by Meg Collett
“Some of them are. Some of the families here can barely afford the taxes, but they’re hoping Pacem is legalized soon to save the life of a family member. Men and women go to war and never come home so their war rewards can afford a better life for their families in the city. Everyone was promised the world. Everyone was lied to.”
Wren couldn’t look at him, not when he said things like that, his words ringing with truth. She was focused on her own life. She’d grown up seeing the city’s wealth stop at the wasteland between Hollywood and the suburbs, trickling no farther. She’d eaten government rations and coughed and convinced herself that rich meant safe and healthy.
“Can you stop VidaCorp before they reach the tipping point in Hollywood?” she asked, her words directed to a spot on the wall.
“We don’t know how much it takes for a person to go permanently berserk, but we know regular doses of Pacem can compound in the body for years. The people here might already be dead, but the Whitebirds will stop VidaCorp before their presidential puppet is elected and the entire world is poisoned.”
Did she believe Roman? Did she believe VidaCorp was evil and that Bode and Hazen were monsters with pretty faces and smooth tongues? If she did, she’d have nothing left to fight for. Nothing stood between her and death, except for a small white pill with “VC” stamped on the back.
Not the alt pill. Not even Pacem.
It was her glorified pause button she took every day. She could pause her cancer for years with VidaCorp, even if she never took Pacem.
But this was more than just standing by and letting VidaCorp exploit Sloane. This was standing by and letting VidaCorp kill people while she received a pill in exchange for her silence.
“You believe me?” Roman closed the distance between them to stand in front of her. Her knees brushed his legs and his scent filled her nose. She pulled in a deep, burn-free breath and relished the free, easy exhale. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she heard the first tick of her death clock winding back to life.
Twenty-three days.
“I’d be dead right now without VidaCorp,” she said, staring up at him.
Slowly, he raised a hand toward her, and when she didn’t move away, he cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. She hated herself for it, but she leaned into his touch. Savored it. Memorized it. Twenty-three days.
“You’re not a bad person for wanting to survive,” he murmured. “I understand why you would help VidaCorp.” He dropped his arm, and her skin tingled where he’d touched her. “Part of me even wants you to stay with them and take the pill that will keep you alive.”
Her heart thumped at his words—words he hated himself for saying because they went against everything he believed in. His eyes searched her face, soaking up her features like they were hers and he only saw Wren Iver when he looked at her.
“I can’t be your white knight, Wren.” His arms hung loosely at his sides, and without the fervor he’d used to tell her VidaCorp’s sins, he looked defeated. “I can’t waver in this fight because I’ve finally met the one girl who could change my mind.”
“I don’t need a white knight. I never did. I just wanted you.”
He whirled away from her, his shoulders bunching with tension. With his back to her, he said, “I’m not the good guy here. You should know that. I’m about to fight VidaCorp the only way they understand, and you’ll hate me for it.”
Fear—for her, for him—spread thickly through her limbs. “You don’t have to do it.”
He faced her again, his resolve back in place. “I do. It’s the fastest way to stop them.”
His words chilled her. It was torture, but Wren didn’t want to know the truth yet. She wanted this moment to last—a moment in which they could still compromise their greatest hopes to be what the other needed.
“I can’t save you,” Roman murmured, ending the moment.
They’d both decided.
Wren lifted her chin to search his eyes, to read the pain and regret and guilt. She saw in him the darkness in herself—a darkness born of their willingness to do anything for hope. He would do whatever it took to bring down VidaCorp, and she would do anything to survive.
“I might not be able to save you either,” she said.
There was no turning back for either of them.
“I know.”
He hugged her tight against his chest like a drowning man and buried his face against her neck, pressing his lips to her skin. She shivered as he trailed his mouth along her jaw to her chin. She turned her head and kissed him with a desperation that filled her eyes with tears, her fingers clenching his hair.
The office door banged open, and Roman spun around.
Hutton stood in the doorway, her expression pinched.
“Hutton.” Roman stepped in front of Wren, blocking her from Hutton’s sight. “Calm down.”
“Calm down?” Wren leaned around him in time to see Hutton peruse every wayward strand of Roman’s disheveled hair. “I’m already perfectly calm.”
Hutton closed the office door and locked it. When she faced them again, her expression was one Wren had never seen before.
“Did the confirmation come through?” Roman asked.
“Beans caught the command over an hour ago, rerouted it, tripled the dose, and sent it back out. They won’t be able to trace anything back to us, and all fingers will point to Hazen.”
“Tripled?” he asked, going still. “You had him triple it?”
Hutton smirked. “I thought we should go big or go home.”
“The Pacem dose in the water doesn’t have sedatives, Hutton,” Roman growled. “They’re going to rage.”
“Then let them rage.”
“What command?” Wren asked, glancing between them. Roman’s fear at whatever Hutton had tripled sent waves of dread rolling through Wren.
“VidaCorp’s hourly command to dose the water supply with their chemicals,” he said.
This was why he said she would hate him, and perhaps why he hated himself. “You’re going to make the entire city serk,” Wren said breathlessly. “You’re insane.”
“Just some friendly advice,” Hutton chirped. “Don’t drink the water for a bit.”
Wren’s shoulders slumped. Roman met her gaze without shame. He took her silence and assumed she hated him for what he was going to do. Maybe she did. She should hate him. If everything he’d told her about VidaCorp was true, then the Whitebirds had joined them on the killing field. People would die tonight.
Roman had sunk straight into his darkness. Had Wren?
“We should get her in position,” Hutton said. “The dose is in the pipes, and the cast and crew are finishing up their dinner before the live show starts. I spotted like twenty glasses of water. With the tripled dosage, we don’t have much time.”
He was using VidaCorp’s Pacem to serk the entire city and everyone on set—without sedatives.
“You shouldn’t have tripled it,” Roman snapped at Hutton.
Hurt flashed across her eyes, but she covered it by sneering at Wren. “Do you want me to take her out there?”
“No. We’re changing the plan.”
Hutton’s mask flickered. She frowned. “What do you mean we’re changing the plan? The plan is she dies. It’s simple. Let them rip her apart.”
“She’s locking herself in here.”
“Roman—”
“It’s settled!” he shouted at Hutton. Wren flinched. “We’re going up alone.”
But Hutton’s brow wrinkled. She still didn’t understand. “You changed the plan for her?”
“Stop playing stupid.”
A veil came down over her face, and she sank back inside herself. This new mask terrified Wren. Roman didn’t see it as he went around the desk and stopped by the door, waiting for Hutton.
“Let’s go,” he said when she hadn’t moved.
Hutton turned her head toward Wren, her mouth twisted in thought. “He never changed the plan for me,” she
half whispered.
“What are you talking about?” Roman asked. He grabbed her arm, but Hutton pulled away, her attention snapping to him. She slipped around the other side of the desk toward Wren.
Hutton reached behind her, beneath her shirt.
Roman’s eyes stretched wide and he shouted, “No!”
Wren had no time to react before the cool touch of a gun’s barrel pressed against her temple.
“Too late,” Hutton said.
35:
“Hutton!” Roman started toward her, but the click of the safety stopped him.
Wren was frozen.
“I wanted to think you wouldn’t do this to me,” Hutton said. “But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”
“Hutton,” Wren whispered, “what are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m making my own plans.”
“Don’t do this.” Roman held his hands up. “You—”
“Shut up!” she screamed at him. She struck Wren on the cheek with the gun.
Wren retreated as far as she could in the cramped space and pressed her hand to her face.
Outside in the hallway, something crashed loud enough to be heard through the office’s soundproofing. Hutton snickered. “Uh-oh. Looks like the party got started without us.”
“Hutton,” Roman said. “Be smart. You want to get out of here alive. Think this through.”
“It all worked out quite well, didn’t it?” She waved the gun around, never too far from Wren’s head. “Better than we could’ve planned.”
Hutton’s arms shook and sweat beaded along her skin. Her eyes shone wildly, her pupils the size of dimes. “You’re serking,” Wren said, shocked.
“I only had a few sips of water. Couldn’t let everyone else have all the fun, could I?” Her eyes swept to Roman. “Just like old times, right? Bring back any fond memories?”
“Don’t do this,” he said again.
“Why not? You didn’t stick to the plan. Why should I? Remember what I said when you watched me die that night in my apartment? I said it was a fresh start and no one would ever use me again.”
“No one is using you.”
“You’re using me!”
She swung the gun toward him and fired. Wren screamed. The shot hit the ground at his feet, but Roman barely reacted. Wren began to shake, her teeth chattering so loudly she almost didn’t hear Roman say, “I’m sorry. You’re right. Just give me the gun.”
Hutton ignored him and aimed the gun back at Wren. Wren shrank away.
“I’ll give you some advice,” she told Wren. “People will use you no matter what, even if you sacrifice everything for them. They don’t care about you. They never did. He never did.”
From the corner of her eye, Wren saw Roman inch closer to her, rounding the other end of the desk.
“No matter how many times he kisses you and says he loves you and tells you how beautiful you are—” The words caught in her throat as she looked at Roman. Her eyes stretched wide, shining with unshed tears. “I knew you might have to kiss her,” she whispered, “but you promised me it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“Hutton—”
“It’s not fair!” She screamed.
A notification ping sounded from her pocket. She pulled her phone and glanced at the comm. “Looks like we did better than we thought,” she said, giggling. “The USPD sent a notice. The live stream crowd is ‘rioting’ and attacking each other. Someone tried to break the lobby’s windows.”
“We have to leave,” he said quietly and slowly to Hutton. “We need to go somewhere safe.”
“You shouldn’t go anywhere with her,” Wren said. “She’ll kill you.”
“She won’t hurt me. I’ll be fine, and you’ll be safe here until the USPD clears the building.”
Hutton scrutinized Roman as he spoke. “You really care about her, don’t you? That’s why you want to change the plan.” Her face twitched with pain and fresh tears sprung in her eyes. “But you never changed the plan for me. When I begged you for another way to make VidaCorp pay, you said I had to die. You made me do it because you never loved me enough, but you’d do it for her.”
“You know why we did it. The—”
Something slammed into the office door.
Wren cried out. Hutton jumped away from the door, yelping in surprise, and lowered the gun. Roman lunged.
The gun fired as he collided into Hutton and threw her into the wall. Wren ducked behind the desk as they grappled. Hutton screamed in frustration. Roman’s hand crushed her wrist. He pinned her to the wall with his body and struggled to get the gun away from her.
Wren grabbed the touchpad off the desk. She swung it up over her head and smashed it down on Hutton’s face. She slumped against Roman, and he caught her. The gun hit the floor.
Wren scooped up the gun, letting it dangle from her fingers. Roman hefted Hutton over his shoulder. He adjusted her weight and stepped back, limping.
Wren’s eyes darted to his leg, and she gasped. “She shot you!”
Roman looked down, jaw clenching, and pressed his palm to the seeping hole in his thigh. Wren saw nothing but blood coating his palm. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You have a bullet in your leg!”
He wasn’t listening. At the door, he unlocked it and eased the handle down as silently as possible. He opened the door an inch and pressed his face against the wall to check the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Wren whispered. “You can’t go out there!”
Roman had to twist around to see over Hutton’s legs. “I’m not staying here so they can arrest me. The Whitebirds still have work to do.”
Even now, with a skyscraper full of serkers, he needed the Whitebirds to live on. He couldn’t give it up. He would always choose his cause.
“Stay here—”
The door slammed into the side of his face. He lurched backward, Hutton’s body throwing him off balance, and fell. The side of his head hit the desk, and the door swung open wider.
Kruz stood in the hall.
Pieces of unkempt hair fell over his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites completely red. He snarled at her.
“Kruz, stop,” Wren said, her voice warbling with fear. Her fingers tightened around the gun. “It’s me. It’s Wr—Sloane, remember? You don’t want to do this.”
His body shuddered like a rippling wave. He prowled toward her.
On the ground, Roman was silent, and from her side of the desk, Wren couldn’t see anything but his hand and Hutton’s legs. “Roman?” she called, her eyes on Kruz.
No answer.
“Please.” She tried again with Kruz. “Please, don’t do this.”
She gripped the gun and slid her finger over the trigger. She pointed it at Kruz, hands shaking, the barrel bobbing in the air.
He snapped his teeth at her and charged.
She pulled the trigger. The gunshot cracked, and the gun bucked in her hand. The shot went wide as Kruz hit the desk, his middle smacking into it opposite Wren. She fired again.
The bullet lodged in his shoulder, and Kruz screamed. He fell off the desk, snarling and hissing in pain. He righted himself, teeth snapping, and his head snaked around to face her. He launched himself at her again.
He cleared the desk, and Wren had no time to shoot. His body slammed into her, and her head cracked into the wall behind them. Her teeth closed onto her tongue and blood filled her mouth. Kruz screamed in her face, spit landing on her skin. She pushed against his shoulders, the gun pointed at the underside of his chin as she tried to hold him off her. It took everything she had to keep his teeth away from her throat.
He thrashed against her. She turned her head in time to keep his teeth from taking a chunk out of her cheek. Behind him, she saw Roman struggle to his feet, the side of his head coated in blood. He slumped against the wall.
Kruz jerked, and his head snapped toward Roman.
Wren slammed the butt of the gun hard into his temple.
He staggered back, his scream gurgling in his throat, but he just shook his head and locked his focus back on her.
She aimed at his chest, closed her eyes, and fired.
The gunshot rang in her ears. She pried her eyes open. Kruz lay on the floor in a heap, blood spreading up the side of his shirt and dripping onto the floor. Wren swallowed heavily, her hands shaking, her eyes burning.
“Kruz?” she whispered.
He didn’t move.
By the door, Roman groaned and wiped the blood from his eyes. “Wren? Are you okay?”
Wren nodded, but she kept her eyes on Kruz. She wanted to check for a pulse, but her legs wouldn’t move. She should bandage the wound to keep him from bleeding out. She should—
“Wren.” Roman took her arm and pulled. “We have to go. The helicopter will be here any minute. They won’t wait long.”
He swayed, and she noticed he wasn’t putting any pressure on his leg.
“I’m not going with you,” she whispered.
The office door was still open. For now, the hall was quiet.
“I can’t carry Hutton and defend us.” Roman’s head was bleeding badly, and he slurred his words. He could barely hold himself up. “I won’t leave her here to get arrested. I can’t, Wren.”
Down the hallway, glass shattered. Someone started screaming.
“Please,” he whispered.
Kruz’s blood had soaked through his shirt and was pooling around his crumpled body. He was dead. He had to be dead.
Wren was a murderer. She was no better than Hazen and VidaCorp or Roman and the Whitebirds. But she couldn’t stay in the office, locked inside with Kruz’s body. “Where are we going?”
“The conservatory.”
“Shouldn’t we go downstairs? I know a tunnel we can use—”
“The city isn’t safe tonight. We go up. They’re waiting for us.”
She knew who he meant. The Whitebirds.
Together, they hauled Hutton off the floor. Wren helped Roman get Hutton’s limp form over his shoulder. Once she was in place, Roman gripped the desk tightly so he wouldn’t fall over.
“Can you do this?” Wren asked.
He stood unsteadily, his eyes glazing over, but he nodded. “You’ve got the gun?”