by Tarah Benner
“Everybody grab a bag!” he yells.
The others scramble over to a line of punching bags against one wall. I take my place between Blaze and Lenny, watching Eli weave between the bags.
“Since Riley is so eager to start beating the shit out of people, I think it’s time you cadets learned how to fight.”
His use of my real name is enough to shake me out of my numb rage. I chance a look at him. He’s standing with his arms folded across his chest, that smirk directed right at me.
“What?”
“I can’t have you picking fights all over the compound if you don’t know how to win, Riley. You’ve got one hell of an arm, but you won’t always be beating up idiots like Jacob Morsey.”
I stare at him. Eli laughs, and it’s a real laugh. His eyes crinkle in amusement, but he closes his mouth quickly, as if he knows he shouldn’t laugh.
Suddenly he’s all business again — Eli the asshole. He shows us the right way to throw a straight punch — leading with our shoulder — and how to get a full extension.
Then we’re at the bags, and I’m beating my hands sore through my gloves. It feels good until Eli appears over my shoulder to remind me how weak I am — how I’m not throwing my full strength behind each blow.
He watches me carefully and mutters instructions under his breath. “Tuck your chin. Roll your shoulders. Keep your hands up at all times.”
His snapping commands are surprisingly effective. After a few minutes, I feel like a real fighter. He nods once and moves on to Bear.
That’s when the yelling starts. It seems as though he’s targeting Bear now — seeing how far he can push him before he breaks.
But Bear is a brick wall of muscle and determination. I know Eli’s words bother him, but rather than shutting him down, they’re beginning to stir something inside him — ferocity I haven’t seen before.
Eli sees this too and doesn’t let up. He keeps yelling at Bear until he grows bored of watching us. He shows us two defense maneuvers to block punches and pairs us up to practice.
I work with Kindra and Lenny in a group of three, and we take turns blocking. I’ve been dodging punches my whole life, so being instructed on the best way to fight back feels natural. I get my rhythm down almost immediately.
But watching Lenny and Kindra go through the motions is painful. I can tell they’re tired — that they don’t want to be here.
None of us is here by choice, but I can tell it wears on the others more. Maybe I never really expected to escape the fights and the ugliness. And truthfully, spending my day hitting things seems about right.
Eli hovers nearby, watching us spar and making adjustments. When he passes our group a third time, he sighs aloud and tells us we can stop.
For a second, I think he might let us out of training early, but he strides into the center of the room and calls Bear into the tape outline of a ring.
Bear lets out a loud groan that makes my heart ache. This isn’t going to be good. His shirt is completely soaked with sweat, his face is pale from exhaustion, and he’s eyeing Eli as though he’s facing down his executioner.
Eli mutters something to Bear, and the two square off in the ring. Bear throws a halfhearted punch, but Eli dodges it easily.
He tries again. His second punch is even slower than the first, and Eli slips a few inches to the side and plants his fist in Bear’s well-padded belly.
It didn’t hurt much — it couldn’t have — but Bear seems to fold in on himself more. He whimpers, clutching his side, and I know he’s trying not to cry.
“Come on, Kelso!” Eli yells, smacking his gloves together. He circles around Bear, egging him on in a way that’s almost encouraging, but Bear’s shoulders just sag lower.
Eli’s fist flies out again, slowly enough to give him time to react, but Bear just takes the hit. His baby face crinkles in a grimace, and something snaps inside me.
I realize I’m angry, but not at Eli. Mostly, I’m furious and disgusted with Bear. He’s completely given up.
As Eli wears out the mat circling him, the larger boy just shuffles around like a blob on his heels.
Several tense seconds pass as we wait for Eli to hit him again, but he just stops and shakes his head until Bear staggers away.
Eli works through each of us one by one, trying to provoke aggression and speed.
Blaze is quick and sharp-eyed, but he’s so hyper and nervous he practically punches himself out trying to get past Eli’s defenses. Lenny is angry and uncontrolled, and Eli lays her out with one good bop to the nose.
Kindra might as well have lain down on the mat for how well she defends herself. Despite her obvious determination, every trip around the ring looks as though it pains her, and she seems to grow paler by the second.
When Eli calls me to the ring and slaps a mouth guard into my hand, I know I’m about to get my ass handed to me. But there’s another part of me, a louder, defiant part, that wants to knock Eli off his high horse.
The other cadets were pathetic. One of us should be able to get a good hit in.
I square off against him and take a split second to gauge his mood. He’s irritable and drained but seems to perk up when I raise my fists and get in my fighting stance. He’s barely breaking a sweat, but his sharp eyes are bright with adrenalin.
Eli tucks his chin and rolls his shoulders, and I can tell it’s a natural posture for him. I expect him to circle me slowly and wait for me to make the first move, but he doesn’t give me a chance to throw a punch.
His fist flies out first, and I barely slip the brunt of his hit and feel his knuckles glance off the side of my face.
I recover quickly and go straight for his nose — anxious to wipe that smug look off his face — but he swats my glove away forcefully with the blade of his forearm. The bone-on-bone contact sends a deep, throbbing pain down my arm, but I grit my teeth and ignore it.
His second punch is too fast and hits me right in the nose. Eli knocks his gloves together in frustration.
“Come on, Riley! Focus!”
I clamp down on my mouth guard. The slow burn of hatred is spreading up my chest, and I swallow down my urge to yell. My eyes are watering from his hit, but it could be a lot worse.
Miraculously, I block Eli’s third punch, but he gets me in the abdomen with a left hook. I try to suck in my shudder of pain, but it escapes as a whimper.
He thinks I’m down for the count. He looks . . . concerned? He’s distracted enough that his glove has slipped down ever so slightly. What an idiot.
I don’t hesitate. I throw my arm forward with all the strength I have left. My glove connects with the side of his face, but he throws another reflexive punch.
Now I know he was holding back on his other hits. Those were the training wheels of punches. This was just a reflex. I surprised him, and he probably ruptured my kidney.
My knees hit the mat before I even realize I’ve fallen, and a second later, I’m curled up on the sweaty, discolored foam that smells like feet.
I’m going to throw up, I think. I’m going to throw up and die of internal bleeding.
“Dismissed!” Eli barks.
I stare at him in confusion, but then I realize he was talking to the others. I’d forgotten all about them, but they’re staring at me with a mixture of shock and admiration.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself not to cry or throw up.
“Do you need to go to the medical ward?” Eli asks in an anxious voice.
I shake my head. My throat is too tight to speak.
“Are you all right?”
I nod, hating him.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “You just surprised me.”
He bends down and takes my gloved hands, and for a second, I think he’s going to help me up. But he just yanks off my gloves and walks away.
He knocks me to the ground and then leaves? He thinks this is what will prepare us for the Fringe? Getting beaten up and berated?
No. He just enjoys being c
ruel. I think back to the way he came at me yesterday.
You’re First Gen, Harvard. I’m surprised you haven’t asked before.
That’s when it occurs to me: Eli knows something.
I can’t catch my breath. I can barely stand. I feel shaky and reckless from the surge of adrenaline. I know I shouldn’t give in to my impulse to follow him, but I spit out my mouth guard and stagger out of the gym.
Storming down the tunnel toward the officers’ compartments, I don’t stop to form a plan or decide how I will confront him.
All I know is that my legs are propelling me down the tunnel, and I’m gaining on him. I can see the confident arch of his back. He thinks I’m not a threat. He expects me to cower and take orders and say thank you when he punches me. He expects —
All pretense vanishes when he whips around to face me. His brows knit together in confusion. He really didn’t expect me to follow him. He doesn’t expect me to still be standing.
But all traces of shock disappear in an instant, and suddenly he’s moving toward me with purpose, controlling my footwork, until he’s backed me up against the wall.
I wonder if he can hear my loud, angry thoughts.
“What is it, Cadet?” he hisses.
“You know,” I snarl, shoving him in the chest and surprising myself.
“What? Why are you following me, Riley?”
“I want answers. Why did Recon bid so high on me? Why did you pick me?”
Eli’s mouth is a hard, angry line. His eyes dart down the tunnel. “I don’t have a say in who receives bids.”
“I know. But you read my file. You know why they did it.”
He sighs, and I know he’s going to feed me a line of crap before he even opens his mouth. “No, Riley. I do not know why Jayden would pick you to go out and defend this compound on the Fringe. Clearly she had no idea what a disaster you’d be when she bid on you.”
I glare at him. His words sound canned and rehearsed. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Eli.”
He laughs a cold, empty laugh. “Watch it, Cadet. That’s Lieutenant Parker to you.”
“You know,” I snarl. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so afraid to tell me.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“What?” I snap, my voice rising a decibel. “Why should I keep quiet? What are you hiding?”
Before I can draw a breath, I’m off my feet. Eli has grabbed me around the waist, his arm like a steel vice around my body. I kick and flail, but he holds me easily with one hand as he punches in a door code. The door flies open, and he yanks me into the dark compartment and slams the door closed.
Wild fear flashes through me. We’re completely alone in here. He’s crazy. But suddenly I’m awake — alive — too curious to be truly afraid.
Eli slams me bodily against the closed door, his forearm pressed against my windpipe. My feet are barely touching the ground, and I’m gasping for air. His face is so close that I can feel his breath stirring my hair.
An automatic light flickers on. Eli is in my face, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly that his brow has creased to form three deep divots. His blue eyes are alight in full threat mode.
But then he hears my ragged breath, and the pressure of his arm on my throat eases up.
When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. But it isn’t the aggressive voice he uses during training. It’s low and panicked.
“Riley, if you value your life at all, you need to cool it.”
I struggle to get the words out of my scratchy windpipe. “Why did Recon bid so high on a forty-six?”
“I — don’t — know.”
His eyes are so wide that I know he doesn’t know about the thirty-three. He’s breathing hard, barely containing his fear and frustration. Eli Parker is afraid, though I’m not sure why.
“Do you think I failed my VocAps?” I ask. “Do you think I failed all the Systems tests?”
He shrugs, but his shoulders are still stiff. “I don’t care. All I do is train what they give me. What you learned about Systems is of little to no use to me.”
“Well, I didn’t. Did you know that eighty percent of the VocAps score is based on how soon they think you’re going to die? Your genetics and your health history. It doesn’t matter how high you score on the aptitude test. If they think you might get sick, you can’t score high enough for tier one.”
His face pales, and his grip on me loosens.
“I’m — a ticking — time bomb,” I say, punctuating each word as if I’m throwing a punch. “I have a thirty-three percent chance of living past the age of thirty. So why did Recon bid sixty thousand on me?”
Eli’s eyes are flitting quickly across my face, as though he’s trying to discern if I’m telling the truth.
Then his expression turns stormy and urgent. He believes me. His hands grip my arms, and he pushes me harder into the door.
“Listen. I don’t know why Jayden bid on you, and I don’t want to know. But if what you’re saying is true, then just the fact that you know means you’re already in too deep.”
He pushes against me and leans down. “Riley, you need to stop looking. Now. Don’t tell anyone what you found out. You shouldn’t even have told me. If this gets out —”
“Don’t you think people deserve to know how they’re being ranked? This goes against everything we’ve been told. They’re determining people’s worth based on their genes — it’s completely beyond their control.”
But Eli is still shaking his head.
For the first time, I glance over his shoulder at the room he’s dragged me into. This must be his compartment. It’s larger and nicer than mine. The bed is bigger, and the furniture looks newer and industrial.
“Riley,” he says, trying to regain my attention. “Promise me you’ll drop this. Promise me you’ll stop looking and stop asking around.”
I stare up at him, frustrated by his cowardice. If the board can inflict this much fear in Eli Parker . . .
“Don’t you care that you probably ended up here because of a genetic accident?” I blurt, my mouth completely hijacking my brain. “You could have done something else, but you ended up here.”
Eli’s mouth tightens, and I know I’ve gone too far. He’s shutting down.
“You don’t know anything about me. And whatever you think you know . . . about all this . . . it’s making you reckless. Your stupidity is going to get you killed.”
Before I can open my mouth to retort, the door flies open behind me, and Eli shoves me out into the tunnel. Steadying myself against the opposite wall, I try to catch my breath. I try to think of something to say to make him listen to me, but his closed door is as good an answer as any.
As I walk back to my own tunnel, two facts solidify in my mind: One, that Eli is terrified of the board, which means I should be, too. And two, that Eli knows a lot more than he’s telling me.
twelve
Eli
As soon as I toss her out of my room, I know I should go after her.
She’s a loose cannon, and she knows too much. She’s going to get herself killed.
But going after her is basically an open invitation for her to drag me down with her. I have no idea how she found out that the scores were weighted — or even if she’s right. But it makes sense. That’s what scares me the most.
I studied day and night for the Control test. I knew the laws of the compound backward and forward. I was in peak physical condition, but I couldn’t hide my genetic deficiencies — the result of Fringe breeding. And since I spent fourteen years soaking up the radiation, I’m probably a fucking mosaic of mutated cells.
And then there’s the other thing she said. It makes no sense that Jayden would bid sixty thousand on a scrawny Systems-track girl with a forty-six — even with her good marks and record. The girl’s tougher than any meathead recruit I’ve ever trained and too smart for her own good, but Jayden didn’t see what I see.
Unless Jayden was in on the whole thing. She had to
be. I’ve never trusted Jayden as far as I could throw her, but if she’s deep enough to know how things really work, she’s more dangerous than I thought.
There’s only one person I trust to find out, and luckily, he’s sleeping with someone who might be able to follow the money.
Before stopping to consider that getting involved in Harper’s Bid Day drama means almost certain death, I’m banging on Miles’s door.
He doesn’t answer, but I can hear his stupid video game playing behind the thin walls.
The door’s unlocked, so I walk right in. Miles is the biggest guy in our year. He’s not worried about burnouts breaking into his place. He’s sprawled out on his couch wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. His shiner from our fight has faded slightly from the last time I saw him, but he still looks pretty intimidating.
“Hey, shut the door!” he yells over the sound of gunfire blaring from his speakers. “Rumor has it Jayden’s shopping for a new crew to deploy early.”
“So you’re hiding?”
“Call it what you want, man, but I’ll take being a pussy any day over going out for the second time this month. Fuck that shit.”
“You are being a pussy,” I say, vaulting the couch and settling down next to him.
He shakes his head, but I can see how worried he is. It doesn’t matter how badass you are; no Recon operative wants to be deployed. Even on normal rotation, that week leading up to a mission feels like being on death row.
“Hey. I need a favor,” I say.
“You need me to go all ‘scared straight’ on your new recruits?”
I try not to laugh. “No.”
“Man, I will never know how you got stuck babysitting cadets all day. You should sleep with Jayden so she’ll give you a better assignment.”
I shrug. “At least I get three months without deployment.”
“But then you have to make it up when your cadets are trained. You couldn’t get me to do two-a-months. No way.”
I sit back on the couch so he can’t see my face. Any time deployment comes up, every muscle in my body tightens until I can hardly breathe.