She didn’t make eye contact and her wet blond hair fell forward over her face, obscuring her features. She projected strength, despite her small appearance. Maybe it was her confidence, or the adrenaline surfing the waves of her aura. She met his stare, her mouth set in a firm line, full lips pulled tight.
Tension rolled off her in a frenzy.
He lurched back, not sure if it was from the poke to his wrist or the sight of the bedraggled woman. Or maybe it was the shock that Verity had sent a woman to take down the Confessor. Not that Maddox thought a female couldn’t do the job, because of course she could, but because the Confessor was particularly known for his affinity for torturing women who crossed him.
A mere sexual sadist on his best day, the man was the worst of humanity’s nightmares. He’d unleashed unspeakable acts on the city’s populace, yet people still followed him like sheep. And he more than slaughtered them. Torture was his rush and he had culled enough of the city to bring the population down to dangerously low levels. Yet the citizens believed his rhetoric and trusted his judgment because they had no one else and the war had changed their way of life.
The Confessor had to be disposed of before he gained any more power and Verity had made sure it happened.
At least he hoped that was the case.
He blinked and the woman looked down again. She’d assassinated the tyrant and lived. So far. His job was to get her to safety so Verity could debrief her. That was the plan.
A warm sensation trickled through to his palm and the screen buzzed blue in confirmation of her identity. She yanked her hand away as soon as authorization came through, shoving her arm under her cloak again.
“Allana.” She scanned the room, biting her lip as she evaluated each patron with a razor-sharp assessment. She kept her hands concealed under her cloak, presumably so she could access her weapon quickly.
Always on duty, assassins. Not that he’d ever known one personally, but that’s what he’d heard. They worked alone, and never took time off.
“I’m Maddox.” He ran his hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure how she knew he was who she needed to meet with, but assumed Verity had filled her in. It didn’t matter now. “We’ve got to get out of here now.” He kept his voice low. “Won’t be long till the news is out.” He grabbed his backpack off the seat and slung it over his shoulder then cinched it tight.
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” She lifted her shoulders up around her ears, her face drawn tight. “I only came in here long enough to get you. Don’t boss me around.”
Clearly, she was still stressed. Who wouldn’t be?
He blinked at her harsh sneer. He should have known the assassin would be a hard-ass, but coming from such a small package, it was still a surprise. He’d do his job and get her to safety, she need not worry about that. Besides, he wasn’t helping to make friends, but there wasn’t any reason for her to treat him like shit.
“Let’s go. And cut the crap. I’m here to help you, remember?” He motioned her forward. If she kept up the rudeness, he’d have a chat with her—when they were in a safer location. Now was not the time.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Rough day. I just want to be done.”
He nodded and they moved toward the door, trying not to rush or make any movement that would garner unnecessary attention. If they were caught while inside the building, they’d never escape alive. No matter how good Allana was with weapons, two against twenty wasn’t a fair fight and the Sentinels would descend on the bar within minutes of an alarm, if not seconds. The guards seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and anywhere they were was no place he wanted to be. Fucking brainless killing machines.
“Hey!” the bartender called. Conversation ceased and stares swiveled to focus on Maddox and Allana.
Maddox stopped, his heart thudding. Should they run? Not yet. Keep cool. He turned to face the bar. The heat of everyone’s stare burned into his back. Maybe he doesn’t know…
“Thanks for the tip, man.” The bartender smiled. “Don’t get many of those any more, what with wages being what they are. I appreciate it. I won’t forget you. Next time, a drink on the house.”
Maddox faked a smile back to the bartender and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Shit. He’d drawn attention to himself and, more importantly, to Allana, by simply leaving a tip. Could turn out to be a fatal mistake for both of them. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the door.
“Be ready,” he whispered. “In case.”
Her shoulder tensed and she dipped her head in acknowledgement, her wet hair trailing across his fingers.
She shoved the bar door open with her foot and they stepped into the cool night. So far, so good. She draped her dark cape over her head again as the endless rain pummeled them. He moved his hand from her shoulder and wiped his eyes, squinting as his vision adjusted to the rainy darkness.
No Sentinels.
The street lay empty except for a few stray mutts that appeared to be scavenging farther down the block, and a lone passerby heading for the bar, his broken umbrella providing little protection from the downpour. Broken skyscrapers rose in the dark, looming over the streets like fractured monsters, maws open and sharp teeth ready to attack. Few buildings had electricity at night, their top floors broken off in the war and never repaired. Once Verity took over, things would change and the city would regain its former grandeur.
He hoped.
“This way.” He motioned, slipping into the empty street.
Allana followed without a sound, her shoes barely a stutter on the broken pavement. Overgrown bushes and wiry weeds populated the cracked sidewalks, so they traveled the unused roadway. Hadn’t been any cars on this road since the early days of the war. Weeds thrust through any opening, bowing under soggy branches laden with wet seedpods. Amazing how much of anything could grow with so little light.
Somewhere in the distance, the clanging of a beamcar sounded, the echo resonating through the paths between buildings. On time as always. Even on the city’s worst days, the beamcars did their jobs, carrying the Confessor’s Sentinels wherever they might be needed. Keeping the peace had never been more efficient.
Or more deadly.
The relentless rain beat against him as always, and Maddox pushed his hair off his forehead and cinched his jacket tighter at the neck as he walked. What he wouldn’t give to go outside and stay dry for once.
He’d long forgotten what it felt like to feel the sun on his face.
“Where are we going now?” Allana’s teeth chattered as she spoke. “Somewhere inside, I hope. I hate the damn rain.”
He grunted an acknowledgement and wiped his eyes. He should’ve been used to the constant downpour by now, but he wasn’t. Far from it. The fucked-up climate system had done a number on so many things, not the least of which was morale. Some days, suicides fell from the skyscrapers and mangled bridges faster than raindrops. But today, it didn’t matter how much it poured.
Today, he had a job to do, rain be damned. And by the gods, he was going to do it. Verity had kept the plan from Allana in case she’d been captured before she got to him. The Sentinels would have tortured her and might have found out Verity’s way out of the city.
“The storm sewers.” He turned to stare at her. “At least it’s warmer there. And it’s our way out.”
“Okay, if you say so. I trust Verity.” She adjusted her hood. “If they say that’s the way, then lead on.”
“Got us this far.”
“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” She pulled the cloak tighter. “Besides, who else can we trust?”
Who else indeed? He shrugged. No time for rhetoric when any moment, the Sentinels would know about the Confessor. Time was closing in on them and soon they’d have none. They had to be in the sewers before the alarms began sounding, or they’d not stand a chance at escape.
They walked in silence except for the clatter of the rain and the echo of their footsteps, moving as quickly as possible without
drawing attention to themselves. Maddox kept close watch. Verity warned that he would never know who might be watching. Who might take an extra ration for ratting out someone who looked suspicious. Once the call went out about finding the assassin, everyone would be a suspect.
When would the alarms sound? Someone had to have discovered the body by now. The Confessor was always surrounded by people and servants to do his bidding.
Maybe Allana had killed him in his sleep with a knife to his fleshy neck, or maybe over dinner with a fast-acting poison. Though he wanted to know, Maddox wasn’t allowed to ask the details of how she did it. Verity was serious about protecting assassins’ privacy.
But he did want to know. Natural curiosity, of course. And how such a slight woman had taken out a large and protected man like the Confessor. Even getting close to him was a feat.
He glanced at the woman walking next to him, her head bowed and wet blonde hair hanging in clumps from under the hood. Did she have any remorse? Or, was killing in the line of duty truly a job, not a moral decision? He stepped over a piece of debris in the road. The trash piled up in some places but usually this area was kept fairly clean.
He’d never be able to kill, at least he didn’t think he would. He spent his life before the war trying to develop medicines to help people heal, but Verity had brought him on to scout and track—something he turned out to be very good at. Killing wasn’t in his job description.
Killing Sentinels didn’t count. They weren’t human.
“One day, you’ll have to tell me how you became an assassin.” He took a deep breath. Fuck. He’d said that aloud? “I know I’m not supposed to ask. I guess I’m just the curious type.”
She scowled at him with such intensity; he thought he might evaporate on the spot under her gaze. And yet, she looked right through him, as if he weren’t even there.
He examined her. “Sorry.” Singularly, her features might be described by some as plain, but put together, her face held a compelling beauty—a mystery. Her eyes especially drew him in with their bottomless depths. Too bad he wouldn’t have the chance to really get to know her. Once they got out of the city, he’d be handing her off to Verity officials for debriefing, and she’d be gone from his life just like everyone else.
One moment of usefulness then he’d be done.
Allana turned away, the raindrops glistening on her hair like a thousand tiny stars in a galaxy of light. “I never wanted this job, but I had no other real choice,” she said. “I don’t care what you’ve heard. Assassin is not a hero’s job.”
“I never said it was.” He shivered as a chill slid down his spine and clasped onto his nerves. “I’m sorry.” He looked across the road, saw that it was clear, then looked back to her.
“It’s not for everyone.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and adjusted her cape. “Few are suited. Even fewer make the cut.”
“And yet you did choose it, and made it through the training. You must be good.” He shook the rain out of his hair. “I hate this rain.”
She studied his features before speaking. “The best. That’s why they chose me for this task. But the job’s not over yet. I’ve got information to put into the right hands. Information that could exonerate my family.”
“I’ll get you to safety. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Right now, we need to get out of here, or none of it will matter.”
Of course she was right. “Come on, then. We’ve got a ways to go.” He wanted to press for more details, ask her about her family and what she meant. Not now. He smiled, but she didn’t return it.
Still in assassin mode. He needed to focus himself, too, if they had any hope of getting out alive.
“I hate the rain, too.” She tugged her cape hood up higher.
“Maybe now that the Confessor is dead, Verity can figure out how to stop it. Stop the damn machines once and for all.”
“Maybe. Or maybe this is all a cruel joke and the rain will never stop.” She picked her pace up, moving ahead of him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they’ll fix the rain system.”
“I hope you’re right.”
The rain sheeted almost horizontally, and he pushed his wet hair from his eyes. They walked quickly, but didn’t run. Running might trigger suspicion, even though they didn’t see anyone else out and about on the street. Someone could be watching from any of a number of abandoned buildings or peeking at them through windows. In the city, someone was always watching, hoping to get in the good graces of the Confessor by ratting out another citizen.
Allana kicked at a glass bottle, sending it spinning across the pavement into the far curb with a clank. He glanced around to see if anyone perked up at the sound. Tempting fate seemed to be something assassins liked to do.
Risk-taking behavior was part of their personality. He scowled at her and she jutted her chin out at him, not turning to meet his glare.
Maddox wanted to stay as inconspicuous as possible, not call attention to themselves. But he didn’t want to upset Allana either. She seemed like the type to get really upset if someone tried to tell her what to do. He’d let this incident go, but if it happened again, he’d say something. After all, she was putting his life at risk, too.
It figured that Verity would send someone who tried to raise his hackles.
He led her around to a side avenue that ran parallel to the main thoroughfare in the south side of the city. The road, six lanes wide, used to be filled with people trying to get here or there or nowhere in particular. Now, strewn with debris and overgrown with errant weeds, the unused street had become an impromptu urban park and home to the less desirables, the Kooks. The Confessor had even installed benches and planters after the war, and small box houses for the Kooks to live in.
High on Koo, both men and women sprawled on plastic benches that lined the once-busy street. Torn bags of refuse piled high behind them; the Koo addicts barely moved or even paid attention to their surroundings, their eyes wide and wild and darting to take in every bit of light stimulus they could find between the raindrops, their screens long ago ripped from their wrists, replaced with dirty bandages or tied rags.
Pathetic.
Who knew how many inhabited the makeshift shantytown or even lived in the boxes, but walking through was generally safe. The Kooks wanted Koo, that was it. Nothing else mattered. Not food, not money, not family.
Some had probably served Verity at one point, while others were slaves to the Confessor. Now, it didn’t matter. Koo was so addictive, few stood a chance of escaping its thrall, and the Confessor had been rumored to provide it to families he wanted out of his way. An evil way to dispose of competition or upstarts. These poor people weren’t even allowed to die.
They were the living dead.
And they didn’t even seem to mind the rain. They sat blindly in it, some staring at the sky, the drops falling into their eyes as their minds flitted from one Kook image to another.
“Pitiful.” Allana shook her head. “Fucking Kooks.”
He nodded as a memory flashed through his mind—his beautiful sister, Meera, once vibrant and full of life before the war, then ravaged by Koo after the Confessor’s ascension. From vibrant and alive to a shell of humanity, the descent had hit his remaining family hard. He fisted his hands. When Verity had come calling, promising to help her and others like her, Maddox signed on to work for them without a thought of what it might cost him in the end. He’d do anything to help Meera.
He’d been stupid to think they’d save her.
Not long after he joined Verity, he’d found Meera dead, eyes glazed and empty, long hair ratted and splayed, staring into the rain-filled sky. She was laying in a park much like the one they were in now, arms sprawled and legs askew, just days before his training for the current mission began.
She’d been stripped of the remaining bit of humanity she had and everything of value had been taken from her. He wasn’t allowed to bury her—the city took the dead K
ooks as their own. She was taken away and dumped with the other bodies the street cleaners found each day. Incinerated or buried, it didn’t matter. No shred of human dignity remained in their last days, so why give it to them in death?
His Meera was gone and it was the Confessor’s fault.
And though Verity had used his sister to get him to help, he’d come to believe in what they stood for. In the cold and bitter world that was left, they were the only people trying to make a better place for everyone to live. He believed in that.
His sister’s death would’ve happened with or without Verity.
The blow had been a gut-punch unlike any he’d ever felt. Still, he believed in Verity’s promises to bring the city back to its former glory and he trained even harder than before.
He wanted a city where people could live their lives without fear. Where Koo was not an option for escape. Where families could bury their dead and grieve over them.
Verity promised it.
And he believed Verity would deliver it.
With the Confessor dead, they were a whole lot closer to that goal.
Goddammit, that felt good! But no time to celebrate right now. He had to get Allana to safety. Then, he could take a break.
He shook off the thrill of the Confessor’s death and focused on the task ahead. He and Allana would be safe cutting through the park, and that’s all that mattered at the moment. No alarms yet, by some miracle, and making good time toward the sewer drains.
Getting away from the beamcars and any people who cared what they were doing was the first point of action, then heading into the sewers and finally escaping the city. In this area, for those high on Koo, the last thing the addicts cared about was anyone who wasn’t providing more Koo. He and Allana would be as invisible as the disintegrating refuse on the ground.
The shrill peal of a beamcar siren sliced through the wet air, reverberating off the crumbling walls. In the distance, other sirens echoed and broadcast the news. His wrist screen buzzed and he covered it with his hand to silence the sound.
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