by Keri Lake
“Tell me you will.”
It’s not Szolen, or the romance novels I used to read, where couples courted each other. Out here, you meet someone you like, and you try to make a future. There are no dates. No marriages. Out here people seize life while they’re still a part of it.
Papa’s words drift through my mind from years ago, when he told me Six was driven by the same needs as a Rager. To eat, mate, and survive. He referred to it as the biological imperative of the species. It shouldn’t be a surprise that those needs would surface in time, and most women my age have come to accept the day when they’re called to fulfill that role. But as usual, I’m not most. “Lea came to you.”
“She told me you asked for them. I want you pregnant with my baby, Wren. I need to leave something behind. Something good. And I want you to be the one to carry my future.”
“When I’m ready, I will.”
His brow furrows, and he nods. “Okay, I can accept that.” Hips driving forward, he tightens his arms, holding himself off of me, as he pumps into me. “You choose when. But in the meantime, I choose you, Wren. That means we don’t fuck anyone else but each other.”
“Fair enough.” I don’t want anyone else. I’ve gone years comparing other men to Six, and even when I came to the conclusion that I’d never experience that kind of connection again, I still didn’t want anyone else.
My fingers dig into his back with the hammering of his hips. A sheen of sweat and remnants of water sparkle across his skin, and I drag my tongue over it for the salty taste of him.
His brows flicker as the pressure inside of me intensifies, and I know he’s close. Jaw tight, his hips grind out the final climb to climax. Our muscles tremble. My body arches into him. Higher. Higher.
A moan leaks past my lips, and when I cry out, he pulls out of me, directing warm jets onto my stomach. A low guttural growl signals his final release, and he pounds out the last of his seed.
His lips find my throat at the same time he spreads his fluids across my belly. “You belong to me,” he whispers against my skin. When he lifts his head, I notice the creases in his brow have lessened.
I run my finger over the shallow lines there.
“I’ve been trapped inside this hell, and you fly back to me like a breath of redemption. Why?” he asks.
“Why not?”
“Only a good man deserves a woman like you.”
“Well, then. You see?” I trail my fingertip down along his temple. “I told you there was goodness in you.”
His lips stretch to that beloved roguish Six grin, which quickly disappears. “I hope that’s true.”
“I don’t have to hope for anything anymore.” I curl my fingers around his nape, dragging his face to mine for a kiss.
A muffled static noise interrupts us, and Rhys’s head tilts to the side. He reaches for his pants nearby and tugs out a walkie-talkie, holding it to his mouth. “Yeah.”
“Got a signal from about twenty miles out. Legion.”
“Load up. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Rhys pushes off of me, scrambling for his pants, and with a mask of confusion, I sit up on my elbows.
“Where are you going?”
He tugs his shirt over his body, hiding the chiseled, but scarred, stomach beneath. “Another raid.”
Those two words explode inside my ears, sending a rush of panic to my muscles. “You’re going after Legion?”
“If they haven’t already cleared out, yes.” After dipping a canteen into the pool, he strides toward me and rubs the water over my stomach, washing away his now-dried release.
I push his arm out of the way and crawl toward my clothes. “I’m coming with you.”
“The hell you are.”
Tugging my pants up over my hips and fastening the button, I shake my head. “Rhys, you can’t … you can’t just. You can’t do that. I just found you again, and you’re going off to fight?”
“We’re just going to scope it out.” He slides a grisly-looking blade out of a holster at his hip before securing it back inside. “If it’s too dangerous, we’ll pull back.”
I pop my head through the T-shirt and jab my finger toward the knife he just pulled. “What’s that for, then? A jar of peanut butter along the way?”
“They’re our allies, Wren.” Hands set on his hips, he maintains a healthy distance from me. “The surrounding hives supply us with food and clothing for protection. I have no choice. We have to go.”
I lurch toward him as if I could wrap him up and steal him away. As if I have the power to move a man like him. “What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing is going to happen to me. I won’t do anything stupid.” He strides forward and comes a stop in front of me. Curling his fingers around my biceps, he tugs me into his body and brushes his lips over mine. “I’ve got too much at stake now.”
“Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise,” he whispers, and seals my arguments with a kiss.
Chapter 36
The cave has grown dark. Too dark. The cold breath of night settles over my skin, and I curl myself into the blankets, waiting for Rhys to return. A dull ache in my gut is the first brush of pain, letting me know it’s there. Waiting. I clamp my eyes and shake my thoughts of the possibility that he might not come back.
That I could possibly go through the horrific pain of losing him twice.
I wouldn’t. And perhaps staying here was a mistake.
I’ve lost too many people I love, in the most brutal ways, and losing Rhys, my beloved Six, would ruin me for good this time.
Isn’t that the way of love, though? It’s like a flame, a magnificent gift of nature that draws you into its warmth. The closer a person gets, the more they sacrifice themselves, until they’re burning in that unforgiving fire, wishing to become numb, as they turn to nothing more than ash on the wind.
That’s my take on love.
Yet, still my masochistic heart yearns for that heat.
My thoughts twist like a hurricane inside my head, and in the thick of it, the notes from Papa’s journal begin to surface, flashing a number behind my closed lids.
Six’s prison number.
The antibody.
My eyes flip open to a thought. Not a thought, an idea. An idea that might be more feasible than trying to sneak into Szolen and wage war on a giant.
A clamor echoes from beyond my wall. Shouts and screams. I sit up in the bed, eyes on the door ahead of me. My head tells me to run and see what’s happening.
My heart tells me I can’t face the pain.
My head wins, and I slip my feet over the edge of the bed, dash across the room, and throw back the door. The walls close in on me from both sides, as I scurry down the hallway and into the large cavern. Bodies rush around a mass of black in the center of the room, forming a tight circle I can’t see past. I focus on the black leather vests gathered in a tight cluster and hold my breath.
The steady hammer in my chest counts off every step, while I push through the small crowd and catch sight of legs, blood, arms, blood, a torso, blood. The sickness churns in my stomach, until I reach the eye of the storm and stare down at Crank, lying in a thick pool of blood. His own. Pouring out of wounds in his chest and leg. The others stand around him, as if frozen, not knowing what to do. A pale hue clings to his face, and I drop to my knees on instinct, slapping my palms against his wounds. His body is cold, ice cold, and I’m certain death is one breath away.
“I need rags!” My mouth spills words that my head hasn’t even begun to keep up with. “Get a canteen and a blanket!”
People move at my command, and in seconds, I’m presented with a small pile of rags and a canteen. Rigs drapes the blanket over Crank’s trembling body.
In the pause between us, I look up to him standing over me. “Rhys?”
Above the skull mask bunched at his neck, his brows furrow, sending a sharp stab to my gut. “I don’t know. He stayed back with Tripp.”
“What happe
ned?” Panic strangles my voice.
“There were too many this time. They had … alphas with them.” His face pinches, and he shakes his head. “One of the guards shot Crank.”
“Rhys was alive … when you saw him last. He was alive, right?”
“He was alive.”
Okay, okay, okay.
The tightness winds in my gut, and with trembling hands, I nod, pressing the rags into Crank’s leg wound. On a breath, I dare to pour the water over the wound, to get a look at it, but more blood gathers as fast as it’s washed away.
I already know he’s going to die. He’s lost too much blood, and judging by the continuous flow seeping into the rags, something major was hit. Trying to remove the bullet would probably uncork a vein, and he’d die for the effort.
Papa once had a man brought to our doorstep, who’d been shot in the leg. I didn’t think someone could die from being shot there, but Papa said he’d been hit in the femoral artery and couldn’t be saved. He didn’t even try, which bothered me.
Red kneels beside me, her lips trembling with the sob she holds back.
“Pressure to his wounds,” I say, tossing her one of the rags. It won’t do any good, but at least we’ll have tried.
She holds the rag to a hole at his chest, and her eyes meet mine. “Have you seen them yet?”
I shake my head, rapidly blinking away the watery shield. “They were together. They stayed back.”
“Oh, Crank.” She finally breaks down and slides her hand into the biker’s thick palm. “Hang in there.”
It takes another three minutes before the trembling fades, his mouth gapes, and his eyes turn vacant.
Lifeless.
Hands still pressing against his wounds, I lower my head, and the cavern goes still. Only the crackling bonfire can be heard over the sniffles behind me.
“He’s gone,” I say, moving my hands away from him.
Shouts reverberate off the walls, and I shoot to my feet, standing amongst the small crowd that parts down the center. From the shadows of the cave’s entrance, dark silhouettes move toward us, and the moment they hit the dim light of the sconces, I scan their faces.
A man dressed in the signature black of Legion’s uniforms stumbles along, his hands bound behind his back, face bloodied, but recognizable.
Damian.
Behind him, Tripp gives one harsh slam to the soldier’s back, and Damian tumbles to the ground.
The next to breach the dark tunnel turns my blood cold.
Ivan Ericsson.
I’ve not seen him since the night I escaped from Calico, but he looks no different. The same as he appears in my nightmares.
Numbness spreads across my chest, and my lungs lock. My instinct is to hide. Run and hide. Every muscle trembles a warning, the familiar breath of fear skating down my spine, as it did when I was locked in Calico, forced to meet him in some dark and obscure corner of S block.
Like Damian, his face is bloodied and bruised, his eye swollen shut. Even with his arms bound behind him, though, the mere sight of him paralyzes my muscles.
Rhys strides in behind him, covered in blood, and one swift knock to Ivan’s back sends him flying to the ground beside Damian.
“Where’s Crank?” Tripp asks, pushing through the crowd toward the biker’s lifeless body.
I move with the other bodies, keeping myself out of Ivan’s sight.
Standing over Crank, Tripp stares down at his fallen friend, and his lips peels back to a snarl. He spins around, facing the Legion soldiers. “You. I’m going to fucking kill you!” Rushing forward, his body is captured by Rhys, who holds him back. “Let me go! Let me fucking go!”
Through the throng of bodies, I catch Ivan kicking himself away from Tripp, and I have to believe he’s the one who shot Crank.
“I want him dead! Dead!” Tripp sounds like a wild animal, a feral dog growling and barking, as he pushes and claws to get away from Rhys.
“Enough!” Rhys’s voice thunders through the cavern, and Tripp stills.
The two of them breathe heavily, and Rhys’s eyes find me in the crowd. My stomach settles at the sight of him, the silent assurance in his expression, and I keep my focus on him to avoid looking at Ivan.
Rhys grabs the back of Ivan’s shirt, pushing him to his feet, and Tripp does the same with Damian. The two brothers lead both soldiers down one of the dark tunnels—one I’ve never ventured into—and pitch blackness swallows them.
Once they’re out of sight, the crowd breaks into motion again, and Crank’s body rises up off the ground beside me, as Scarboy, who I now know as Ratchet, and Rigs carry him away.
Chapter 37
It feels like hours before Rhys returns to the room, but it could’ve only been minutes. In spite of the blanket wrapped around me, the frigid cold in my bones persists, and I lie on the bed, shivering in the dark.
He slips beneath the blanket, and the heat that radiates from his body warms my muscles, as he reaches for me. I hesitate to turn at first, to surrender to that warmth.
He’ll know, though. He’ll think something’s wrong, and I’m not ready to tell him something is very wrong.
So I turn to face him. The metallic scent of his skin is a comfort, and I nuzzle my face into his chest. I’ve spent most of my life distancing myself from others, but right now, I just need the stillness. To feel grounded long enough to settle my head.
Thick arms wrap around my shoulders pulling me deeper into his warmth. “You’re trembling.” The low rumble of his voice vibrates against my cheek.
“Just cold,” I lie, tucking my arms between our bodies. Safely pressed against him, I dare the question lingering in my mind. “Did you kill them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I know the one. He’s a high-ranking soldier. His father runs the show at Calico.” He’s undoubtedly talking about Ivan. “Killing him would bring war on us.”
“So, why bring him back here?”
“Tripp wanted revenge for Crank. He refused to leave him there. He wanted blood.”
“You didn’t?”
“I made a promise to you, Wren. Not to do anything stupid. Killing him would put you at risk. I’m not willing to gamble your life.”
“And if I wasn’t here?”
“He’d already be dead.”
“So, what will you do with him?”
“Wait. Try to strike a deal. Maybe Ericsson and Szolen will be willing to barter for his life.”
“Barter for what?”
“The ones they took tonight. We were too late. There were too many of them. All the women were taken. They didn’t bother to leave anyone behind this time.”
“I might have an idea. But it means getting inside Calico.”
“There is no getting inside Calico.”
I sit up from him, looking to capture his full attention. “Papa found the cure, Rhys. The antibody. It’s based on your blood. You hold the strongest titers against the protein. If we can get ahold of it, we can barter our way into Szolen. At least a portion of it.”
“How do you know they haven’t already found it? His lab was surely ransacked.”
I shake my head, lying back down against his chest. “Papa had no intentions of them finding it. He’d never hand over the cure like that.”
“How do you know it even exists?”
“His journal.”
“Then, why didn’t he use it to save himself?”
I stare down at the scar across my wrist and frown. “Because you have to want to be saved.”
Screams echo down the dark hallway, and I slap my hands to my ears, whispering the Lord’s Prayer as I tiptoe on. My head tells me not to look through the windows, but morbid curiosity gets the best of me, and I do. On the other side of the glass, to the right of me, is a boy with blond curls. I somehow know it’s Abel, but he’s older, as if he’s aged along with me this whole time.
“Dani!” he cries out from the table he’s strapped to, kicking and wriggl
ing beneath the thick leather belts across his arms, chest, and legs.
It’s only an illusion, I tell myself. Not real.
Ahead of me, Ivan stands in his black uniform, wearing the devil’s grin with his hand outstretched for me. “C’mon, Dani. I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” I ask warily, refusing to reach back to him.
“A surprise.”
Fear ripples down my spine, chattering my teeth, as I follow behind him.
None of this is real. None of it.
We come to a stop in front of another window. Inside, a man lies on a bloody gurney with his skull exposed, the threads of his flesh held by metal clamps. The surgeon steps to the side, and I slap a hand to my face, recognizing Papa’s profile. In spite of the contraptions holding him still, he manages to turn toward me, his lips mouthing the word Wren.
Or run.
My heart slams into my chest, and I throw myself against the glass, pounding at the window.
The surgeon turns and lowers the mask at his face.
A cold fist of dread locks tight around my lungs, as Six stares back at me, wearing his wily grin, eyes black as a shark’s.
“Shhh,” Ivan whispers in my ear, snaking a hand down into my pants. I can feel his fingers brushing over my folds, while the other hand grips tight to my mouth. “I found you. And I will destroy you this time.”
I shoot upright with a scream ripping from my chest. Through rapid, panting breaths, I scan the room, looking for Ivan.
Hands grip my shoulders, and I let out another scream, clawing them off of me.
“Wren!” Rhys’s voice penetrates the shield of illusion that keeps me from seeing him. “Wren!” His tone is firmer, and his grip tightens against me.
Swallowing past the dry lump in my throat, I double blink, taking in the flickering sconces on the wall, the metallic scent, and the strong hands pulling me, against my body’s protest.
I exhale a shaky breath, and the first bout of nausea hits my stomach as the panic recedes. “Just … a nightmare.”
“What happened?” The warmth of his chest hits my cheek, as he tugs me against him.