Underground 4

by Janelle Stalder

  No one asked the rebels what was happening, or how the negotiations were going, because everyone was too scared to do much else but cower against the walls. Even Stella was too terrified to leave her spot behind the tables. No matter how much she wanted to scream at them, or cry out for her parents, she couldn't find the will to do it.

  When the soldiers started to remove the dead she had gripped the edge of the table, her eyes the only thing showing above the tables as she watched in horror. Was her family one of the lifeless bodies being callously dragged across the floor like nothing but trash?

  It made her sick. There was too much blood to really see the faces, and some bodies were too far for her to even tell what clothes they wore.

  All she could do now was hope that they were alive, despite what she'd been told. There was an empty feeling in what felt like her soul though, as if deep down on some innate level she knew she was now alone in this world.

  All those who had been connected to her by blood were no longer there. Her brain refused to accept it though, wanting to believe that when this was over, they'd be searching for her and the four of them would return to their loving home.

  For now she focused on helping Mr. Samson the best she could. Whether her family was alive or not, she was still all he had, and that meant she couldn't fail him. She wouldn't. Stella might not be a doctor, but she'd learn whatever she had to in order to make sure the man beside her lived through this.

  Taking some of the water she'd saved, she unwound the now saturated strips of her dress from his wound. There was no doubt in her mind the bullet was still in his leg, as there was no exit wound on the back of it. She was going to have to figure out a way to get it out, but didn't have any tools.

  Even a knife or fork would have worked, except there weren't any. All the food had been finger foods. She looked at the entry wound, feeling the skin around it. The area was hot to the touch and red. A green liquid oozed from it whenever she pressed on the surrounding skin.

  It was worse than she thought. He was getting an infection, which explained his high fever. Tears burned her eyes again, or had they even left. It felt like that's all she'd been doing. The worst thing to feel was helpless, and looking at Mr. Samson, Stella knew that was exactly what she was.

  Sniffling back her tears, Stella poured some water over the wound, cleaning it the best she could. Mr. Samson flinched, moaning softly, never opening his eyes. She hated causing him any more pain, but getting the wound as clean as possibly was necessary.

  Pouring more over it, she grimaced at the angry looking redness of the skin now that she was clearing off more of the dried blood. Ripping more strips of fabric from her dress, she started to re-wrap the wound just as she heard someone approaching.

  Her heart tripped as she quickly moved to place herself in front of him. If the soldiers saw how bad he was, it was highly possible they'd just take him away and get rid of him like the others. They didn't look like the type of people to keep around sick, elderly people. Her hands shook as she waited for them to appear, a million thoughts running through her head as to what she'd say to convince them to leave him with her.

  The person was crawling, whipping around the side of the table, and pausing with their back to it as they waited. Stella looked at the newcomer with wide eyes, her beating heart seizing abruptly.

  He looked over, and for the first time since she'd seen him come and go, watching him from the secrecy of her bedroom window, she met his eyes directly. All her fear evaporated knowing he'd come to help. Maybe all was not lost after all, she thought with the first inkling of hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Garrett tried his best to slow his heart that had been racing since the second he'd entered the building. Navigating through the rebels and surviving Uppers had been like maneuvering through a mine field. At any point things could have gone horribly wrong. Luckily he'd made it over to where he'd spotted Mr. Samson from above, his heart finally slowing.

  Until he looked up.

  A young, frightened girl stared back at him, her frame tense as she seemed to be trying to hide Mr. Samson behind her. She looked like she'd been through hell and back. Her brown hair was a mess, her hazel eyes haunted and purpled beneath them from lack of sleep. The yellow dress she wore, which was once probably quite pretty, was now ripped and ragged.

  He moved slowly so as not to scare her, but she didn't flinch, her frame seeming to relax slightly instead. That encouraged him to approach her.

  “Hello,” he said softly.

  She didn't smile, which was a shame because something told Garrett her face would light up with a lift of her lips. He could only imagine what she'd been through, and wondered when she'd smile again after all this.

  “Hello,” she said back, her voice rough from disuse.

  “I'm Garrett,” he said as he moved closer.

  She nodded her head. “I know. You're Mr. Samson's nephew.”

  He paused, surprised.

  “I've seen you when you visit,” she said to his silent questioning look. “My family and I live next door.”

  “I see.” Garrett went to his other side, forcing her to turn so they faced each other over his legs. “Where is your family?” he asked.

  Her face instantly fell and he wanted to curse at his insensitivity. A sudden urge to hold her grabbed him, but he pushed it away.

  “Are they...?”

  She shook her head slowly, swallowing. “I don't know.”

  “Garrett?”

  They both whipped their heads to the side to see Mr. Samson looking at him.

  “Mr. Samson,” the girl said, gripping his hand, her voice filled with relief.

  The old man looked over at her with a reassuring smile. Garrett could tell it was for her benefit only. From what he could see of his colour, and the look of his saturated bandage, things were not good.

  “Stop fretting over me so much, girl,” he said, patting her hand. He turned back to Garrett.

  Garrett smiled at him, it feeling strained and tight on his face. “Quite the predicament you've got yourself in here, old man,” he said lightly. “Haven't I always said to avoid these gatherings?”

  Mr. Samson laughed, it abruptly turning into a dry, hard cough. He looked at the girl to see the same concern he felt written on her face.

  “You should drink some water,” she said, lifting a glass to his lips.

  He waved it away. “There's no point, I don't have much time left anyway.”

  She instantly shook her head vehemently. “Don't say that,” she said, her voice cracking. Garrett felt like he'd been punched in the gut at the sound of it. “You're going to be just fine,” she insisted.

  Mr. Samson just smiled. “I will be, soon enough.” Garrett swallowed past the ache in his throat as he looked at him. “I knew you'd come,” Mr. Samson said to him.

  “Oh yeah?” he said hoarsely.

  “Yes. I knew you'd be too stubborn to leave well enough alone.”

  Garrett laughed humorlessly. “One of my best traits, you always said.”

  He nodded slowly. “I need you to do something for me before I go,” he said.

  “Stop being so melodramatic, old man. You're going to get out of this just fine.”

  “Garrett, just listen to me,” he pleaded.

  All he could manage was a nod, his emotions too distraught to speak against this man's dying wish.

  “I need you to take care of her,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Stella,” he said, looking to the girl and then back to him.

  Garrett glanced up at the girl, who sat there with silent tears running freely down her face.

  “She's going to need someone now, and I know you have the heart to watch over her. Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you'll keep her safe now.”

  “I promise,” he said weakly.

  He nodded, reaching out to grip his hand, and then using his other to hold hers. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath befor
e leaving them.

  Garrett didn't know how long he sat like that, his eyes riveted on old man Samson's face, waiting for him to just open his eyes again and give Garrett shit about something like he always did.

  Even when his hand grew cold and limp in his, he stayed that way, holding onto him as though he were his life raft amongst the endless sea. He sensed Stella crying beside him, but couldn't bring himself to look up at her.

  He'd risked so much to come in here, only to lose Mr. Samson anyway. At least you got to say goodbye, his inner voice thought. It was true. He was glad for that. Knowing he had been by his side for the end was comforting in a small way.

  He couldn't help feeling as though the old man had been hanging on simply for that reason. The thought both made him happy and made him want to rub at his aching chest.

  Finally he looked over at Stella. The poor girl had eyes rimmed red and puffy, her lips swollen from her biting at them. Her smooth, sun-kissed skin was blotchy from all the crying. She looked like a girl who had just lost everything.

  Garrett looked back at Mr. Samson, remembering that her family had also died in this building, and figured she had. As far as she knew, everyone around her had perished at the hands of Douglas Hatcher.

  But not him. And he would make damn sure he'd get out of there alive and back to his own family. He glanced at her again and added her to that list. He would make good on his promise, and make sure she was always safe. And happy, he thought, looking at how broken she seemed. He'd do whatever he could to make sure she was happy again.

  Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up to meet his, her eyes brimming with new tears.

  “He was all I had left,” she choked.

  “Not anymore,” he said with a shake of his head. “You have me now. We have each other. And we're going to get out of this, I promise.”

  She looked down, wiping at her tears as she stared at Mr. Samson.

  “Don't worry, Stella,” he said, every part of him set on trying to make her feel better. “You'll never be alone again.”

  Now he just had to figure out how to get them out of there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Phoenix walked down the hall toward the training room with a little extra skip in her step. She'd woken up to Trent's masterful mouth on her, tasting her as though she were the best meal he'd ever had. It was one hell of a way to wake up.

  After screaming his name so loud, she'd wondered if others would hear her, he'd then crawled up her body and entered her in one harsh thrust. She'd felt impaled - and had loved it. He'd set a grueling pace that'd had both of them screaming their release together.

  She'd lain there, boneless, as he'd dipped his head down and kissed her. Unlike his previous actions, his kiss had been slow and gentle. A lover’s kiss. Even if she'd had bones after having two mind blowing orgasms, his kiss would have disintegrated anything remaining.

  There was no doubt that Trent confused her. He could be all strong and demanding one second, and then sweet and soft another. It gave her whiplash. Whatever was going on between them felt like it was escalating quickly. Quicker than either of them had anticipated.

  She guessed it had to do with the verbal foreplay they'd exchanged for the months that they'd known each other. It was only a matter of time before all that pent up energy exploded. Except now that it had, Phoenix was afraid it would destroy her.

  They were just having fun. That was something she had to keep reminding herself. Trent wasn't looking for anything exclusive or serious. And neither was she, she reminded herself.

  So then why did the idea of him being hers excite her so much? She sighed, shaking her head. She should just enjoy the happy buzz still coursing through her body from this morning, and not dwell on the finer details that didn't matter.

  Phoenix could do fun - she was fun! She embodied fun more than anyone else. So why didn't the idea of fun actually feel that way to her?

  Because you want Trent, her inner voice said in a “duh” sort of way. Obviously she wanted him, she just didn't know for what or how long. And even if she figured it out, it wouldn't matter because Trent would never settle down with her. Phoenix wasn't his type, she knew that. At least not in a “until-death-do-us-part, I-want-you-to-have-my-babies” sort of way.

  Turning a corner, she decided she would put all these thoughts away and just enjoy herself while she could. He was bound to act like an ass again soon, and then she'd remember why it would never truly work between them long term.

  Problem solved.

  Until then, she'd take all the orgasms he could give her and just pray that someone else in the future could command her body the way he did. She frowned to herself, remembering the short-comings (no pun intended) of all her past hook-ups. There was no doubt Trent far exceeded any of them. But that didn't mean he was the only one out there that could bring her such pleasure, right? Right?

  Phoenix grimaced. God, she hoped not.

  Suddenly an arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her through an open doorway. Her senses had just registered the door slamming shut behind her when she was pushed against it. Darkness blanketed the space, smelling like cleaners. Was she in a broom closet of sorts? It was impossible to see anything, so she couldn't be sure.

  Before she could scream, or punch her abductor, she caught his scent just as he pressed his body against hers.

  “Going somewhere?” Trent said darkly in her ear, his breath fanning against her skin making her shudder against him.

  “Do I know you?” she said playfully, running her hands over his muscled arms. Without sight, it made touch even more enticing. Especially when it was Trent she was touching.

  His lips skimmed her neck and shoulder before he bit her. She shivered.

  His hand reached down to cup her possessively. “Oh you know me,” he said. She could hear the warning in his voice, telling her he'd make sure she never forgot if she wasn't careful - like she ever would. The man had no idea how much he'd already ruined her for other men with that wicked tongue of his, and the lethal concealed weapon he kept in his pants. She bit back a laugh at her own thoughts.

  “Haven't you had enough of me this morning?” she asked as she tilted her head to the side, loving every nip and suckle he placed on her neck.

  “Princess, I don't think I'll ever get enough of you.”

  Phoenix's heart sped up. Suddenly the clothes separating them needed to go - like now. She pulled at his shirts, wanting to feel his hot skin. He stepped back, leaving her alone and breathing loudly, the darkness shrouding him from her. The loud sound of his zipper going down was enough to make her pant in anticipation.

  When his hands grabbed her pants, she didn't protest, helping him to rid herself of the offending garment. Then he was there again, touching her. His two strong hands lifted her easily, pinning her against the door. Before she could take her next breath, he was inside her.

  They both moaned as he paused there, their hips pressed together as he filled her to the hilt. Then he moved, hard and fast, just how she liked. It didn't take long for her to fall over the edge. He followed soon after, his forehead dropping against her shoulder.

  She felt limp in his arms but he didn't complain about her weight as he continued to hold her. “I love having fun with you,” she said, sighing.

  He stiffened, his body growing rock hard against her. Then she felt him slip out before he lowered her to the ground. She wished she could actually see his face. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what.

  “Trent?”

  Instead of answering, he pressed her pants into her hands. She could hear him dressing so she followed suit, confused why things had suddenly gone cold between them. Was it something she’d said?

  When she was done, Phoenix turned and opened the door, blinking against the bright lights of the hall. She turned to finally look at him but he avoided her eyes, his mouth pressed into a firm line.

  “Let's go,” he grunted, heading toward the gym.

  Phoenix wat
ched him walk away for a second before following. Men, she thought with an exasperated huff. She would never understand them.

  As they neared the doors his phone rang. They both stopped as he pulled it out to look at the caller ID.

  “It's Seamus or Garrett,” he said, still not looking at her. “I'm going to take it outside. The reception down here sucks.”

  He was high-tailing it back down the hall before she could say a word. She watched until he disappeared from sight.

  What the hell had she done? Going over everything that had happened in that closet, she couldn't think of anything. Strange creatures, she thought with a shake of her head.

  Fun.

  He was beginning to hate that word

  More over, he was beginning to kick himself for even suggesting it to Phoenix in the first place. The one night he hadn’t slept with her after having been together the night before, he'd woken up miserable and alone. He'd looked for his smart ass little red headed spitfire, and she hadn't been there.

  He couldn't go back to that. Wouldn't. But all Phoenix ever cared about was having fun - and that included him. Well he was going to change that. He just wasn't sure how.

  Trent had never felt as confused and helpless as he did when it came to Phoenix. He just wasn't used to having to deal with women and relationships, having avoided them for as long as he could remember. And this was exactly why.

  Making his way through the tunnels, he headed to the exit, not looking back to see if Phoenix still had that adorable crease between her eyes that she got whenever she was confused about something.

  He could still smell her on him, his body humming from having her again. He could have her a hundred times a day and still never get tired. She did that to him, made him insatiable.

  The phone in his hand rang again. “Give me one second,” he said, answering it. Hopefully they heard him. The reception was shite underground. Running the last bit, he gave the two guys at the doors a quick nod as he stepped out into the crisp morning air.

  “You still there?”