neck to tingle. I feel like I’m walking through a morgue, the bodies dressed for death and placed on proud display.

  As we reach the back of the store, a dining room set-up comes into view. Three servants rush around, clearing dirty dishes left from a single diner and refilling a small cup and saucer with steaming tea.

  I don’t know what I really pictured Sawyer looking like. Maybe a giant hulking man with cold eyes and an emotionless face. Or one with silver hair and an unwavering gaze that could reduce other men to tears.

  But when the servants move, my lips part in surprise at the man’s appearance because it’s the last thing I expect. Sitting at the head of the table, covered in a worn black robe, is a frail old man, older than Daniel even. A sagging face, bald head and wrinkled skin marred with sunspots and pronounced veins are all that make up Sawyer.

  “Elijah, what have you brought me today?” he asks with a gummy smile because half his teeth are missing, leaving behind gaping holes in his mouth like a home with busted windows. My skin crawls as though spiders have scuttled up my arms.

  “She says she’s Kelsey Keslin. ROC Protector’s own daughter.”

  Sawyer’s gaze shifts to me, his eyes a faded hazel-green and they look familiar though I can’t figure out why.

  “Leave us,” the man orders and without so much as a word from anyone, Elijah and his guards all depart, their footfalls the only thing I hear until I am left with the old man and his three servants who stand as still and silent as the mannequins behind them.

  “Come here,” he says with a flick of one gnarled hand. I have little choice but to obey. He lifts a knife from the table and my eyes widen in fear, but instead he reaches behind me and cuts the rope binding my wrists.

  My hands break free, blood rushing back to my fingertips that are tinged slightly blue. A painful tingle runs across my skin and I rub at my lower arms in discomfort.

  “It’s customary to say thank you,” Sawyer says.

  I regard him with narrowed eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Now, Kelsey Keslin you say? That’s quite interesting. What did you sell that bit of information to Elijah for?”

  “For the safety of everyone in Charlie’s compound and the release of all the ROC prisoners you have here. I told him if he didn’t agree, I’d make sure I killed myself before I helped you.”

  He lifts a bushy, grey eyebrow in amusement. “That’s it? Just two requests in exchange for your life?”

  “I have one more, but I didn’t think Elijah could agree.”

  With a chortle, Sawyer takes a sip of his drink. “Sit, Miss Keslin.”

  I do, perching on the edge of a wooden chair as far from him as I can manage.

  “Would you like some tea?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Good. I expect everyone to have manners here. Proper etiquette is what separates us from the wild animals.”

  I almost laugh out loud at such an absurd stance considering what this man has done, and I want to point out that some of his people could use a good lesson on etiquette. Starting with Elijah.

  “What is your third request?” asks the old man, his hairless head glistening in the light from nearby candles like a time-worn rock.

  “Outside of the Gendarme and the Councilmembers, I don’t want anyone else in ROC killed or harmed if they choose to not fight against your men.”

  “You don’t care if the Gendarme or the Council are killed?”

  “No. They know about the surface. They’ve lied to everyone in ROC and they have killed plenty of people to further whatever mission they seem to think is more important than innocent lives.”

  “You realize you have given me the ok to have your father murdered?”

  I look at the floor. I know I should feel guilt or even sadness. He is my father. He raised me and took care of me and I’m sure that he loves me. But I don’t feel any emotion at all toward him, just a cold emptiness in my che
st, like a piece of my soul has been ripped away and can never be replaced. I can’t forgive my father for what he’s done, what he caused; Rey’s death, Maeva’s death, my mother’s. He’s a monster no better than the old man in front of me.

  “He doesn’t deserve leniency,” I whisper, my tone calm and flat.

  “And you think you are important enough for all that?”

  I lift my eyes to meet Sawyer’s. “Yes. No one in ROC will pay any attention to the other citizens you have. They won’t care about a handful of Subs, but they will care about me. My father will bargain for my return, allowing the external door to be opened and you can do whatever you plan to from there. I’ll even give you the layout. I can warn you though, the Gendarme are skilled. It won’t be easy to infiltrate the O.Z.”

  Sitting back, Sawyer processes my words, touching his fingertips to his lips in thought. “So, your father saves you and then you betray him?”

  I’d never thought of that. I set up my entire plan on the reassurance that my father would do anything to save me, and yet everything I have done, will lead to his execution. Maybe I am no better than he is. Maybe, in the end, we are all monsters.

  “You are an interesting child, Miss Keslin,” Sawyer says, drinking more tea.

  “Do we have an agreement?”

  Placing the cup back on the saucer with a little clink, he motions for one of his servants. “Go fetch Elijah.”

  The woman nods and scurries away, returning less than a minute later with Elijah in tow.

  “Yes, Grandfather?”

  I stare in shock. I guess Elijah would have to have family of some sort, but he’s so wicked and awful and filled with hate that I had assumed something horrible must have happened to his family years ago to make him such a nasty person.

  Of course, now that I look back and forth between the two men, I realize why Sawyer’s eyes seemed familiar. They have the same eyes, the same look of insanity, Sawyer has just become very adept at disguising his behind a mask of confident authority.

  Oblivious to my surprise, Sawyer presses himself to his feet, unsteady and shaking. If I blew hard enough, I think I could knock him over.

  “Release the ROC citizens in the basement and bring them to the atrium.”

  Elijah looks horrified. “But-“

  “Now!” Sawyer barks, slamming a fist onto the table with such force I jump in fright.

  Taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw, Elijah nods, spins on his heels and marches away, hands coiled into balls at his sides.

  Sawyer offers me a smile. “Miss Keslin, would you like to see the ROC citizens we have here?”

  “Yes.”

  With barely contained excitement, I follow Sawyer, who moves as though every joint in his body hurts. It takes forever for us to make our way back to the large, glass-domed room by the curving staircases.

  Elijah and fifteen armed League members have already assembled seven ROC prisoners who look both bewildered and terrified as they stand uncomfortably in the open circular space. Looking down at the group, I recognize none of them and unexpected disappointment swirls through me. I think a small part of me thought that maybe, just maybe by some crazy miracle, Rey escaped the chambers somehow and had gotten out of ROC and maybe he was here, a prisoner of the League.

  That small part dies, crumbling away into nothing but ash and dust like a smoldering piece of paper. After all this time, I must come to the acceptance that he is truly dead.

  A single tear winds down my cheek and I hurriedly brush it away. Rushing down the stairs, I leave Sawyer on the balcony and stop in front of the line of fearful ROC citizens, all of whom stare at the dirty tile floor while they are each held tightly by a League guard, guns trained on their heads.

  Tattered clothing hangs off their emaciated and filthy frames. They already look like death, like skeletons and corpses. But they’ve been given a second chance. Or maybe a third considering they have already escaped from ROC and now they will be released from the League to finally be free.

  Even though Rey doesn’t stand among them, I feel the tiniest bit of joy blossom in my chest. I couldn’t save Rey, but at least I can save these people. It will be worth whatever personal sacrifices I must suffer. I may have murdered one person, but I will also save the lives of seven. Maybe that balances out somehow. Maybe I can be forgiven for what I did to that woman.

  “Do any of you know who I am?” I ask. The prisoners continue to keep their faces toward the floor, afraid to speak or look at anyone because I’m sure Elijah and his minions have conditioned them into silence.

  “It’s ok,” I say. “You’re safe now.”

  A middle-aged man, one who seems to be in the least bad shape and has maybe been here the shortest length of time, finally lifts his head. At first, he seems confused, inspecting me from head to toe. Then recognition dawns and he draws in a sharp breath.

  “You… you’re the Protector’s daughter,” he murmurs. “You look just like your mother.”

  Instantly all the other citizens snap their heads upward to gawk at me with astonishment.

  “Yes,” I say with what I hope is a comforting smile. “I’ve made an agreement with Sawyer. I’m going to stay here and help them get into ROC, and you all get to be free.”

  The prisoners stare back and forth between one another, their thin faces brightening in joy behind the chunks of greasy hair obscuring their features. I wonder how long some of them have been trapped here.

  “There’s a compound directly north of here lead by a woman named Charlie. She’ll be expecting all of you and you’ll be safe there. You can be there by morning.”

  “Now hold on just a moment,” a feeble voice calls. I glance up to meet Sawyer’s gaze as he watches from atop the rounded balcony, his eyes gleaming with a dark malice. “Elijah has no authority to make deals with Subs, and I certainly didn’t agree to your terms.”

  I whip my entire body around, staring at him in wide-mouthed disbelief. “But you said…”

  Nothing. He said nothing about my terms or offered any sort of acknowledge that we had arrived at a mutual compromise.

  With a glance at Elijah, Sawyer offers a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Seven loud cracks echo through the hallways, rattling the loose glass in the dome overhead and vibrating against my ribcage. Something warm splashes across the side of my face, droplets flying into my hair and down my neck.

  Blood.

  Twisting back to the prisoners, I see them collapsed on the floor, bullets through their temples as thick red blood congeals around them, turning the smooth, greying tile crimson. As if it is alive with a mind of its own, the pool widens, consuming the floor in a larger and larger circle. I can only watch in horror, unable to speak or scream or move as the edge of the blood flow hits my boots and surrounds my feet.

  Elijah strides forward and grabs me, jerking me toward the stairs before I find the ability to react. I fight against him, clawing at his face and kicking at his legs until three more guards restrain me, lifting me off the ground and carrying me to Sawyer who stands patiently at the railing, an amused expression across his time-worn face.

  “Next we will be visiting your little friends just north of here,” he says. “Charlie needs to pay for what she has done to me and my people.”

  “I told you what I would do!” I scream, still thrashing in my useless struggle. “I told you what my terms were and I promised if you didn’t agree, I would make sure I died before you ever got into ROC!”

  Sawyer chuckles, cocking his head to one side and looking at me as though I am a fool. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s all I ever have been because no matter what I do, what I think my plans will accomplish, I only ever seem to watch people die.

  “Miss Keslin,” the old man croons. “We might not have the fancy medicine and sophisticated doctors you have in ROC, but we do have enough knowledge and resources to make sure you don’t die, willingly or otherwise. Though by the time we are finished, you will probably wish you were.”


  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  They drug me with some sort of foul liquid poured forcefully down my throat. I can at least take pride in the fact it took four full-grown men to hold me down long enough to do so. I’m pretty sure I even broke one man’s nose.

  The drug isn’t strong enough that I’m unconscious, but just enough that I don’t have the ability to fight back or cry or scream or do anything other than lay on a cot in yet another cell in the basement prisons. I sleep, a lot, and I drool because I’m unable to control my tongue. Twice a day they force soups and other liquids into my stomach. I cough and sputter and choke, but they cram enough into me so I won’t even be able to starve myself to death.