by Joss Ware
Nothing. He smiled again, though, because he heard a little choked sound that might have been a surprised gasp. In a good way.
Just wait till he got his hands on her again. And it would happen soon…because she’d be coming after her arrow again.
He knew it for a fact. “Just so you know,” he called up into the darkness, “I’m taking the arrow with me. So you’ll have to wait till I get back to get it.”
“Wear a fucking bandanna.”
CHAPTER 16
At last, the darkness lifted and Sage dragged her eyes open amid renewed pounding in her head.
About that time, she realized her arms were bound in front of her. And that she was half slumped, half sitting on a seat that rumbled beneath her.
In a vehicle? Yes. The terrain whizzed by beyond the window. Her cheek rested on the edge of the door, jolting with every little—or big—bump.
It was daylight and she closed her eyes, head throbbing and body bouncing in its seat. Oh, God, I hope I’m not going to be sick.
When she was brave enough to open her eyes again, she looked to the left and saw the man who’d talked to her the night of the festival—Ian Marck. He glanced over at her briefly, then he turned his attention back to his driving.
“I need to stop,” she said, her stomach pitching violently. Between the knock on the head, the motion sickness, and her fear, she wasn’t going to make it much farther. “Or I’m going to make a mess.”
He looked back at her and must have seen the alarm in her face, for he stopped the truck quickly—and the jerking halt was almost as bad as if he’d kept going. Sage closed her eyes, gulping air, trying to regain control of herself. She did not want to puke in front of this guy. That would sort of ruin her whole idea of being strong and fearless.
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself looking into the barrel of a gun. Her stomach dropped and her mouth dried, and, amazingly, all of her nausea evaporated.
“This is as good a place as any,” he said.
“For what?”
“What did you find out in Falling Creek? About Remington Truth?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Falling Creek. He knew she’d gone there…because he’d sent her there. Conveniently gave her the clue. And used her Corrigan blood. Jerk.
Although “jerk” was a pretty weak word for a guy who had a gun on her. And who looked ready to use it. Asshole.
“You think you and your friends are the only people looking for Truth?” he said, his blue-gray eyes cold. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to find a way into Falling Creek? Now tell me what the hell you found out.”
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, her heart beating so fast she could hardly form the words. She might have thoughts filled with bravado, but she wasn’t brave enough to talk that way. I need to find Simon first, asshole.
He didn’t reply, just brandished the gun a little more threateningly. Closer to her face. She swore she could smell the cold metal. “I’m not a very patient man. What did you find out?”
“Truth’s not there,” she said. “Is that where you’re taking me? To Falling Creek?”
Once again, he said nothing, but she suspected that a trip to FC had been his plan. “What else? I know there’s something there. Tell me what you know.” He wasn’t asking nicely.
“There’s nothing else.”
A loud click sounded. Ominous. And though she’d never been around a real gun before, Sage had seen enough movies to know what that noise portended.
“I have no patience for lies,” he told her. “I’m going to count to three. And then I’m going to lose my patience. One…”
“Someone who knew Remington Truth was going to a place called Redlow.”
His chilly eyes scraped over her. The man might be considered handsome if those eyes weren’t so empty and cold. And he weren’t holding a gun in his hand. “What do you know about this someone?”
She shook her head. “A woman. With dark hair. That’s it. That’s all I know.”
“It seems like every time you say ‘that’s all’ there’s something more,” he said in an unfriendly tone. “I know where Redlow is. You can come with me. That way you’ll be able to help find this woman. Or…not.”
Sage swallowed hard, feeling the motion sickness return with full force. The “or…not” part was very clear: she had to help him find the woman, or she was going to be hurting.
Probably even dead.
Asshole.
Simon might have laughed when he reached the settlement of Redlow and realized how it had gotten its name…if he weren’t so weary and sick at heart.
As it was, when he saw the familiar letters still hanging from a building that had once said RED LOBSTER, complete with the iconic red creature, he couldn’t contain a brief roll of the eyes. RED LO was all that was left.
He’d awakened this morning cramped in the front seat of the humvee, sun streaming down, magnified by the window glass so that he was hot and sweaty by the time he awoke. He’d left the windows closed and doors locked overnight in case of curious gangas.
Simon had had a quick wash-up in the river that flowed near Falling Creek and gave it much of its electrical power. He figured it was probably the particular geographic formation that had given its name to this neighborhood once upon a time. Or perhaps the neighborhood had been built first, and the falling creek created to go along with it.
And while he was in the water, which felt so cool and cleansing after the stuffy night in the humvee and the even more stifling day with Florita, Simon decided he needed to follow up on Sage’s lead about the woman who’d had Truth’s ID badge.
When he stopped in Falling Creek to let the community leaders, whose names he never really knew and easily forgot, know about the crystal guard, he also got directions to Redlow.
And here he was.
What had obviously once been a parking lot for the large store and the restaurant was a familiar sight—overgrown with trees and bushes, grass sprouting up from the wide cracks in the old concrete. But here, in a row, was lined up about a half dozen semi-truck trailers, and perpendicular to the former parking lot was a single row of about six townhouses. Still intact and looking fairly well kept. A small little settlement that had probably sprung up some time after the Change, built around the scavengeable items in the grocery store and even in the restaurant.
There was no protective fence around this village—either to keep the gangas out or the people in, and he wondered about that. Maybe they took other precautions, like locking their doors and not going out at night, living on the second floor, where gangas couldn’t get to.
He was glad he’d parked the truck he’d taken from Rita out of sight of the settlement, behind a cluster of trees. Since most people equated vehicles with the Strangers, he hadn’t wanted to jeopardize his chances of getting information.
A dog barked, deep and low, in the distance, and a small group of children played on a pile of salvaged semi-truck tires. Just another day on Main Street USA—or the closest thing to it now. A few people walked about, going about their business, looking at him curiously as he approached from the distance. But he was a single man, hardly a threat and more of a curiosity, he supposed.
His lips curled humorlessly. What were the chances they’d find this woman, who might have been coming here four years ago, and who might have known Remington Truth? It was such a slim lead, he wondered why he was wasting his time.
But he knew why. And it had less to do with finding Remington Truth than…other things.
Just then, as he walked closer to the small settlement, he noticed another humvee, parked behind a sag-roofed garage with full bushes sprouting from roof and windows. His instincts went on high alert, and he detoured over to the vehicle. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see whether it was occupied, so he approached cautiously.
Right away he knew it wasn’t the truck used by the Resistance, which had been his first thought. Hope. That they might already be h
ere, following up on the same lead. But this one didn’t sport the dent in the passenger side, nor the scratch along the back.
It was in much better shape.
Simon sneaked up to the truck from behind, wondering if there were Strangers inside, and wondered what would happen if he put a bullet into their crystals. Would that kill them? He gripped the SIG, crouching as he came up to the passenger door, readied himself, and flung it open, gun pointing in instantly.
The vehicle was empty and Simon climbed in, shutting the door behind him, figuring he’d take a look around. A few water bottles in the back, a pack of food, some clothes…someone was on the road.
He found a box of pistol magazines under the driver’s seat. Fucker had a gun, and since it wasn’t in the truck, it had to be with him. On the floor were some ropes that looked like they’d been cut off something. His mind humming, Simon searched further…then suddenly a faint glint, very faint, hardly noticeable, stopped him. Hair on the dash, caught in the sun…a few very long, curly, reddish-golden-pink hairs that made him go cold.
No. There were lots of Corrigans nearby; Falling Creek was only a couple hours away. It didn’t have to be Sage’s—unlikely to be Sage’s. But it could be.
Simon backed out of the truck and closed the door, adrenaline pumping. No one was about, and he adjusted the SIG in the back of his waistband, making sure it was easily reached, and hidden by his untucked shirt.
He did not like the feel of this.
He swiped the keys that had been hidden under the driver’s side mat and pocketed them, hurrying off toward the settlement. As he approached, he controlled his expression, one that he knew could be frightening when he was on alert as he was now, and made certain to exude calm and casualness when he asked if anyone had seen a woman with long reddish hair.
A young man pointed him in the direction of the semi-truck trailers, then went back to weeding a small patch of carrots and green beans. At least, that’s what he thought they were…Simon hadn’t spent much time in a garden.
Keeping his movements casual, he nevertheless hurried toward the semi-trucks and asked a few more people on the way. The truck trailers had been outfitted with windows, or their doors were wide open, for it was much too hot and stuffy to be closed up.
Simon shimmered into invisibility and sidled up to one of the vehicles, looking inside. Just an old woman sitting on a bed while two young children played in front of her.
The next one was empty of people, but obviously was used as a home. But the third one…Simon stood at the end of the truck, looking in through the wide opening and stared in shock. Then cold, black fury washed over him, nearly shaking his invisibility with its force. But he held on.
And he reached for his SIG.
It was fucking Ian Marck…and Sage. Marck had his gun jammed into the soft part of her neck, and he had a grip on her arm that, even from where he stood, Simon could see the white marks emanating from around his fingers.
“I’m tired of playing games,” Marck said, and Sage gave a soft little grunt as he shoved the gun harder. They were alone in the truck, which appeared to have been abandoned some time ago. Furnishings and debris cluttered the area as if no one had lived there for a while. “Tell me who this woman is, and quit leading me around in circles.”
Simon had already moved into the truck. It was almost too easy, too ridiculously easy, after everything he’d been through…but there he was, gun to the back of Marck’s head before he even realized it.
But when Simon kissed the back of Marck’s skull with the nose of his SIG, the man froze. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drop you right here,” Simon said, shimmering back into visibility.
“What the fuck?” Marck said. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Let her go and drop the gun. I won’t say it twice.”
“Simon,” Sage squeaked. He wasn’t sure if it was surprise, delight, or horror.
Marck didn’t move, and Simon pushed the barrel harder. “You got a death wish, chavala?”
“You have no fucking idea,” Marck said wearily. And he released Sage, raising his hands.
“Drop the weapon,” Simon told him. Fuckhead. “Slowly. To the floor.” Hell, he sounded like a damned cop.
He trained his weapon on Marck as the other man crouched to drop the gun, then lifted it slowly with him, and only then did he move around into the other man’s view. He’d cast a quick glance at Sage, confirmed the absence of blood and bruises, but otherwise, spared her not a look. He dared not.
“You,” Marck said, recognizing him from the Pub.
Simon ignored him. “Did he hurt you?” he asked Sage, without taking his eyes from the man in his sight. The SIG was looking Ian Marck in the eye, steadily.
“No,” she said. And then he chanced a look at her again, saw the expression on her face…and that’s when he knew. She knew. All about him.
His body turned cold, not with the fury that had consumed him, but with some other emotion he dared not define. He swallowed and tore his eyes from her, back to Ian Marck. The son of a bitch deserved to die. There was no reason not to pull the trigger.
This world was no man’s land, every man for himself. Hadn’t Marck helped to abduct Jade a month ago? And now he’d kidnapped Sage. Put his hands on her, tied her up…Simon noticed the red on her wrists, which was around them and definitely not from crystal grit.
“So you going to do it or what?” Asshole.
Simon jerked himself from the pit of his dark thoughts and his finger tightened on the trigger. He’d relish it. He looked at Sage, knowing his eyes were dark and wild, and said curtly, “Get out of here. You don’t want to see this.”
Her mouth rounded and she moved, as if to reach for him…but Simon, intent on proving to her that he was, indeed, not her fucking superman, not her goddamned hero, but exactly the man she thought he was…that she now knew he was…gave her a black look that brooked no disobedience. No tolerance. No tenderness.
She recoiled as if he’d slapped her—and he supposed he fairly well had, with his expression, and it was all right because it was necessary—and she ran out of the truck trailer.
Leaving him with the gun pressing into Ian Marck’s jaw.
“On your knees,” Simon ordered.
The man actually hesitated. “What, you don’t want to get blood on you, asshole?”
Simon drew in a long, easy breath and smiled his death-smile. The SIG had a nice, long trigger…and he started to pull on it. “On your knees. Hands on your head.”
Marck didn’t move; instead, glared at him eye to eye, boldly and angrily. “Fuck you. I don’t mind the mess. I won’t be around to care.”
His finger tightened a little more, he felt it slip into the second half, and he said, “Good-bye, Ian Marck.”
CHAPTER 17
Sage heard the sharp report of a gunshot. It echoed inside the huge metal space she’d just left.
Simon…no.
Oh, God.
She brushed away the tears and realized her fingers were trembling. It wasn’t for her. It was for him. Damn it.
When she’d first sensed Simon’s presence, when he moved into the room, invisible, she’d had a surge of hope. But then she’d seen his face. The gun. The way he carried it, as if it were an extension of him.
Then, all of a sudden, Simon was here again, next to her. She looked up, searching his face, but it was just as empty and cold as it had been inside the room. She couldn’t help it, she glanced behind him, looking, hoping for Marck to follow him.
“He’s not coming out,” Simon said. Flat and hard. His eyes locked on hers, so dark and angry that she nearly took a step back. “He deserved it for putting his hands on you. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No,” she said. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, to see if she could find her Simon beneath this cold, statue of a man.
“What happened?” he asked. And she saw him adjust the weapon in the waistband of his jeans, there just be
hind his left hip. “How’d he get you? Where’s Theo?”
“Back in Envy, as far as I know,” she retorted, allowing the anger into her voice. Damn him and the Theo game.
“He never came to pick you up?” Simon said, his voice showing the first bit of emotion—surprise—since she’d seen him.
“He got me, and we went back to Envy. I hit my head and blacked out when I was coming out of the tunnel, and he took me back so Elliott could look at me. Otherwise, we would have come into Falling Creek to look for you.” She measured him boldly, trying to hide her confusion and sorrow. “Obviously, you weren’t in need of our help.”
“Florita is dead,” he told her.
She nodded, her heart filling her throat. Another one dead. But at least she’d been a Stranger. And obviously not his lover.
And she’d meant to kill an entire city, just so she could have Simon. For a moment, Sage empathized with her.
“After she slit the throat of a girl she thought was you,” Simon added. “In front of me.” He moved his shoulders fluidly. “I don’t take kindly to seeing women mistreated.”
“Simon, why—”
“So you’ve done your research, I see.” His beautiful mouth narrowed in a humorless smile. “Now you know who I am. So don’t bother to ask why.”
“But, Simon…that’s not you.”
It was his turn to step back. He looked like a fierce gang member—heck, he had been one, a long time ago—with his dark hair pulled back and the black T-shirt, black jeans he wore. And the gleaming handle of his pistol sticking out of his waistband. “It is me, Sage. You just didn’t understand it until now. And now you do, and now you can put away those happy thoughts of me and get on with things.”
He turned and started to walk away, then paused after a few steps. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find that woman, and then we’ll get you out of here. I’ve got things to do.”
She followed, dazed and lost. Weary and slow. But she noticed the way his shoulders sagged, as though drawn down, and she thought again…Simon, Simon…why? You didn’t have to fall back into it. You didn’t have to.