“If you want someone to blame,” Quinn said, “blame yourself.”
The bird flapped its wings, and a cold wind blew past her, making her shiver.
“It’s not his fault,” he hissed, fury returned once more. “I sent him on a straightforward snatch-and-grab, a job run by two low-level Protectorate agents who were forbidden to use weapons. Who were taught to use force only when necessary, and even then only to hobble the enemy. Who supposedly live by some garbage holier-than-thou, piece-of-shit ‘code’ that I learned is as fucking empty and devoid of life as you’re going to be soon. You stupid Protectorate fucks are so full of shit, just trying to grab power like everybody else, trying to get the biggest slice of an ever-shrinking pie.”
They’d underestimated her and Jones. Everyone had. Little did the Jays know that Quinn and Jones weren’t your average thrill-seeking agents. It seemed everyone had been surprised by them that night. Including Noah—
Don’t think about Noah. Don’t give him anything.
“You can try and block me all you want, Quinn. But I will get the information I came for. Just like you used to. That’s what we mindjackers do, right?”
“You’re no mindjacker. You’re a goddamned mind thief. A hack.”
“And here I am, hacking into you right now!”
“How do you even know what happened that night?” she argued. “You weren’t there! You don’t even know what happened—”
The wings flapped again as the bird squawked loudly. “I know exactly what happened. I was nearby, to look after my brother, just in case. I got the distress signal and got there as soon as I could, but it was too late. They wore micro-cameras, Quinn. I saw it all. You killed them both! You killed my brother.”
And you killed Gary Linden and his wife.
Suddenly, Quinn felt the darkness descend, the cold black fear. He was getting closer.
Multiplication tables. Two times two is four. Two times three is six. Two times four is eight…
Quinn kept going, occupying her mind, making her memories and thoughts less accessible. She wouldn’t let him steal Protectorate secrets, find weaknesses in the Protectorate’s armor. She wouldn’t let him thieve her mind, what made her her.
The bird flapped its wings once more. Then, its red eyes shut, leaving only blackness, until the bird disappeared. Devin appeared in its place. He stood there in all black, the mark of the jay on his wrist, injuries healed and the blood gone from his face.
He offered a grim smile. “Guess who?”
No. No!
“Yes, Quinn. I’m going to drain your mind of every fucking memory you’ve ever stored in that blonde little head of yours. Then I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you every way imaginable, then I’m going to kill you and take your dead corpse with its empty brain and dump it at Jacker Cop Central, where your handsome little fuck buddy Sergeant Martinez will find you.”
Fear shot through Quinn’s body, and she felt like she could no longer breathe.
Three times three is nine. Three times four is twelve.
He stepped closer to her. “When that’s done, we will take every thought, every memory, every secret you have and do what this devil town needs more than anything. We’re going to bring order.”
And with that, Devin swung his fist and hit her square in the jaw, knocking her flat on her back. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in that dark place. She was somewhere else.
An alleyway, between two concrete buildings. It had an overflowing dumpster on one side, surrounded by broken bottles and rotting food covered in maggots. Suddenly, it felt hot, like El Diablo record-hot, and it hit her like a blast from an oven turned to its hottest setting.
Then, a cat. A black and white cat nearby. Quinn’s heart leaped and she followed it. Then she halted, remembering herself again. There were no more outdoor cats and hadn’t been in ages. She had a strange feeling, like a nagging in her belly… like something was wrong.
It was a trap.
She turned around, and there they were. Three familiar boys, covered in tattoos, leering at her and blocking her path to leave the alley. They stepped closer, smelling of sweat and smoke. Fear pulsed through her like rounds from a military weapon, one after the next, thunk thunk thunk.
She tried to leave. She tried to fight. She tried it all. But it was no good. They were so strong, and there were too many of them, one sweaty hand grabbing her arm, his fingers callused. Another hand at the zipper of her shorts, tugging at it. And yet another pressed over her mouth, silencing her.
Terror flooded her and she forgot everything but survival, everything but scratching and screaming and fighting to get away.
And then the one nearest her was no longer the shaven-headed thug. He was Devin.
Chapter 35
Quinn screamed until her throat ached. But her screams were dampened, almost like someone held a pillow over her mouth. She screamed and screamed as she felt her clothing being stripped from her and panic overtaking her.
This was it. She was going to live her biggest fear, the one that had haunted her since she was fifteen, and then she was going to have her mind drained. Then she was going to die… and lose everything that mattered to her.
The city she loved. The mission for justice she loved. And, most of all, the people she loved: her dad. Jones. Daria.
Noah.
No. She couldn’t let it happen!
She fought some more, thrashing and punching and kicking and screaming. But no matter what she did or how hard she fought, she felt herself losing not only the battle against Devin, but also losing a battle against herself.
And then, a tiny seed of recognition hit her, a wisp of light and truth.
The mind is nothing but neurons conducting electrical impulses. It’s your slave, not your master.
At this level, it’s about control over your own mind.
You can choose to stop fighting, if you want to.
She heard the words in her mind, like a distant memory. They were Remi’s words, from her training at headquarters.
You can stop fighting. You can stop succumbing to fear. You can fight this… by not fighting it. By not giving it your emotions and attention.
This time, it wasn’t Remi’s voice. It was hers.
Trust yourself. Trust the strength of your own mind. You’ve endured so much. You can handle this, Quinn Hartley. You can handle anything.
Quinn stopped fighting. Stopped screaming.
Stopped struggling.
A moment of fear, of terror, of the dark unknown. And then… Devin was gone. The boys were gone. The alley was gone. It was just her and the desert again. The green desert plants, a few clouds, the smell of a fresh afternoon thunderstorm…
A real rainstorm! It was magical, the fragrance of damp sage and clean air, a coolness washing over her as the sun peeked out again to dry everything off. The blue-streaked iguana came out again, running up to her and climbing up her leg until she reached down and picked it up, holding it close to her.
Then Merritt appeared, red-haired and grinning, looking not the least bit threatening. She came up to Quinn so she could pet the iguana. Quinn cooed to the animal for a moment before she handed him off to Merritt, who held him like a treasured companion.
Daria appeared after that, smiling and at ease, like it was another one of her good days. She wore a nurse’s uniform and chewed on a red licorice rope. Jones appeared and smiled at her, and it was as if his hard edge had softened, like he’d relaxed for the first time in years.
They faded off, and then Quinn saw her father. His hair had no gray and his face fewer lines, and he sipped a soda while he kept his arm slung around the shoulders of a woman. Her mother. Her mom smiled and brushed Quinn’s hair back and kissed her on the cheek.
Finally, in the distance, she saw Noah. He stood aside in slacks, a t-shirt, and a ball cap, looking at her like he wanted to talk to her but was unsure if he should. She went over and threw her arms around his middle. He pulled
her close to him.
Then… it was his skin on hers, his familiar, masculine smell permeating her nose as her hand lightly stroked his back. They were in his bedroom, sprawled on his bed, woven together, laughing and drinking one another in, talking and solving the world’s problems. It was like she’d finally found the peace she’d always sought but could never quite get, not with Wyatt or the Protectorate or her apartment on Hillcrest Avenue in Midtown. It was everything that could make her forget all that was wrong in the world.
Thoughts coalesced, like puzzle pieces finally coming together to help her see the truth. Noah cared about her. He’d cared about her when she’d assumed she was nothing but a fun time to him, when she’d believed he could do better, when she was briefly convinced he’d been using her to nail mindjackers. It was why he’d let her go that night at the Lindens’. Why he hadn’t arrested her since that night. Why he kept tracking her, inquiring about Carlson.
He wanted to see her safe.
He’d shown darker behaviors. Leaning on her, threatening her with prison. But she could hardly pass judgment. Not when she’d insisted on assuming the worst about him, despite ample evidence he wasn’t that sort of man… when she’d insisted on pushing him away when he’d wanted to help. Like she did with everyone.
Soon, the idyllic scene disappeared like the rest, fading away along with the desert light. Dusk encroached, only a strip of orangey light along the horizon remaining. She followed it.
She’d found her way out. She’d found an island of calm in the cyclone of her invaded mind, a shield against the forces that tried to use her own mind against her, to end her.
But while she was safe in the cocoon of her mind, out in the material world Devin still had her under his control. She’d avoided drowning in the mental siege Devin had thrown at her, blocked him from accessing her memories, but she’d only bought herself time. Eventually, he would find his way in, and then her thoughts and memories would be his for the taking. Not to mention what he might do to her physical form.
She studied that strip of orange on the horizon as it faded to apricot, then blue. And that’s when she saw it. The bird. The black bird. But its eyes weren’t red now. They were black. It watched her, then flapped its wings, hovering in the air for a moment before swooping toward her, then past her.
She turned and watched it, and the bird hovered once more, again eyeing her. A light appeared nearby, a soft, shimmering light, almost like… water. The bird headed toward it.
Quinn followed, approaching what appeared to be a small lake. The bird hovered over it and looked at her one last time, before taking a nosedive into the lake and disappearing. Quinn stood there a moment, pulled by the image of the water. She stepped into it… and submerged herself completely.
She was underwater. But somehow, she could breathe, and see. There were images. Some flitting here and there, others lingering, strange odd feelings washing over her like a soft breeze on a desert night. The images weren’t entirely clear, but she could make out figures.
Figures dressed in black, their faces uncovered and right there for her to see. Five males, one female with red hair like Merritt’s… but not Merritt’s face. Flashes and scenes…
Them meeting with the CEOs.
Them jacking someone in a tailored suit, then another.
Then a train whizzing past in the background, the red letter A on it, noise in the streets and the stench of exhaust, like they were Downtown. A flash of fine bedding and a white fluffy rug, two sleeping bodies on the bed and two familiar dead men on the rug. Gary Linden’s place.
These were Devin’s memories.
Then a man in a navy suit, middle-aged and distinguished-looking, with kind brown eyes but posture that demonstrated power. Devin accosted him, and the man didn’t stand a chance. Quinn stared at the face, seeing something familiar about it, like she knew him. Yet, she was good with faces and would remember if he was an acquaintance or a former target. Then, when the brown eyes flashed with anger, she gasped.
He looked like Noah. It was Noah’s father.
A flash of the jacking as Noah’s father lay slumbering, the redheaded Jay taking a three-inch sleek black device and slotting it into her pocket.
Then a new scene, a beautiful home, brick and large and grand, with a privacy fence. Inside it, wood floors and crown moldings and the smell of plants, like there were lots of them, and then a room with cabinets lining the wall from floor to ceiling, black and businesslike.
Finally, a hand, a male hand, opening one of the cabinets. He held up the sleek black device; its label read Angel Martinez along with the date. The hand placed the device carefully behind several identical devices, the shut the cabinet.
The data. The Jays kept the data they stole! It was stored in some Uptown home!
The images began to fade.
All of a sudden, the darkness seemed to suck her in, and she sank into its depths. Fear consumed her and she felt evil all around her.
Quinn fought it, focusing with all her mental power on conjuring up images of those she cared about most. Dad, Jones, Daria, Noah, various memories offering her shelter from the storm. But no matter how hard she tried, the evil force attacked her with all its might. Then, one of the images vanished. Then another.
Devin. He’d found his way in. And he was wiping her memories, the ones he’d already downloaded into another sleek black device.
One that would be labeled Quinn Hartley.
Chapter 36
Noise. Violent noise.
Cursing, grunting, then a loud bang, like a large object had collided with the floor.
Her eyes fluttered open. Two men were fighting near a toppled desk. One was covered in tattoos, including his shaven head, his considerable size giving him some advantage over the smaller but skilled one with the dark hair and intense scowl. They lunged and clawed at one another, neither getting the upper fist over the other, crashing into things and laying waste to what was once a decent Midtown apartment. Both had blood streaming from their faces, and veins popped in their necks as they fought.
It was a death match, and a terrifying one. She had no idea who the men were or why she was here. Or why they didn’t seem to notice her.
Another loud bang made her jump. She tried to sit up, but found she couldn’t. She was too tired, and everything hurt. Someone had thrown open the door, sending it slamming into the wall. A third man walked in, handsome and dark-eyed, a gun in his hand. He moved like someone who was used to breaking through doors and wielding firearms.
Like a cop.
What the hell was going on? Who were these people? And why did she feel like she should get up and join the maelstrom? But she couldn’t. She couldn’t move at all. An awful feeling shot through her, one she somehow understood at a gut level.
Fear.
The two fighting men kept at it, oblivious to the third.
“Hammond! Get out of the way!” the cop shouted.
The tattooed thug, Hammond, upon finally noticing the cop and the gun pointing at them, ceased his attack. But the smaller one, face torn up and haggard, ignored everything and went for Hammond again, clobbering him in the cheek with a fist. There was a popping sound, then another, and the smaller fighter stumbled backward.
“Don’t shoot him!” Hammond shouted.
But it was too late. The smaller fighter flagged as blood began spilling from his shoulder and arm. But, relentless, he came for Hammond yet again. Hammond right-hooked him hard, knocking him back again, then got him into a chokehold while the cop cuffed him. They sat him down on the floor and leaned him against the wall.
“You’ll fucking regret this,” he seethed at his oppressors. “I know who you are.”
She finally got a good look at the sitting man. She didn’t know him, but there was something about his face—his eyes—that sent a bolt of terror through her. Before long, Hammond reached for something in his pocket and stuck it into the angry guy’s arm. He tried to dodge the injection, face conto
rted in half fury, half pain. Then, he turned and looked right at her, eyes glittering with hate.
“This isn’t over,” he said, before his eyes closed and his head slumped to the side.
Next thing she knew, tattooed Hammond stood facing the cop, a weapon in his hand. Not a gun. Something shiny. Dangerous. Each aimed his weapon at the other.
“You have no fucken right to be here, man,” Hammond growled, oblivious to the blood on his face or his own heavy breathing.
“Look, Hammond—” the cop began, his tone level.
“Get the fuck out. This ain’t your business. And don’t bother with them threats I know you’re good at, ‘cause that shit won’t work with me. I got a superior weapon here, and we both know it.”
The cop’s jaw clenched, and he looked torn between wanting to shoot Hammond and wanting to reason with him.
She watched the two men maintain their standoff, each unwilling to yield to the other. What the hell was happening? None of it made sense, but somehow felt like it should. Familiarity tickled at the back of her mind, but nothing coalesced.
She only felt lost.
The fatigue overwhelmed her suddenly. Everything began to fade, growing blurry and dim, shrinking until it was only a tiny pinprick surrounded by darkness.
Then the darkness took over.
Her eyes opened. She was still so tired.
She was in a bed, in a Midtown apartment. This was familiar. She’d seen this before.
Then she saw the two men again. The cop and the tattooed one… Hammond? Yes, Hammond. He didn’t look like a Hammond. He sat at a desk, his back toward her, hunched over a computer. The other, the cop, sat on the floor nearby, fidgeting restlessly with his gun. She didn’t see the third one, the angry one they’d put to sleep.
“Did you find anything?” the cop said, sounding impatient.
“Not yet. I told you not to shoot him, man. You can’t get data on a fucken dead guy.”
“You can’t get data if he’s kicking the shit out of you, either,” the cop argued.
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