Forget Me Not

by Stacey Nash

  Jax strikes at the first man, his weapon carving straight down like he’s some kind of roast meat. This move leaves his back exposed to the second man, who thrusts his blade down on Jax. It glances off his leg. Jax lets out a low, guttural scream. I suck in a sharp breath. Swords slice through the air in a chaotic whirl.

  I creep up behind them, raise the statue over my head, aiming at the man who cut Jax, and try to keep out of the way of their thrashing weapons.

  Jax turns back to the second man and drops to one knee. He smashes the hilt of his blade into the man. It knocks him back. Jax spins on his knee and takes another shot at the first man with a full swipe. It knocks the man’s weapon out of his hand, and it clatters to the concrete. Jax gets up on his uncut leg, standing solidly despite his injured thigh.

  My eyelids drop for a brief moment. Thank God he can still stand.

  Jax swipes downward and brings his blade to the neck of the man he just disarmed. The man’s eyes widen, round as discs. I think mine do too. Damn. Jax is going to slice off his head.

  Sickness, not disgust, curls around my stomach, forcing me to look away, unable to watch. The need to make sure Jax is okay darts my gaze back a second later.

  Jax raises his fist and punches the man, hard, in the face. He slams into the ground, moaning, with a thin line of blood trickling from his nose.

  The second man hoists his weapon above Jax’s back like he’s ready to stab. This is my chance. It’s now, or I’ll be too late. I slam the raised statue into the base of his head. The man crumples to the ground without a sound.

  My eyes meet Jax’s. Chests heaving, hearts beating, adrenaline spiking, we stand there, unable to move. Sweat trickles down the side of his forehead onto his cheek. Respect for Jax seeps into my heart. He helped us get away without killing. Finally he nods, and we’re pulled out of the moment. I rush to his side. His arm drops over my shoulders and I pull it around me, holding his wrist against my collarbone. He’s going to need help to run. Together, we make a mad dash toward the bike.

  The thud of running feet close behind us sends a surge of pure energy to my legs. I dart a quick glance over my shoulder—the first man’s bleeding mess of a face twists in a sneer. Spurred on by my glance, he runs faster. Pulling Jax closer, I drag him along, sprinting the short distance to the bike.

  Jax throws his good leg over the motorcycle and grabs my arm, pulling me up behind him. He shoves the helmet down on his head and thrusts the other one at me.

  The bike jerks into action, sending my arms darting for his waist, my chest rising and falling in rapid beats. We speed off, and the houses blur past.

  “They’re behind us,” Jax says through the Bluetooth.

  In a half twist I peer over my shoulder. The black sedan is so close I can make out the narrow eyes and straight mouth of the man.

  “Go faster.”

  We’re not going to make it. A thought hits me. Freeing one arm from around Jax, I reach into my jeans pocket. My fingers close around the hard, cold oval. My brooch. I fumble, and it almost slips through my fingers, jumping my heart into my throat. I slide the pin through my blouse one-handed, rub my thumb over its raised yellow center, and move my hand to the pendant at my neck and repeat.

  It has to work.

  My breaths come short and sharp. I’m not disappointed. A ripple goes through me like a shiver up my spine. I’ve disappeared from sight, I’m certain, but did the invisibility cover Jax and the bike too? I hope so. This is our best hope. My arm slides around his middle again, and I clasp my hands together tight as a linked chain.

  “What was that?” Jax asks.

  “My tech, it creates invisibility.” My muscles quiver, and I have to lean against his back to make them stop.

  “Perfect.” He nods. We speed around a corner, and when I glance over my shoulder, the black car and its passenger doesn’t follow. We’re free.

  * * * *

  My eyes drag open, squinting against the sunlight shining through the branches of a tree overhead. Lumps of hard ground make my back arch and dip in all the wrong places, and long grass rises up, surrounding me in a protective ring. Wind rustling through the leaves dances light on the ground.

  I was riding. With Jax. Agents were chasing us. We got away, but now I’m sprawled on the ground. We must have crashed the bike. Toes, head, fingers, chest, all good. So, that can’t be right, because I don’t feel any pain.

  Houses rushing by, zooming in and out of rush hour traffic, the long straight highway. Small parts of the escape flash back. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, so when the adrenaline faded, exhaustion must have closed in. The bike rests on its kickstand just outside the ring of shade. Yes, that’s what happened.

  “Morning,” Jax chimes, his voice as light as the air around us.

  I push myself up. He lazes against the tree trunk with his legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles, looking at me through half-closed eyes.

  “We’re safe?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says. “You fell asleep and drooled all over my back.”

  “Oh, sorry.” My cheeks burn. “You put me on the ground?”

  He shrugs. “You slid off the bike, and mumbled something about sleep. I just helped get you to the ground.” He pulls at the long grass and snaps a piece off. “Nice move, knocking the agent out.”

  “It was pretty basic, not like I actually fought.” Anything can be a weapon: an early self-defense lesson from Dad’s super protective phase. I hated the self-defense classes he forced me to take. I almost always fumbled the moves, made myself and my opponent crash to the ground, and caused more bruises and bumps to myself and my ego than achieving anything useful. Oh no, Dad.

  “You did well.” Jax arches a single eyebrow.

  “Were those men from The Collective?”

  “Agents of The Collective,” he says. The man lying in a pool of blood flashes through my mind, the image burned there like a horrible nightmare.

  “I hope he’s not dead.” My stomach churns, and an ill feeling creeps up my throat.

  “If we didn’t take him out, they would’ve got us both.” He flicks at the grass with his finger, and it bounces straight back like an uncoiling spring. “They were sure as hell going to kill me. I think they wanted to capture you. Probably to get your tech and discover what happened to their scout.” His gaze slides over to me.

  “They were waiting for me?”

  “This is why you can’t go home, Anamae.” He twirls the piece of grass through his fingers. His eyes flicker across my face, hard and burning and intense.

  I look away and poke at a rock half buried in the dirt.

  “The Collective knows who you are. They know you have tech you can use. All of this is information they think you shouldn’t have. In their eyes, the tech needs to be confiscated, and you have to be eliminated.”

  I look up to him still studying me.

  “You’ve got no choice. You and Will both need to stay where they can’t find you.” He doesn’t say it, but I know what he means. Stay at the farm.

  I meet his gaze, and I’m so empty, so lost, but I get it. “I understand.” My shoulders drop in time with my sinking heart. “Is Dad safe?”

  There’s a pause while I wait for him to answer. But he doesn’t. Jax only looks at me through the dappled shade, shadows splashing his face.

  “My dad, he thinks I’m dead.” A shiver runs through me, rattling every bone. “Why did he say those things? Is he trying to throw the agents off? He can’t really think I died as a child.” The tremble in my lip matches the uneven crack in my voice, a crack that threatens to cut right through me. If I’ve lost him… we’ll both be so alone.

  “The Collective must have done something to him,” Jax says. “I haven’t seen anything like it before. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, though. It’s not worth eliminating him… he’s valuable to them as a link to you.”

  Tech used in his house—me with the cover-up. A long sigh wheezes out, and tears th
reaten to spill. “Did you kill the scout? That one in my house.”

  “No, but he, ah… probably hasn’t made it back to The Collective yet.” The corner of his mouth twitches up, but his steady gaze traps mine.

  “Is that why they still want me?” I say. Is it your fault?

  “Maybe. Could be why they fabricated the news story.” He tosses the grass away.

  My arms fly to my chest, crossing in a tight knot. “Wouldn’t Dad have seen it?”

  “Probably.”

  His inability to give a straight answer tightens my chest with frustration. My dad’s in trouble. “You took the scout from my house and did God only knows what to him, knowing they’d send someone else in his place to investigate further.” I hoist myself to my feet and peer down at him. “You knew it would put me and my father in danger.”

  He rises fluidly and takes a step closer, away from the broad tree. I tilt my head to meet his shining eyes and the grim line of his mouth.

  “You have no idea what you are talking about.” He spits each word out.

  “Then tell me.”

  He closes his eyes and exhales like a raging bull, then reins it in with a slow breath.

  “Why was it you, anyway?”

  “You’re glad it was.” He takes a step closer, and the air practically sizzles.

  I’m tired of his lies and sarcasm—they’re no mask for the truth. “Are you kidding? You’re an uncaring ass.”

  He glares into my eyes, his own smoldering like embers in a dying fire. “Whatever.”

  Wind whistles through the branches of the big tree. It’s cool against my skin, sending a shiver of goose bumps to prickle my arms and chest and neck. He places his hands on my shoulders, flooding warmth through my thin blouse. The sizzle jumps out of the air and into me where he touches my shoulders. His eyes never leave mine, burning while we stand locked in an angry staring contest. Finally his face softens, and I feel mine follow suit even though I don’t want to. He closes his eyes and, when he opens them, his lips slightly part. He leans in toward me.

  My back stiffens, my shoulders turn to rock, and I look away.

  His hands drop to his sides like he’s touched hot coals. He backs away, throws himself onto the motorcycle and revs the engine to life.

  “Get on the bike.”

  ACT II

  Resistance

  The history of liberty is a history of resistance.

  ~ Thomas Woodrow Wilson

  Chapter Six

  THE AIR CARRIES A crisp freshness which burns the inside of my nose as I breathe. Cold wind stings my bare arms and, even though our argument plays over in my mind, I lean further into Jax to soak up the warmth of his back. His tight abs twitch under my linked hands, and his hair tickles my cheek. We speed along the winding country road, riding toward the farmhouse. As we turn onto the long driveway, our path crosses the elongated shadows reaching across the dirt track. We’ve been gone part of the night and almost all day. I must have napped under the tree for longer than I realized.

  Jax jumps off the bike as soon as we stop, and my feet barely touch the ground before he stalks inside without a word. I’m left standing at the bike, staring after him. What was that? After the way he looked at me by the road, this feels like a slap in the face.

  I take a few deep, calming breaths and follow his lead. I enter the house to the sound of voices raised in argument.

  “What did you think you were doing?” Beau’s voice, loud and annoyed, carries clearly.

  I push open the front door in time to see Beau’s brightly clad head bob with his side-stepping, hand-waving ushering of Jax toward his office. “…running off like that. I put you in charge of that girl because I feared she would run.” The door slams behind them. “Instead of guarding her, the two of you ran right into the same danger we’re trying to keep her from.” Beau’s voice is still loud, even muffled by the door.

  “We’re here. We’re safe. It’s fine,” Jax says.

  I can’t let him take the rap when it’s my fault. It wouldn’t be fair when it was me, after all, who dragged him into this. So, easing the door open, I sneak into the room.

  Jax’s back is angled toward me, but I step to where I can see him and Beau clearly. Arms crossed in front of his chest, Jax sports a look like he’s angry, yet doesn’t care what Beau thinks. Beau faces him across the heavy timber desk, teeth bared.

  “It’s my fault,” I say firmly. “It was my idea.”

  They both turn their cold, hard gazes to me.

  Jax’s eyebrow rises. “That’s ridiculous.” He turns his back to me.

  “It’s not. I didn’t understand the risk, so I pushed to go.”

  Beau looks to Jax. “You were supposed to keep her out of danger.” He bangs his fist on the desk, making the piles of papers jump.

  “I made the decision to take you there,” Jax says, ignoring Beau.

  “You what?”

  “I don’t need you to take the rap for me.” He glances over his shoulder for the quickest beat and turns back to Beau, scraping a hand along the side of his face.

  Beau glances back and forth between us. Maybe glaring at Jax’s back will make him turn around. I give it a try, but his shoulders remain set, his posture firm. We all stand in silence, me glaring, Beau glowering, and Jax staring out the window.

  Fine, be a jerk. If he doesn’t want my help with Beau, he won’t get it.

  I stalk out of the room, lacking the energy to argue, especially when they don’t want to hear what I have to say. The second I leave, they start up again. I walk down the hall, ignoring their bellowing voices, but I hear one last thing.

  “I don’t know why you gave me the job. I’m not a friggin’ babysitter,” Jax shouts, loud and clear.

  I stop midstride, spots dancing before my eyes like I’ve just stepped out into the too-bright sun. I’m a chore? Nothing more than a pain-in-the-rear new girl he has to look after. Figures. I march up the stairs toward my room. There’s no way I’m going to be some kid to babysit. If that’s how he sees me, he can go jump. I don’t need him.

  I yank open the door to my room. Will looks up from where he’s perched on the window chair. Soft, orange sunlight falls on his hair, turning his blond locks golden.

  “Mae, thank God.” He lets out a long sigh, his face filled with relief.

  I didn’t think to tell Will where I was going. Damn. How could I be so inconsiderate, leaving my friend alone in this godforsaken place, and not tell him I was leaving? I swallow against the hard lump in my throat and sit beside him.

  “I’m sorry, Will. I should have told you, left you a note, something….”

  He turns to me with a pained expression and runs his hand through his messy hair. “Yeah. You should’ve.”

  “I didn’t plan on leaving. It just kind of happened that way.”

  “Where were you?” He leans back against the window.

  “Home. I… ah… while everyone slept I snuck into Beau’s office to search for a phone, like we discussed.” I wrap my arms around my stomach to hold in the guilt.

  He pulls away the arm closest to him and takes my hand in his, weaving his fingers through mine. He knows I’m close to tears; he’s always been good at reading me. That’s why he doesn’t speak, and I’m grateful for it. He knows if he waits the story will pour out.

  “Dad thinks I‘m dead.” Tears well in my eyes and trickle down my cheeks.

  “What?”

  “Jax thinks it’s some type of mind-altering tech.”

  “He thinks you died yesterday? What, was your room trashed from the attack?”

  “No. Well… maybe.” I swipe the tears away with my free hand. “He thinks I died as a child, and he thinks Mom’s dead too.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense, Mae.”

  “The Collective—they have the tech to do that. At least, Jax thinks they might.”

  “They can’t take everything away like that. It’s just not—it’s not….”

&nbs
p; A sound somewhere between a sob and a scoff escapes me. “I know. It’s not right.”

  “What did he say when you called?”

  “I didn’t call. Jax caught me searching Beau’s office. I think he was guarding my room.” I tell him about the phone, Jax’s offer to take me home to see Dad, and our trip to the city.

  His eyes, bright as sapphires, twinkle when I mention the bike. He squeezes my hand so hard it hurts, looking like he wants to rush down and ride it right now. “Awesome.”

  I shake my head. “Later.”

  “Sounds like she’s got some speed. I’d love to see her.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, but scary fast.”

  The rest of my story flows out too. The ambush and our escape from the men Jax called agents. I leave out the argument in the shade of the tree. For some reason, even though I generally share everything with Will, sharing that feels a little off.

  I disentangle my hand from his, scoop up the light pink cushion, and pick at its silky tassels. “We can’t go home, Will. It’s completely out of the question.”

  “Our families are in danger. We need to.” He looks out the window, wrinkles furrowing his brow.

  “After the attack at my house, I can see why Al brought us here,” I say. “It’s just not safe for us to go home, and I don’t think they’ll give up until they catch us.”

  “What can we do, then?” He stands, moves to the dresser, and picks up a small ornament shaped like a wren, turning it over and over in his hand.

  “For now, I think our families are safe. If they’ve altered Dad’s memory, they’ve probably done the same to your parents and Emalee too,” I say, thinking of Will’s kid sister. She’s such a sweet girl that the thought creeps unease down my spine.

  The look on his face makes me immediately regret what I said. “I mean—not in a bad way—it’s….”

  “Yeah, reefed us right out of their minds.” He pauses. “They’ve stolen our lives, Mae.” He crosses the room and throws himself onto the seat beside me, glaring out the window.