I picture him crumbling to his knees, shocked that I’ve been the one to deliver the killing blow—much the way Oso was. I think I should feel evil, but I don’t. Instead, I feel at ease, like everything will be all right with the world once Elliot’s gone.
I’ve killed before, but it was in the heat of the moment, to save James and myself. There was no premeditation, no plan. So different from now. Funny how uncomplicated it is to become a murderer. I wonder if I’m not sane anymore. How could I be?
Time ticks by as I stare at my boots lined up perfectly next to each other. I wear a black uniform like everyone else. The boots are a match. I wait—breaths even, mind made up. A certain calm has come with resignation. I will probably die within the hour, and that’s all right. I will make my stand and, if it’s the last one, I’m okay with that. At least, my life won’t be given up in vain, like Oso’s life, like Xave’s.
The ache of remembering is raw; an open wound that won’t close, no matter how much I pretend it’s not there.
I pull my boots closer, set my bullet between them. I slip one foot in, then the other. My fingers move calmly around the shoelaces, tugging and tying.
One bunny ear.
Two bunny ears.
I remember Dad teaching me. What would he think of me, now? Would he be proud? Would he ache seeing what’s become of his little girl?
The bullet goes in my pocket. I stand, throw my head back and take a deep, deep breath. I march out of the barracks, my steps echoing through the empty room. At the entrance, I run into Lizard Woman, a.k.a. Lamia. Her tail swings up and out of the way to let me pass. I don’t acknowledge her, but I can feel her eyes on me as I firmly walk away. I turn the corner, leave her behind and retrieve my gun and bullets.
I’m ready for this.
One hundred and ten freaking percent.
* * *
I’m a mole in more ways than one. I’ve crawled through these dark tunnels, the bowels of the building, once more. Now, I sit here in the dark, waiting. I’m a ghost, a nonentity, forgotten by everyone, even by Lyra.
The conference room is beyond me. Through the metal grate of an air vent at floor level, I see everyone in the room. Shadows envelop me inside and outside. I breathe in deep, deep, deep, then hold it. I think of freedom.
Blacktop sliding by … Xave’s laugh behind me.
Wind blowing on my face … Small kisses on the back of my neck.
His arms wrapped around me as we ride.
It’s an ever-present memory that I’ve pushed away many, many times. Today, I embrace it. I savor it. Maybe there is a heaven and today I’ll see him. And dad.
That isn’t bad at all. I smile.
My buzz-o-meter is off. Both ways. I’ll do this as a human.
The gun is in my hand.
Ready.
In the room, Tusks, Lyra, Dillon, and the tall, horned Amazon from my barracks stand at attention in different corners of the room, waiting for the meeting to begin. All four look like warriors. Either muscular or lean, there’s a deadly quality in their gazes.
Vertical blinds hang shut, blocking the view outside the room. After a moment, the door opens and Elliot walks in, alone.
“They’ve arrived,” he says, taking the seat at the head of the long table. “Keep your eyes open, but no one make a move unless they do. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
After a moment, Elliot stands, walks to the thermostat and turns it all the way down. He returns to his seat. Cold air blows through the vents with a sudden whoosh. For once, I welcome the chill.
Steps sound outside the room. A few silhouettes are visible behind the blinds. The conference room door opens again and a petite woman with copper-colored hair and a narrow face enters. She looks familiar. I’ve seen her before, somewhere. It was at the nightclub, wasn’t it? She was with—
My thoughts stop short as the answer to my question walks in step behind her.
Luke—blond, tall and calm—is also here.
* * *
“Welcome, Mrs. Hailstone.” Elliot stands and shakes the woman’s hand.
She inclines her head in a very refined way.
Animals with manners. Who would have thought?
“Thank you, Mr. Whitehouse,” she says in an accent that sounds just like Lyra’s.
Zara Hailstone is French? My mind reels with possibilities.
“Let me introduce you to Luke,” Zara Hailstone says. “He is my second in command and my son.”
My body goes limp. The gun falls to my folded legs and slides down toward the metal flashing that makes up the tunnel. I catch it and clutch it to my chest, breathing hard.
Her son? Luke isn’t Zara Hailstone’s son. Aydan said Luke’s DNA matched Karen’s. Was Zara the one who raised him? Ernest Dunn’s wife? But Luke said his mother abandoned him after he was born. None of it makes any sense, especially the way he came into our lives and wrecked everything. Why? To what end?
I force my lungs to slow down. They will hear me if I don’t get it together. I’m here for a reason and one reason only. This doesn’t change anything.
I struggle to get myself under control. My hands are shaking.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Slowly, my heart rate calms. In a minute, it will be back to normal and then …
“Please, take a seat,” Elliot says.
Zara sits closest to Elliot, and Luke next to her. I see his profile. He eyes the guards at each corner.
“Our guards remained outside,” Luke says. “Is this really necessary?”
“My dear boy, you requested a meeting with me,” Elliot says as if he’s talking to an elementary school brat. “Therefore, this will happen on my terms.”
Luke’s jaw twitches. Tusks smirks in the far corner.
“This is fine,” Zara says, pronouncing this as dzees, “as long as a conversation in front of them is prudent.”
“It’s quite all right. These men and women have my complete trust,” Elliot responds in a tone that suggests that whatever they’re about to discuss doesn’t warrant risking his life by dismissing his guards.
“Very well.” Zara inclines her head. There’s something lithe about her movements. Her eyes seem to smile in a cunning, amused way, like she knows something no one else does.
“So you said you wanted to discuss an alliance,” Elliot says.
“Yes,” Zara assents. “Several of our bordering territories are experiencing a level of conflict that is quite worrisome at this stage in the game. Things aren’t proceeding the way they should as far as humans go. The Takeover has been more difficult here than in other areas. So, naturally, some adjustments are necessary.”
Elliot nods over his steepled fingers. “I quite agree.”
I lift the gun and stare at my hand. It’s finally steady, as steady as it’ll ever get. My bullet is ready. It’s the first one. I lower my ski mask, a souvenir I found tucked in one of Lyra’s drawers. If I survive this, maybe staying anonymous will be helpful. With one last look through the grate, I flick the gun’s safety off. When I look up, Luke’s face is slightly turned in my direction. He’s frowning, his blue eyes darting from side to side.
“Something the matter?” Elliot asks.
Luke rolls his chair back slightly. “I …”
He suspects something. I don’t know how, but he does.
I take one last deep breath. This is it.
Kicking from a sitting position, I jam my boots against the vent cover with all I’ve got. The grate flies into the conference room, tumbling end over end on the floor with several loud, metallic clanks. I shoot out, head first, and roll to one side. I come up on one knee, gun searching my target. Elliot’s startled eyes meet mine. He’s frozen on his tall leather chair.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull the trigger.
Chapter 50
The bullet leaves the gun in a rush of power. I feel the shock in my hand and up my arm. Elliot is an open-mouthed statue and I’m the bullet, sure and tru
e. I will not miss.
Shattering my certainty, Tusks flies from the corner and lands on Elliot’s lap, pushing him out of the way. The massive guard jerks as the bullet strikes him in the back. The chair rolls away with the impact. They hit the blinds, send them swaying from side to side. Elliot cowers behind Tusks.
I adjust my aim, ready to pull the trigger again. Zara and Luke jump to their feet. Luke’s eyes lock with mine. A tremor runs down my spine, as the sense of recognition thrills through me.
Lyra and the other guards train their weapons on me. Elliot peeks from behind Tusks who’s trying to struggle to his feet, but isn’t allowed. For an instant, we all stand still, digesting the moment. Lyra’s eyes shine. She makes the first move, angling her gun toward Luke. Dillon does the same. The tall Amazon never takes her eyes off me.
“Shoot them,” Elliot screams.
I jump out of the way. A shot zips by my ear.
“No!” Luke whirls and knocks the gun out of the Amazon’s hand. A shot rings from Lyra’s gun, but misses Luke.
The Amazon swings and lands a jaw-breaking punch. Barely stunned, Luke rams into her, wraps his arms around her waist and knocks her down. Her gun flies out of her hand. Zara goes for it, but Lyra kicks it out of the way and without hesitation shoots her. Zara jerks but doesn’t drop to the floor. Instead, she launches at Lyra, growling like a small dog.
A million steps sound outside. Others are coming; if they get in here before I kill Elliot …
The bastard is still clinging to Tusks, using him as a shield. I step to the side to get a better angle. Several shapes rush behind the vertical blinds. Unable to get a clear shot, I rush forward, ready to shoot over Tusks and at close range. Elliot screams and pushes Tusks off, finally letting him go. He crashes against my legs. I lose my balance and fall backward.
The twin dwarf guards burst through the door. I aim at Elliot’s head. I’m about to pull the trigger when suddenly the whole floor rocks with an explosion. In spite of the blinds, glass flies inward from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Pieces of false ceiling rain down. Everyone ducks, covering their heads. The electricity goes out and emergency lights come on.
Shots erupt outside.
Suddenly, it’s full-on war.
* * *
I bat a piece of ceiling tile off my face. Tusks moans and pushes rubble out of the way. I pull my legs from under him and scramble to find my weapon.
“Give me that,” Elliot says, snatching a gun away from one of the dwarfs.
I crawl under the long table still searching. A bullet explodes through the tabletop, nearly slicing my neck off. I scuttle away from Elliot toward the opposite end. A volley of shots follows in my wake, sending splinters flying in all directions.
The rapid fire of machine guns comes from outside the room.
“What is happening out there?” Elliot demands.
No one answers.
I stop and make myself as small as possible. From here, I see Zara lying on the floor, a hand pressed to her bloody chest. Luke and the horned woman are also on the floor, fighting each other, rolling, punching, grunting.
“You did this,” Elliot screams to Zara. “Kill them both. The other one, I want alive,” he orders.
Guards surround the table, their black, military boots shuffling and stomping all around me. Someone heaves Zara to her feet. The butt of a rifle smashes against the back of Luke’s neck and he falls limp to the side.
“We didn’t do anything,” Zara says. “Don’t hurt him.” Her voice is pleading and desperate, the voice of a scared mother.
“Get the other one,” Elliot orders.
The rolling chairs are wrenched away.
Dillon crouches from a distance, pointing a gun right in my face. “Get out of there.” He flicks his gun slightly in a beckoning motion.
Sweat soaks my ski mask, itching, making me want to pull the damn thing off. I focus on that stupid detail and ignore the gun that’s staring me in the face. The room is now filled with Elliot’s armed beasts. There’s no use in fighting.
Or is there?
More shots ring outside, sounding closer and closer.
Maybe there is.
“Get the bloody bastard from under there,” Elliot screams.
Suddenly, the table above me shifts. I scramble away as one side of the massive piece of furniture tips upward. The sound of a feral growl fills the room, then the table lurches and crashes on its side. People scramble out of the way. Tusks stands, back hunched, chest heaving after the impossible effort. Something smolders in the depths of his small eyes. His tusks seem sharper than ever, dripping with sweat and saliva, poised to charge.
Adrenaline tingles through my limbs. I’m crouching, guns and beasts alike aimed in my direction. This is it. I’ve failed.
I stand very slowly, arms loose at my sides. My heart drums and drums while the events of the past five minutes replay in my mind, showing me all the things I could have done differently to succeed. I should have planned better. I should have—
Bullets fly in from the outside, peppering the walls and the overturned table. Everyone ducks for cover. Two of the guards fall to their knees, then on their faces. Tusks drops, goes for the gun at his hip. I jump over the table and scramble along its length. Shots ring behind me.
Fire shoots through my calf as a bullet grazes me. I lose my stride and fall flat. More shots whiz by right above me.
“I got you,” someone says from this side of the table.
I look up. The horned Amazon has her gun aimed directly at my head. I close my eyes. It’s time, and I’m not ready. If only I hadn’t missed …
Suddenly, a deluge of bullets criss-cross the room. They strike one after another like fireworks. I open my eyes. Amazon woman lies on the floor, groaning. She tears her shirt open, cursing, baring her teeth in pain. I back out and round the table as she fights with her Kevlar vest like it’s on fire.
“Shoot him!” The cry comes from outside the conference room, full of a desperate quality that spells defeat, like whoever they’re trying to kill isn’t an easy target. Not at all.
My heart surges. Could it be? Is he here?
An image of James blurring into nothing pops into my head. It’s a stupid hope. This has to be a trap from Zara. Maybe she is that stupid. Maybe she really thought this would work: attacking Whitehouse on his own turf.
Elliot’s guards hide behind overturned chairs, shooting through the broken windows, shredding the blinds.
I press my back to the table, suddenly forgotten as everyone takes cover. My calf throbs. I press a hand to it, clench my jaw at the surge of pain. My fingers come away bloody.
It’s just a scrape. Just a scrape.
I look toward the vent. I can escape that way.
“Get me out of here,” Elliot says. “You and you and you, cover us. The rest come with me.”
I peer around the edge of the desk. Elliot is rushing out the door with Amazon Woman and the rest of the guards shielding him. Tusks, Lyra, and Dillon stay behind, shooting in the opposite direction at the unseen enemy.
Bullets hit fast. Not missing a mark. I pull back, pressing closer to the floor. Tusks gives a loud grunt of pain. I hope someone hit the bullseye, right in the middle of his hideous mouth. I peer once more. Luke helps Zara to her feet and, in the confusion, ushers her out of the conference room in the same direction Elliot left.
I smile; a twisted thing that’s made of pleasure. They won’t get away. I won’t let them. Patiently, I wait for a few beats. When the next volley of bullets comes into the room, I crawl toward the door, shots zooming overhead, and pick up a discarded gun. With a quick look back, I notice Tusks on the floor, his massive body still. I guess someone did hit the bullseye. Good riddance.
I keep crawling past the door. Once outside, I turn on my buzz-o-meter in case I run into any Eklyptors. I stand and run down the corridor, ignoring the pain that shoots up the back of my leg. The fight rages behind me, its sounds becoming muffled the further
I go. Elliot may think he’s getting away, but a second wave of rage is coming at him and, this time, it won’t fail.
Chapter 51
I catch up with Zara and Luke first. Her arm is around his waist as he helps her, carrying her forward. I slow my pace and try to control my agitated breaths. They continue, hobbling, unaware of my presence.
My fingers tighten around the gun. I take a knee. My injured calf trembles as I go down. Blood has soaked my pants down to my boot. I relish the pain, let it fuel me, let it spur my hatred. There, only yards away, are the leaders of the Hailstone faction. I can kill them both.
I lift the gun, aim for Zara, for the space between her shoulder blades, right under Luke’s arm. She deserves to die as much as Elliot does. She’s as responsible for the chaos in the city, for the deaths, for the humans trapped inside their own heads while parasites puppeteer their bodies.
Slowly, I apply pressure on the trigger. It should be a small opposition, but the curved piece of metal feels like an immovable thing against my finger, a mountain, the faith of a true believer. My hand shakes. I can’t line up my sights.
I am a killer.
I am a killer.
My hand falls to the side. I may be a killer, but I can’t shoot anyone in the back. Not even an Eklyptor. Luke opens the door to the mess hall. As he helps Zara in, he looks back, sees me kneeling on the floor. His blue gaze locks with mine and, once more, a thrill of recognition passes between us. He looks down at the gun, understanding my inability to do what I should.
He lowers his gaze and turns his head toward the door. Frozen in place for a moment, he seems to ponder a million possibilities. Finally, he shakes his head and rushes into the room.
Why couldn’t I pull the trigger? She’s not any different from Elliot.
Elliot … Elliot …
I have to go after him. I can still do some good tonight. This can’t all be in vain. I struggle to my feet, calf shaking.
There’s a sound behind me. I spin, gun outstretched and ready to shoot. A lone figure stands in the darkness, an orange emergency light at his back. A knot forms in my throat. He’s also holding a gun, but his hand rests at his side. I should pull the trigger but, again, I can’t. Some worthless morality stops me. Instead, I take a step back.
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