***
When I spotted Tamryn and said her name aloud, Blythe’s concern was evident. She glanced from me, to Tamryn, and back again, her brow wrinkled in confusion. Then understanding dawned in her eyes and she looked away, seemingly deciding not to comment on my obvious acquaintance with Tamryn. Instead, she reaches out to clasp my hand as Baron leads us to the first room off the tunnel we took away from the main area. Once inside, the door closed against the sounds of heavy metal and aroma of cooking meat, Baron takes a seat in a high-backed armchair and motions us toward a couch against the wall. The room is small and dimly lit, with old, beat-up furniture ringing its perimeter. A worn, faded rug covers the hard floor and a large, flat screen takes up nearly an entire wall. Expensive stereo equipment accompanies it, reminding me of how the Rejects operate. The state-of-the-art electronics are likely stolen, the theft justified by the Bionics’ poor treatment.
Once Blythe and I are seated, I get right to the point. “Are you holding us prisoner?”
Baron studies me closely for a moment before answering. “No. At least, not as long as I feel you aren’t a threat to us. I took a big risk, bringing you here.”
“Then why did you?” Blythe asks, glaring venomously at Baron. She’s doing nothing to hide her disdain for him or the other members of his extremist group.
Baron smiles and gives her body a once-over from head to toe, causing every muscle in my body to clench in reaction. I don’t give a damn what kind of contraptions he’s got coming out of that bionic arm of his, I won’t hesitate to snap his neck like a twig.
“Because, love,” he says, “I’d hate to see that pretty face of yours all bashed in like your blonde friend. If it weren’t for me, you’d likely be dead.”
Blythe arches an eyebrow. “You expecting a thank you card or something?”
Baron chuckles. “Nothing like that, but a little appreciation would be nice.”
“Thank you,” I offer, nudging Blythe with my elbow. We’re going to have to play nice with these freaks if we want to get out of here alive.
Baron nods to acknowledge my thanks before using the slim remote at his side to turn the TV on. The news is showing security camera footage of Blythe, the Professor, Jenica, and me racing across the tarmac at Stonehead.
“You’ve caused quite a stir around here the last couple of days,” he says. “For once, the heat isn’t on my people.”
“We’re all the same to them,” Blythe snaps, cutting her eyes at Baron. “Even though those of us on the side of peace know the true difference.”
Baron shrugs. “Point taken. Either way, I hope it was worth it.”
“Olivia McNabb and the others have been rescued,” I answer, even while hoping that Dax and Sayer managed to get them back to Headquarters safely. “It was more than worth it.”
“I hope so, mate. I really do. Because now you’re stuck here until the heat dies down. I can try to smuggle you back out to the city limits, but it’s going to take a great deal of planning and resources on my end. I hope you intend to make it worth my while.”
“We don’t have anything to barter with,” Blythe answers. “Even if I did, I’m not sure I’d give anything to you.”
Baron folds his hands and rests them on his stomach. “See, there’s where you’re wrong. I have it on good authority that you have Professor Hinkley’s ear. In fact, you are one of the Resistance’s most dedicated soldiers. Which means you have plenty to barter with, love.”
“You gonna tell me what the fuck you want?”
My fingers reach out to squeeze hers and I’m willing her to calm down. Her temper is getting the best of her and the last thing we need is to have to fight out way out of here, especially with her arm hanging like a lead weight at her side.
Baron continues, ignoring the venom her tone. I think he realizes that for all her bravado, he has the upper hand here. “As you can imagine, having a hideout here in D.C. is to our advantage, though it comes with its share of disadvantages as well. I’ve found that smuggling in food is the worst of our troubles and I happen to know that the Resistance has quite the underground exchange going.”
“If you think for one second that I would agree to sharing our food with you, you must be crazier than I thought,” Blythe answers.
Baron’s lips tighten at the corners and I can tell that she’s starting to annoy him. My grip on her hand grows tighter, almost painful by the glare she shoots me.
“Back down,” I whisper, reminding her that in my own body I stand well over six feet tall and carry over two hundred pounds of muscle. I am not afraid of her and I’m not above throwing her over my shoulder and tossing her out into the hallway if she doesn’t stop making negotiations with this jackass harder. As much as I admire her spunk, I can see where it’s going to be a problem in this situation. “What exactly are you asking for?” I ask Baron.
“All I ask is that the Resistance considers sending a few packages a month our way. Bare essentials. We don’t need much. Our organization is smaller than yours as we do not take on the… weaker of our kind.”
“By weaker, you mean children,” Blythe hisses. “Because you can’t turn them into one of your deranged soldiers, can you? You’d rather leave them to die and take who you can use.”
Baron shrugs. “I won’t deny that. It’s called survival of the fittest, love. It’s natural selection. In time, a new society will emerge from this one. One in which our kind are the dominant species. We are a new race, a hybrid class deserving of respect and fear, not derision and prosecution.”
“We are people,” Blythe argues, her fingernails biting into the back of my hand as she holds on to it for dear life. I’m grateful her bionic hand is dead because if I were holding that thing, every bone in my hand would likely be shattered by now. “We are people, just like we were before.”
Baron shakes his head. “This is where we disagree, and why we are on opposite sides of this fight. In the end, we will see whose methods win out, won’t we? Don’t worry, love, all the pretty girls get whatever they want once I establish the new world order. If you’re nice enough, I’ll make sure you never want for anything ever again.”
“Enough.” This guy’s really starting to piss me off. “We will take your proposal concerning the food to Professor Hinkley and Miss Swan. It is the best I can offer you.”
Baron considers this for a moment. “No. Not good enough. You have to do better.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I argue. “Pull a crate of apples out of my ass? My word not good enough for you?”
“Not even a little bit,” he answers without blinking an eyelash. “I know you have a COMM device on you, all Resistance soldiers carry them so don’t try to tell me you don’t. Call your people right now and tell them what I want. Once I have confirmation that they intend to play nice, I will do everything I can to get you safely out of the capital.”
“There’s only one problem with that,” Blythe answers. “The Professor and Swan are on the run too. If we agree to make the deal, you have to promise you will help us get them out as well. They are the ones we have to convince, after all.”
Baron doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Done.”
“We are supposed to be waiting on word from them,” I tell him. “I don’t want to risk calling them now and compromising their position. I don’t know where they could be holed up.”
Baron stands. “Fair enough. We’ll put you up for the night and you can let me know when you’ve heard from them.”
“Put us up where?” Blythe questions, standing as well. “In a cell?”
Baron laughs again, shaking his head as he eyes Blythe with admiration. “Kitten’s got claws, doesn’t she?” he says to me before turning back to her. “It’s not so much a cell as a room that locks from the outside. No need to worry, the cots are comfortable enough and it even comes with a mechanic that can get that hunk of titanium hanging from your arm to start working again.”
This pacifies Blythe and she stop
s giving Baron attitude. She wants that arm fixed bad.
After we are shown to the room we are to share for the night, Blythe is taken to a place Baron called ‘the shop’. I assume that’s where the Rejects turn themselves into freaks by outfitting their prosthetics with weapons and ‘enhancements’. Hopefully, she won’t come back with a gun on the end of her arm or some other crazy shit.
In our room are two narrow cots with a nightstand between them, a lamp, a stack of books, a notebook, some pencils, and a digital clock. Nearby there is a small, round table with two chairs. A shower stall closed off by a thin curtain and a sink with a mirror are in the other corner. After about an hour of trying to sleep, I just can’t do it. Tamryn won’t get out of my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, she is on the edge of my subconscious, asking me why I didn’t come for her, why I couldn’t have done more to save her. I give up on sleep and move over to the table, taking the notebook and a few pencils with me. It only takes me a few seconds to get caught up in sketching.
The Bionics Page 42