Redemption (Enigma Black Trilogy Book #3)

by Furlong-Burr, Sara

  Chase obediently closed his eyes and stood there, listening to the doors open and close. Through the windows, the setting sun’s rays reached him, enveloping him in warmth. He pictured his wedding day, the room covered in lilies, roses and peonies in various shades of pink, the aisle lined with petals in a room filled with their family and friends. In the background, he could almost hear the harpist playing the Wedding March as the doors opened, revealing a bride—his bride—in her wedding dress, a smile stretched wide across her timid face, her brown hair pulled upward into her veil.

  His eyes flew open, his pulse quickening as a sickness quickly began to overcome him.

  “Oh, Chase,” Paige said, sighing. She wore a generic white dress. In her hands was a sample of the flowers they’d chosen for their wedding in a bouquet for effect. “You’ve ruined the surprise.” Paige rolled her eyes and walked down the aisle in disgust, which quickly turned to concern with each step. “Chase, you’re as white as a sheet. What is it, what’s wrong? Chase?”

  Finding his legs growing more unsteady by the second and his mind turning to a blank slate, Chase crumpled to the floor as the world around him grew black.

  “Pauline,” Paige shouted, “call an ambulance!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Never the Same

  We gathered around the laptop that sat open in front of Marshall, impatiently waiting for the message Brooks was preparing to hit us with next. An increase in the bounty? A new restriction? The capture of more rebels? Whatever it may be, we had been waiting for the better part of twenty minutes for nothing, which proved to be much more concerning.

  “Maybe it’s a fluke,” John said.

  “Nothing is ever a fluke where Brooks is concerned,” Marshall said, refusing to take his eyes away from the screen. “There’s always a reason behind the things he does. Do we have spotters out on the roof still?”

  “Yes,” Jill said. “And the last I heard, all is still well out there.”

  “Thank you, Jill,” Marshall said, leaning back in his chair.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Ian said quietly. “It’s been a long day and, besides that, I’m pretty sure I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said. He laughed as he made his way up the stairs, unnoticed by the others. I looked over at Jill, who seemed just about as nervous as Marshall. Her words to me earlier that evening—simple yet wise—replayed in my head, their meaning resonating with me more and more with each run through.

  Ian, the boy I’d pegged as someone he wasn’t, the man I’d witnessed him become in such a short time, had turned into my best friend, my hero, my virtual world. Every ounce of happiness I’d experienced over the past year had been either with him or because of him, and for me to let any more of those opportunities pass me by was foolish. Because of him, I could see a future for myself, one that wasn’t so bleak.

  I looked around the room once more, noticed the crowd had thinned out, and slowly inched myself toward the back until I reached the staircase and began the climb to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, I turned and walked apprehensively down the hallway, my heart beating erratically with each step. Emotions from just about every spectrum swam through my head, which made me feel as though I was teetering on the edge of sanity. When I reached the door to our room, I hesitated, feeling foolish for the nerves that made my hand shake when I turned the handle and my legs seem like jelly when I tried to walk over the threshold.

  Get it together, Celaine. It’s Ian. There’s nothing intimidating about Ian.

  When I entered the room, I heard the muffled sound of water beating against the plastic shower curtain. It was now or never because I knew I wouldn’t be able to gather up enough nerve again to do what I was about to do for quite a while.

  Taking a deep breath and cursing my cowardice once more, I stripped my clothes away from my body and turned the knob of the bathroom door. With each millimeter the door opened, I could feel my heart beat harder as it sunk into my stomach and summoned a strange, sickeningly sweet nausea.

  Steam rolled out of the bathroom when I opened the door and stepped inside, and I quickly shut myself in the room to preserve its essence. Through breaks in the condensation on the clear plastic shower curtain, I saw Ian. His back was to me as he leaned against the wall of the shower, allowing the hot water to roll over the musculature of his body. Nervously, my feet glided lightly over the linoleum floor, and my chest grew heavier with anticipation with each step. Ian would have to be the voice of reason now, for my body wasn’t going to allow me to be. Every ounce of my being wanted him, needed him, in every conceivable way.

  I slid the curtain open and allowed myself just enough room to enter the shower. Beads of water bounced off Ian’s body and struck mine like rain. He seemed to be in a form of meditation, trying his best to relax his body and mind from the beating he’d taken today and every day since his arrival at The Epicenter. Watching him intently, I placed my hand near his, unsure of whether I should break his concentration or leave and allow him to have this one moment of peace.

  His hand left its place on the shower wall long enough for him to use his fingers to brush the water through his hair. Then, unexpectedly, he broke his concentration and opened his eyes, finally noticing me standing next to him. Breathless, he stood looking down at me, struggling to keep his eyes above chest level as if looking at my naked body would be in some way disrespectful to my existence. With disbelief evident in his eyes, he guided his hand across the shower, shuddering slightly when his fingers made contact with my skin as though he expected me to be nothing more than an apparition.

  Ian’s fingertips ran their way up my arm as he drew his body in closer to mine, brushing the space between my clavicle, the still-healing gunshot wound, and the various scars and mars my body had sustained due to having made “superhero” my chosen vocation.

  “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he said, resting one hand on my cheek. The original shock of seeing me had melted away from his face to reveal not the innocent longing I’d grown accustomed to, but a look of unadulterated need. I could feel my pulse quicken, my breath growing shallow. “And I say that with the utmost confidence that you won’t feel the need to escape via balcony.” He smiled, a sweet smile that made me feel safe, as though being in his arms was where I was meant to be.

  “Not this time,” I said, my fingers finding their way through his hair. “Besides, I checked and there aren’t any balconies here.” He laughed, gently resting his forehead against mine. “You have me, Ian Grant,” I whispered. “In every way possible, I’m yours.”

  “Celaine,” he moaned, his breath quickening. There was no need to contain himself, no wondering whether we were both on the same page, and the knowledge that he could give in—that I didn’t expect him to hold back anymore—caused his grip on my body to tighten.

  Ian pushed his body against mine, brushing his lips against my nose as he cupped the back of my head in his hands and guided his lips down my face until they met mine. I pushed my mouth to his desperately, wrapping my arms around his wet body. His rapid heartbeat matched my own, which only made me want him that much more—to be that much closer to him.

  “Ian, I—”

  “I know,” he said, interrupting me as though our thoughts were as in tune with each other as our bodies were at that very moment. “I know you do.”

  Unable to control himself any longer, he pressed his lips to mine more intensely than before and allowed his hands to wander away from my face, where they moved over my breasts and across my stomach, finally settling on my hips. Deftly, he lifted me up into his body and guided my legs around his waist as he pressed me against the wall of the shower, letting out a moan the moment our bodies became one.

  *****

  “Seriously, Madison, none of this is necessary,” Chase said. “I just fainted and passed out for a couple of minutes, but I’m fine now. Really, I don’t need an IV treatment.” He attemp
ted to move his arm away from the nurse’s reach, but she caught it mid-move.

  “Dr. Matthews, are you asking me to forgo my training and discharge you without first following the proper protocol?” She smiled at him as she secured a tourniquet around his arm. “Because I know you wouldn’t dream of asking me to do such a thing, especially when you’re in such an obvious state of distress.”

  “Distress? Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic there? It’s just nerves, Madison, nothing else.”

  “Nerves?” she asked, disconcerted. “Chase, I’ve never seen you look so horrible in all the years I’ve known you—well, at least not in quite a while, anyway. When you first came in, you were pale, ashen even. You were, and still are, dehydrated. It’s as though your body was in a state of shock, like you’ve just been through something traumatic.”

  “I wouldn’t say traumatic. Paige and I were just looking at The Woodland Lodge to get an idea of how things are going to be set up for the wedding.”

  “Stress, then, about everything that needs to be done?”

  “No, it wasn’t even that. Our wedding planner had me stand at the end of the aisle and envision everything I wanted our wedding to be, and I did.”

  “That sounds terrible.” Madison laughed, securing the IV in his arm.

  “You’re really full of it tonight.” He chuckled, reaching for the water on his tray.

  “So, what did you envision? What was it like?”

  “It was everything I ever wanted it to be.”

  “What happened, then?”

  “I opened my eyes.”

  Madison removed her gloves, tossed them into the trash and headed over to the sink to wash her hands. “Well, then I suggest you keep them closed because it’s been my personal experience that one’s dreams are always better than their reality.” She picked up the wrappings for the IV and disposed of them before returning to sit on the edge of the hospital bed, where she fell silent. “Or,” she began again, “you can always choose to live your life with your eyes open, and find every way in your power to make your dreams become your reality, no matter what that may entail.”

  “Well, it certainly looks like my future husband is in good hands here,” Paige said, entering the room with a coffee from the cafeteria in her hand. “How is he doing, Madison?”

  “Oh, I think he’s going to pull through, eyes open or closed,” she said, smiling at Chase. “Though I recommend he close them for a little while longer as it may provide him with some clarity.”

  “Well, then,” Paige said, “you heard the woman, Chase. Close your eyes.”

  *****

  I lay in bed with Ian, naked, my head resting on his chest, listening to the tempo of his beating heart, the same sound that had lulled me to sleep. Darkness had descended upon us once again with the arrival of nightfall and the expected loss of power to the city.

  “Ian,” I whispered, but received no response. His breathing was even and in the same pattern as his heartbeat—the pattern of sleep. I smiled, debating whether to wake him up so we could go downstairs to see what, if anything, we’d missed in the last couple of hours, or let him sleep. Deciding on the latter, I found myself unable to move, knowing that, at this very moment, everything was as close to perfect as it had been in nearly a year. This singular moment—this here and now—was one I wanted to savor, a moment from which I needed to squeeze every last second. Because whether for better or for worse, nothing would ever be the same again. What had happened between us would change us forever.

  In that instant, Chase—his face, my memories—flashed through my mind, reminding me that he was still there. Though my thoughts of him were becoming less frequent, I knew he would never fade away entirely. And I didn’t want him to despite how selfish that seemed. My only hope was that someday he would know why it was I had to leave him, and that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. How and when that would happen, I didn’t know, but I would find a way.

  I closed my eyes, nearly drifting off to sleep when I heard a pained scream followed by commotion from the floor below us. In a flash, I bolted out of bed and ran to the window to look out at the street between the openings in the slats. Below, surrounding the entirety of our building for at least as far as I could see, were soldiers, guns drawn and trained on those rebels they’d already managed to pull from the building.

  “What is it? Celaine, what’s going on?” Ian asked, woken by the noise. He jumped out of bed to join me at the window.

  “We need to get our suits on now,” I answered as I turned away from the horrific view outside and stumbled in the dark to find them. Nearby, heavy footsteps struck the staircase with force. Our time had run out, the last grains of sand in the hourglass had fallen.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Captured

  We scrambled to throw our suits on in the dark, moving as fast as we could manage. Down the hall, heavy military boots created footsteps so loud they were all but deafening. Doors opened and slammed shut as even the empty rooms were searched, while screams and gunshots came from those rooms where rebel occupants remained hiding.

  “Here,” Ian said. I felt something lightly strike my arm, which I caught with a quick maneuver of my hand.

  “Ian, no, I’m not wearing your jacket again,” I said, pulling my boot on.

  “Yes, you are, and we really don’t have the time to argue over it.” He quickly shuffled around the room as I reluctantly slipped the jacket on, letting him win yet again.

  I secured my helmet on over my head and reached inside my holster to ready my gun. Outside our room, the footsteps drew closer. Ian slipped his backpack over his shoulders, tossing mine to me, both of us knowing, but not wanting to admit out loud, that we wouldn’t be returning to this room again once we left it.

  “They’re almost here,” Ian said quietly. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up toward him. Two, maybe three, doors down from us, I heard the sound of a boot striking a door. “What do you think? Wait for them to break down our door and surprise them by fighting back?”

  “No. We run out there and strike them first, try to take them by surprise.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” he sighed.

  “They’re here because of us, because of the bounty placed upon our heads. We need to save as many rebels as possible, Ian. They can’t be made to suffer for the sins Brooks pinned on us.”

  “So we fight, save as many of them as possible, and then we run. Best case scenario.”

  “Best case scenario.”

  “Worst case scenario, we’re captured, imprisoned while Brooks gloats and parades us around in front of his cameras, and then we’re executed in front of a crowd of his most stalwart followers.”

  “Keep your glass half-full, Ian.”

  “Trust me, after tonight my glass is running over.”

  My face burned, which made me thankful for the darkness. “Mine too,” I said.

  “Then let’s make that our motivation, to live so we can have more tonights.”

  The door to the room next to ours was forced open as soldiers ran in, searching for its occupants. Ian turned to walk toward our door, but was cut short by me when I grabbed him in desperation and found his lips with mine with surprising ease.

  “To more tonights,” I whispered. I let him go and held my gun at my side, ready to take aim the second he opened the door.

  “It’s now or never.” He gripped the handle, threw the door open and, together, we ran out into the hallway just as the soldiers were making their way back into the hallway from the neighboring room.

  *****

  Victor’s boots made a discernable thump with each step on the asphalt of the deserted street. In his hand, he carried a round, sphere-like object, which he threw up into the air, nimbly catching it with one hand when it came down. Strapped to his back was a satchel containing several more of the small, metallic objects, all with timers systematically set to go off within minutes of each other. The bomb
s were small, yet their effect would be devastating, enough to level the buildings along the block in which he walked.

  Though it had taken him the better part of a week of meticulous planning, preparation and the ultimate planting of each of the spheres, he had finally finished. In just about every building within a two-mile radius of where he now stood, he had planted at least one of the spherical objects, rigged to explode. And each explosion would send a clear message to the one person he hoped they would touch the most.

  He scowled as he passed familiar buildings, as memories of the past –of his former life—flooded through his head. Memories of his years as a doctor, full of hope and promise, of his friendship with a young up-and-comer named George Stevens. Not too many people had gotten him, but George had. Together they’d shared a vision of advancing their research, taking the practice of medicine to new heights. George Stevens had been his confidant, his partner, until he’d stabbed him in the back.

  Victor cursed the wind at the memory of being called into the office of the hospital’s chief of staff, of being asked to resign and then being promptly escorted from the premises after he refused. All of his work, his research that would change the world, was lost. Research that could lead to prolonged life, to an enhanced human, to even the future possibility of immortality, was stripped away from him, forcing him to start from scratch, which set him back years in the process.

  All the while, Dr. George Stevens ascended through the ranks at Hope Memorial Hospital, becoming the recipient of numerous commendations, awards, and invitations to speak at countless forums. Victor sneered at the thought of his former friend and colleague’s success, of which he kept track through newspaper clippings, magazine articles and other forms of media, waiting for the day he would show him how wrong he had been to doubt him and his research.

  And I showed him, Victor smiled sadistically. He went to his grave knowing I’d beaten him.

  Victor rounded the block, promptly stopping in his tracks to take in the sight of The Woodland Lodge. Located in the dead center of the blast area, it was his new epicenter, the nexus where all of his careful planning would come to bear fruit. The place where he would rid himself of the Stevens name forever.