Because she cared enough for Colin to protect him.
“Do you ever wish you were someone else?” She glanced over, worried that she had offended him. A girl who had been given everything didn’t wish for such things.
“Most of the time,” he said, words hanging in the air as if to say but not right now. His gaze deepened, seeing too much, and because she feared that what he saw would only let him down, she looked away.
“Your mother and Cherish are probably worried.” She thought again of the frail woman, and wondered how long she’d had the corn flu. The prognosis for victims was grim. It had taken Lena’s own mother before she’d been a year old.
He nodded. Then cleared his throat. “Your father’s probably blown a gasket.”
She wasn’t so sure; he’d not even acknowledged her taking a car in the middle of the night. Again she wondered if he was looking for her now. If he knew she was here. If he was disappointed. The prospect gave her a twisted kind of hope. If he didn’t care about her, she couldn’t disappoint him.
“Is he why you wear the gloves all the time?”
She scooted to the edge of her seat. “No. What makes you say that?” Her hair was messy, and she tried in vain to keep it smoothed behind her ears.
He took her hand, weaving her fingers between his before resting them on the couch between them. He did this without any obvious thought, even while her heart pounded madly. “I thought maybe they were special or something. When I was a kid, Hayden gave me this coat he outgrew, and I wore it until the sleeves hit my elbows and I split the back down the middle.”
His thumb trailed lightly over hers. She bit her lip, feeling her pulse quicken.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said after a moment.
“I’ve worn them since I was ten,” she said. “Not this pair, any pair.” Only a few people knew what had happened, and she’d never dared to speak of it since.
“My brother liked to play this game,” she continued, voice shallow. “Whenever I did something good, anything that got Father’s attention really, Otto would lock me in the bureau in my bedroom. He was a lot bigger than me then.”
Colin stilled. He said nothing.
Stop talking, she told herself, but the words kept tumbling out.
“One day my father left for a business trip and Otto locked me up and turned out all the lights in my bedroom, and then told Shima I’d gone to play by the river with the neighbors.” If Father really loves you, he’ll find you. “Shima was my nanny then. I think she panicked, guessing I’d fallen in or something. She didn’t find me upstairs until the next day.” That tightening in her chest was back, constricting her lungs. “I broke off some of my fingernails trying to get out.” Sticky, splintered stumps. Wet blood running down her hands, her wrists, dripping from her elbows. “It’s not that bad, but they didn’t grow back. The gloves just cover up the mess.”
She felt young again. Alone. Shima had left that day. Left her to Otto and her father. If Shima had really loved her, she never would have gone away. Lena didn’t care if her father had fired her.
Colin had begun to squeeze her hand. “Damn.”
His pity made her wish she hadn’t said so much.
“I know it may not seem like it, but Otto’s normal most of the time.” They’d played together as children. Until he’d taken over the factory, they’d been tutored together as well. Most days they were perfectly respectful of each other.
“When he’s sleeping?” asked Colin. “When he’s eating? I hate to tell you, but even murderers are normal sometimes.”
She pulled her hand out of his grasp. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain it so that it made sense. Otto had not been born this way, he’d been made this way, a product of her father’s worst qualities. Even if he applied himself, he’d never reach Josef’s high standards. The bar would be raised just as it came in reach, and Otto would find himself lacking over and over again.
She was not the only Hampton with bruises. The difference was most of Otto’s were on the inside.
“You shouldn’t have to make excuses for him,” said Colin.
He was right, of course. Regardless of what Otto had gone through, it didn’t excuse what he’d done, or what he’d become. A younger, not quite as cunning version of their father.
Lena was glad her hair was down now; it hid most of her face.
“Can I see your hands?”
“What?” She jerked back, alarmed. “No. That’s very rude of you to ask.”
“Trust me,” he said.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. But the back side of trust was disappointment. In her world, one did not exist without the other.
Slowly, his hands slipped under her right sleeve. His touch seared a circle around her bare elbow and tucked just underneath the edge of the tattered satin. Every part of her braced, awaiting his next move.
His fingers grazed over the inside of her wrist, going no further.
She nodded.
He eased the fabric down, holding her small forearm between his calloused hands. She gasped; her skin was sensitive, burning. Lightning shot up her arm, branching across her body. Her other hand, still covered, twined in her sweater, working the fabric between her thumb and forefinger.
He bared the delicate skin of her wrist, then the pale flesh of her thumb. He stripped each finger, one at a time, until she felt completely and utterly exposed.
Fear. Shame. But something more, something deeper, swirled inside of her. Her pulse beat frantically beneath his grasp. Her breath came in one hard shudder. It was easy for him, she realized. So easy to touch her this way. So easy to touch anybody. She’d seen him with the others—patting their shoulders, shaking their hands, grasping the backs of their necks. They all did it like it was nothing, but to her, it was complicated, and intrusive, and wonderful.
He turned her hand gently, his fingertips never ceasing their caress. She knew she should look away. She couldn’t take his reaction when he saw the bruised nubs that would never fully heal, unprotected by fingernails that would never grow back. Seven nails were missing. Four on this hand alone.
It was unsightly.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off his face.
He didn’t cringe, or even pause. The skin became more sensitive the longer he continued, and a great dark whip curled inside of her, waiting to crack. Rough and smooth and raw, all blending together. He was so gentle. How could he be so gentle? She was shaking to pieces.
He pressed one finger against her empty nail bed. “Does it hurt?”
She shook her head.
“This right here,” he said. “I think it’s the part of you that’s most like me.”
She couldn’t process what he was saying. It was all too much, too much exposure, too many feelings she didn’t understand.
“I … all right.” She snatched the glove. He gave her room as she thrust her hand within, but when she was sufficiently covered, he reached for her again. A sigh of relief escaped her lips at that small barrier between them.
Then he lifted her knuckles to his mouth and kissed them.
“Thanks,” he said.
Her heart throbbed so sharply, it stole her breath.
“Colin!” called someone from downstairs. A tall, redheaded boy they called T.J.
They both jumped up, and she couldn’t help but feel that she’d been caught doing something wrong. That concern was replaced by another as they raced out of the office: it had been too quiet through the afternoon. The Brotherhood was finally attacking the building. Or maybe her father had sent the police.
What would he say when he found her?
There was chaos, directed toward the side of the building. Henry had let someone in. A big man with white hair and a thick, grungy beard pushed a metal cart to an open area in front of the dormant machines. The emergency lights flickered above his head.
Colin skipped down the stairs two at a time, and Lena followed quickly. She recogn
ized the visitor up close as the man who owned the corner rotisserie cart. The one Colin had traded his gloves to for a mug of oily water.
“Hayak?” Colin crossed his arms over his chest.
Martin shoved past him. “Uncle H.?”
He smacked into his uncle hard, and as they embraced the tears began to flow from the old man’s eyes.
“This is your uncle?” asked Colin meekly. When Hayak’s head lifted, he didn’t look particularly pleased.
“What are you doing here?” asked Martin. Lena wondered the same thing.
“You are my sister’s son,” said Hayak, mussing Martin’s short blond hair. “That is what I am doing here.”
“How’d you get in?” asked Colin.
“Mr. Schultz’s men have pulled back across the street. They are standing down, I think. Your foreman allowed me entry.”
Lena’s heart lifted as those around her cheered. “What about a meeting with the owner?” she asked. “Has anyone said anything about that?”
A fleeting moment of mortification as all eyes turned to her, and then it passed as they awaited Hayak’s answer.
“You must be Miss Hampton,” he said stoically. Lena’s stomach plummeted to her feet. So Mr. Schultz had informed her father that she’d been sighted. What Josef’s next move would be, she had no idea, but she dreaded it all the same.
Martin detached himself from his uncle’s side and slapped a hand companionably on Lena’s shoulder, jolting her back to the present.
“She’s with us, Uncle H.”
Hayak blew out a slow breath. “That is not what they are saying outside.”
Colin took a step closer to her. She was glad, because her blood had begun to buzz, and she was getting that terrified gnawing again at the base of her spine.
“They are saying she was kidnapped by the Small Parts Charter,” finished Hayak.
“Kidnapped?” Lena’s head fell back. The second the word left her mouth she could see how her father might have believed it. Or worse, how he had fabricated this rumor to save face. An abducted daughter was far less shameful than a runaway.
Those around her resumed their quiet whispers, and began to distance themselves again.
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” she said. “I pledged. To the street rules. And anyway, if he really thought I’d been kidnapped, wouldn’t he have tried a little harder to get me out?”
She thought of all the times he’d been gone, all the times he’d let Otto hurt her. How he’d turned Shima away for protecting her. How he’d struck her, and killed her favorite bird, and taught her lesson after lesson with the intention of making her strong.
He’d succeeded. She was strong.
The emotion was back, clogging her throat. She pushed it down. She would not give up any more tears to him. He was her father, but he would never have her back.
Colin was scowling. She reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away. He hadn’t upstairs, either, when he’d seen her scars. He hadn’t even when the others thought she was a spy. She squeezed his fingers.
“Will you pass on a message to Mr. Minnick?” she asked Hayak. “Tell him I refuse to leave the Small Parts factory until we have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Hampton. Tell him those are the terms of my release from this ridiculous kidnapping.”
Someone whistled from upstairs. She glanced back to see Henry leaning over the railing, clapping for her. She smirked back at him.
“Lena,” said Colin quietly. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” She nodded, moved by the concern in his face. “Don’t worry. When we go to my house, I’ll call a safety on you.”
A smile broadened over his face. Martin shoved him, laughing.
Lena turned back to Hayak. “Tell Mr. Minnick that if anyone else is hurt, I won’t be coming home. And tell him if my father denies this meeting, I will tell everyone exactly why this holdout helps the people of the Northern Federation more than a working factory.”
There was a silence around her, and with it came an awe, an acceptance. For the first time she could remember, she was not afraid.
Hayak agreed to her message, and shook her hand. Before he left, he fired up his cart and fed them all fry bits and salty corn mash and pigeon stew.
It was the best thing she had ever tasted.
28
COLIN
A car came for them in the afternoon. The driver, a thick man with deeply set eyes and bushy brows, knocked heavily on the front door. Colin peered over his shoulder to inspect the street and see just what kind of tricks the Brotherhood might try to pull.
The terms had been laid out by Minnick two hours prior. Colin and Lena would be taken to a location of their choosing—Lacey’s Bar, down by the river—to meet with Hampton, and in exchange the Small Parts Charter would vacate the building. There was to be no fighting among the Brotherhood, the holdouts, or the shells until the issues were resolved. Mr. Hampton had sent an army of police from Bakerstown to ensure his conditions were met.
Colin’s palms were damp. A cold bead of sweat dripped down his spine. He’d assured the others that this would go well, but he knew the moment he left the building that there’d be a target painted on his forehead. As if the press weren’t enough, Mr. Hampton was not going to be happy that his daughter had taken up with a working-class stiff.
Which was why all eighteen of them were going together.
Lena was close on his right, Martin on his left. Henry and Noneck and Matchstick clumped around him. Chip, invincible because he was too young to know any better, took the lead. Part of Colin wanted them to stay back—carrying their loyalty was a heavy burden and too many had already been hurt. The other part of him was proud, and hungry for justice. He was ready to end this.
The street was silent. A crowd had gathered on the south side, blocked by a line of police in black uniforms with Hampton Industries defusers and handguns latched to their hips. On the opposite side waited the Brotherhood—thirty thugs, Imon and that knothead with the brass knuckles standing before them. A sneering Minnick and a dozen Small Parts shells waited by the alley to be admitted into the building.
“Sellouts,” muttered Noneck. “Yellow bastards.”
Colin’s mouth was dry. He set his jaw, told himself to toughen up.
“Think we can all fit in that thing?” Henry pointed at the little electric car as they huddled out in the open. Some of the others laughed nervously.
“It’s ten blocks,” Colin told the driver. “We got legs. We’ll walk.”
The driver shrugged, then backed away. Colin squeezed the knife in his palm and wondered what would have waited for him should he and Lena have gone alone. Hampton’s man could have pulled off into any alley and fixed the game before it had even begun.
Now he didn’t have the chance.
There was a commotion to his left. Someone crossed the police line, ducking between two officers. Zeke. His dark skin was already slick with sweat. As he sprinted toward them, one of the cops reached for his defuser. Colin siphoned in a breath, ready for a fight.
“Let him be!” shouted a voice Colin would know anywhere. “He’s just a boy!”
A knot wedged in his throat. His ma stood right behind the line looking proud, and hard, and, well, more than a little pissed off. He remembered every time she’d told him to do the right thing. He wanted to tell her he was, but he didn’t, because after Agnes and Ty and those who’d scrammed, he wasn’t entirely sure.
As they moved closer, he could see that she wasn’t in her Stamping Mill uniform, but in ragged trousers and one of Cherish’s hand-knit sweaters. His fists clenched. The foreman must have fired her. Jed probably talked him into it—he may not have run the mill, but no one there was crazy enough to tell him he was wrong. The questions tore through Colin’s mind: Was Cherish okay? Where was Hayden? What were they all going to do now?
He scanned behind her, looking for someone else. Someone he knew wouldn’t show. Who he didn’t want to show, but hoped would all t
he same.
But Ty wasn’t there.
“Hi, Ma,” he said as they shuffled by, so tightly packed they could barely take full steps. The blank-faced policeman between them made him feel like he was already in jail.
“I love you,” she said, dark half-moons beneath her eyes. “But you’re in big trouble when you get home, you understand?”
His ears got hot. Lena looked away. They moved on, past the crowd.
Each step they took seemed to bring them no closer to Lacey’s. It was as if they were moving backwards, farther and farther away. The seconds turned to minutes. The chill sunk down to his bones.
He glanced down at Lena. Her chin was lifted regally, like it had been the first time he’d seen her and she’d stared down her nose at the rest of the world. Something was different about her, though. Something deeper than the clothes or her messy hair.
“Stop biting your nails,” she said, pulling his arm down. “You don’t want to show him you’re nervous.”
“Who says I’m nervous?” he asked, holding his arms so still they didn’t move naturally when he walked. She rolled her eyes at him.
The broken curb ended at River Road. They’d reached Lacey’s.
* * *
Hampton wasn’t messing around. Lacey’s had been cleaned out—no sloppy Metalheads hanging over the bar, no bums outside begging. Even Rico, his deformed mouth grimacing more than ever, had been replaced by ten Bakerstown rent-a-cops. But the light was still low, and the place still smelled like corn whiskey and dirty feet, and that was enough to remind Colin that they were still on his side of the tracks.
Jed Schultz met them at the door. His smug face had been wiped clean of all emotion. Slick, Ty would have said. The fact that she wasn’t here weighed him down like a brick in his gut.
“Miss Hampton,” said Schultz. He reached for her hand, and Colin smirked when she didn’t return the gesture. “I wanted to apologize for our misunderstanding yesterday.”
“What misunderstanding is that, Mr. Schultz?” asked Lena sweetly. “If you’re referring to the fact that you ordered your men to have me beaten in the street, I can assure you, there was no misunderstanding. I was crystal clear on your intentions.”
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