The Wanted (The Woodlands Series Book 4)

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  Relief stuck in my throat. Gwen was alive, she walked, but her safety was very temporary. Each part of this plan was like climbing a crumbling staircase. Each step you mounted left the one behind disintegrating just as your foot left it. I was hanging in midair, mid-step, wondering what to do next.

  I swallowed the sweet-tasting bread and asked, “So what happens now?”

  She went to her dresser, sat down, and started pulling pins out of her hair or her head, who knew?

  “Daddy’s procedure will take place tonight. He wants you there.”

  Tonight.

  I let my head fall back against the headboard. It was so soon. Too soon. My face must have said it all because Judith commented, “You needn’t look so panicked. You don’t have to do anything. In fact, the only thing you must do is nothing.”

  Just do nothing.

  Do nothing and watch Grant die.

  JOSEPH

  I did manage to vomit. All the alcohol hit at once and all my disgust in myself came charging out of me.

  Rash jumped back. “Watch the shoes, man,” he yelled.

  I wiped my mouth with my shirt. “Sorry.”

  My head cleared enough for me to realize something. “Hey, you said I should talk to Desh about what really happened. What do you even know about it?” I asked, my words still slurred.

  Rash swore and helped me up, yanking me away from the tunnel. “I can’t think clearly with that damn smell. God dude, have you eaten anything except beer and spirits today?”

  I shook my head.

  We stood on the railway tracks facing each other, well, me looking down on him. The clouds cleared a little, and I could just make out his stern expression.

  “What do you think happens every time you disappear for some of your ‘alone’ time?” he asked, making air quotes.

  “You make it sound so dirty,” I said, instantly regretting it.

  Rash shoved me in the chest. “Don’t make me hit you.”

  I kind of wanted him to. I slipped my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

  “Something we can all agree on!” Rash swore again and stared up at the stars. “Deshi is worried about you, and so are the others. He needed to talk to someone, and I was there. He told me what really happened. And don’t worry, he didn’t tell anyone else. I don’t even want to get started on the fact that you blamed Rosa for it when you told Matthew.”

  I took a step back, preparing for him to punch me. But he didn’t. He sighed and reached out to me, awkwardly patting my arm. “Look, I understand guilt,” he muttered. I shook my head, I doubted it, but let him continue. “I know the faces are always there, waiting in your dreams, ready to torture you. You’ve got to let it go. You have to understand that part of the night was not your fault. You were trying to live.” He took a deep breath. “And I know I’ve given you hell, but it’s not because I don’t understand why you left her. It’s because I miss her, and I wish it had gone a different way. Honestly, I wish it had been you left on that table.”

  I stepped towards him. “I wish that too, Rash. Every day.”

  Rash threw his hands up in the air. “Ok. That’s enough heart to heart for me. I think I’m gonna be sick myself. Just talk to Deshi, get yourself sorted out. She’s going to need you.”

  He stormed away from me, swearing and kicking rocks as he went. And it hurt me to watch him, because he was so like Rosa. But this time, I let it in. It was better to feel something than nothing at all.

  He was right about everything. Look where hiding from my problems had got me. But facing them seemed impossible, like if I tried, I would lose whatever was left of me.

  I had to talk to Desh.

  I stayed under the bath of moonlight for a while, letting my fear subside before I moved. And I cried. I cried for what I’d lost, what I might lose, and what I might learn.

  The camp was quiet. Most were sleeping. Olga was propped up in her sleeping bag, grasping a handheld. When she saw me, she blinked up, her mouth crinkled, her eyes startled.

  “Sorry Olga, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I whispered.

  She clicked the off button atop the screen and dropped the handheld in her lap. “Joseph! Where have you been? I was just sending a quick message to Palma letting them know of our next move and where to meet if they want to join us for the liberation of the children and pregnant girls.” She made it sound like a party she was inviting them to.

  “Right… well, I just needed to talk to Desh.” I picked over the snoring bodies until I found him, sleeping neatly on a rolled-up jacket, his hand clasped over his stomach, his face peaceful. I nudged him with my foot and he snorted.

  “Desh. Wake up.”

  His eyes opened slowly. “What?” he groaned, still half asleep.

  “I’m ready to talk,” I murmured, aware of all the listening ears around us.

  He properly awoke and sat up on his elbows. “Okay,” he said warily.

  “Not here,” I insisted quietly.

  We got up and walked away from the camp.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a screen light up. But the moon was fully exposed now. It was probably just light reflecting off a saucepan or cup.

  We walked for about half an hour. Desh huffing and puffing nervously. Streaks of pink showed through the trees. Their icy branches looked splattered in purple and pink paint as the sun started to rise. We stopped and Desh turned around, his face anguished, a couple of tears rolling slowly down his dark cheeks. He sniffed and wiped them away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, scared of what he might say.

  “I need to tell you something,” he began, and then he stared down at his feet and wiped his eyes again. “Este tortured me. She threatened me. She told me they knew where Hessa was and if I didn’t finish the healer, they would go after him and the rest of you. I took my time, made mistakes I would never usually make, so you had longer to get away from the Wall. But every hour I wasted, she made me pay for, dearly. I hated her. She was a crazy, obsessed monster,” he rattled off so fast I could barely keep up.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking. “It’s all right, Desh, I know. But she can’t hurt you anymore.” Because I shot her.

  He glanced up at me, his eyes red. The sun filtered through the bleak, black branches and hit me in the face. I closed my eyes.

  He shook his head vehemently. “No Joe, you don’t know. I watched you; I didn’t help fight off all those men. Those men were going to kill you. They tried to… But you were so strong, like a bull being speared over and over, but you kept fighting. I saw you pull one off only to have another jump on you. Every single thing you did was in defense of your life. Every… single… thing.” He annunciated each word slowly. “I could have helped you, but I didn’t. I was too scared to die.”

  I flinched at his description. I couldn’t remember much. I just remember the part after, where they were all dead in front of me.

  “It’s all right, Desh. I’m not angry with you for hanging back.”

  He avoided my eyes. “You don’t understand. Este was watching you so intently that she didn’t even notice me. She didn’t see the gun in my hand. She had no clue. You were fighting for your life and instead of helping you, I calmly walked over and shot her.”

  My legs weakened. I leaned back and braced myself against a tree. “You killed Este?” My voice was as rough as the bark I was leaning against.

  Desh looked at me then, his brown eyes completely still, calm. “Yes. I killed her, and I’m not even remotely sorry about it. She threatened my son, my family.” He paused for breath. “You know that’s one of the reasons I love you, Joe. You’ve been taking this so hard because you’re too good inside. You’re a good man.”

  I wished people would stop saying that.

  I stumbled and gripped the tree with both hands behind me. “You’re a good man too, Desh,” I managed.

  “I know. But not like you, which is fine. I just wish you’d let me tell yo
u sooner. Maybe I should have tried harder to get you to listen, but part of me was happy to put it in the past. I’m sorry.”

  I waved my hand at him. “It doesn’t matter. I still… um… those other men…”

  “Would have killed you.”

  But I still left her behind. I still nearly slept with Elise. It would not be that simple. These deaths and actions were not written in chalk that could be washed away. They were carved all over my skin.

  I could have kept it to myself. Maybe I should have, but I felt like I had to change the way I’d been dealing with things.

  “Desh, I nearly slept with Elise,” I confessed. The words tasted like vomit as I said them.

  He raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, sighing. “She’ll forgive you.”

  I leaned my head on the tree trunk and stared up at the sky. The pink was fading, yellows the color of yolk taking over, shining like gold.

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  His voice was solid and sure. “Yes, you do.”

  I chuckled because I didn’t know what else to do. It was like he’d plucked a pebble off the two-ton weight I was carrying. Maybe I used to be a good man. Maybe that was why this had been so hard for me to accept, to move on. But I liked who I used to be, and I missed being that man. “I’ll try and believe you.”

  I worried that the Joseph she fell in love with was unreachable. But I had a choice. I could let what happened with Elise drag me further down. Or, I could use it as a push to grab a hold of the rope and pull myself out.

  I turned my head to the clouds. The sunrises and sunsets I’d seen since I’d lost her had washed right over me. I couldn’t see beauty. I was motionless. But for the first time, I could see hope in that gold streak in the sky. I wasn’t going to mend instantly but talking about it had eased my pain and made me see the truth of that night. Each step was a small one, but at least I wasn’t standing still anymore.

  ROSA

  Judith held a dress up in front of my body, so just my scowling face stuck up from the frill-necked collar. “I think this will please him.”

  I wanted to ask her how she could be so calm when she was about to witness her father’s death, but I held my tongue. There was something chilling in the way she moved around the room. The way she meticulously did her hair and makeup. I tried my best not to engage.

  Snatching the dress from her fingertips, I went to the bathroom to change.

  In the mirror, my reflection held too many secrets. I needed to compose myself and change my face. I stripped down and put on the hideous dress, the taffeta fabric ringing my throat intimidatingly. My roots were starting to show. Dark brown, almost black, hair ran in a stripe down my part. I smiled, a small part of me was returning. Then I took a cavernous breath that scraped the bottom of my diaphragm and tried to convince myself that it was going to be okay.

  A knock signaled it was time to go.

  I was surprised to see Denis’ face when I opened the door. His nose set in plaster, his eyes ringed with deep purple bruises. He tipped his chin at me, and winced at the effort. He held the door open for his sister, each movement controlled and calm. We joined him in the hall and walked towards the lift.

  There were no nervous glances exchanged—nothing. Just calm breaths mixed with my panicked ones. They were ready for this. I was not. I smoothed my dress and tried not to see rivers of blood running between the delicate folds of fabric.

  When the lift opened in the garage, Grant and his wife were waiting by a car. The green one. We were told to turn around while the guard helped Grant into the driver’s seat.

  “Get in,” he barked, while I stood there agape, agitated and itchy. I scratched my neck, and he rolled his eyes at me.

  Judith got in, then Denis opened his arms and ushered me inside. The engine roared to life and I shuddered, wedged shoulder to shoulder with Grant’s murderous children.

  Grant grinned as he revved the engine. It looked strange on him. Like the Cheshire cat had loaned him his teeth. Camille, his wife, patted his leg. “Shouldn’t we blindfold the girl, dear?”

  Grant pressed a button on the dashboard, and the car rolled backwards. “No need.” His eyes found me in the rearview mirror. I gulped at his gaze. His plans for me were in that gaze, cutting me into bite-sized pieces like a laser. He didn’t need to say more. It was clear my time was nearly up.

  Camille wrapped the fur around her shoulders a little tighter. The fox’s glass eyes stared at me in the backseat, seeming to say, You don’t belong here. We drove out of the garage, followed by another car filled with soldiers.

  Judith picked at her nails and Denis sat upright, rigid. His earphones were missing. He was missing.

  Grant drove at a snail’s pace, cursing every splash of mud that sullied the paintwork and every squeak of the windscreen wipers. It was sleeting until it turned to flurry. I shivered as ice pelted the windows, barely paying attention to where we were going, only that it was away from Grant’s home. We went through gates, which the soldiers had to open for us, futilely covering their heads with their arms as they tried to shield themselves from the weather. I exhaled sadly, missing the forest, fires, and wolves. Wondering if this was my last winter.

  Suddenly we dipped, the suspension creaking. Grant drove down a well-lit concrete slope into an underground park. He slammed the brakes on when we reached the bottom, our heads surging forward, and ordered us to leave the car. He seemed a little nervous. A guard quickly came to Grant’s door with the wheelchair. We turned before being asked this time.

  Grant was arranged in his chair. He wheeled ahead of us eagerly. “Come!” he said excitedly. I could tell he was picturing himself walking, striding proudly out of this place. Guilt. Displaced, misplaced guilt crept up my skin like ants searching for a crumb.

  We followed, with ten guards in our wake, their boots thudding on the concrete in unison.

  This was the end, the beginning.

  I crumpled my dress in my hands and held my breath as the lift shot upwards. Mirrors lined the four walls, so all I could see were many sets of Grant’s excited eyes dancing under the harsh light. He turned his head slowly to me and his lips spread wide. His glare was cruelly triumphant. I let out a small, hysterical laugh, wondering if he wanted his legs back just so he could kick me with them.

  The doors parted, and the smell of a hundred dishes twirled together into one delicious stream hit my nose. A banquet flush with flowers toppling over vases as centerpieces and tall candles wavering in the air conditioning slapped my eyes.

  People were gathered in small groups but when Grant rolled into the room, they all turned and started clapping. Beaming, proud faces with an undercurrent of fear of the terrible man glistened in the warm light. I stared down, hiding behind the siblings. Diamond shapes and messy scratches printed on the garish carpet greeted my eyes.

  The Grant family stepped forward and I followed like a baby elephant holding the tale of its mother, taking in the table, the plastic chairs with brown velvet cushions, and the glass window that enveloped one whole wall of the large room. Below the window, metal glinted and the glass coffin hung suspended in the air. We were in some sort of amphitheater.

  He was going to have a party and then make us all watch as he died.

  Two guards grabbed my arms relatively gently and took me to a chair. The eyes of the guests trailed me across the room.

  One guard leaned down and spoke to me slowly, like I was slow myself. “Now you stay put, Miss.”

  I nodded briefly, distracted by the party and the guests. I recognized with shock that both Superior Sekimbo and Superior Poltinov were present. They looked older than their posters, but still. I shrank smaller into my chair as Sekimbo noticed and approached me, rolling over like a giant dark pudding. He held a plate of food in front of him like an offering.

  “So you’re the girl?” he bellowed, his voice like smooth stones being rubbed against each other.

  “I am a girl. I don’t know if I’m the girl,
” I said, leaning away from his alcoholic breath.

  He grabbed my cheeks and squeezed them. “So small, so thin,” he muttered, his large cheeks wobbling as he shook his head. “Here, take a cake.” He shoved a small cupcake at my face. I shook my head. I felt too sick to eat.

  He placed his hand on top of my head, his broad, flat fingers squeezing as he tried to hold me still. I could feel the violence in his voice as he said, “Wyatt said you were… uncooperative.” He was going to shove that cake down my throat.

  Grant’s stringy voice sailed over the crowd and Sekimbo released me, the cake tumbling to the floor. He leered and swayed from drunkenness as he twisted to face Grant.

  “I’d like to thank you for coming to this meeting and this celebration.” People clapped. “We’ll discuss business first. I know you are concerned about recent developments in the towns. It is true we are struggling to keep control of Radiata and Birchton. We have lost Palma. Helicopters have been unable to approach, and a significant portion of our army has defected. The citizens of Palma have weapons and are firing.”

  The crowd murmured, and Grant’s face showed slight frustration.

  “Please, please…” he started, pumping his hands. “We are still in control of the majority, and I have complete faith that we will regain it in the towns that are rebelling. All is not lost. We know the terrorists have recruited some of our residents. But,” he put his finger to the air, “we have our own operative and have just received word of the terrorists’ next target.” I leaned forward.

  His eyes found me and bored into my head like black drills. “Isn’t it wonderful when everything just clicks into place?” he said, ignoring the confused faces of the other guests. “Like it was simply meant to be.” He swept his arm in an arc and looked to the ceiling. “Written in the stars.”

  Sekimbo laughed heartily, holding his belly and slurring, “Get on with it, Wyatt. I have women waiting for me at home.”