Vendetta Nation (Enigma Black Trilogy #2)

by Sara Furlong-Burr

  “Are you sure? They say there’s going to be a record crowd for this event. Perhaps, someone from your past may turn up,” she hinted.

  “Trust me,” he laughed. “It’s the last place Celaine would be, too.”

  *****

  I remained awake in my bed. The events of the last couple of days burned in my mind like an errant brush fire, threatening to become an inextinguishable blaze. Thoughts of Victor, of the slain protesters, the confused soldiers, of our missed opportunity with The Man in Black, and of Chase, jumbled through my consciousness; a puzzle with pieces too jagged to fit together. Then there was the matter of our next mission. Making nice with Brooks like we were being ordered to do didn’t set well with me. But did I really have any choice? In the end, it may be the key to bringing down the man who’d killed my family, but at what cost? Was it worth the countless others who were dying every day at Brooks’ hands just because they didn’t agree with his principles? If my father were alive, what would he think?

  Feeling the need to walk everything off, I got out of bed and entered the hallway. When I came closer to Ian‘s room, his door opened. Becca stepped out into the hallway, her hair disheveled, her cheeks reddening when she noticed me standing just a foot away. “Hey, Celaine,” she said, barely able to look at me. “I…I fell asleep.” She rushed down the hall, turning the corner at record pace to enter the body of The Epicenter.

  “Goodnight, Becca,” I called out to her. The door to Ian’s room remained open, and I debated whether or not to go in, a knot forming in my stomach.

  “Celaine, are you out there?” Ian called from inside.

  I shuffled to the doorway, standing just inside its frame. “I’m right inside your room,” I answered.

  “Good.” Ian stepped out of the bathroom. He was shirtless, revealing more of his body than I recall ever seeing—or maybe it was because I’d never allowed myself to notice it before. A toned body, much like mine, his musculature prominent on nearly every surface of his exposed flesh. Unlike mine, however, the grooves and valleys between each set of his muscles were far deeper, as though new tissue had been constructed over a pre-existing physique. Obviously, working out had been a hobby of his. But when he turned around, a completely different vision caught my eye. Scarring stretched across his upper back from one shoulder blade to the other, scarring that had the tell-tale goose bump appearance. Having been the daughter of a doctor, I’d seen skin grafting before, but it still took me aback, regardless. “I was hoping you were still awake,” he said, breaking my stare.

  “Why? You obviously already had company,” I said. “I feel like I’ve intruded on something.”

  “No,” he laughed, digging through his dresser drawer. Finding a t-shirt that met with his approval, he threw it on over his head, shutting the drawer with his foot. “Trust me, there was nothing to see here.”

  “Really? Because from my vantage point, I saw you half-naked and Becca with a face so red she looked like she was on the verge of bursting into flame.”

  “Yeah, throwing up on someone has a way of being a little embarrassing.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “Not exactly,” he sighed, taking a seat on his bed. “Listen, I’m not supposed to say anything, so please don’t repeat this, but Becca’s pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” My eyes widened, and all-out sickness spread throughout my stomach. “Is…is the baby…yours?”

  Ian laughed, rolling his eyes. “No, Celaine, I have absolutely nothing to do with her condition.” My relief must have projected heavily on my face, as Ian laughed again, a little harder this time. “Look at you,” he chuckled. “I almost thought I was going to have to dig another shirt out for a second.”

  “The two of you have been spending a lot of time together lately, so it was an easy conclusion to have come to.”

  “This is just another classic example of how wrong you can be when you believe everything your eyes tell you.” He reclined on his side, facing me. “No,” he began again, “Becca’s just going through a lot right now. I found her crying one day in the sitting room, asked her what was wrong, and before I knew it, I had a shadow. You would think that no one has ever asked her about what was going on in her life before. She wants to get divorced, but is obviously conflicted about it given the pregnancy, and yadda,yadda, more girl talk.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing the baby’s not yours, because the world can’t handle another Ian Grant.”

  He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I always wanted children of my own someday. Given the direction our world is heading in, though, I honestly wonder whether that idea is more of a fantasy than a reality.”

  “I didn’t peg you for the paternal type,” I said. “After the childhood you had with your mother, and all.” I sat down next to his feet at the foot of the bed.

  “That’s just it,” he answered. “I want to break that cycle. By having children and being given the opportunity to be the father my dad was, it would be like bringing him back again. At least, that’s how I see it.”

  “Well, I think you see things beautifully.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He sat up on the bed so that we were face-to-face with each other.

  “I guess.”

  “After the second explosion in the apartment, when I made that whole ‘is that the best you got’ joke, why did you get so upset with me? That wasn’t like you. It kind of threw me off guard a little.”

  “I may have overreacted a bit,” I acknowledged. “It was the second time that night that I thought I may have lost you. I’ve lost literally everyone I have ever cared about in some way or another, Ian. Your joke just seemed inappropriate to me given the circumstances.”

  “So…you care about me?” he asked smugly.

  My cheeks burned uncomfortably; however, I was fairly certain they weren’t anywhere near as red as Becca’s had been. “Of course I care about you, Ian. I care about you enough not to want to see you die,” I answered him.

  “That has got to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and a first for a woman,” he joked.

  “It’s my turn to ask you a question now,” I said.

  “Okay…” he hesitated.

  I paused, a voice inside my head telling me to rethink asking the question that had been on my mind since seeing Ian shirtless. “Before you put your shirt on, I couldn’t help but notice the scarring on your back.”

  His grin receded, which ushered in a tidal wave of guilt over me. “It’s from the fire at the Flamingo Casino,” he answered after a moment. “When I woke up in the middle of the night, I noticed that my dad wasn’t in the room, so I went to look for him. I’d almost made it to the gaming floor when I saw the wall of fire approaching. I tried to run back the other way, but my shirt caught fire, forcing me down to the floor. It seemed like I was rolling forever before the flames were finally extinguished.”

  “You must have been in agony.”

  “Actually, I was more concerned about my dad at the time. It wasn’t until after I had lost him that the pain really began to bother me. It’s as though my body gave my nerves permission to grieve. And grieve they did. I’m just grateful that the burn was on my back. It allows me to forget that it even exists here and there.”

  “I know how that feels,” I said. “Right before the explosion at The Lakes, I fell and hit my knee. Now every time I have a nightmare, or so much as even think about that day, it throbs unrelentingly.”

  “From the sound of it, it would appear as though we’re both a little screwed up,” Ian observed.

  “Really, who isn’t, nowadays?”

  “I’m sure well-adjusted people still exist.”

  My thoughts turned to Chase, Carrie, Jim, and MaKayla. “Yeah, they do,” I answered.

  “Well,” he yawned as he laid back down on the bed, “at least one of us has met them.”

  “Victor is going to be running us pretty hard the next couple of days, we should both p
robably rest while we still can.” I stood up from the bed and began walking to the door.

  “Think you’re going to have any more nightmares tonight?” Ian called after me. I looked back only to see a crooked grin stretched across his face. “Because I’ll be right here if you do.”

  “I think I’ll be okay, but I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied. As I approached the door, he called out to me again.

  “Hey, Celaine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I care about you enough not to want to see you die, too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Preparations

  War. Everywhere around us, there it was. Rebellion members with their guns drawn, soldiers firing in retaliation, and there wasn’t a single thing we could do but watch. We watched as Cameron’s simulated avatars engaged in battle in front of our eyes; we watched as men and women were slain. And even though we knew what was happening wasn’t real, Ian and I still winced at the realistic bloodshed. Our mission in this simulation—one of the many we’d battled through over the past few days—was to guide President Brooks to safety in the event of an attack, much like the one we’d experienced some nights back.

  We’d gone through seemingly every worst case scenario imaginable. From an explosion near the park perpetrated by The Man in Black, to a sniper hidden within the innumerable trees, to a natural disaster, we’d been through the whole gamut. Though he disgusted me, I had to admire Cameron’s creativity. The virtual tsunami he created out of the Tidal Basin in the midst of a blinding rainstorm had forced Ian and I to swim for our lives, honestly fearing that we may drown beneath the waves’ midnight blue depths. At the conclusion of that scenario—which we had to repeat three times before we finally completed it successfully—we were left sitting in the middle of the barren simulation room, gasping for air, marveling at the fact that we were bone dry considering all that we’d just been through.

  Every scenario we failed had to be repeated until completed, which was why we were only on our seventh scenario in four days, well below the twenty Victor wanted us to be at. In ninety-six hours, all we’d done was eat, breathe, and sometimes sleep simulations, and that wasn’t going to change until Saturday night.

  “He’s a lot shorter than I expected,” Ian said while we were ushering the President’s avatar through the chaos. “I wonder if he’s actual size.”

  Standing just a hair shorter than me, the empty-eyed President Brooks was a surprisingly small man. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell him that in person,” I responded. “It’s liable to put you behind bars.”

  “So what you’re saying is I should refrain from making any short man syndrome jokes in the presence of our Commander-in-Chief?”

  “Considering you’re far too pretty for prison, Ian, I would say that’s probably a good idea.” The russet hair on the crown of President Brooks’ head whipped up into the air as a passing bullet missed striking him by mere millimeters. “Jeez!” I exclaimed. “We need to form a tighter circle around him. That was a little too close for comfort.”

  “On it,” he said, shortening the gap between himself and zombie Brooks. “Repeating this scenario again is the last thing I want to do. It would be nice to eat today, after all.” His last statement was snide and directed toward Cameron and Victor, who were seated comfortably in the next room.

  We were slowly being boxed in between warring rebels and aggravated soldiers whose every actions were being controlled by a misguided redheaded man-child. Bullets flew past our heads, meant for other lifeless avatars, while the natural beauty of the park became sullied with blood and hatred; hatred that was mostly directed at Brooks. Ian and I found ourselves having to circle around the President while we moved toward the car awaiting him on the other side of the park. That car was our ticket to completing this scenario.

  Blocking attacks from rebels programmed to take out their target, Ian and I took punches, kicks, and blows from weapons, each knocking us from our feet, forcing the other to step up their protection of avatar Brooks. In one of the previous scenarios, Cameron had even included a biological attack in the form of killer bees just for shits and giggles—or so it seemed. Being deathly allergic to bees, that scenario had particularly bothered Ian.

  As I fought off one of the more brazen rebels, I felt a blow from the butt of a gun across the side of my helmet. Whirling around, I grabbed the weapon that had accosted me, tossing it and its wielder off to the side. Ian groaned behind me. While he was fending off one would-be assassin, another one head-butted him in the stomach, quickly angering him. He threw the first attacker over his head, where it landed on the second attacker, wiping them both out. “Almost there,” he called to me. Sure enough, the car was steadily drawing nearer. We would soon complete the last scenario of the day successfully.

  But as I looked back at the swiftly amassing crowd, my eyes caught a familiar sight; a sight that only someone who knew me would think to produce. George. My father stood among the rebels, unarmed, a sitting duck in a sea of mayhem, waiting to die.

  “Dad!” I called, taking a couple of steps towards him. However, no sooner did I step away from Brooks than I felt a sudden rush of wind caress my cheek, indicating that I’d been duped. My virtual father had been used as a distraction, and my response to this distraction had left the rebel’s target unattended, allowing one of them to go in for the kill.

  President Brooks fell backwards, a bullet wound to his forehead. Blood trickled from the separated skin and shattered bone, pooling at the soles of Ian’s boots. A disgusted sigh escaped my partner’s lips.

  “Mission failed,” a robotic voice pierced the air around us. “Reboot program in three, two…”

  *****

  “My father, really?” I all but yelled at Cameron after Ian and I had managed to complete the simulation. “Is nothing sacred to you?” Tears welled in my eyes on my approach to where he sat in front of the computer that controlled the simulator.

  “Celaine.” Ian grabbed my arm, but I shook off his grip.

  “Where did you even find an image of him? He’s been dead for over ten years, and I almost died with him. Don’t you realize the kind of nightmares that makes a person have?” I could feel myself begin to tremble, unsure of whether I could control the urge to do bodily harm to him any longer.

  “I’m sorry, Celaine,” he said. His apology took me off guard. I’d expected him to say a lot of things, but an admission of guilt was truly unexpected; not only that, he actually seemed…sincere. “It was Victor,” he spoke again. “He told me to include him in the simulation.” I looked up to see the empty chair where Victor had sat earlier.

  “Why?” Ian asked, enraged.

  “I don’t know,” Cameron answered quietly. “He wouldn’t tell me why. Celaine, you have to believe me when I tell you that I argued with him. Victor, he…he all but forced me to do it.”

  “Then I suggest you begin searching for another mentor and father figure,” I replied. “Because the one you have now needs serious psychological help. I’d lend you mine, but he was brutally murdered when I was seventeen.” With that, I stomped out of the simulation room.

  If this was the way Victor wanted to play ball, then he’d better make sure he could hit one out of the park each and every time.

  *****

  She wanted to be left alone—or so Ian Grant surmised. Although he couldn’t blame her for being completely withdrawn after what had happened today, a part of him was still hurt by her having shut him out. After all, hadn’t they grown closer over the past couple of weeks? Nevertheless, he lingered outside her room, hoping for a change of heart. No such luck. With a sigh, he sauntered away from her door and into the sitting room.

  He slumped down in front of the television where the news was reporting on the most recent explosion perpetrated by The Man in Black. Not surprisingly, the broadcast also mentioned the appearance and subsequent failure—once again—of the country’s resident superheroes to apprehend the elusive maniac. “You’re da
mned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Ian muttered, only half paying attention to the chatter on the screen. His true focus now was on her. In the almost year since he’d met her, he’d gotten to know everything and nothing about her at the same time. Sure, he knew about her family’s death, the death of her best friend, her friendship with her former partner, and the small amount he could pry out of her about her former boyfriend, but curiously, that wasn’t enough for him anymore.

  As he sat absent-mindedly picking at his cuticles, he found himself worried about her. Worried and wanting to know more about her than what he’d been told in passing. What were her dreams, her hopes for the future? How has her sacrifice changed her? What does she miss the most about her former life? At this point, he’d settle for just knowing what her favorite color was.

  “Here you go,” Kara said, plopping an envelope down on the end table next to where he sat, startling him. “All of them turned out great. Although the next time you decide to shoot yourself in the nude, you should at least warn me first.”

  “What!” he exclaimed, ripping the envelope open. The laughter that followed as he rifled through each of the photographs stilled his swiftly beating heart. “Who would have thought that you had an evil side to you,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. He flipped through the pictures more slowly this time, stopping at one in particular that caught his eye. It was the photograph he’d taken of her as she sat on his bed; the one where he’d caught her by surprise. She had the same look on her face she always wore. A look reflected in her amber eyes that spoke of a life wrought with immeasurable pain and decisions few would ever be able to understand. Yet, hidden beneath their solid exterior, her eyes also reflected a passion. Was it a passion for change, a passion for hope, a passion for love? He couldn’t tell. The only thing he knew for sure was that it had been taking over both his dreams and his thoughts as of late.

  “It would appear as though somebody has a crush.” Kara’s voice startled him.