Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5)

by Kory M. Shrum

  Chapter 12

  Jesse

  “Try not to jump out of this plane.” Nikki’s gaze is cold.

  I’m a grown ass woman! I’ll jump out of whatever I want! A car. A plane. A cake—ah, so much smartassery to choose from and so little time.

  Instead, I watch Maisie climb the metal steps and suck in a breath. “It was a helicopter actually.” One withering look from Ally and I tone it down even more. “No one likes a hater, Sasquatch.”

  Now that she mentions it, it’s hard not to recall the last time I was airborne. We were in Chicago, and the city was in absolute chaos from the bombs Caldwell had set off. Smoke rose through the sky while we stood helpless on the Lake Michigan beach watching the panic swell around us. Then Gideon showed up with a helicopter and got us off the ground.

  “Actually,” I turn back toward Nikki. “We jumped out of that helicopter because Gloria wouldn’t land and Al insisted that we go down and check on you. She saw your collapsed building and thought you might be dead.”

  As if I could get so lucky.

  Nikki’s face softens and Ally blushes.

  “Not just you,” I’m quick to add. “All your people.”

  “I don’t want you to endanger yourself,” Nikki says to her. “Not even for my sake.”

  “I’ll make sure she won’t,” I grumble.

  I’m about to vomit on myself. To quell the nausea, I march up metal stairs extending from the plane. The airfield is quiet. A white, snowy gloom coats the sky despite the high noon. It looks so peaceful even if it is freezing. I glance back to see Nikki helping Ally over the especially high first step onto the stairs. Their hands brush and they flash awkward smiles.

  That’s it. I’m going to have to murder her. She’s not leaving me with much of a choice here. I should set her hair on fire and be done with it. But with my luck, Ally will be all like oh no, poor baby! Your head was on fire. Let me kiss it better.

  I suck in deep breaths trying to pull myself together. I need to take my own advice and keep my hate-feels under control. Flames plus a metal fuel-filled death trap is a stupid combination, even to me.

  The wobbly metal stairs terminate at the entrance to the plane’s small cabin. Once I duck inside, I see four armed guards are sitting in the back of the plane, their face shields down and guns across their chests. This must be what the president feels like when he flies.

  Ally places a hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure all this is necessary.” I gesture at the soldiers. I don’t know if they’re men or women. Their postures are exactly the same, their bodies taunt and unmoving.

  “It’s a precaution,” Nikki says.

  “They can’t do anything with those little guns that I can’t do with these.” I flex both my arms. I waggle my eyebrows at Ally. “Get it. Guns?”

  She humors me with a weak smile. “Yes, baby. Now put those away.”

  “Actually, it’s for our protection against you.”

  I frown at Nick. “I am well aware that I haven’t ever hurt you. Super aware.” As in, I’ve counted every time that I wanted to but didn’t because you know, reasons. Forty-three, including the most recent episode on the steps.

  Nikki turns her back on me and marches toward the cockpit One of the soldiers moves and it’s like seeing a statue come to life. He waits for the stairs to be pulled away from the plane before he snaps the door into place. He flips the handle up, sealing the door. The cabin warms instantly, cut off from the winter raging outside.

  Nikki comes back from the cockpit. “He says we’ll arrive in three hours.”

  “Cool.” Maisie shoves her bags into the overhead bin and plops into a seat near the front. She pats the seat beside her and Winston jumps up. “Let’s take naps, Winnie Pug. Do you love naps?”

  Winston wags his cinnamon bun tail. She rewards his adoring stare with a scratch behind the ears.

  “Yeah me too. I’m beat.” Ally plops into one of four seats facing each other.

  I take the seat beside her and Nikki takes the one opposite, against the window. Everyone buckles their seat belt but me, until I’m forced to or endure Ally’s relentless stare. I sigh and snap the metal buckle into place with a click. The plane begins its taxi, the airfield narrow beyond the slender windows. I glimpse muddy patches of earth here, white sky there. Otherwise, not much. I give up on the view and settle back into my seat. I try to remain calm, breathing slowly in and out of my nose while the plane rattles and shakes on the runway. We’ll probably be fine, right? Caldwell seems to have lost track of us. I take zero comfort from the idea that he can’t materialize on a moving plane. He materialized on a moving helicopter just fine. Lovely prospect. Forty thousand feet high and in a firefight with Caldwell? Nah. Nothing could possibly go wrong there.

  “You’re breathing hard,” Nikki says, her face stoic.

  “Just thinking about flaming fiery deaths. Got any gum?”

  Her brow furrows.

  “For my ears. They’re popping like crazy.”

  “Sorry.”

  It takes no time at all for all three of them to pass out. Maisie sleeps with her mouth open slightly, head propped back against her seat. Winston snores with the ferocity of a dragon. Ally is the only one who looks angelic. Her cheek is smooshed against the back of her hands, which are pressed palm to palm as if in prayer against the window. She looks so sweet when she sleeps. Blond strands of hair cling to her cheek. Her lashes are long and dark.

  And I’m not the only one staring.

  Nikki and I exchange a glance.

  “Do you always watch people sleep?” I ask.

  She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even manage an apologetic shrug, but to be fair, maybe that’s not possible in all her body armor. She looks ridiculous sitting there in all that. Like a big black beetle on its back.

  “It’s pretty creepy.” I fidget in my seat. My shoulder has been a little tender since I woke up. Despite my awesome healing abilities, apparently it doesn’t make me impervious to pain. Bummer. Jason acted like he didn’t feel a thing all the times we tried to kill him. Maybe he was that crazy.

  “I miss her.” Nikki’s face is unreadable, perfectly smooth, but her voice is tender.

  I open my mouth and she tenses. Wow. I must have a strong track record of dickery then, if just by opening my mouth, someone expects the worst.

  I close my mouth and huff.

  “That’s it? No smart ass retort?”

  I shrug. “It’s no fun kicking someone who’s already down.”

  Nikki scowls. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “You don’t have it. Don’t worry.”

  Nikki’s brow furrows. She searches my face as if looking for the trick.

  I shrug again. “I didn’t like it when she was with you. I’m sure you don’t like it that she’s with me.”

  Wow. I feel so magnanimous! Of course, it feels delicious to say she’s with me, but the other parts are actually meant to be nice. Where’s my cookie?

  Nikki turns toward the window. “She’s with you.”

  I swallow the duh that comes to mind, a replica of the one that Maisie loves to throw around. I also don’t say she’s always been mine, really.

  “I hope she’s happy.” Nikki’s eyes are vicious. It’s a taunt. Like if she isn’t happy it’s my fault and she’s going to rip off my arm for it.

  “It’s not like I go around deliberately making her unhappy. For your information, I didn’t force her to be my girlfriend. In fact, I never even told her to be my girlfriend. We—” my voice trails off. We what exactly? I wasn’t even sure how to finish that sentence. We get hot and heavy? We pushed the beds together and—

  “You—” Nikki stops herself. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

  “We—”

  “Seriously, shut your mouth.”

  “Can you please not talk about that while I’m sitting right here?” Ally’s voice is dry with her anger.

/>   I start. “I thought you were asleep.”

  God, what a dumb thing for me to say.

  “How can I sleep with all of your yammering?” Ally stands up and storms off toward the bathroom at the back of the plane.

  “She started it!” I cry but it’s too late. She gives me the most annoyed look before slamming the bathroom door shut.

  Nikki looks out the window.

  I fold my arms and slump against my seat. “That’s what I get for being nice to you.”

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” Nikki says.

  I force an exaggerated sigh. “Really? Whew! Thank god. What a relief. I’ll have so much more energy now.”

  Nikki grins and I’m not stupid enough to think it’s because of my charming humor. “Do you know why you shouldn’t bother being nice to me, Sullivan?”

  “Because you can’t be bothered to say people’s whole names?”

  “Because she’ll be mine eventually.”

  “Like hell!” I feel the air thicken around me, powering up with my electric charge.

  “Think about it,” Nikki says leaning forward in her seat. “As I understand it, one of two things are going to happen. You’re going to be murdered by one of the partis or you’ll survive long enough to be the apex, only to die saving the world. Do I have the story straight?”

  My face burns. “What’s your point?”

  Nikki leans back in her seat and laces her fingers over her lap. “Who do you think is going to be here to pick up the pieces when you’re gone?”

  Chapter 13

  Rachel

  The New York Public Library stands like a Grecian temple on the right side of the street, its washed out columns held aloft by six coquettish women draped in sheets. The building is beautiful. Old European Style. Like it’s been here for centuries. And maybe it has.

  Outside the building, a surprisingly large cluster of people populates the steps, despite the frigid temperature. Some sit at black tables with their books open before them. One man in fingerless gloves tosses breadcrumbs from a plastic baggie. The pigeons flock at his feet, covering the stone walk with their shuffling gray bodies. Two majestic stone lions survey Fifth Ave with an air of superior indifference.

  It’s open and free of charge. That’s a plus. Along with the obvious chance to get warm. Also, if I leave the scarf on, it won’t seem weird right away. Onlookers might think I’m simply popping in to grab a book before rushing out to catch the subway again.

  Even better, the library has the internet. I can try to contact Gideon and let him know I’m still in the city, and that I intend to execute my plan within the hour.

  I’ll say something short and sweet: She’s coming. We’re meeting in the study rooms.

  He might not be able to respond right away, if he’s tied up—literally or figuratively—but I don’t believe anyone can hold that boy for long.

  I trot up the stairs toward the gilded door, passing two advertisement banners for cultural events happening later this month and a temporary exhibit at the art museum across town. I manage not to look directly at the cameras, mounted clearly on the poles. I could use my power, twist the dilated electronic eyes away from me, but Gideon warned against that indulgence if it isn’t absolutely necessary.

  You are in the big leagues now, poppet. Anyone with an ounce of brains will look for consistent abnormalities. Oddities. Signals that you’re in the city. Consider using your power like signing your name. The less you sign, the less likely they’ll trace you. Be smart, love.

  God, sometimes he could be an awful lot like Brinkley. His pedantic tendency to instruct, the caring under his orders. It makes my chest hurt to think about it. B’s influence on the boy is plain. If I squeeze my eyes tight and forget the British accent, it’s like Brinkley is still here, looking out for me.

  I never left you, kid.

  My chest compresses tighter. Brinkley couldn’t do what needed to be done, and look where it got him. I won’t be making the same mistake. I’ll do the hard work and I’ll have my revenge. The sensation of Chaplain’s fingers brushing my cheek makes me cringe.

  It’s only a memory, and memories can’t hurt you. Oh, if only that were true.

  I slip inside the library behind a trio of teenage girls. At the information desk, I fork left, past desks offering maps of the place and tour times. I slip into the nearest room and then slide down a row of stacks. I pretend to peruse the spines with great interest until my fingers tingle back to life.

  This gallery is far from empty. People amble in and out of the stacks. Others sit at tables with piles of books so high they threaten to topple over at the smallest bump.

  I grab a book at random. Then another and another, until I have three in my arms. Once I’ve skimmed this gallery, I slip into another massive room, searching for the study nooks where I agreed to meet her.

  An empty research room beckons. I slip inside and close the door. So small. So warm. So quiet. Heaven. I pull off my scarf and coat, and beg the heat to soak into my body. I want my bones to soften like warm butter. I plop down into the chair. Relief washes over me the second my feet are off the floor. So much walking! How do New Yorkers stand it? I place all but one of the books in a tidy pile. Then I open the last, the spine so broken it lays flat on the desk without resistance. Now the scene is set for any nosey passersby.

  Uriel, in all his Lion-O glory, appears beside me. The small space of the study room barely enough to accommodate him. He towers over me, his flaming hair aglow.

  “She is coming. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, biting down on my irritation. “But I’m not in the mood to be slicing and dicing a girl in a study room today. Wouldn’t you rather I pick somewhere safer? I will die, you know. And when I do, I’ll need a safe place to recoup. I’m hoping I can get her to take me back to her place. Without Gideon, it should be easier to do.”

  Uriel makes no protests to this.

  My wait in the New York Public Library stretches into a small eternity, and I begin to feel restless. I consider shoving things around the room with my mind, but I have doubts that even that will satiate my boredom. No, not boredom. Anticipation. She’s on her way and I’m nervous.

  A soft knock resounds at the door. I look to Uriel, but he is gone.

  “Rach?” A soft voice murmurs. “Are you in there?”

  I stand and push open the study room door. Nivedha gives me a weak smile of relief.

  She’s as petite as I remember, even tinier than Jessup. I could wrap my entire hand around her wrist and my fingers would overlap. Her skin is the color of cinnamon bark and her hair black. Her hazel eyes look brighter because of her coloring. She’s bustier than I remember, but not from implants. Our NRD+ bodies would reject those. Perhaps she is one of those women who benefit from gaining a bit of weight. She is healthier than she was when I saw her last. Her face and hips are rounder. There’s a light in her eyes now that I never saw in Chaplain’s basement.

  I remember the first night Chaplain took her. Each evening we were fed from a metal dish on the floor like dogs. Then we were taken one by one, doused in hot water, scrubbed, and given a thin shift to wear. You would think they’d rape us at every step, but they didn’t. Chaplain said he wanted the terror to be real each time. Real for the camera. No desensitization.

  She was terrified out of her mind, sitting on the floor, having been freshly scrubbed and re-shackled like the rest of us. A bar ran along the four walls and the girls waited in the pitch black room. As uncomfortable as it was to sit on the concrete floor with a thin nightgown on, it was preferable to the alternative. An aching, bloodless arm was unmeasurably better than being chosen for Chaplain’s nightly film.

  The door opened and a triangle of light fell on us. It was a mixed blessing. In the light, the quiet crying stopped. In the light, the consuming, obsessive, repetitive thoughts would cease if only for a moment. Of course, the light also meant the monsters had come.

 
Instinctively, each one of us shrank away from the light. Even I tried to tuck myself deeper into the corner as far away as the wall would allow. The girl beside me convulsed horribly. I didn’t know if it was from fear, or if the drugs had worn off. She’d caused a scene earlier and Chaplain had one protocol for that. Act a fool and you were dosed into submission. Behave and you’d stay clean.

  I preferred the latter.

  That night when the guard and Chaplain entered the room, they took Niv. She’d thrashed, screamed, begged.

  “This is no way to behave. You’re a professional, Nivedha,” Chaplain purred. He used the sultry voice that lured us into the trap to begin with.

  “Let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone what you’re doing here. I swear. I won’t say a word to anyone. Just let me go.”

  “You can’t think only of yourself,” he purred, trailing his fingers over her wet cheeks. “We have half a million subscribers to satisfy.”

  They’d grabbed her by the hair and drug her kicking and screaming from the room. No drugs. That was always a very, very bad sign. It meant a particularly gruesome film where full-blown hysterics were not only welcome but expected.

  I blink back the past and try to focus on the creature in front of me. She’s speaking.

  “—already apologized to two strangers,” she says. She looks me up and down. “What are you wearing?”

  “Whatever the hell I want,” I snap. My $2300 Versace dress would’ve been a significant confidence booster for the task ahead. No one told me I’d have to murder someone wearing a potato sack! But I’m not sure it can be helped. I must remain steadfast in my aim.

  “I’m in disguise, Niv. I told you.”

  Niv’s stricken face softens, but not entirely. I’ve lost some ground. “At least it’s not white. I can’t ever wear white.”

  That made two of us. Anything in the white or cream family reminded me too much of the uniforms Chaplain gave us.

  “I’m hoping we can go somewhere safe where we can talk?” I prompt her.