by Tania Hutley
“The bullet went straight through,” he adds. “You couldn’t have been shot in a better place if you’d picked it yourself.”
He picks up the spray can and coats my skin with an icy-cold blast. The liquid sticks to the wound, forming a thick coating before it solidifies. It must have a numbing agent in it too, because my pain eases. In spite of my resolve not to make any more sounds, a groan forces its way out of my throat. I release my death-grip on Cale’s hand and he lets out a loud, relieved breath.
Spade gets to his feet and looks down into my eyes. His expression is serious and his gaze feels like it has a physical weight. “You did good, Milla. Some would have screamed the place down. One big guy I know took a shot to the leg, and three of us had to tie him to the table so I could get a look at it, while he cried and begged me to stop.” He brings two fingers to his forehead in a kind of salute. “You’re tough, that’s for sure.” His salute turns into a pointing finger. “But it’s the tough ones who get careless and then regret it. So don’t get tempted to use that arm until it’s finished healing, okay?” He crosses to one of the other beds, rummages in a box under it, then hands me a T-shirt. “Here.”
“Thank you.” I pull on his T-shirt gingerly, biting back a cry when I have to ease it over my bad arm. It’s too big, but reasonably clean. Cale helps me get it on, then props me up in a sitting position with my back against the wall. My head pounds and I have to swallow down a surge of bile.
“You okay?” He sits next to me on the bed.
“I feel better,” I lie.
Spade sits back at the table with Tori and Keren. Tori’s finished her mug of street brew, so he pours them all some more.
“I’m sorry, Tori,” I say again. Then I sweep my gaze around the rest of them. “I’m sorry, all of you, for dragging you into that fight.”
Tori keeps her head down, but Keren and Spade both meet my gaze. I’m looking for bitterness in their expressions, and dreading finding it. But all I see is sorrow.
“They were fighters.” Spade picks up his drink and sloshes the liquid inside. “Eyes wide open and no regrets. That’s the way the cards fall.”
Karen nods. “We look after each other. Someone dies, it’s on all of us.” Her gaze shifts to the Knight Skin. “You got that monster in the truck, and I don’t know how you did it. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it out.”
“That’s truth.” Spade takes a gulp of his drink.
Tori finally lifts her face. Her cheeks are wet. “I can’t believe Gareth’s gone. He was a great person. The best.” Her voice cracks and her shoulders hunch like she’s been kicked in the gut. “And Franco was desperate to pay for his kid’s schooling, to keep his daughter out of the factories. I don’t know how to live like this, Milla. How do we keep going when we have to watch the people we love die?”
My heart stabs with pain. Tori is the strongest person I’ve ever known, but her expression’s so raw, I can’t stand it.
Cale speaks up from beside me. “I didn’t really know Franco, but Gareth was a good friend to me. He asked me to join the Fist, even though most members didn’t want me. They assumed because I come from New Triton, I don’t want things to change. Gareth was different. He was willing to give me a chance.”
Tori nods at him, then picks up her mug of street brew and gulps it down like she’s on a mission to wipe herself out.
“Franco was funny,” says Keren. “He cracked me up all the time with stupid puns. I bet he was better at coming up with puns than anyone in Triton.”
“Yeah, those puns.” Spade snorts. “Franco was a genius with them. And dirty limericks, too.” He glances at Keren. “You ever hear his limericks? He could recite them for hours, and all of them filthy.”
“There was a young sinker called Venus,” Keren recites haltingly, looking at the ceiling as she searches for the right words. “Who had an eight inch… wait, that’s not right.”
Spade laughs and takes a gulp of his drink. “He told me hundreds over the years, and I can’t remember a single one of them.”
“He used to make Gareth laugh all the time,” says Keren. “And then Gareth’s laugh would crack me up. I don’t know what made his laugh so contagious, but it was like Ebola the way it spread. Nobody was immune.” She looks at me. “If you heard it, you couldn’t not laugh with him. That’s just the way it was.”
They’re all smiling now, even Tori. But I couldn’t smile if my life depended on it. They’re talking about the men I killed today. Gareth with his contagious laugh, and Franco with his dirty limericks, chewing on a stick of plastic. Both would be sitting here now if it weren’t for my stubborn insistence on getting a Knight Skin.
Tori’s gaze is on me, and I’m certain she can tell what I’m thinking. It must be written all over my face.
Her expression hardens and she motions to the Knight Skin with her cup. “Gareth and Franco died for that. Now it’s up to us to make sure they didn’t die for nothing.”
I nod, feeling the full weight of her words. “I’ll get William out.”
“Not just your brother. You have to deal with all the soldiers.”
“What do you mean?”
She grabs the bottle of street brew and fills her cup before she answers. “You’re going to use the Knight Skin to get into the Meat Locker, right? When you get inside, you need to hit the kill switch on every pod and wipe all the soldiers’ chips. As the soldiers operating them start waking up, the Knight Skins will collapse. Then we can put a gun to their ears and blow their murdering metal heads to hell.”
I blink at her. I hadn’t even thought of doing that. “But how will I get William out if all the soldiers are waking up? There are hundreds of them. What’s to stop them climbing out of their pods and stopping me?”
“Good point.” She takes a sip of her drink, then points her cup at me. “So instead of wiping their chips, you’ll have to kill them in their pods.”
My stomach rolls over. “Kill them? But they’re kids.”
“They’re the soldiers who murdered Gareth and Franco. Why should we let them live?”
“Not just Gareth and Franco,” adds Spade. “Four of our friends were dragged up on stage and shot in front of a cheering crowd. Plenty more have disappeared. And what have we done to deserve it? All the Fist has ever done is broadcast the truth about what was going on in the shelters and factories. For that they get to execute us?”
“It’s not the soldiers’ fault.” Cale pushes one hand into his hair. “They’ve been in the director’s academies being brainwashed for years, and she’s using the Skins to change their thought processes. Being in the Skins makes them feel less empathy—”
“All the more reason to kill them if they’ve been brainwashed against us,” Tori interrupts. “They won’t stop until they’ve slaughtered us all.”
“I can’t kill kids. Especially not teenagers who look like they’re sleeping.” In spite of the guilt I feel for Gareth and Franco’s deaths, there’s no way I can do what Tori wants.
She shakes her head, her mouth twisting as though she’s disappointed with me. “Then Director Morelle will just make more Knight Skins for them to transfer into, and we’ll have to fight them all over again.”
“William never asked to be one of her soldiers,” I say. “She didn’t give him a choice, and when we let her take him, we had no idea what she was planning. How could we? If William knew what he was doing, he’d never fight against the people who raised him. Those soldiers are victims as much as we are.”
She studies me for several long, drawn-out seconds, then sighs. “Fine. If you can’t kill them, then wipe their chips.”
I don’t want to do either, but I nod. Though I did all this to get William out, she’s right. I can’t walk in there without trying to stop the knights. I owe it to Gareth and Franco. Hell, I owe it to all Old Tritoners.
I’ll just have to figure out a way to get my brother out as well, even with hundreds of angry soldiers trying to stop me.
> Chapter Fifteen
Tori eventually passes out at the table. Cale carries her to one of the beds and pulls a blanket over her. Keren and Spade are almost as drunk as Tori, but they manage to stumble to bed under their own steam.
Cale switches off the main light, leaving a small glowing bulb on so the room’s not pitch black. He sits next to me on my bed, careful to choose my uninjured side. “How are you feeling?” He whispers the question, though Tori’s already snoring, and the other two won’t be far behind.
I consider how to answer. My shoulder still throbs, and so does my head. My throat’s sore and my arm feels like a squad of stompers have been jumping on it.
Worse is the tightness in my chest when I try to figure out how I can keep both my promise to Ma and my promise to Tori. The Meat Locker is full of pods. Once I start waking the soldiers and they realize what I’m doing, they’ll attack me for sure. How will I wipe all their chips and get William away?
But I’m too exhausted to tell Cale all that. My head is fuzzy. Maybe in the morning I’ll be able to come up with a solution.
Instead, when I open my mouth, a question comes out that I’ve wanted to ask since I saw how worried he was that I’d been shot. “Have you forgiven me?”
Cale’s just a dark silhouette on the bed beside me, so I can’t see his expression. He lets out a long breath that sounds surprised. “Milla, you saved my life. The only reason you got shot is because you dived on top of me.”
“Is that a yes?”
I hear him move before I feel his warm fingers slide over my hand. “Tell me you won’t lie to me again.”
My heart speeds up at his touch. “Only the truth from now on. I promise.”
Maybe it’s because sitting in darkness feels like a kind of privacy, and I’m wrung-out and exhausted, but it feels easier to say what I’m thinking than it ever has. Or maybe it’s because having to watch your friends die makes everything else seem trivial, and secrets are pointless. Whatever the reason, I feel like I can share anything with him.
“I told you about how I’m stronger now,” I add. “Even though I was afraid you’d think I was a freak.”
“A freak? Are you kidding? I was jealous.” He sighs. “Having super powers would make my life so much easier.”
“It’s helped, for sure. Without the extra strength, I’d have been carved up in the director’s lab. But I don’t want to think too hard about it, in case it disappears. Nobody seems to know why my Skin affected me like that in the first place. I could just as easily go back to normal.”
“I’m glad it did affect you like that. And thank you for saving my life today.”
I shiver at the reminder of how close he came to being shot. “The only reason I needed to save it was because I put it in danger. I shouldn’t have dragged everyone into the fight.”
“You didn’t drag us anywhere. We’re all adults, capable of making our own decisions. Gareth helped because he wanted to get that Skin as much as you did. As soon as he realized you were going to use it to get into the Meat Locker, he was on board. Franco, too.”
I let out a long breath and turn my hand over so his isn’t just resting on mine, but I’m cradling it. The other three people in the room are all snoring, Tori by far the loudest, so I know nobody else can hear me confess my secrets.
“I feel so guilty,” I say softly. “I’m trying not to, but I keep replaying the whole thing in my head.”
“Don’t.” He leans closer. So close that I can almost taste the street brew on his lips. “Blame the knights, not yourself. They’re the ones who killed them. Okay?”
“It’s hard,” I whisper. “I feel responsible.”
“You’re not.” He shifts a little, turning to face me, and lifts the hand that’s not holding mine. His fingers find my face in the dark, and run gently over my scarred, hollowed-out cheek.
I try not to flinch back from his touch, but I hate anyone even looking at my scars, let alone feeling how hard and rough they are. How can he want to touch me there? I don’t understand.
“Cale…” I hesitate, losing my nerve for just a moment. Then I take a breath and find my courage. “When we were in the Morelle Corporation, you said I was beautiful. Why would you say something like that? I know how I look. My face is the opposite of beautiful.”
“Not to me.” He squeezes my hand. “Scars are just scars. They don’t make you ugly.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat. I’m trying to believe him, but surely he sees the same twisted mess everyone else does?
“Your face tells your story,” he says. “You’re strong, and funny, and brave. And maybe the bad stuff that’s happened to you is part of that. Like the way they used to make swords, by burning them and beating them with a hammer to make them strong.”
“So I’m a sword?” There’s a lightness in my voice I wouldn’t have thought I could manage. I like the idea of it.
“The best kind of sword. All your history and strength is right there in your face, and it’s made you beautiful.”
“I wish I could see what you see. When I look at myself, all I see is my scars.”
He lets out a long sigh. “I want to kiss you. But last time, you pulled away.”
“If you hold me too tightly, I feel trapped.” The words slip out so easily they leave me breathless. Why have I never been able to admit that out loud before?
“What if I don’t hold you?” Without waiting for an answer, his lips graze against mine, the lightest of touches. I feel the contact everywhere, as though his lips have brushed my entire body and tickled deep in my belly.
I close my eyes, savouring the sensation, and lean into him, making our next kiss a little less gentle.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his lips against mine. Though his body isn’t touching mine, he seems rigid, like he’s clenching all his muscles.
“It’s nice,” I murmur.
He lets out a soft sigh that’s so full of wanting, it sends a shiver of awareness over me. Warmth uncoils inside me. My body aches, but in a good way.
I want to be closer to him. I’d like to feel his chest press against mine.
Sliding my hand behind his neck, I pull myself so close that our bodies are touching.
He sighs again before his lips claim mine, the kiss so deep I feel like I’m falling into him. His tongue flicks against mine, and every touch sends an electric charge through my body.
Though I let the fingers of my good hand trail across the stubble on his jaw, over his neck, and down his throat, he leaves his own hands at his sides. The more we kiss, the more I want him to touch me. But this feels so good, I don’t want to accidentally ruin it. I’d like to do this all night long.
“Lie down with me,” I whisper.
“You sure?”
“Do you mind lying against the wall? And don’t wrap your arms around me. Is that okay?”
“I wouldn’t, anyway. You’re injured.”
“We’ll need to put our heads up that end, because I can’t lie on my wounded side.”
“You’re sure you want to lie so close? I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
“I’m sure.”
He lies with his back to the wall, and I lie facing him. There’s barely an inch of space between our faces, and our bodies are against each other, thrown together by the sagging mattress. I have to keep my sore arm on my side, because it hurts too much to have it between us. I’m not sure where to put my other hand, so I nestle it in front of me, under my chin.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs.
“It’s good.”
Kissing him lying down feels different. Our heads can’t tilt so much, which makes our noses bump. His jaw is scratchy against my chin. The longing to be able to touch him is even stronger than before. My good hand is tucked awkwardly between us, so all I can do is put my hand on his chest, and with his T-shirt in the way, I can’t touch his skin.
“You can put your hand on my hip,” I whisper.
He moves sl
owly, being careful of my sore arm. When his hand finds my hip, his fingers make slow circles. I let out a shuddering breath. I’m in my human body, but right now, I can’t imagine anything better. I don’t want to be anyone or anything else. I’m here, and this stolen night with him feels so good, it makes my pain ebb away.
“Milla,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to brush back a lock of hair that’s fallen into my face. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“I have too.”
His fingers run through my hair, then gently over my ruined cheek. I hold completely still, hardly daring to breathe, as his hand traces back over my scars.
I still can’t believe he wants to touch me there, but he’s kissing me at the same time, his mouth demanding and needy as though he was telling the truth and my scars don’t matter.
“Milla,” he whispers again. “I like that name. It suits you.”
“Better than Rayne?”
“I liked Rayne too.”
“I like this. Being here with you.”
“I wish we were alone. Does Tori always snore this loudly?”
My snort of laughter feels good. “I can’t count the number of nights I lay awake in the shelter, listening to her snore. It’s kind of soothing.”
“Soothing?” He sounds incredulous. “When I imagined this, there definitely wasn’t any snoring.”
“You’ve imagined doing this?”
“Since the first day we met.”
I make a scoffing sound. “Not the first day we met. We barely spoke.”
He smiles. It’s dark enough to make his lips indistinct, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Since I saw you steal that knife and hide it in your sock. After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re weird, Cale. That’s not a reason to like someone.”
“It was for me.”
He kisses me again, softly this time, and warmth spreads through my body. But my exhaustion is coming back, softening my need for him. I still ache for him, but it’s not so urgent. I can close my eyes and just enjoy the feeling of his soft lips and his strong body resting against mine.