by Stacey Nash
He’s gone.
Chapter Ten
DAMN, DAMN, DAMN. WHERE did he go? I peer around, frantic, searching each section of the crowd. I squeeze my eyes shut and gulp down a huge breath. “Jax,” I call.
A glimpse of black leather catches my eye. He’s there.
He holds off a third agent almost within reach of where I stand. If I can just reach out and touch him, we can port out to safety.
I extend my arm outwards, but the crowd bears in on me. I’m stuck on the spot and can’t move forward.
People shout at me, “How did you do that?”
“Was it magic?”
“What do you mean ‘the truth’?” The voices close in.
The weight of the people push against me. I’m going to get crushed. My heart thunders in my chest, and I try to shove through the throng to reach him, but I can’t make it. Their force is too strong. My heart bangs against my ribs. Every ounce of my being screams, ‘Danger. Run.’ I search the crowd with a sweeping gaze, but I can’t see the other agents.
“She’s real.”
Hands. All over me, touching my arms, my back, and even my face, like leeches searching for the best place to latch on.
“Get off me.” I drop to the ground, trying to escape them. My hands and knees support me while my breaths come short and sharp. I can’t stay still. I need to get to Jax. I push my way forward, crawling through the tangle of legs. It’s not as crowded, and moving is easier. My breathing slows just a little.
Jax’s black boots dance back and forth only a short distance away.
I scurry toward them, thrusting wayward legs out of my way. I stretch my arm out and can almost reach him. Just a little farther. I have to get us out, safe.
A rough hand closes around my shoulder. I’m yanked upward, through the suffocating crowd, and onto my feet. Fingers cut into my bones.
“There you are.” Triumph flavors the masculine voice.
Narrow eyes and slender snarling lips greet me.
“Wait till I get you back to Councilor Manvyke, little troublemaker,” he growls.
My heart thuds. Cold heat prickles my skin, and I break into a sweat. The agent’s cold, hard face curls into a smile. I squirm, trying to break free of his grasp, but can’t. Pulling my leg back, I let it fly, kicking him hard in the shin.
“You little bitch.”
His grip tightens around my arm like a vice. Sharp points of pain throb where his fingers press into soft muscle. My arm grows heavier, like a dead weight. He makes a grab for my other arm, but I twist down toward the ground, saving it from his cruel, pinching grip. He’s forced to crouch to keep his hold on my arm.
A dark shape slurs through the corner of my vision. Jax? Yes. His blade is out, and he swings it with force at the other agent. “Jax!”
He spins, eyes wide. The agent brings his weapon down, and a long gash erupts on Jax’s arm. His eyes squeeze closed, but he doesn’t cry out.
That was my fault.
My captor slaps my face; it smarts like the sting of a thousand bees. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I choke out a noise of pain and bring my knee up, kicking him with as much force as I can muster. Right in the crotch.
He crumples into a protective ball, his hand falling off my arm and darting to his injured groin.
A rush of adrenaline courses through me. Invigorated, I scramble free and across the ground toward Jax’s feet. I lunge for his leg. My hand closes around it, the fingers on my other hand curling back.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
We fall. There are no longer people around us, just darkness, vast darkness, expanding in every direction. Pleasant darkness. Jax’s leg is right in front of me. I crane my neck, looking up. Bright blood trickles down the arm clutching his blade. Blood shed because of me. We’re suspended in space, floating. Suddenly, we drop. My stomach quivers and shoots into my throat again with a sharp gasp.
I’m dumped on the basement floor in the same position as I ported out of the street. Pain slams through me like a full-body punch.
Jax stands steady on his feet, but his blade falls to the floor. He winces, and his other arm moves to cradle the wounded one. My breath catches, and I scramble to my feet, reach out, and ease my hand under it, raising the arm to see. Blood covers his entire upper arm like something out of a slasher movie. Deep red flesh is open underneath the sticky mess.
“It’s nothing,” he says through gritted teeth. The wound is small, but it looks deep.
“I’m so sorry. I… and then I distracted you.” My voice waivers like it’s going to crack.
“It doesn’t matter.” He looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since we ported back. The jade seems to grow wider. “Mae, your face.”
“I’m okay.” Better than you. My cheek burns where the agent hit me. My face aches all down one side and my lip stings. A tender probe with my tongue causes a sharp bite. It’s split. I’m okay. He’s the one who’s hurt.
Jax reaches out slowly, and my whole body tenses. I think, maybe, I might actually stop breathing.
His fingers trace the swelling on my cheek and across my lip, to linger on my chin. It feels as light as a feather’s touch. My eyes slide closed, and a tremor settles in my chest. I ease them open to his soft and mournful green-eyed gaze. He slinks his good arm around my waist and pulls me into him, holding me in a tight embrace. He smells of sweat and blood and, underneath, a pleasant, musky boy scent.
I rest my head on the safe warmth of his chest. His hurt arm calls my gaze to it, but I don’t want to move. Even though the dampness of his blood soaks through my shirt and reaches my skin. Eventually, though, it makes me draw back just enough to meet his gaze. “We need to sort out that wound.”
“There’s a first aid kit under the table.” He glances at the side table holding the scanner.
My body tingles with his closeness, and I really don’t want to pull away, but he’s hurt. I need to help. His arm drops from around me as I step back, moving to the table. My skin tingles as if his touch remained. I grab the small kit from its nook against the wall, and all the while the heat of his gaze warms my back. When I turn, his eyes dart away.
Striding across the room and rifling through the kit, I don’t take long to find the antiseptic wipes. I tear the packet open, take his injured arm, and dab the wound clean. My thumb and finger press the cut together to hold the wound closed while I peel the plastic backing off a long elastic strip. The pinch makes him suck in a sharp breath. I’m trying to be gentle, but it must really hurt. When I look up, he’s biting down on his lip while he watches my hands work. I place the strip over the wound, so it holds the two sides together. Then I grab a gauze bundle out of the kit and wrap his forearm in a white bandage.
He looks into my eyes and smiles, the nice smile, which traps me in his gaze.
The trap snaps open, releasing me, when the thump of footsteps and the joyful tune of whistling drifts down the stairs a moment before Marcus bounds into the basement. He stops midstride and pulls back. “What happened?”
The air suddenly feels thick, like Marcus’s presence has made it overfull.
“A bit of trouble with agents.” The half-truth rolls off Jax’s tongue like honey. He collapses his blade one-handed and stashes it away in his jacket.
“Looks like more than a bit of trouble.” Marcus looks from Jax to me and back again. His eyes light up, and a goofy grin spreads across his face. “What did you get me?”
“Nothing,” Jax says.
“Oh, come on, give it up.” He holds out his hand with a grin.
Jax shakes his head. “Really. We didn’t get anything.”
Marcus’s shoulders drop. “No,” he whispers. “Oh, well, I hope my shift is quieter than yours.” He lowers himself into the recliner and picks up the book Lilly dropped in her dash to find food. Food. My stomach suddenly grumbles like I haven’t eaten in a week. Maybe Jax and I can hang out for a bit. Something other than our usual training would be nice.
“Come on, Mae.” Jax takes two stairs.
“Ah, right.” My head pounds each time my foot hits the stairs, the dull thumps pushing on my skull. Emerging into the hall only makes it worse because sunlight streams through the opened door that leads outside, engulfing the hall. Jax looks too pale, his lips almost the same color as his skin, all the usual pinkness gone. His eyes aren’t right either; the vibrant green is now kind of dull.
“You need to lie down,” I say. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”
The muscles in his neck look tight, but he straightens up and stands tall. “I’m fine.”
He’s not fine. The stark white bandage has a blood red splotch which practically grows under my gaze. He needs rest and maybe better help.
“I’m going to the kitchen. I’ll see you upstairs.” He walks away, leaving me standing alone in the hall. I hope he’s not peeved about what I did with the television show, but it really seemed to work.
Did he just send me to my room? Thanks for your concern, Mae. Frustration bubbles in my heart. Stupid boys. They think it’s cool to act tough like nothing can hurt them. He doesn’t want my help. Well, he can look after himself. I yank my shirt down, but sticky, congealing blood makes it cling to my chest. I do need to go upstairs. Upstairs to clean up. My clothes are covered in dirt from the pavement. I’m filthy.
I climb the stairs and go straight to my room where I sink into the pink velour armchair, lacking the energy to move. A dull ache pulses through me like waves bashing the shore. My face is the worst, throbbing with each beat of my heart. I close my eyes and feel myself sinking deeper into the chair. Consciousness drifts away.
What was that? My eyes spring open. The door bangs against the wall, and Will barges through without a single knock. “What the heck were you doing, running off with him again?” he demands.
I squeeze my eyes closed. His voice is too loud, thud, thud, thudding through the ache in my head. “I didn’t run off with anybody.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mae. I saw him in the kitchen with Lilly… patching up his arm.” His voice slices as sharply as Jax’s blade.
Crossing my arms, I sit in silence and don’t bother to open my eyes. I’m so not dealing with this attitude right now. Not with a pounding head, an aching body, and a throbbing cheek.
No, damn it. I will deal with this. I open my eyes and meet him glare for glare.
The bone in his jaw moves back and forth as it clenches and releases. I’m not going to endure one of Will’s lectures on safety right now. Anger, searing and hot, rises within me. His filthy look is suddenly cut short. He looks at me, actually looks at me, properly for the first time since he bowled into my room. His eyebrows fly up, and his big blue eyes grow even larger as he registers my hurt face.
“He can’t even take care of you.”
I snap.
“I don’t need taking care of.”
“Looks like you do.” He yanks on my grubby shirt. “Where did this blood come from?”
“It’s not mine.” I stand and tilt my head back to meet him eye to eye.
He pulls his hand away as if the blood is diseased, clearly realizing who it came from. The simple gesture tears me further away from him. Beau should have assigned Will to babysitting duty; at least he would have enjoyed it. Overprotective pain in the rear. He cups my chin in his hand and angles my face up, his eyes raking over the place where it aches.
I jerk my head out of his hold. “I am not a child, Will. I am capable of making my own choices and looking out for myself.”
“But look at you. The side of your face is so swollen I can’t see your cheekbone. It’s marked with bruises, there’s a split right along the bone, and your lip...”
He touches it. I wince and pull away. His shoulders drop, his grimace turns into a sad frown, and his eyes soften. “Come here, you reckless, stubborn—” He pulls me into a big hug. My body stays firm and ungiving. He’s not going to win with one of his bear hugs. Not today. He cradles my head to his chest. His smell is crisp and clean, like lavender soap and daylight, and how he’s always smelled. Of Will.
The scent is enough to undo me. Will, safety, home. I soften, sinking into his embrace.
“You have to stop doing this,” he says.
“Doing what? Trying to find a way for us both to get home?” There’s no fight in my voice anymore. I pull away and cross the room, sinking onto the window seat. The sun warms my back while I wait for him to speak, but I don’t feel warm on the inside.
“No, going without me. Next time, I’m coming too.” He mumbles something under his breath, but I don’t quite catch his words.
“What was that?”
He looks me straight in the eye, intense and unwavering. “Don’t ever leave me behind again.”
I shrug. He can’t really believe he means it. “You wouldn’t have come. You would have tried to talk me out of it. You would have….” I rub the back of my neck as the guilt thickening my throat seeps into my heart too. I shouldn’t have been hiding things from him. From my best friend who’s always stood by my side. Unable to meet his gaze any longer, I glance away.
“Maybe I would have, but you wouldn’t have listened anyway, so I would have come, and then all this….” He waves his hand in front of my face. “Wouldn’t have happened.”
I brush the still-damp blood on my shirt, but it doesn’t come off. Jax’s blood. Blood from that awful, gaping wound. Black spots dance at the edge of my vision. I blink and blink and blink again, willing them away.
“I would have come,” Will mumbles as he leaves my room.
I believe him.
He would have. I won’t go without him again.
Moving to the window, I run my hands through my tangled hair. Now I’m alone, the events of the day replay in my mind. Watching the sun move across the sky is like watching my troubles drawing ever closer to closing.
A small chuckle escapes me at memory of the surprised faces, gasps of exclamation, and babble of the people at the square. The whole country must be abuzz with excitement by now. The Collective will have no choice but to leave me alone. Without knowledge of tech being secret, they’ll have to hunt me openly. They won’t do it. It’s not worth the effort, and they have nothing to hide now anyway. My chest feels light, like I could float away. Visions of going home, throwing my arms around Dad, and telling him how much I love him, float through my mind like a welcome breeze. Hopefully, he’ll see I’m not dead, and everything will be okay.
Unexpected sadness gnaws at the edges my euphoria, making it short-lived. To go home, I have to leave here. Everyone’s so welcoming and kind. I slump onto the bed, and my eyes drop to my empty hands. Jax and Lilly. Her sweet friendliness is a pleasant change from the treatment I usually get from girls my age. I guess it isn’t their fault. It’s me. It’s like when Mom disappeared I lost all ability to connect with other girls. In the past nine years, I haven’t had many genuine friends. Just Will. I somehow managed to push them all away.
My hand finds comfort in my pendant. I run my fingers over the raised petals and the round, dipped center. The cover-up brought Jax to me. A big, knotted ball of emotions squeezes my chest, and there’s no way to know how to pull them apart to see where they end and begin. I’m not sure how I feel about him or how he feels about me, but I’m pretty certain we’re friends.
“Hungry?” Jax’s voice breaks my thoughts, jolting me back to reality. It takes me a moment to catch enough breath to speak. Thank God there’s no mind reading tech. I’d hate him to know what I was just thinking.
“I’m starving.”
He stands in my doorway with a large bag of chips and two bottles of soda tucked under one arm. He tosses the chips at me. I catch the packet, tear the foil open, and lay the bag on the window chair. “So, did you need stitches?”
He slides into the seat beside me and scoops up a handful of chips. “Lilly stitched it while she ranted about blood loss and infection and the importance of getting the righ
t medical help right away,” he says through a mouthful. “Thinks she’s a doctor, but, really, anyone can sew and dish out pain meds.” He looks less pale now, and his cheeks are a little flushed. The painkillers must have kicked in. “It’s only a cut, not like you could see the bone. Here, I got this for you. Rub it onto your face. It’ll help the swelling go down.” He passes me a small glass jar.
“Thanks. What is it?”
“It’s a balm. Lilly’s into all that hippy crap. Frankly, it’s a bit Woodstock.” He makes a dismissive noise. “She concocts it out of herbs and petroleum jelly, who knows what else.” Another handful of chips disappear into his mouth.
I twist the lid open, and a pungent smell like rotting potatoes and moldy cheese comes from the brown cream. My nose wrinkles. “Eww, smells disgusting.”
Jax snickers, and I’m not sure if this is actually a practical joke.
“You’re kidding right?”
“No. Dead serious. It will help.” He sticks his index finger in the jar and wipes it along his bandage-free arm, right on a new bruise.
Nothing much happens.
Guessing it’s a good sign, I dip my finger into the paste and smear a tiny amount across my throbbing cheek. It stings where it touches the split skin. “Did you see the look on those people’s faces? They all touched me to make sure I was real.”
“Yeah, about that. What the heck were you doing?”
“Exposing The Collective. Exposing tech. With it no longer a secret, the knowledge I have won’t be a threat anymore.” I take a deep breath.
“Not the best thought out plan.” He looks at me lazily, with eyes half lidded like he’s falling asleep. “All it did was call down agents to take you out.”
Before I have time to respond, he continues, “Hey, do you still have the cover-up?” His smile grows slow and wonky.
He’s so chatty, initiating conversation, not like himself at all. Maybe the painkillers have brought down his usual walls. I pull the chain out from under my shirt. “Yes.”