by Jenna Black
“One scandal a night is all you get.” She said it with a smile, keeping her voice down so that no one watching them would know they were arguing. If that was what they were doing.
“You don’t want to mingle any more than I do,” Nate countered, “so let’s not.”
“What I want doesn’t really matter,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the hint of bitterness in her voice.
“You said you were coming down with a cold. I’m sure polite society will forgive you for not spreading it around.”
Nadia wavered. The fact that she was sick wouldn’t protect her from scandal. But her nose was feeling stuffier, and the thought of spending the rest of the evening forcing smiles exhausted her.
Nate reached up and tucked one finger under his collar, pulling at the bow tie like it was choking him. “I’ve been on my best behavior for hours,” he said, sounding truly put upon. “I spent all morning schmoozing with my father and his cronies, and I even managed not to make more than one or two rude and inappropriate jokes. I dressed up, I showed up to the ceremony on time, and I’ve had only one drink. If I don’t let off some steam, I’ll probably end up doing something truly shocking in front of all these people. Far more shocking than leaving the room with my bride-to-be.”
She suppressed a shudder. When it came to making trouble, Nate could be remarkably creative. And because he was Chairman Heir, his bad behavior would reflect poorly not just on him and his family but on Paxco itself. Nadia might hate politics, but she cared enough about her state not to want Nate causing an international incident.
“This is blackmail,” she muttered, giving him a narrow-eyed glare that failed to make an impression.
His eyes twinkled. “Is it working?”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Of course it’s working,” she grumped. Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would be like if she weren’t destined to be Nate’s bride, if the Chairman had chosen some other family to honor. And, as she had every time she’d questioned her fate before, she dismissed the thought. Nadia’s role in life as her father’s second daughter, and therefore not his heir, was to marry well and bring even greater wealth, prestige, and power to her family. Nate was far and away better than most of the men she was likely to be paired with.
Nate put his hand on her shoulder blade and guided her toward the hallway. She kept her chin up, not glancing right or left, trying to pretend she wasn’t doing anything improper and that she didn’t notice people watching her every move. Wandering off alone with Nate in such a public setting was an epic risk. Executive society operated on a set of social conventions that hearkened back to the nineteenth century, and though girls were able to inherit and hold power the same as boys, they were held to very different standards of behavior. If her engagement to Nate should fall through, she would be forever tainted in the eyes of Executive society. Damaged goods, sloppy seconds. All because of false assumptions about what she and Nate were doing when they were out of the public eye.
The guards pretended not to notice as Nate and Nadia slipped into the darkened hallway. Within a few steps, it was so dark Nadia couldn’t see a thing, but Nate guided her with complete confidence, turning two corners before reaching a hallway in which a few dim lights glowed.
Nadia’s eyes were drawn immediately to the figure who stood artfully posed in the halo of one of those lights, and her heart sank even lower as she realized exactly why Nate had dragged her away from the party.
Kurt Bishop was possibly the most inappropriate boyfriend Nate could have chosen—which was no doubt part of his appeal. Born and raised in the Basement, Bishop had been rescued from his life of depravity and squalor when Nate had accompanied his father on one of his routine recruitment campaigns there. Twice a year, a handful of young Basement-dwellers were given a chance for a better life, being brought into the ranks of the Employees, generally as menial laborers. Nate had taken an instant liking to Bishop and had hired him as his valet.
Even dressed in his formal livery, Bishop looked like a barbarian. His hair was a scraggly mane he refused to cut. A multitude of silver rings pierced one of his ears from top to bottom. Another pierced his eyebrow. And then there was the little silver ball in his tongue. Nadia couldn’t imagine letting someone jab a needle through her tongue. Every time she saw that piercing, she had to fight a cringe.
Bishop wasn’t wearing his livery tonight, Nadia noted, as an embarrassed blush rose to her cheeks. Tonight, he looked like the Basement-dweller he was, wearing skin-tight black leather pants and a mesh shirt that displayed his tattoos to all the world. He looked like a predator on the hunt, and Nate was his more-than-eager prey.
Nadia shook her head. “No,” she said firmly as Nate and Bishop met each other’s eyes, their gazes hot enough to scorch her.
Bishop raised his pierced eyebrow at her and smiled. “Nate didn’t tell you he was coming to meet me?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “If he’d told me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Nadia—” Nate started in a coaxing tone, but there were limits to how far she would allow herself to be pushed.
“I said no, and I mean it.” Earlier, she’d thought she wanted to shake him; now, she wanted to slap him.
“We’ll make it quick,” he promised. “All you have to do is stand guard for a few minutes, let us know if someone is coming.”
Bishop snickered at the double entendre, but Nadia was far from amused. She shook her head at Nate, amazed at his gall, though maybe she shouldn’t have been.
“You mean you’re so desperate to get laid you can’t even wait until after the reception?” she asked in a furious undertone.
“Where would the fun be in that?” Nate asked with a hard glint in his eye, and Nadia realized that there was more to this liaison than just a little mischievous fun. As much as he might enjoy provoking people, Nate never quite dared stage a full-scale rebellion against his father and the rules of Executive society. But sneaking off to screw his Basement-dweller boyfriend during a state event must have seemed a pretty satisfying substitute.
Nate had told her the truth about his sexual preferences when she was fourteen, when she was old enough that he could trust her to appreciate the importance of keeping it secret. Homosexuality was all right for the Employees and the Basement-dwellers, but it was an inexcusable flaw in an Executive. If anyone learned of Nate’s practices, he’d be subjected to an extensive regimen of “reprogramming.” Nadia had no idea what that “reprogramming” entailed, except that it was draconian and it would destroy the Nate she knew.
Ever since he’d told her the truth, Nadia had fought to resign herself to a future of looking the other way. But she would not put herself through that until she had to.
“You didn’t really come to rescue me from the Trio after all, did you?” she asked, tears burning her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. “It was just a lead up to this.”
Nate’s eyes widened in what looked like dismay. “Of course I did! I wasn’t planning to meet Kurt until later.”
Nadia bit her tongue to stop herself from telling Nate for the millionth time not to refer to Bishop by first name. He insisted on doing it when in private, but it upped the chances that he would let it slip in public someday.
“So it’s a coincidence that he’s waiting here for you now.”
“I’ve been here for almost an hour,” Bishop interrupted. “I had no idea when he’d be able to get away.”
Maybe it was true. Maybe Nate had had mostly good intentions when he’d asked her to dance. But that didn’t change the fact that what he wanted to do now wasn’t just reckless, it was dangerous. She should never have let him talk her into leaving the party.
“You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, do you?” she asked, and, despite her best intentions, angry tears spilled from her cheeks. Her cold was ramping up its attack, her sinuses clogged and achy, and crying wasn’t helping things.
“Nadia—”
&n
bsp; “You don’t care that if someone caught us, I’d be ruined and Bishop…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know what would happen to him, except that he probably wouldn’t live through it.” As a former Basement-dweller, Bishop would have no family of any consequence to stand up for him, to make a stink if he were to disappear off the face of the earth. And Nate would be too busy being “reprogrammed” to help him.
“That’s why I’m asking you to keep watch,” Nate said, and the flush of color in his cheeks said he was getting angry, too. He was not used to being denied, especially not by her. “We won’t get caught as long as we have you for a lookout. You’ll stand at the corner of the hallway and make some kind of noise if you see someone coming.”
“Oh no, I will not!” She’d never been good at standing up to Nate, but she was going to do it this time. She had to. There was too much at stake. She glared at Bishop, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, smirking like he was enjoying the show. “Why are you encouraging him?” she asked. “You could get killed over this.”
Bishop shrugged. “I guess I just have more faith in our Nate than you do,” he said simply.
“I think you’re confusing faith and stupidity.”
“If you want to go back to the party, be my guest,” Nate said. “Have fun chatting with the Trio.” He turned his back on her and pushed open a door that led to a small powder room. “We’ll carry on without you. If anyone asks why you’re coming back alone, you can just tell them we argued. It’s the truth, after all. And you won’t have been gone long enough for them to think we’ve done anything truly scandalous.”
His eyes flashed and he fixed her with his most challenging gaze. It was another attempt at blackmail, an attempt to make her worry about what greater trouble he would get into without her help. It had worked in the ballroom, but it wasn’t going to work here. Somehow, someday, she had to teach Nate that she wasn’t a doormat. Apparently, now was the time.
“Fine,” she said, though her nerves fluttered at the thought of what might happen. “Do whatever you want. It’s what you always do anyway. But you’re not going to drag me down with you.”
She whirled and hurried toward the darkened hallway that would lead her back to the ballroom. Nate called to her once, but she couldn’t make out the words over the roaring of her pulse in her ears.
* * *
Nadia awakened from a deep sleep when she felt the bed dip under someone’s weight. Her bedside lamp turned on, and she blinked in the brightness as she fought off the remnants of sleep to see her mother sitting beside her on the bed, looking pale and grave.
“What is it?” Nadia asked breathlessly, pushing herself up as her pulse suddenly raced. Someone caught Nate and Bishop, she thought in panic. He’s been sent to reprogramming because I refused to stand watch for him.
“It’s Nathaniel, dear,” her mother said, and Nadia’s chest tightened painfully. But the next words were not at all what she expected to hear.
“He’s been murdered.”
CHAPTER TWO
Nate awakened, gagging and choking, as a long plastic tube was removed from his throat. He tried to open his eyes, then quickly shut them again when something wet and sticky dripped into them. He wanted to wipe whatever it was away, but something was wrapped around each of his wrists, holding them down.
What the hell…?
He struggled to free himself, but his limbs felt sluggish and weak, and he wasn’t getting anywhere.
“Take it easy, sir,” a male voice said, and then someone wiped Nate’s face with a steaming hot towel and he was able to open his eyes.
He was in a sterile white room, sitting in a coffin-shaped vat of slimy green goo. Tubes and wires connected the vat to a terminal in the wall. He blinked in confusion. The last thing he remembered was coming to the Fortress for his monthly backup. How had he gotten…?
The thought trailed off in his mind as he realized what waking up in this tub of goo meant.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. His head spun, and he feared he was going to be sick. “I’m a Replica.”
He looked at the white-coated lab tech who had wiped the slime from his face, a forty-something Employee with brown eyes and discreetly graying hair. The lab tech gave him a single nod of confirmation, then continued unhooking Nate from the machinery that had created him.
If Paxco had gone to the enormous expense of creating a Replica, that meant the original Nate Hayes was dead.
“What’s the date?” Nate asked, holding back panic as his brain tried to process what was happening.
“March fourteenth, sir,” the lab tech said. “Now hold still so I can get you out of there.”
Nate closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his heart hammering. He’d gone in for his backup scan on March 1st. As a Replica, he had all of Nate’s memories up to the date of that backup, but anything that had happened between then and now was gone, erased by Nate’s … death.
“I’m dead,” Nate murmured under his breath, trying the words on for size.
“You’re very talkative—and very reluctant to hold still—for a dead man,” the tech said drily, and Nate forced his eyes open once again.
Legally and practically, he was Nathaniel Edison Hayes, even if he was only a lab-created Replica, born in this vat of primordial ooze, constructed as a perfect facsimile of his original by the proprietary technology that made Paxco the richest and most powerful of the Corporate States. He tried a few tentative stretches, concentrating hard on the sensation of his muscles bunching and releasing. His joints were stiff and a little achy, like he’d been lying unnaturally still for hours on end, but the sensations were familiar. Normal. He still felt like himself, as far as he could tell.
The tech finally finished unhooking Nate from the mechanical womb. Nate felt weak and shaky as the tech helped him climb out of the ooze, which sucked at him as if reluctant to let him go. He wiped at the goo that clung to him, shuddering at the feel of it against his skin. Some of it glopped off onto the floor, but he was still coated with slime. Panic tried again to take over, but he shoved it down to be dealt with later.
“There’s a shower in there,” the tech said, steadying him by holding his elbow.
Nate shook him off. He could stand by his own damn self.
“What happened to me?” he asked, unable to wrap his brain around the idea that he had died. He’d have said this was a practical joke, if anyone he knew had that kind of sense of humor. How could he be a lab-created Replica of a dead guy and feel so normal?
“Your father will brief you after you’ve showered and dressed,” the tech said, glancing at his watch. “He’s scheduled to arrive at five o’clock, so you have half an hour to get ready. Do you need any help?”
Nate frowned at him. “I’ve been taking showers by myself for quite some time now,” he said, trying for a tone of dry humor. His memory insisted he’d taken a shower a couple of hours ago, right after he’d eaten breakfast and before he’d come to the Fortress for his backup. But these memories were from two weeks ago, and they weren’t really his, they were the real Nate’s. The real Nate who was dead.
Nate shook his head. He’d drive himself nuts if he let himself think about it too much.
“As you wish,” the tech said with a shrug. “I’ll be right out here, so give a shout if you need anything.”
“I need to know what happened to me,” Nate said.
“Your father will explain when he arrives, sir.”
Nate sighed. Patience had never been one of his virtues, but the tech had no doubt been ordered to keep his mouth shut. “Will you at least tell me whether it was an accident?” Surely it was an accident. Nate did enjoy taking risks, and if one of those risks came back to bite him, it wouldn’t be a complete surprise.
The tech hesitated, then lowered his voice. “It wasn’t an accident.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Nate felt a lot more like himself, the slime scrubbed from his s
kin and hair, his mind clearer, the panic mostly subdued. He’d examined himself closely in the bathroom mirror, and everything was just like he remembered it, down to the tiny tattoo on his ass he’d gotten for Kurt. (And because he enjoyed thinking about the fit his father would throw if he ever found out about it.) No doubt the tech had seen it, since Nate had come out of the ooze stark naked, but Nate doubted he would go blabbing about it.
Nate dressed in the stylish dark business suit that had been left for him, though he skipped the tie and shoved it in his pocket. He was more relieved than he could say to find the antique oval locket he always wore under his shirt stashed in a bag with his phone, wallet, and other personal effects. As far as anyone knew, the locket was a gift from Nadia. There was even a photo of her inside, and she’d always played along with the fiction. But in truth, it was from Kurt—Nate didn’t want to know where the money had come from, because a solid gold antique locket was definitely outside Kurt’s price range.
The tech—whose name, Nate discovered when he had enough wits about him to ask, was Gregson—led Nate to a small conference room deep in the heart of the Fortress. Getting into the Fortress required enough security checks to discourage all but the most determined, but only a handful of people had clearance to set foot this deep inside, where the Replicas were made. The technology behind the Replicas was the most closely guarded secret in the universe. No one had duplicated Paxco’s success, and without access to the extraordinary mind behind the technology, no one ever would.
Nate was not surprised that his father hadn’t yet arrived. Nathaniel Sr. would never miss an opportunity to make a subordinate wait, and he always made sure Nate knew he was a subordinate.
Gregson left Nate alone in the conference room with a cup of foul-tasting tea that was supposed to help him regain his strength faster. After one sip, Nate decided he’d regain his strength at his own pace.
The tea had stopped steaming by the time the conference room door opened and Nate’s father stepped in, followed closely by Nate’s second-least-favorite person in the world, Dirk Mosely, Paxco’s chief of security. A product of the Chairman’s Basement reclamation project, Mosely was fiercely loyal, dangerously intelligent, and a sadistic bastard who enjoyed his work far too much. He was frighteningly good at his job—which was to uphold the law, except when the law got in his way.