by Lin Lustig
“Jayden, what have you done?”
“What I had to.”
She lunged. He didn't see it coming and stumbled back at her attack, but she wasn't aiming for him. The phone slipped from his grasp as she swiped at it. As soon as he lost his grip, she ripped it free and smashed it on the ground.
“Security!” she shouted down the long hall. A flurry of motions came from the right.
He ran, bashing through double doors. Aubrey didn't seem to chase, but she didn't have to. Security officers in black slacks and gray shirts spotted him. A sharp turn took him down a hall to another closed door. He threw his bodyweight into it like the last door. It held. His shoulder jammed into the door, as did his hip, but it didn't budge. The guards closed in. He ran off, testing the next two doors to no avail. The third, however, opened to a set of stairs leading up. He took them three at a time.
At the top of the stairs was another door. He prayed it was unlocked and for once his prayers were answered—only to be mocked.
The GANF chapel opened wide before him; rows of pews aligned to face the front podium. Ornate statues depicted saints and a Jesus hung over the organ. In the pews were three bowed heads, whispered prayers only just noticeable above the silence.
The door slapped shut behind him, making him jump. He played it cool as the three heads popped up, avoiding their gaze and instead walking with slow, heavy steps down the aisle. The door behind him clacked open again, more footsteps spilling through. He kept his gaze forward, and his movements unhurried. Then the massive double doors at the end of the aisle opened and two more security staff blocked his exit.
“Mr. Beechum, we need you to come with us.”
“Well.” He searched for another way out. “Fuck.”
“Well said,” a familiar voice chimed in behind him. He turned to find Licia stepping lightly in his wake.
“What? When did you—”
“Heard about your little stunt.” He could hear the acid in her tone, but then her expression stilled to stone, the cold fire in her eyes blazing as they were surrounded by six security staff. Her brow creased and she faced the guards flanking them. Nothing happened. Her expression faltered.
“Fuck?” John offered.
“Fuck,” Licia confirmed.
“If you'd please come with us,” a large male security guard with a goatee said. He rested his hand on what looked like a Taser, the gesture not entirely threatening, but certainly warranting caution.
“All we want is to leave.”
“And all we want is your cooperation,” Aubrey said from behind him and Licia. They spun to see her cross her arms, her sharp elbows sticking out like blades.
As if he was just going to prance over and be her little pet again. “I'd rather be screwed by a pineapple than take your offer.”
Aubrey ignored his response. “I'm glad Ms. Sheehan is joining us. It took quite a bit of digging to find information on you. I could have used an emotional manipulator years ago if I'd realized who and what you were then, but at least you can help us now.”
“You agreed to leave her out of this if I went public. I'll tell the media—”
“That a wanted gang leader is undergoing allegedly illegal human experimentation at UHP?” Aubrey finished for him. “Technically Alicia Sheehan here doesn't exist, but Licia Miller has all kinds of assets and attention from law enforcement. There's a detective in California that would be especially eager to find her.”
John shot Licia a panicked look. The detective she had been running from back then was still after her? How the fuck had Aubrey found all of that out? Licia shook her head just enough to urge him not to make the trade. He wished she were telepathic because he had no idea what to do, and she always seemed to have the answer when he didn't.
“Security, have Mr. Beechum sign the NDAs before escorting him from hospital property. Our lawyers will be in touch.” Someone grabbed his arm. He yanked down and free, reaching for Licia. Aubrey got to her first, pulling Licia back towards the door behind the podium leading to the lower basement of the hospital. Licia struggled, but without her ability, she had no fighting skills and no muscle. He couldn't let them take her. He needed her, he loved her.
“No!” John lunged but was held back by the goateed guard.
The double doors in front of the chapel burst open, and a shower of light streamed in, drawing everyone's attention to the massive man filling the entryway. Emerson.
His presence surprised them all into silence. The silhouette he cast was a towering thick stack of muscle. As he stepped into the chapel his glare swallowed all of them whole. There was so much power rolling off him. Even through the Jammers, John could feel something different about Emerson's energy. Instead of absorbing, there was an oppressive pulse pushing John down. He'd never seem him like this before.
Three of the guards approached Emerson with their Tasers aimed at his chest. His nostrils flared. John felt the pull then, the steady drain of energy he'd become so familiar with, except this time he had no extra to give. His vibe was shut off and the steady draw felt like scraping the bottom of an empty well. The guards, Licia, and Aubrey wilted like flowers in a drought.
Emerson seemed to tighten; muscle John hadn't noticed before suddenly obvious. He looked like a quarterback instead of a lineman, yet the only thing that changed was his—well, aura. John was mesmerized. Emerson completely changed as he drew in energy even through the Jammers.
John grinned even as dizziness made him sway.
CHAPTER 61
Emerson
“Em, I—” John started to say, but then leaned over to catch his breath.
Emerson's body buzzed, the energy coursing through him like a highway, each molecule rushing with a zip of electricity. Everything was clear. Fast. He felt eager. He felt amazing.
He could feel everyone in the room, the rush of their energy as it coursed into him. He could tell there were three other people hiding in the pews, could tell the female security guard was more tired than the others. But then as John wilted, Emerson stopped feeding.
Everyone was here, though he didn't see Azami. Good, she was too weak for an encounter like this.
“Let's get out of here.” He rushed over to offer a hand. John leaned on him, and Emerson was careful not to take any more. Other than tired, John looked okay. His color was still vibrant, unlike the pale faces of the two closest guards now kneeling.
“No,” Licia stumbled a step out of reach of a woman in a lab coat, both making slow and listless movements. The woman had sharp features and cropped red hair. It had to be Aubrey. “We have to get Tarrah.”
Someone crept towards them down an aisle of pews. He recognized the pure black hair of Azami, but he didn't know she could move so silently.
“There are a million locked doors between us and the lower labs. I didn't even find which room she's in,” John said, eyeing Licia. Something about that look made Emerson think he wasn't being entirely honest. “Too many are on Jammers.”
Aubrey held herself upright on a pew, whereas the guards closest to her collapsed down. Azami peeked around the pew, spotted Aubrey, and went deathly still. She paled to the shade of expired milk. A breathy laugh escaped Aubrey's expressionless face. “You can go after Tarrah all you want. She won't survive outside for long—if you can get her outside. There are more of us than Mr. Caldwell can drain.”
Emerson paused with a jolt of dread. She recognized him, or at least his ability. He'd never tested the limits of his energy draw but being this full was intoxicating. Still, he couldn't keep taking from so many for long. There had to be a limit. Even now he could feel his hollow growing satisfied. Not full, but comfortable, and he’d drained John and Azami down dangerously low. He couldn’t keep using his ability.
Licia stumbled, falling atop a security guard, who grunted, and then came face to face with Azami. She held out her hand and cupped Azami’s pale cheek, saying something in a whisper too quiet for Emerson to make out.
He though
t of sucking until Aubrey went dry, just to see what happened, but instead he said, “We need to get you out of here.” He held John up. The guards were down, and Aubrey was severely weakened—as were his allies. If they were going to try to make their escape, it might as well be now.
“No. We have to give Tarrah the same choice we gave Azami.” John set his hand over Emerson's heart, then flicked his attention to Azami hovering out of Aubrey's sight. He gripped Emerson's shirt and tried to stand on his own, then looked back at Emerson. “How are you doing this?”
“What are you—”
“He's immune.” Licia pushed away from Azami, her eyes flashing cold fire in Aubrey's direction. “Isn't he?” Aubrey didn't answer. “The donors are immune, if my source is correct.”
Azami sank back further from sight. He was immune?
“You can get her out.” John's expression had never looked so fierce. “You can get Tarrah and the others.”
“I'm not leaving any of you,” Emerson argued, a creeping desperation coming over him. He couldn't leave John and go off alone.
“I'll go.” Licia spoke like each word drained her down to empty. She struggled to her feet, her stance wide and her shoulder set. A Glock glinted in her hands from the dim church lighting.
Emerson shoved John behind him. Lines of energy spilled from the hollow within and wove like an invisible lattice over his body. It felt like a living shield—exactly what he'd always been. But Licia swung the firearm towards Aubrey. She jolted with a fresh surge of adrenaline, which Emerson could feel as an untapped well. Similar wells flared in John and Licia.
“What are you doing? A gun?” John's voice was careful, as were his fingertips resting on Emerson's lower back. The pressure said I'm here.
The presence of their increased energy made Emerson’s hollow whine. The more there was, the more he responded to it, but he couldn’t take it all. The hardening of his muscles and the feed of strength weaving over his skin felt like a highway of electrical impulses sparking to life. Not since the night of The Shift had he ever been this full. Part of him felt like he could do anything, but the rational part knew not to trust that feeling. He remained cautious and protective, his gaze focused on the gun.
Licia's hands and arms shook, like the gun was ten times heavier than it was. Emerson noticed the guards closer to him wearing Tasers, not 9mm Glocks. Azami stood weakly from her hiding spot then.
“Don't.” Her soft voice still carried, but it made Aubrey focus like a bird of prey.
“Ms. Hisakawa.” There was awe in her voice. And delight.
John's fingers pressed harder. “Guns aren't her style. Don't worry.”
Aubrey raised her hands in surrender. “Take whatever you want. Whoever you want.” Her body betrayed the fear her voice didn't, but her gaze kept snapping over to Azami like she was a treasure to hoard.
“If I could feel you, I'd dig so far into your heart that you'd forget what it feels like to have a pulse,” Licia said, her voice uneven. He never thought about how big a Glock was until he saw her hands wrap around the grip. Her finger slipped onto the trigger.
Emerson tightened. “Licia, hey, listen to me. We tried. We'll figure something else out.” He took a couple of steps towards her, losing track of John's hand on his back. “Hand me the gun. I'll keep an eye on her, you go find Tarrah.”
Licia twitched at Tarrah's name, the gun jerking a little to the left towards Emerson. It made him freeze, though she realigned the sights back on Aubrey.
“You don't have to do this for me,” Azami said.
“I'm not.”
LICIA
Time meant nothing and drew out until she felt an inability to squeeze the trigger. The gun was aimed. Her aim was true. But this was it—no going back.
Aubrey needed to be stopped. She’d had her second chance thanks to John’s intervention years ago. Licia could have done it back then and made Aubrey succumb to the horrors she’d inflicted. But Licia had been weak to John’s pleas—to the way he felt for her. No one had ever loved her like that.
After today, no one would again.
She knew this would destabilize any trust the others had in her. Their disbelief was almost sweet on her tongue. After Aubrey had been on Jammers at the gala, Licia knew this was the only answer. Just this once, she’d get her hands dirty. It would cost her—split it apart, scar her in a way that couldn’t be healed, but that was okay. She’d let them hate her, damn her, condemn her, and reject her because this was her mantle.
Once she severed the tie to John and the others with this bullet, she’d need to run. John and Emerson wouldn’t understand why she did it. They believed there were other ways, but they were too naïve to do what must be done.
No one would ever suffer because of Aubrey again. No one except for Licia.
She squeezed the trigger.
EMERSON
“No!” The blast deafened him. He jumped at John, dragging him low. Ringing overtook his ears. He watched Aubrey jerk back. Blood blossomed over her right breast. She fell—hard.
Licia lost her shakes and lowered the gun. Her eyes were empty and clear.
Emerson shoved John further down, then attacked Licia, ripping the gun from her hand. She didn't fight him. He wasn't sure she was really in there anymore.
He dashed to Aubrey next. She gasped for air like a fish out of water. His training kicked in and he put pressure on the gunshot wound but feared her lung was punctured. Blood pooled down her right side, the exit wound at the wrong angle for the entry. The bullet must have ricocheted on her ribs. Fuck.
An alarm sounded through the chapel, the sound piercing the dullness left from the gunshot. A light flashed in time to the siren.
“John. Get help! This is a fucking hospital, right?”
John scrambled to his feet but paused at the sound of a door slamming behind the podium. Emerson looked up, too, but Licia was gone
“Shit.” John threw open the double doors, yelling for help, then sprinted back across the room towards the podium.
“What are you—”
“I have to get her.” John slammed into the door, flinging it open, and dashed through without a second glance.
Emerson kept applying pressure, but he could feel her slipping away. The hollow inside him wanted to drink what she no longer had. Azami knelt by Aubrey's side, but didn't touch her—just watched.
“I didn't think she'd do it.” Her voice sounded remarkably even.
Emerson did.
CHAPTER 62
Licia
She should feel sick. Disgusted. Anything. Why was there only numbness? Whatever, she'd deal with that later. She had to get Tarrah out, then she could assess her missing heart.
Two staff members in hospital scrubs dashed at her. Licia froze, but they ran past, distracted. She snagged a hanging ID clip from the slower of the two.
Her walls were up, holding in the lack of emotion she felt, but her wards were at half mast, allowing flavors in without drowning her. She had to find the right bitter-sour fear that Tarrah had last imparted.
“She's in the chapel, gunshot.” John's voice echoed down the stairwell where she'd exited moments before, presumably shouting at the staff running his way. Last thing Licia wanted was his incessant morality stopping her from doing what needed to be done. He was never getting into her head again. She didn't need to worry about him in her heart anymore, since she was pretty sure it was missing. She'd killed a woman. She'd pulled the trigger. No accident. No self-defense or defense of others. She intended for Aubrey to die and she should fucking feel something. Murderer. Monster. Nothing.
Licia pushed through the fatigue weighing her down and jogged down the hall, smashing the ID card against door panels as she went. Signs pointed out labs, radiology, and other departments, but nothing about patient rooms. The closed doors stalled John's pounding feet, but he'd find a way through.
A nudge of pressure on Licia's sternum made her turn right, like a string pulling her along. She
'd felt it from upstairs in the office, too. The tension was familiar. Intimate. Something was calling her. Lost and alarmed by her lack of feeling at her first intentional, hands-on murder— the fifth life she’d claimed since she was eighteen—she leaned into the tugging, glad to feel anything, and let it guide her.
A wide, wiry hand gripped her shoulder and tugged back. She went with the force, shoving against a man in a security uniform. She hadn't felt his emotions upon approach—fucking Jammers! He ooph-ed and lost his hold. Licia spun as the large guard regained his balance. He looked surprised, but not concerned. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and he filled out his gray shirt with biceps that threatened to roll free.
Nope. She wouldn't get free of his grip a second time. She called on every molecule of energy she had left and sprinted down the hall. The pressure on her sternum increased, but so did the pounding feet of the guard behind her. She took a sharp corner. At a closed door next to a dark window the pull on her sternum yanked. She threw the door open, both relieved and surprised it was unlocked, then silently shut it behind her and sank down from the window.
She tried to reach the emotions of the guard or any staff but couldn't feel them. John had been right. Lowering her defenses all the way might show who wasn't under the influence of those damned pills, but this was a hospital. She shivered just thinking of the influx of pain and fear. It would overwhelm her, take her back to the darkness before she learned to build wards against other's emotions.
Movement made her startle. The room was dark, but someone was in here. She crouched and spun, then caught sight of a woman lying on the ground.
It clicked. The pressure on her sternum let up. “Tarrah?” She dropped to her knees at Tarrah's side. Her skin was sickly, her thin body too delicate and weak. The hospital gown kept most of Tarrah covered, but there were marks on her arm from a recently removed IV and raw marks around her wrists and ankles. The light from the hall flickered as someone ran by.
“Tarrah, if you can hear me, we need to move.”
The shadow outside returned, then the handle on the door rattled. Shit! Licia would have to carry her out.