Outbreak

by Tarah Benner

  Pushing the door open, I’m instantly overwhelmed by the flashing lights and the heavy beat of music blaring from the speakers.

  Even though it’s Sunday night, there seem to be more bodies jammed together down here than usual. I have to turn sideways to squeeze through the ring of people crowded around the door, and I still feel their bodies pressing in all around me.

  If it was hot in the stairwell, it’s sweltering in here. There are just too many people packed together in the collapsed tunnel and not enough ventilation.

  Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hits me — my body’s automatic response to crowds. My lungs constrict, and I clench and unclench my fists to fight the panic rising up in my chest.

  I can’t afford to lose it — not here. Not tonight.

  Everything’s fine, I tell myself. You can breathe. It’s all in your head.

  Feeling slightly better, I start pushing through the mass of sticky, sweaty dancers and make a beeline for the stairwell. I jut out my elbows to peel apart the cluster of people grinding against each other and get several dirty looks directed my way. The women are wearing microskirts, plunging leotards, and what look like suspenders attached to neon underwear, but the men are mostly shirtless or wearing mesh tank tops.

  It’s a relief when I break through the crowd and reach the stairs. But just as my feet hit the bottom step, a hand closes around my arm.

  An old fear flashes through me, and I swing around with a hammer fist to knock back my attacker.

  “Hey!” shouts a familiar voice.

  The head behind me is just a blur as the stranger dodges my fist, and I wind up again and prepare to fight.

  I won’t be taken again. I won’t.

  “Whoa, whoa. Easy!” says the voice. “Harper, it’s me.”

  Fighting the surge of adrenalin that’s giving me a mad case of tunnel vision, I focus on the face swimming in my periphery. It’s Blaze, but I didn’t immediately recognize him with his new short hair.

  “Oh. Hey!” I pant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, releasing my arm. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. It was a dumb thing to do.”

  I wince, still embarrassed that I almost punched Blaze.

  “What are you doing here, Harper?” he asks. His question sounds polite enough, but I read the hidden meaning behind his words: You shouldn’t be here.

  “I need to talk to Shane — er, your dad.”

  Blaze’s usually happy-go-lucky expression shuts off like a light. Strangely, the grim look he’s giving me now seems more natural than his hazy smile. “Why do you want to talk to Shane?”

  I open my mouth and close it immediately. I can’t tell Blaze what I know. I can’t tell anyone.

  Sawyer would be in huge trouble if anybody found out she was using her position in the medical ward to look into old records. And even though my instincts are telling me I can trust Blaze, my resolve to protect Sawyer is stronger.

  “I just need to ask him a few questions,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint and let me go.

  “About what?”

  No such luck.

  I sigh. “About the Fringe Program.”

  Instead of looking suspicious or confused, sympathy warms those blue-green eyes.

  The only really good thing about getting placed in Recon was that my old identity seemed to melt away as everyone adjusted to their new roles. It’s easy to forget that most people in higher ed knew me as a Fringe brat who grew up in the Institute.

  I hate that Blaze is feeling sorry for me.

  “It isn’t worth it,” he says finally.

  “It is to me.”

  Blaze shakes his head. “You don’t get it. Shane doesn’t give anything away without expecting something in return. If you ask him for a favor, you need to be prepared to grant one yourself. And I don’t think you are.”

  A shiver rolls through me as I imagine the types of favors Shane might have in mind.

  My first thought goes to my fight with Marta Moreno. It’s possible he could ask me to fight again, but I suppose that’s one of the tamer requests one can hope for from a crime lord.

  Still, I can always walk away.

  I shift from one foot to the other, trying to decide how much I should tell Blaze. Throwing caution to the wind, I let out a little of the truth.

  “Look, this isn’t just me needing to know why I was brought into the compound. I need to know what happened to my parents. Something isn’t right.”

  It’s vague, but Blaze is smart enough to understand why I can’t say more. He studies me for a long moment, quiet and pensive. It’s tough to read his expression in the intermittent flare of the strobe light, and I realize there’s much more to him than the easygoing guy I thought I had pegged.

  It occurs to me that Blaze might not be quiet and agreeable in training just because he’s a nice guy; keeping his head down and not making waves is probably how he survived Shane.

  “Okay,” he says finally. “But I’m coming with you.”

  “You really don’t have to —”

  “I know you can take care of yourself, Harper,” he cuts in. “But you aren’t used to doing business with people like Shane. I don’t want him trying to pull you into anything that you don’t want to be a part of.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but then I remember the way it was last time — how I immediately agreed to fight Marta without knowing I was way out of my league.

  “Okay.”

  Blaze seems surprised but turns and leads the way up the stairs, squaring his shoulders as if he’s preparing to walk into battle.

  The same muscular bodyguard who was there the last time I visited is standing next to the door. He and Blaze greet each other with a friendly head nod the way all guys do, but then the bodyguard shifts to block the door.

  “Now’s not a good time,” he rumbles.

  Blaze glances at the door. I can hear the crescendo of angry voices coming through the thin metal, but he looks nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

  “McMannis is in there right now.”

  Blaze swears under his breath and glances anxiously at me. “Is it going well?”

  The bodyguard lifts two bushy eyebrows and widens his eyes. “Does it sound like it’s going well?”

  I tug on Blaze’s arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing we want to be a part of,” he murmurs. “Let’s go. I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

  Suddenly the voices coming from inside the room go quiet.

  “Is that my son out there?” someone yells through the door.

  Panic flares through me when I recognize Shane’s voice. I glance up at the door and spot a tiny security camera pointed directly at us.

  The bodyguard sighs and touches his earpiece to speak. “Yessir.”

  “Well, don’t just leave him standing there, Hector!” yells Shane, not bothering with his earpiece. “Bring him in, for god’s sake.”

  Blaze and the bodyguard exchange a meaningful look, and then Blaze grimaces and turns to me. I nod once — nervous but determined — and we navigate awkwardly around Hector’s enormous frame.

  When we step inside the cramped private room, Shane is hunched over a dainty glass liquor cart, pouring himself a drink.

  With his back to us, I have an unobstructed view of his fantastically hideous mullet. His hair is black and glossy in the front, but it tapers down into a deep violet in the back. He’s wearing black slacks, a black shirt, and a black jacket, but my eyes go immediately to his illegally sourced ostrich-skin boots.

  There are two more bodyguards standing in the corners of the room, and right next to us is a menacing-looking man with leathery skin and bleached-blond hair buzzed close to the scalp. He shoots Blaze a look of pure loathing, and his eyes linger curiously on me.

  “I can come back,” says Blaze. His voice is deeper than usual, and his gaze is cold on his father’s back.

  “Nonsense,” says Shane, still fussing over hi
s drink. “We’re finished.”

  “Like hell we are,” growls the man I assume is McMannis.

  Shane pauses over the drink cart, one hand still swirling a tiny plastic straw. He sighs, removes the straw, and then whips around in one motion and flings the glass tumbler at McMannis’s head.

  Blaze shoves me behind him, but I still feel the splash of cold liquid as the drink collides with the man’s head and shatters on the floor.

  “Holy shit!” he yells, clutching his head where the glass hit him. I see blood trickling from a cut under his brow, and he slams his hand onto the wall behind him for support.

  “Maybe you’ve taken one too many punches to the head,” says Shane in a low, deadly voice. “I said we’re finished here. That means we’re finished.”

  McMannis looks up at Shane with a pitiful expression. His eye is already beginning to swell, and he can hardly get the words out. “What am I supposed to tell Bellett?”

  “The truth. My connections to 116 are down. I haven’t heard anything in months. On top of that, my Fringe connections are all dried up. Nothing’s going in or out.” He shoots McMannis a withering glare. “Now get out of my office.”

  McMannis doesn’t have to be told twice. He slinks out of the room, still clutching his bleeding head, and Blaze clears his throat loudly.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Just business,” says Shane. He sighs, looking perplexed. “Damn. I spilled my drink.”

  The bodyguard in the far right corner clears his throat. “I’ll get it, sir.”

  “Thank you,” says Shane, all traces of his earlier fury gone.

  “Did you say you can’t get ahold of someone at 116?” I ask, more curious than afraid after Shane’s outburst.

  But then his eyes snap onto me, and my bravado evaporates.

  A muscle in Shane’s jaw tightens. His fury is back in full force, and this time it’s directed at me. “You’re awful ballsy, girl . . . showing your face around here.”

  I clench my fists at my sides, refusing to let Shane intimidate me.

  “You remember Harper Riley?” asks Blaze, a hard edge to his voice.

  “Oh, I remember. Your little friend here created quite a big mess for me a little while ago.” Shane takes a step toward me, and his silver spurs clink against the tile. “And I don’t like messes.”

  “I’m not going to apologize for not letting your men murder me in the dead level.”

  Blaze whips his head around in shock and then looks back at his father with wide eyes. Clearly he isn’t privy to all of Shane’s business activities.

  “You sent your men out to get her?” he asks incredulously.

  “Watch your tone, boy, or I’ll smack you right here in front of God and everybody. Don’t think I won’t. It’s none of your business to begin with.

  “I have half a mind to keep her right here so I can get what’s comin’ to me.” He rubs his fingers together greedily, and I wonder just how much Jayden offered to pay him if he succeeded in killing me.

  “You aren’t going to touch her,” Blaze growls. “She’s with me.”

  Shane raises an eyebrow and lets out a harsh, barking laugh. “With you?” He shakes his head, breaking into a mocking smile. “No. She’s with Eli Parker — Boy Wonder who lost his last fight. So as far as I’m concerned, there’s not much standing in my way.”

  Blaze goes red in the face but doesn’t back down. I feel a little bad for him, but there are more important things to worry about.

  The bodyguard hands Shane a fresh drink, but he doesn’t take a sip.

  “Jayden never had any intention of paying up,” I say, feeling bold. “She was just using you because she can — just like she uses everybody else.”

  In truth, I have no idea whether Jayden would have paid out for the assassination, but neither does Shane. Judging by the way his gaze hardens, though, he believes me.

  “Figures. I’ve never trusted that bitch as far as I could throw her.” He tsks loudly, more to himself than to us. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . .”

  “So why take the deal?” I prompt, curious about the hold Jayden could possibly have on the scariest guy in the compound.

  Shane raises an eyebrow. “Let’s just say she and I go way back. Well, not her specifically. I was in business when Jayden Pierce was still pissing her bed, but I knew plenty of people like her.”

  “Constance?”

  As soon as I speak, I know it was a mistake.

  Shane’s face turns to stone. “You’ll shut your damn mouth, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Blaze looks momentarily confused, but he’s quick to pick up on the fact that I just stepped in something major.

  “Let’s go,” he mutters.

  “No!”

  I know I’m pushing my luck, but I didn’t come all the way down to Neverland just to leave without any answers. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about Constance or Jayden. But I need to know something.”

  “Harper!” Blaze squeezes my arm and gives me a warning look.

  Shane lets out a deadly chuckle. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

  One of the bodyguards in the corner takes a step forward, and fear flashes through me. I know I’m running out of time, but at this point, it can’t hurt to ask. The damage is already done.

  “Please!” I say, taking a step back and holding out my hands in what I hope is a nonthreatening gesture. Blaze is practically hyperventilating next to me. “Just tell me what you know about the Fringe Program.”

  A puzzled look flashes across Shane’s face. That’s definitely not what he expected me to ask. “The Fringe Program?”

  “My parents brought me into the compound when I was just a baby. My guardian in the Institute told me they died of radiation poisoning a few days later, but there’s no record of them being admitted to the medical ward. What do you know about that?”

  A grim smile cracks Shane’s fierce expression. “Well, I’ll be damned. Sounds like you already know more than what’s good for you.”

  He glances over at the bodyguard who advanced on us and holds up a hand. “Maybe you should come work for me — put those powers of deduction to better use. I can’t imagine you get to use that big brain of yours much in Recon.”

  I don’t say anything. The only thing that’s going to come out of my mouth is some snarky refusal, and I have a feeling that’s not going to get me very far with Shane.

  His gaze clouds over again, and I can tell he does know something — he just doesn’t want to say. “Wish I could help you. But I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Please,” I prompt. “I just want to know what happened to my parents. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just point me in the right direction.”

  That’s when I know I’ve pushed him too far. Something changes in Shane’s expression, and he takes several steps toward me until he’s hovering just a few inches above my head. Every fiber of my being is screaming to get the hell out of there, but I stay rooted to the spot.

  When Shane speaks next, his voice is so low I can barely hear him. “I told you. I don’t know anything about that. And even if I did, it’s not the sort of information you give away for nothin’. That’s the sort that gets you six feet under. Do you understand me?”

  At this point, Shane is so close that I can see every pore in his face and the pieces of silver embedded in his teeth. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. But I’m not ready to give up.

  “I didn’t say I wanted something for nothing,” I murmur, trying to come up with an appropriate bargaining chip.

  “Is that so?”

  Shane glances from his son back to me, and I can practically feel Blaze’s warning look burning a hole in the side of my neck.

  I nod, desperately searching for something to make my bluff more convincing.

  I take an involuntary step back, and a piece of glass crunches underfoot. My mind goes to McMannis and the
broken connection to 116.

  If our compound can’t get ahold of anybody at 116, it’s possible that everyone there is dead, too. The realization sends a chill through me, but I realize I’ve found my bargaining chip.

  “Well, out with it, then,” he snaps. “I haven’t got all day.”

  I glance around at the two bodyguards in the corners as if they’re making me nervous, but really I’m just buying myself some more time to think. I don’t want to lay all my cards on the table — not when I don’t trust Shane to tell me after I reveal what I know.

  “Oh.” Shane turns to the bodyguards. “Leave us for a moment, will you?”

  The man who advanced on us opens his mouth, but one look from Shane is enough to kill the protest on his lips.

  The bodyguards emerge from their corners and slip past us through the door. Shane’s bloodshot eyes follow them in the video feed on the screen mounted to the wall, and when they’re gone, his eyes snap back onto me like a hungry wolf’s.

  “So go ahead. Tell me what you have to offer.”

  “I might have a source who can find out what’s going on at 116,” I say.

  His expression doesn’t change much, but the brief flicker in his eyes tells me I’ve got his attention. “Miss Riley, even if that information interested me, your weak promise isn’t much for me to go on.”

  I can practically feel the anxiety radiating from Blaze. He probably thinks I’m talking out of my ass, but I at least know why the supplies flowing from 116 are at a standstill. Our workers probably haven’t even made the trip there since the virus annihilated 119.

  “You need insurance?” I ask, feeling bold again.

  “I always like insurance.”

  “Well . . . you tell me what you know about the Fringe Program and my parents, and I’ll see what I can find out about the other compounds. If I can’t bring you anything useful, I’ll do another fight. You can pick the matchup.”

  Now that light in Shane’s eyes blazes into a full-blown twinkle. This deal intrigues him. I just have to hope he finds the obliteration of 119 relevant.

  “I like you, Harper Riley,” he says, breaking into a smile that puts me on edge. “You have a way of making things . . . interesting.”

  He glances at his son again and then strides over to the fake black leather sofa and makes himself comfortable. He swirls his glass so the ice clinks around noisily and settles into storytelling mode.