by Ava Gray
But she didn’t think so.
“Are we sure about the time frame? How long ago did you talk to Mockingbird?”
Gillie shrugged back into her winter coat. She opted to go without gloves, which would make her clumsy. His mouth compressed into a grim line as he met her at the front door.
“Too long. Stay behind me.”
“I will. I swear.”
Taye led the way. She flinched at every creak of the stairs, every shadow that trailed along the wall. Her breathing sounded impossibly loud, whereas he turned to silent ice. She wanted to be fearless. It was easy to dream about adventure when you were the princess locked in the tower, but what happened when you got free and realized you had no ability to survive? Being helpless made her angry, and that fire in her belly dominated the fright.
On the ground floor, the stink of sickly sweet copper overlaid other smells. Gillie recognized it before she saw the winedark pool spreading around the homeless man. The money Taye had left lay scattered like the stained green leaves of some terrible tree.
“They’re here,” he said, as a bullet popped the bare bulb in the fixture overhead.
Dark swallowed the room, blinding her. They probably had night-vision goggles. For them, it would be like shooting—or stabbing—fish in a barrel. Instinctively, Gillie dropped, making herself a small target. But she slipped in the blood; it smeared her hands, and she bit back a cry. It took all her self-control not to scramble away from the corpse.
I will give you nothing, she vowed to the bastards hunting them. No help. No errors. I am not yours for the taking. Be still. Be quiet.
And then blue-white lightning kindled in Taye’s palm, wreathing him in the wrathful beauty of a pagan god.
CHAPTER 6
Save her.
The words looped in his head in tandem with his heartbeat. Defending her had become his sole purpose and his reason for living; he did not know how to lay down his sword and shield. If this were some old-school medieval movie, he would die for her. In fact, that was the way he wanted it, only he was selfish enough to prefer his sacrifice meant something.
Taye’s nerve endings had long since overloaded, sending shocks through his system. This wasn’t painless. Nothing ever was. But it was necessary. These men wanted to take them both prisoner again—and that just wasn’t happening. He’d promised.
He didn’t have much, not even his fucking name. That bothered him most of all. He’d lied to her at the facility. He didn’t remember. Mostly likely, his real name did start with T; Rowan had been consistent in his methods. But Taye was just the first name he’d thought of that started with that letter, and he’d said he was sure so she wouldn’t think, Poor bastard, he’s worse off than I am. In those early days, he saw pity in her face mingled with wariness. She’d feared that Rowan’s experiments had turned him into a subhuman thing, a monster that would hurt her.
Sometimes real memories nibbled at the edges of his brain, but most often, just fragments of cold and isolation, darkness and silence, broken by violent flashes. Of one thing he was sure: she deserved so much more than him. The Foundation had taken everything from Gillie. He wanted it to give it all back.
Even if he had nothing else, he had his word.
Taye stilled, listening. First movement overhead. The strike team had killed the homeless man because he was a potential witness and then proceeded to the first floor. Therefore, they must have just missed the trackers at the landing, but the team was heading down now, straight into ambush. He hoped they hadn’t neutralized the other tenants; he hoped they hadn’t suffered for living in this building. But the Foundation had no limits. No harm they wouldn’t inflict to further their agenda. It sickened him, knowing they’d made billions from Gillie’s pain, and that they intended for her to spend her whole life in their labs, without love, laughter, or sunlight.
No. Fucking. Way.
His power blazed brighter as the soft treads on the steps quickened. He felt the drain and acknowledged it as necessary. The agony blazed in his stomach, always there, like a web of barbed wire. Taye didn’t care how much he hurt himself, so long as she walked away. By this point, they had to see the glow kindling from the stairwell.
That’s right, bitches. Walk into the light.
The width of the stairs bottlenecked their enemies effectively. When the first two popped into view, he slammed them with twin arcs of live power. The lightning danced and crackled, sizzling the fat beneath their skin. A disarming stench kicked up, the smell of their eyeballs cooking in their skulls.
Screams of dying men broke the silence, but their comrades readied weapons as they stepped into the breach.
“Stay down,” he called to Gillie.
He understood how it worked. His body produced a limited amount of power in its cells, so he had to pull from nearby outlets, drawing from the grid. A halo formed around him, limning his body in light much like the aftershock of a flash grenade. Neighboring buildings browned out, lights flickering as he drained the juice and funneled it toward the Foundation goons. They too howled as they died, their flesh charring. Two more ran from him, dodging blasts as they sprinted for the lobby doors.
He didn’t blame them. They couldn’t have known how far he’d go for Gillie Flynn.
Letting the power die, he held out a hand to her, and she scrambled to her feet. In the dark, she came to him without a single hesitation, without a single misstep. Her blood-slick fingers tangled with his, and his heart gave the most awful kick in his chest.
Oh, Gillie. Gillie-girl.
“Time to fly,” he said.
And she led the way toward the exit, though he felt the trembling of her hand. He ached; his skin felt as though it covered a blackened husk. One day, he’d die of this. There was no doubt in him. Each time he powered up, each time he pulled, he felt the darkness growing, eating away at his insides. Since the symptoms first plagued him, he had done some reading. Learned about the link between increased risks of cancer and tumors for those who worked where they were exposed to strong electromagnetic fields. And his body was worse than a microwave oven.
The Foundation had turned him into something that could only kill and kill some more, then die of it. No future in that. Perfect disposable weapon, in fact. The loose end would tie itself off. If they could make the gift a little more virulent, they could create an army of assassins who existed only to serve and be discarded. But he had to focus on escape.
Most likely, there would be more outside. The other two wouldn’t flee the scene. They’d go for backup or to choose better ground for the fight. He had to stay sharp, even though his head swam with weariness and pain. If he breathed too deeply, it felt as though he had powdered glass in his lungs; that only added to the awful burn in his stomach. The cookies he’d consumed threatened to come back. He forced the weakness and nausea aside. No time. Not tonight.
Outside, the snow still fell. It stuck in irregular patches, dusting the ground white. Not nearly thick enough to draw out snowplows, though salt trucks had come around. Michigan was used to much worse. But winter gave the night a wondrous quality, the air crisp and cold. Soothing. Taye scanned the street both ways, searching for the remainders of the strike team.
“Anything?” she asked.
The ping of a tranq gun pierced the night, and he spun her too late. Gillie flinched as the dart sank into her shoulder. Her blue eyes filled with terror, glimmering in the dark, and then she crumpled to the ground. Diving for cover, he couldn’t afford to catch her, but they’d pay for this, every last one of them. Fucking bastards. Her backpack fell to the ground, dark against the snow; its contents spilled. She had taken such pride in picking out those shirts, those jeans, the first clothing she’d ever bought for herself.
When will you fuckers stop stealing from her? When?
The mailbox shielded him from two more shots. Then he leaned out far enough to draw Gillie in beside him. The apartment building behind him ought to prevent them from sneaking up on his six. Fe
verishly he scanned the area, seeking an escape route.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” a smooth voice called. British accent. “Come quietly, and we’ll make sure they don’t hurt her. She’ll enjoy all the comforts of home.”
“Everything except free will,” he growled back. “If it’s all the same to you, motherfucker, I’d just as soon kill you all.”
“You don’t have the juice. Plus, you don’t know precisely where my men are. And I only need to land one shot to take you both.” Because it was true, it wasn’t a boast.
It was also absolutely the wrong fucking thing to say. White-hot rage filled his head. He’d promised her. Promised. And he had nothing in the world except his word to Gillie.
“If you want me, come get me.”
He spun in the crouch, eyeing the streetlight. From this distance, he might be able to tap the grid. Normally he wouldn’t do it twice in one night. That would only accelerate his deterioration, and he could barely keep his cookies down on the best of days. But he had Gillie sprawled beside him, her face pale and still. She counted on him not to fail.
Fine. She’s worth it.
Then his gaze lit on the parked cars lined up along the curb. Could I . . .? Fuck yes. It’s the only way, in fact. Instead of trying to find the men in the dark, he’d light this block up like the Fourth of July and use the subsequent fireworks to make his getaway.
Taye threw out a hand and opened his veins. At least that was what it felt like. Instead of blood, lightning arced from his fingertips, drawing like response from the bulb. It popped and white light sparked forward, spiraling toward him. He guided it with a twist of his arm and slammed it all into the gas tank of the nearest car. The explosion rocked the pavement, sending a gorgeous fireball skyward. Another. And again. Each time he did it, the pain built in his chest, crawling toward his belly. It sank cruel tendrils into his spine until he could feel the blood boiling behind his eyes. The fires burned brighter, more explosions rocking the street.
He grabbed Gillie up and sprinted forward, using the burning cars as cover. Darts still peppered the ground behind him, but the fire and swirling smoke made it tough for them to see him, especially when combined with the light snow and wind. With an elbow, he smashed the window of the one vehicle he hadn’t sacrificed in Zeus’s name. Once he unlocked the doors by reaching through the shards of glass, he slung Gillie in through the passenger side and then vaulted the hood. He didn’t know why he knew how to steal a car, but it came naturally. More proof he hadn’t been a good person before he lost his mind.
Taye slammed his foot on the gas and the car fishtailed away from the curb. He drove with his head low past the row of burning cars. Sirens wailed in the distance, which meant the Foundation goons would scramble like rats for their holes in the wall. Soon the authorities would be on scene, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
Mockingbird had told him where to go. Safe house—or so the man claimed. He had no reason to doubt; they owed him their lives already. Taye didn’t like the idea of being indebted to anyone, but he couldn’t see any way around it. He couldn’t manage this on his own.
That was what he hadn’t shared with Gillie—the price of Mockingbird’s intervention a second time. But if he had to indenture his remaining days to ensure her safety, so be it. Better to fight and die for her freedom. She had enough joy in her to live for both of them. Marriage. Kids. She should have every bright and shining thing, including a decent man who could tell her where he grew up and all the names of his childhood pets.
Not that it gave him any pleasure imagining her with anyone else. Most days, he fought the idea that the universe had given her to him. And she didn’t make the battle any easier with her stupid hero worship and her rose-colored glasses. She refused to see him as he was.
While she slept, he drove to the airport and found a poorly secured long-term parking facility. Being cheap had its risks. He ditched the stolen car and found a new ride. This one likely wouldn’t be reported missing for a while, as according to the paperwork stowed in the visor, the owner wouldn’t be returning for a month.
With great care, he tucked Gillie into the passenger side and belted her in. Then he hurried around and started the car. Easier when you had the keys. It hadn’t taken much effort to get into the flimsy metal prefab building that served as the lot office. Too bad. People should really take better care of their belongings.
He had been pushing west along I-94 for an hour or so by the time Gillie stirred. She moaned as she woke, her fear instinctive and bone deep. It took all his control not to put a hand on her thigh to soothe her. She consistently struck a nerve, one that made him want to claim and protect her. But it didn’t matter what the fuck he wanted. His song was nearly done, and it would be unforgivable to let her love him for the time he had left.
“We made it,” she said in wonderment.
“Told you I wouldn’t let them take you back.” He didn’t look at her, knowing that expression of hero worship would have deepened. Sometimes it made him feel like Superman, and sometimes it made him want to set something on fire just to watch it burn. Because he could never be as good as she thought. He was only going to let her down.
“Where are we going?”
“West. We’re meeting some allies.”
“Mockingbird,” she guessed. “Can we trust him?”
“I don’t know. But we don’t have anyone else.”
She acknowledged that with a nod. “Are you going to work for him in exchange for my protection?”
How could she know that? But maybe it came from how well she knew him; it was hard to keep secrets from her. Though he’d kept one. One vital, miserable secret.
Taye shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“But just a few months ago, you didn’t want to.”
“Circumstances change.” He hadn’t been lying when he said he wouldn’t be around forever, though he’d never leave her by choice. Arrangements had to be made.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She was so damn smart and she noticed too much. Gillie knew how to read his silences, the spaces between his words. Sometimes he caught her staring as if he were a puzzle she was determined to put together.
He laughed softly. “So many things, Gillie-girl. But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
“I’m not helpless.” Her tone frosted over. “I’m not incapable of looking after myself.”
In this world, she was. He didn’t say it aloud. But she knew. She was a healer, not a killer. Not like him. Most days, he wouldn’t mind watching the whole world burn. And that silent knowledge made her give him her shoulder as she turned her face to the foggy glass. The highway zipped past outside. Taye wished—ah, fuck. It didn’t matter. There was no magic in the wishing well, just the dead dreams of hopeful children.
Yet he didn’t like it when she was mad at him. He’d grown too accustomed to her smiles. So he tried to pacify her. “I don’t mind, really. We need his resources to start over. So I run a few missions for him and then we’re free and clear.”
It wasn’t a matter of money anymore. He didn’t dare trust her fresh start to a contact he’d found asking around at work on the docks. Mockingbird would do it right.
“Really?” she asked softly. “You don’t imagine he’ll want to keep you on, once he realizes how powerful you’ve become?”
I won’t be around long enough for it to matter, Gillie-girl. That, he could never say aloud. It was his fondest dream to see her settled in a new life, her identity buried so deep that the Foundation could never find her again. Mockingbird could make that happen. Taye wanted her to go to college and get that dream job, whatever it might be. Most important, he wanted her to live. She would be his gift to the world. It was that simple.
“He’ll be open to negotiation when the time comes. I’m not without leverage of my own.”
“But you won’t tell me what that might be. Is it too complex for my pretty head?”
That stung. After everything, she shouldn’t compare him to the crazy bastard Rowan who . . . treated her like her thoughts didn’t matter. Like she existed only to stroke his ego. He wasn’t doing the same thing, not exactly, but it was close enough to give him a twinge. Wanting to protect her was no excuse for treating her like she didn’t have a good brain.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
But he couldn’t tell her he was dying. Not now. He didn’t want to see the pain in her eyes, mingled with pity and confusion. Better that she wear those fucking rose-colored shades a little longer. Taye could handle that better.
“I don’t like that you’re bartering your freedom like this.”
“Me either. But the alternative is worse. At least by throwing in with them, I’m fighting for something I truly believe—the Foundation must be stopped.”
“I’m with you there.”
“And we’ll get to meet other survivors, more people like us. That’s not a bad thing.”
She flashed him a wry smile. “Are you trying to convince me . . . or yourself?”
“Little of both. I’m wary of everything and everyone at this point.”
“But not me.”
“No. Not you.”
Never you. He would trust her to reach into his chest with her bare hands. Christ, hadn’t she done that to him already? The ache never left, not entirely. Not even when he was sick and sore and full of despair. He had been nobody at all when Rowan first cleared him to visit her—just a maddened thing spitting defiance and rage. But from the first moments in her faux-apartment, he’d felt like a white-hot sword, doused in the tempering waters that made it strong.
By midmorning, he couldn’t drive farther. He pulled off the interstate at a cheap motel that looked like they’d take cash and not ask questions. In daylight, they both looked pretty fucking rough. She was blood-smeared and his white shirt carried red spatters. Simple enough to hide in his case. He buttoned his duster and ran a hand through his hair.