by SF Benson
At one point, I thought I could trust Taa Aoki. In order to escape the isolated compound, I needed to trust someone. I chose her despite learning she had been the leader of the Alliance and faked her death. I aligned with her despite the fact that she often seemed to be working against me. I attached myself to this woman because I was desperate for someone, anyone, to take the place of the mother I lost. As the lines between fact and fiction blurred, however, the tenuous hope I had in her began to unravel. It started with her insistence that we give her the SIM card. It progressed with her insistence that I do something about her son’s baby.
“What did you find out?”
“She told someone about Zared. Whoever it was now knows he was in surgery.” Ko tilts her head and purses her lips. She bounces a curled knuckle against her mouth before speaking. “It’s what she said next that makes no sense. She said their son nearly died saving her life.”
“Their son?” How can that be? I thought Katsuo was dead. Zared told me that he killed his father after the man shot Ko. “You must have heard wrong.”
“Heard what wrong?” We pause at the sound of the familiar masculine voice coming through the door. Asher Jones, a military man with surfer boy good looks, puts a smile on my face.
We became friends after my mother died. Asher was the only one who was able to pull me away from the edge of insanity. He shared with me how he lost his family during the Street Wars. The man understood my grief even better than Zared who just wanted to comfort me and ease my suffering. What I needed at that time, and still do, was to face my grief and learn to cope with it. Asher taught me that and I’ll be forever grateful.
He enters the room and I ask, “Where’s Taa?”
“Waiting area.” Asher crosses the room and puts his arms around me. “Did Ko tell you that Zared’s still in surgery?”
“Yeah.” My stomach knots and I feel faint.
Asher holds me tighter. “Stop worrying. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Dude’s tough.”
I nod against his chest, take a deep breath, and step back. “Thanks.”
He looks between Ko and me. “So what were you talking about?”
“Katsuo Aoki,” I answer. “The man died, right?”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “I saw the body. Medics took him to the morgue. Why?”
Ko peers at me like she’s seeking permission to tell what she heard. I gesture for her to go ahead. “I overheard Taa tell someone that their son nearly died.”
Asher rakes a hand through his sandy blond hair and pulls a face. “Not possible. I assure you Katsuo’s dead.”
It’s a sad fact, but in my world anything can and will happen. Things and people, no matter how much we want to believe in them, aren’t always as they seem. There are only three people in this world I trust—two are in this room and the other lies on an operating table. “Is there any way you can check into it, Asher?”
Puzzlement dances in his eyes. “How am I—”
“DNA test,” Ko announces and a smile takes possession of her lips. “Samples for both of them are in the database. I can run it.”
Asher and I both respond with, “You can?”
“I just need a computer. This is a medical facility. There has to be one around. Just leave it up to me.” She walks toward the door. “Go see about Zared. I’ll get whatever proof we need.”
“Thank you.” I stop Ko and give her a hug.
After my mother’s death, I acted terrible toward my friend. I needed to grieve for Mom, but Ko warned me that any show of emotion would uncover my hiding place within the Riza Corps. I heeded her warning and shut down. For a long time, I blamed her for my anger. It feels good knowing she’s here to help me, someone else to fret over the other complicated layers in my life.
“Asher, why don’t you go with her?”
His eyes lift to meet mine. “You sure? I can sit with you.”
“No. I’m good.”
Ko reaches for Asher’s hand and the smile wavers on his face. He seems to be dragging his feet leaving the room. As the door closes behind them, I wonder what’s up with his sudden change in behavior with my friend. What happened to him wanting a relationship with her?
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ponder the possibilities. Right now I need to face the beast, better known as Taa Aoki, lurking in the waiting area. I steel my spine and walk out.
Chapter Two
Your best offense is to learn your enemy’s defense.
—from “An Introspective on Combative Strategies” by Dawa Zhu
Tru
Taa stands before a rusty, barred window looking out on the sovereign wasteland—miles of trees, broken buildings, and fighter jet skeletons. I envy her appearance of calm in the midst of turmoil. Regardless of Taa’s deceit, she’s a parent. Knowing her son nearly died protecting her has to disturb her on some level.
I’ve never been a patient person and this wait is killing me. My body quakes with the realization that the longer Zared is in surgery the bleaker the outcome.
“Are you ready to talk or are you just going to stand there?” She throws over her shoulder.
I disregard the nasty tone and approach her, forgetting my momentary lapse of sympathy. Until Taa discloses what she’s hiding, I have nothing to say. “Any news?”
“Not yet.” She glances at me. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
“I’m fine.” I bite my lip in an effort to hold back the pain pulsating through my head. It’s unusual for me to keep a headache this long, has to be from the concussion.
She folds her arms. “Suit yourself. You should know that I kept a headache while pregnant with Zared.”
My head jerks back. “What if it’s just from the concussion? Can I take anything for it?”
“Regardless, it’s best you do not take anything until you see a doctor. Getting enough rest and making sure you eat regularly will help. If you are tired or your blood sugar drops, you will get a headache.”
“Great.” I lower myself onto one of the hard plastic chairs.
Taa sits beside me. “Have you decided what you want to do about your pregnancy?”
Not discuss it. I exhale. “I haven’t thought about it. I need to speak with Zared first.”
“What if he doesn’t want it? Are you prepared to do what should be done?” Her words are barbed like the wire on the fences surrounding North Woods.
What on earth is her issue? Zared is a man capable of making his own decisions. If he wants to raise this child, who is she to stop him?
Soft shuffling approaches us followed by someone clearing his throat. Thank God, we can table this conversation.
My head lifts. A bald, dark-skinned man in blood-covered green scrubs stands in front of us. The smell turns my stomach. Fighting back the bile is a major effort.
“Dr. Aoki, a word please.” The doctor motions for Taa to follow him.
“Not necessary, Dr. Spencer.” Taa waves her hand toward me and plasters a polite smile across her face. “This is my son’s fiancée.”
Since when?
“Very well.” Dr. Spencer shoves his hands into his lab coat pockets and leans forward as he speaks. “Your son made it through surgery. We found bleeding on the anterior and posterior walls of the left pulmonary artery. The bullet was lodged inside the wall of the bronchus. We managed to repair the wounds. Provided there’s no infection, he should make a full recovery.”
I release the breath I didn’t realize I’m holding. “When can he leave?”
“In about ten days. He needs time to recover.” The doctor studies me a moment too long for comfort. I sense judgment where there is none. More time passes before he tells me, “You can go in and see him. He’s in recovery.”
I’m on my feet in an instant. “Which way?”
“Down the corridor,” he directs. “Turn to your right.”
I take off running down the hall. The tension in my body evaporates like the morning fog. I’m thanking God with every step I take.
She asks sharply, “Who are you here for?”
“Zared. Zared Aoki.”
“And you are?” The woman’s blue eyes study me as she waits for a response.
I take a cue from Taa and hold my chin high. “I’m his fiancée.”
Her features soften and she instructs, “Second door on the left.”
I quickly thank her and speed off down the hall stopping in front of a nondescript white door. Slowly, I open it and slip inside.
The steady beep of the heart monitor greets me. My eyes take a second to adjust to the low light, and then I see Zared lying still. I watch him closely looking for confirmation of the monitor’s status. The covers rise slightly and drop back down, again and again.
Thank God!
I plop down on the well-worn, fabric chair next to his bed. Gathering his hand to my cheek, I pray. I’ve never been much of a religious person. Of course, I assume there is a supreme being orchestrating the events of our lives and deciding when our lifelines should end. And I do believe in Heaven and Hell. It wasn’t until I lost my mother and Zared being shot, however, that I realized how precious life could be. So now, I pray.
I finish my talk with God and then take the time to admonish my boyfriend while he can’t hear me. “Zared, you scared the crap out of me. I’d appreciate it if you don’t do it again.”
“O-o-kay,” a voice mumbles.
I blink and shake my head. Surely, I didn’t hear him speak. I squeeze his hand and urge, “Say it again.”
“Babe?” There it is again. No mistaking his husky voice.
Tears stream down my face. The words gush from my mouth, “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Wh-what happened?” Exhaustion coats and drips from his words.
I wipe my face. “Don’t strain yourself. You had surgery.”
“Shot?”
“Yeah. There’s no need for you to worry about it. The ass who shot you is dead.” It’s the one death I’ve committed that I have no qualms or issues with. After the things Holden put me through, I can find no sympathy for him.
Zared’s chestnut eyes flutter open and his head rolls toward me. “You?”
I gaze into those beautiful eyes and thank God, once again, that Holden actions didn’t rob the light from them. “Yeah. Me.”
“Badass,” he mumbles and a tremor of a smile touches his perfect sexy lips.
The door opens behind me. It’s Taa. I don’t want to leave. Zared and I have been apart for too long. But I’ll be the bigger person and respect the fact that Taa deserves to spend time with her son, too.
“Zared. Your mom’s here. I’m going to let Ko and Asher know that you’re awake. I’ll be back.”
He swallows with great difficulty. “Promise?”
“I promise.” I place a chaste kiss on his forehead.
Taa and I exchange a knowing glance, a warning from me to her, before I step into the hall. I lean against the door and close my eyes. If only prayer would get rid of my headache.
Footsteps smacking across the linoleum floor seize my attention. I open my eyes in time to see Ko and Asher rushing down the hall.
“Is Zared awake?” she asks, all out of breath.
“Yeah. Taa’s in with him.” I gesture to move away from the door. We walk past the empty nurse’s station. “Learn anything?”
Ko grabs my wrist, pulls me close, and murmurs, “Katsuo Aoki was not Zared’s father.”
“What do you mean he wasn’t Zared’s father?”
“Not here,” Asher warns. We follow him through another set of sliding glass doors.
Rebel: the Alliance Chronicles Book Three
is coming April 2017.
By signing up for my newsletter, you’ll be the first to know all news
regarding the next installment in the Alliance Chronicles.
I thank you for reading Asher Jones’ story. It has been my favorite one so far.
As always, I thank my family for their support and patience. I especially thank my husband for his help. Writing from a completely male point of view isn’t possible without the opinion of a male. Honey, you even helped me fill in the blanks for the rioting portions.
I thank my critique partners—Allyson and Neeny! Your help is always appreciated and needed.
I thank my beta reader, Ashley. Your feedback pushed up the emotion in this novella. So glad to have you on my team.
A special thank you goes to my copy editor, Maria Pease. Thank you for catching those things that easily slipped past me.
Thanks go out to my cover designer/artist, Regina Wamba. You keep making these covers awesome.
I can’t forget my formatting team, Cover Me Darling and Athena Interior—thank you, ladies!
And it goes without saying… thanks Mom and Dad. We lived through the riots, you kept us safe.
SF Benson, a Michigan native, resides in Georgia with her husband, a human daughter, and a couple of miniature fur kids (two female short-haired guinea pigs). At one time she wrangled a household which included three Samoyeds, saltwater fish, a hamster, and three guinea pigs. She’s an avid bookworm who appreciates a well-written book regardless of genre. SF prefers writing stories about strong, diverse protagonists set in dystopian, science fiction, or paranormal worlds.
Connect with Author SF Benson
Email: [email protected]
Author’s Website & Blog: http://www.authorsfbenson.com
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Release
Copyright
Also by SF Benson
Dedication
Prologue
FUSE LIT
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
DETONATION
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
FLYING APART
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
AFTERMATH
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Read on…
Acknowledgements
About the Author