“We’re not far,” said Amity. “Two more blocks. But first I need to clarify something.”
“Clarify away.”
“You’ve been spending time with Comrade Latour.”
A snake of apprehension slithered into Lexi’s bowels. Seemed like a sketchy line of inquiry. “Sure. She’s cool.”
“Well, I’m ordering you to leave her alone. We need her focused upon her tasks, not distracted by you.”
The fuck was this? “I’m not one of your volunteers. You don’t get to order me around, and you sure as hell don’t decide who I get to spend time with.”
With the speed and force of a Rottweiler launched from a catapult, Amity grabbed Lexi by her shirt and shoved her against the fencing. It proved to be just as sharp and uncomfortable as it looked.
“I don’t need some arrogant dyke interfering with my operation and my people,” Amity said. “You’re a drug-dealing piece of refuse, and I won’t let you drag her down to your level. Stay away from her, or I’ll show you why the gangs fear me.”
Shit. Despite the pressure on her chest and the cold fencing at her back, Lexi couldn’t help but laugh. “You are one mean fucker.”
Amity released her. “I’m not going to warn you a second time.”
“Good. The first time was boring enough.” Lexi straightened her jacket and flicked back her hair. “Handle me like that again, and you can interrogate this guy yourself.”
The remainder of the journey was undertaken in silence. Their route took them through increasingly sinister alleys, each one perfect for an ambush, and by the time Amity stopped them outside a door at the back of a two-story brick building, even the sound of Lexi’s own footsteps had begun making her nervous.
A flight of stairs took them into a basement, a damp, grotty hollow in the earth, livened only by a television blaring in front of the world’s least attractive couch. Four surly revolutionaries rose to salute Amity. Lexi gave them a cheery salute of her own.
“Comrades,” said Amity. “Nothing new?”
“Nope,” said one of the sentries, whose only distinctive feature was a collection of sad, wispy strands on his chin. “Nothing.”
Lexi ambled closer to the television. “Hey, I know this movie. At the end, it turns out that—”
“Shut up!” said a revolutionary sprawling on the couch. “I haven’t seen it.” She gave Amity a plaintive look. “Who is this?”
“An interrogator,” said Amity. “Take us to the prisoner.”
One of the guards drew the bolt on a battered door. The cell behind it held a pale, emaciated man crouched on some rags, twitching beneath his thin clothes. Lexi’s stomach turned. It didn’t look like he’d been having a great time.
“Amity,” said the prisoner. “You’ve made a mistake. Please let me go.”
Amity shoved Lexi into the room. “Do it.” The revolutionaries exchanged glances, and one murmured into another’s ear. Amity frowned at them. “Be silent.”
“Do what?” said the prisoner. “What are you going to do to me?”
Lexi knelt by the man’s side. “A favor, by the looks of it.” She peered into his glazed eyes. Nothing returned to her but the incoherent fragments of a frightened mind. Poor bastard. “I’m going to touch your face, okay? It won’t hurt.”
The prisoner tensed. “Please let me go. I told Amity everything.”
“Just trust me. I’m not like the people who’ve been hurting you.” Lexi began to reach forward, slowly. “May I?”
“Why are you asking him?” said Amity. “Just get it done.”
“Unless I have a good reason, I prefer to ask first. And you being an impatient bitch isn’t a good reason.” Lexi returned her attention to the bewildered prisoner. “Is it okay?”
He nodded, and she placed two fingers lightly against his left temple. As their eyes met, Lexi moved in, sweeping through the traumatic impressions of his long imprisonment to the memories concealed beneath.
They’d really done a number on the guy. His body ached, especially his teeth, jaw and lower back, and the light beyond the door stung his eyes. The sound of the door being unbolted had been ingrained into his fear reflex. Fear and pain—no shortage of that here. He was afraid of the shapes that loomed over him, just shadows, faces he’d once known…
Talk, you asshole. Pain. Hit him again. Fear. Amity said we’re not supposed to hurt him. Confusion. Just do it. It’s what she really wants, anyway.
Deeper now. The darkest memories fluttered by, unraveling, and she arrived at a place of greater lucidity—his life before the endless hours in the cell. There’d been midnight meetings, a man on a street corner. A big guy. Huge. He wore a black uniform. Always seemed to be smiling…
Telling them anything, everything. Shame so intense he could taste it, a nauseating presence in his guts and throat. He longed to tell Nikolas. But what if the shut-ins really could bring her back?
“Your daughter,” said Lexi, and the prisoner’s eyes filled with tears. “You thought she’d run off. Then a man got in contact with you. A shut-in, an agent. Told you that he knew where she was.”
“I wanted her home.” The prisoner spoke in a cracked whisper. “I didn’t want her hurt.”
“I don’t care why he’s a traitor,” said Amity. “Just tell me what he knows.”
Lexi focused. One recent memory was especially potent, as if it had seared itself with great force into the man’s mind. She coaxed it toward her and immersed herself in the moment.
Being woken…a rough shake of his shoulder, a face obscured by the gloom. Eyes hovering in the dark. Keep quiet. One of his captors—one of the women. Say anything, and we kill your girl. You say one word to that crazy cunt… The door closing again, the bolt sliding shut.
Lexi returned to the clarity of one mind. As she stood, she cast a casual glance toward the revolutionaries by the door. The woman on Amity’s right seemed on edge, and her hand had slipped beneath her jacket. Not hard to put the pieces together. Deadly, jagged pieces.
“Well?” said Amity. “Has he told them about Bunker One?”
Lexi moved first. As the revolutionary drew a pistol, Lexi caught her wrist and pushed it upward, and the first shot—an intense splitting pop, deafening in this small space—hit the ceiling. A second shot rang outside, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor.
Another revolutionary filled the doorway, a pistol in his hand. He turned it on the startled man standing to Amity’s left and fired.
Before the shooter could act again, Amity slammed her palm against his face, crushing his nose and smearing his face with blood. As he reeled, she drove her fist into his throat. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
The moment of carnage distracted Lexi from the woman struggling in her grip, who took the chance to lunge with her free hand. Lexi moved just in time to avoid being struck. She wasn’t strong enough to restrain the woman any longer, and that gun was still between them. Time to act.
“About that movie.” Lexi touched the woman’s forehead. “The guy was dead all along. Hell of a twist, right?”
She looked into the woman’s eyes and tore into her exposed mind, shredding its contents as she flew. Lexi concentrated harder, and the woman’s mind erupted into white flame. The woman’s slack body hit the floor grotesquely, a thing both heavy and empty.
Queasy to the point of dizziness, Lexi took a deep breath. There was a reason she rarely did this.
“What have you done to her?” Amity was standing over the wreckage of her assailant. Blood splattered her hands and coat. It didn’t look like any of it was hers. “God, look at her eyes…”
“She’ll live. But somebody’s going to have to remind her how to tie her shoelaces.” Lexi pointed to the man at Amity’s feet. “Is he dead?”
Amity wiped her hands on her trench coat. “I hope so.”
“You did that with your bare hands?”
“I didn’t have time to reach for my knife.” Amity squatted beside the revolutionary
who had been shot. He’d fallen to his knees, and his breath came in ragged gasps. “Is it serious?”
The man shook his head. His face glistened with sweat. “I don’t think so. Grazed a rib. But it hurts like hell.”
Amity looked through the doorway and exhaled a dismayed breath. “Bess is dead.” Her mental wall had cracked, exposing writhing, gnawing dismay. “I don’t understand what just happened.”
“Those two were working for the shut-ins. They’d been screwing with your interrogation by pressuring your prisoner to keep quiet.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. They could have simply killed the traitor to silence him.” Amity stared at the prisoner, who had retreated to the corner and was sitting there, hunched. “I see. They were prolonging this man’s suffering in order to cause me and Nikolas to feud. Thus damaging the unity of Open Hand.”
“What kind of sick fucks would come up with a plan like that?”
“Sicker fucks than you know. Did this man ever meet his contact?”
“He only met the guy at night, but I could tell he was tall. Heavy build.”
“Lachlan Reed.” Amity bared her teeth. “I’ll look into the matter of the traitor’s daughter, but I suspect she’s a red herring. This particular agent is an opportunist, not a kidnapper.”
The man who’d been shot groaned. “Amity…”
Amity nodded. “We have to get you medical help.”
“I know a guy who’s pretty good with a scalpel,” Lexi said. “By the way, your jailbird here was tortured. He’s pretty fucked up.”
“That’s not true. I gave orders for him not to be harmed.”
Another smart person made stupid by arrogance. “How many numbers do I have to guess before you get the point? I don’t know who tortured him, but somebody did.”
“But I trusted these people. I chose them myself.”
“Let me guess, you chose them because they could fight. I’ve seen it before. Some idiot crime lord surrounds himself with killers, thinking it’ll make him the toughest guy around. Truth is, anyone who can kill without hesitation isn’t the kind of person you want at your back. Or your front. Or anywhere within one hundred meters of you.” Lexi snapped her fingers. “Come on. You don’t have time to stand here wondering how you fucked up so bad. Someone’s been shot, remember?”
“Of course.” Amity stared at her blood-smeared hands. “I’m sure I can explain this to Nikolas. He’ll understand.”
* * *
“Two of my people are dead.” Nikolas paced the floor of the strategy room, his fingers working in frantic agitation through his hair. “One appears to be comatose. The other is wounded. To add to the debacle, you yourself, Amity, are responsible for one of these deaths.”
“It was self-defense. Are you questioning my right to protect myself?”
“I’m questioning your judgment!” For a guy who’d seemed so mellow before, Nikolas sure had a hell of a temper. His rubbery features stretched into angry contortions, and his eyebrows jumped with every shouted emphasis. “You used Project Sky, that terrible device created to subdue and control free minds, and this madness is the direct consequence!”
If his fury had any effect on Amity, she gave no indication. “Traitors were exposed. This may have saved us from an even greater disaster.”
“You have no authority to make such decisions by yourself. I insisted that Alexis not be used in this fashion. No, I commanded it.” Nikolas glared at Lexi, the only other occupant of the so-called strategy room, before looking back to Amity. “And you tell me the man was tortured?”
“Yes.” Amity closed her eyes. “But I didn’t order anyone to do so.”
“I took you under my wing when the others warned me not to. You were too dangerous, they told me.” A note of reproach entered Nikolas’s voice. “Perhaps I should have listened to them.”
“Their object is to divide us. Don’t play into their hands.”
“You’re the one dividing us!” Nikolas returned to his fervid pacing and agitated hair-pulling. “Even traitors must stand before me and be held accountable, not be simply killed or wiped. Wiped!”
He shook his head at Lexi. “The technique of our enemy, used in our name. I don’t blame you, as I know you were coerced, backed into a corner… But Amity, you should have known what it would mean to turn her loose. To give her no choice.”
Amity matched his furious stare with a cold look of her own. “You act as if I had a choice myself.”
“You did have a choice. Everything that transpired was a consequence of the choice you made. Your judgement of late has been poor, you have proven yourself unable to adhere to even the most basic—”
This pompous rant was starting to grate on the nerves. “Get over yourself,” said Lexi. Nikolas gaped at her. “She’s right, and you’re being an asshole. You stuck that guy underground and forgot about him. If you think that gives you the moral high ground, you’re delusional.”
Nikolas grimaced. “Please stay out of this, won’t you? You’re only making it more difficult.”
“I’m sure I am. It’s much tougher to talk shit when someone’s calling you out on it.” Lexi inspected her neatly-trimmed nails. “Amity didn’t force me, either. I chose to go. I chose to read that guy’s mind. I chose to turn that woman into mindless jelly. So don’t blame Amity. Blame me.”
“Don’t lie on my behalf,” said Amity. “I pressured you into this.”
“You give yourself too much credit.” Lexi gave Nikolas an insolent smile. “What are you going to do now, Nicky-boy?”
Nikolas pointed to the door. “Amity, please leave us. You may keep your rank, but this is your last warning. No more incidents.”
“As you wish.” Amity glanced sidelong at Lexi, who winked. Amity averted her eyes and hurried from the room.
After the door had closed, Nikolas sighed. “What are you doing, Vale?”
“Whatever I want to. It’s my method. Time to get used to it.”
Nikolas resumed pacing, hands clasped behind him. “May I tell you something about Amity? It may help you to understand her unique character.”
“So long as she wouldn’t mind my knowing.”
“It’s common knowledge. She joined Open Hand after having killed a prominent gang member in one of the neighboring districts. A number of his friends were eager to exact vengeance. She had a reputation for viciousness and lethality, and much of our leadership at that time wanted nothing to do with her. They saw her as a blood-soaked executioner. I alone saw the fallen angel.”
“I’ve met some killers in the business, and I can tell you, she’s the real thing. She ripped that guy apart.”
“Indeed. We wish to reach out with an open hand, but at times we must reluctantly use a fist. Amity is that fist. The local gangs live in terror of her, and our own recruits are almost as intimidated. Her self-control is often impeccable, yet at all times it feels that there is a savage beast within her, waiting to be unchained.”
“You have the weirdest way of talking, you know that? Fallen angels, savage beasts…”
“We revolutionaries tend to adopt the rhetorical patterns peculiar to those texts that inspire us. For me, that means the inestimable works of Angelo Abramo. A man with a colorful, one might even say fantastic, turn of phrase. A writer of magical allegory turned to revolution.” Nikolas arched an eyebrow. “Your friend Kade, on the other hand, is fond of blunter writers. I believe he has a particular liking for Orwell.”
Way to pivot to an unwelcome subject. “He’s not my friend.”
“You may not be his friend, but he most certainly is yours.” Nikolas reached into his pocket. “This afternoon, he brought me this.”
Lexi accepted the photo with an unsteady hand. She stared at the image—seeing that frozen smile never got any easier—before flipping the photo to read the swirl of blue ink on the back. Love you, cuz. A. Both photo and message might be scanned, reprinted, or looked at endlessly on her phone. But nothing could replicate the f
eeling of holding the original. It still bore Ash’s fingerprints, the ink from her pen…
“I still mourn for her,” said Nikolas. “As I imagine you must.”
Damned if she’d tear up in front of this asshole. Lexi put the photo away and tried to find her composure again. It wasn’t the reminder that shook her most—she knew Ash was dead, and looking at the photo didn’t change a thing. No, what stung her was that she had forgotten this keepsake even existed.
But Kade had remembered.
Nikolas’s elastic face had grown subdued, as if the anger he had unleashed on Amity had tired him. “Loss scars our soul. Some become so scarred, little recognizable is left. Amity is one such walking wound.”
“Then be compassionate instead of treating her like she’s a child who just fucked up.”
“I’ve tried. If you think you have the talent to reach her, be my guest.”
“I never asked to be part of this. I was happy the way things were.”
Nikolas smiled without warmth. “Were you?”
“I’m finished, okay? I’m done with your weird ass.” Lexi stalked to the door and seized the handle. He didn’t say a word, just let her leave, and that was the most frustrating thing of all.
* * *
Lexi tapped twice. No answer. She tapped again, this time more insistently, and the door shifted a crack. Amity scowled through the opening. Seeing Lexi, she softened the scowl to a frown. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
Amity withdrew, leaving the door ajar. Her room was a little smaller than Riva’s, with some of the space stolen by a thick pipe running up one wall. A narrow bed had been pushed into a corner, an old chest of drawers sat at the bed’s foot and temporary shelving had been arranged around the room. No wall decorations beyond a simple mirror.
“Huh,” said Lexi, closing the door while Amity moved barefoot across the room and sat on the edge of her bed. “I expected something bigger.”
“I don’t see why you would.”
“Pretty wild night we just had.” Lexi drifted around the room, inspecting the shelves. A few old belt buckles, some flasks, a pocket knife—nothing exciting. “I guess you’re still upset.”
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