Beckett followed me to the table and sat in the chair next to mine, reluctant to engage with me again.
Dr. Mitchell stepped up on stage, announcing that bidding would begin after the last musical piece. Several people took their seats after his announcement.
Beckett lowered his elbows to his knees and angled his body toward me.
“Jack will be coming soon,” he whispered. “We’ll exit out the back while he’s distracting the masses. All you need to do is just follow me.”
“Great,” I said, with as little emotion as possible. Inside, my brain began to gear my body up for what would come next: running.
I’d sort out all the rest of my thoughts later.
A thin man with wrinkled, sagging skin approached our table to ask if he could have the last dance.
“She’s not interested right now.” Beckett waved him away.
“Maybe I was interested,” I said tightly as the man shuffled back to his table.
I felt Beckett staring at me. A long pause filled the air between us.
When I didn’t acknowledge his gaze, he sighed. He dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his face, stopping with his fingertips and thumb pressed to his cheeks. This was his token move when he was frustrated about something.
Finally, his hand lowered, and he spoke. “Sage, when I got to the island, I knew my lie might have cost me the one thing I wanted most. You. I knew that. But still, I hoped that you might somehow see that the guy you knew, the person I was when we were together on the farm was me. I felt more alive, more real, more myself in those three years with you than I ever had before in my life.”
I shook my head. “It’s not so easy as just saying it out loud, Beck. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Don’t take my honesty for a lie. Please believe me.” He begged, but instead of breaking down my walls, it angered me.
I struggled to keep my voice low. “I don’t know what to believe anymore!”
“How about believing your heart?”
“My heart can’t be trusted.”
Beckett laid his hand on top of mine in my lap. “I told you as much truth as I possibly could. Please, please remember that.”
He didn’t say anything else to make it right, or better, or to prove his point.
I decided to allow his hand to sit there, mainly not to cause a scene. And despite everything, the warmth of it still somehow comforted me.
Beckett’s familiar scent—hints of earthy soil and clean-smelling soap—permeated my space, even with all the other people in their designer clothes and fancy perfumes. For a moment, it was easy to picture us in this place alone. Just me and Beckett. Without the junk we had to work through. Just the Beckett I knew before. And me, the farm girl I knew before.
I surveyed the room, attempting to distract myself. Almost everyone had their gazes fixed on the eggs at the front of the stage where the bidding was about to begin. Many of them eyed the glass dome like the eggs on display represented their prize kill for the year.
These people were such a contrast to the familiar person next to me, the boy holding my hand, this person who I knew cared about me, who didn’t see me as dollar signs or a revolutionary scientific advancement.
I knew that about him, didn’t I? I wanted to believe that with all my heart. I only wished there wasn’t a seed of doubt buried within all my longing.
Anger—at everything—threatened to rise up again, but then I looked at Beckett’s tormented face: pain at our disconnected reuniting.
Something cracked inside my chest. I wanted to open up a least some piece of myself, offer out some sort of honest comment, especially after all Beckett had said tonight. I needed to do it, just in case everything Beckett said was completely true, and it was me who was being the total jerk. Just in case this escape didn’t go as planned.
I didn’t know what to say because I couldn’t say what Beckett wanted to hear.
I’d be lying if I said: “I trust you,” or “I love you,” or “Everything is going to be fine.”
So instead, I took another look around the ballroom, at all the eyes staring at my fake eggs up on stage, and I told him something I really felt.
“I’m scared, Beckett.”
At least this was true.
I didn’t know how we’d make it out of here.
I didn’t know how this would all end.
What if Vasterias stopped us and I was trapped here? What would follow in the months ahead? The testing? The extractions? What if these people got what they wanted?
Beckett’s shoulders dropped at this, perhaps relieved at my vulnerability, perhaps disappointed that my sentiments didn’t match his own.
“So am I,” he whispered, “but it’s okay.” He squeezed my hand. “We’re leaving soon.”
He smiled his charming smile for the lady watching us from across the table, and he didn’t release my hand until the song ended and Dr. Mitchell took the stage.
60
BECKETT
It was the truth. I was scared.
Sage was falling for Sven’s lies. What else had he told her? And what game was he playing? He was supposed to be on our side.
I’d felt her discomfort in dancing with him. It’s what had spurred me to look over in her direction in first place. So, why was she believing him?
But now, here, with Sage next to me at the table and the bidding about to start, something scared me even more than Sage believing Sven.
I saw the way these people looked at her, how they watched her from the sidelines while she danced, calculating their bids for her eggs while they drank their champagne and liquor. They tracked her with their eyes, followed her across the ballroom floor—a lamb dancing among lions.
They still watched her, even now.
I was more scared than I’d ever been.
Scared of losing her again. Scared at my inadequacy to protect her. Scared of losing my true self if she ever disappeared.
Or maybe, after seeing her in the bathroom with that knife poised at her thigh, with the doubt in her eyes … maybe I was scared that she was already gone.
61
SAGE
Only after Dr. Mitchell started talking did Beckett’s demeanor shift.
With every one of Dr. Mitchell’s words, Beckett sat up taller. His senses peaked.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Dr. Mitchell, “the time has arrived. The moment of the evening you’ve all been patiently anticipating ….”
In a matter of seconds, the last three hours of fake conversations with people in the ballroom seemed to dissolve from Beckett’s memory. The artificial front dissipated. His troubled expression from our argument totally washed away.
He looked tight, focused, his eyes glued to the stage with a new intensity covering his face.
This was his game face, his take-care-of-business face.
My own body tensed in response, and I knew the time had come.
Jack would arrive anytime.
62
BECKETT
While Dr. Mitchell spoke, I studied the mood of the ballroom.
Dr. Dallamore chatted with that interesting Vasterias character I’d met at our table earlier, Dr. Evans. They stood at the back wall.
Dad reclined in a chair in the corner, drink still in his hand, completely at ease.
A majority of people were in their seats, save for a few men standing at the bar in the back corner. Sven, on the other hand, made his way toward the front right section of the ballroom, near the stage, as we’d planned.
Opposite the room from Sven, the small orchestra momentarily set aside their instruments. I wondered if they thought they’d start playing again once the bidding wrapped up. Everyone’s plans would change soon enough.
Dr. Mitchell spoke into the microphone. “… honored to work with so many well-known and well-respected citizens from around the world. Since this is an unprecedented moment within our genetics division—in truth, within all of Vasterias—we wanted th
e most direct way to engage each of you and provide you the opportunity to be the first to acquire this science for your country.”
Dr. Mitchell rambled on, and with each eloquent, scientific word, I felt my shoulders tightening a little bit more.
“… and so, if you’ll please join me in welcoming the president of our corporation to the stage to begin the bidding portion of our night. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. Xavier Resnick.”
Polite clapping ensued. I froze with my teeth clenched, and only after intense mental coercion was I able to make myself clap along.
Xavier. He appeared out of nowhere, looking as cool and collected as he’d ever been, with his serene face and full head of slicked hair. He wore a jet-black tuxedo, as I’d expect, with a black shirt underneath and black tie to match his shiny black shoes and hair.
I hadn’t seen him in the crowd, and I would have noticed. Xavier carried himself in the way that all self-assured people do—unable to be ruffled, unyielding.
Except, Xavier enjoyed standing in on lively group conversation until everyone became so uncomfortable with his presence that the conversation died off altogether. I’d been in on such experiences before.
Where had he been all night? Conveniently inaccessible—that’s how he usually operated.
“Good evening, my friends. And thank you, Dr. Mitchell.” His voice rolled, cool and smooth. The sound of it made me twitch.
Xavier.
My nemesis. Jack’s nemesis. Even my father’s nemesis, in the early days. I don’t know if it was his personality or the fact that he was president, but something about Xavier made it easy to put the blame on him for all the bad things that had ever happened to us. Was it human nature to want to point a finger at one particular individual? Maybe so, but Xavier deserved it. He’d swayed my dad into so many tests on Jack that my father eventually became numb to the ritual. He’d pushed Dad into the long hours, the demanding schedule, the lack of concern for human lives, the disconnect with Jack and me.
If I had to guess, Xavier had likely played a large part in shipping me and Uncle Jeff and Aunt Peg off to Kansas. He’d probably sent Jack and Dad to the island—not that Dad would have argued much for anything different.
And now, Xavier looked over at Sage.
Without breaking eye contact, he spoke. “I would specifically like to thank Hope Cunningham, for her generosity and cooperation as we endeavor to push the field of human genetics further than it’s ever gone before.”
His eyes pierced hers, cold and hard. More clapping, more glances toward our table.
When the noise died down, Xavier said, “I’d like to begin the bidding at five hundred million dollars.”
63
SAGE
Five hundred million dollars?
I felt my eyes widen in shock. Was this Xavier guy being serious? He acted like it, and the crowd didn’t flinch at his proposed number. In fact, some guy in the back actually raised his hand. I could not believe what my eyes were showing me.
Five hundred million dollars. And Xavier had a taker.
“Do I have five twenty-five?” he said without hesitation.
Two more hands raised in the crowd.
My mouth had dropped open without me realizing, and when Beckett glanced over at me with a grave face, I closed my lips together. Xavier pressed on, more hands raised.
Seven hundred.
Eight hundred.
The tingling started at the tip of my head and slowly worked its way down through my torso into my legs and toes. I couldn’t move. I didn’t realize just how crucial I was to these people and their plans.
We’d never make it out of here.
Xavier’s voice rose with the strong number of bidders. “Do I have nine hundred million?”
Nine hundred million dollars.
But before anyone could answer, a body dropped through the ceiling and landed on the cello sitting in its stand in front of an orchestra member.
Gun in hand, Jack stood up from his crouch among the broken pieces of wood and smiled right at Xavier.
*
He wore a black fitted t-shirt, black jeans, black boots. All of it accentuated his physique, the bulk of his muscle.
Jack looked good.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to be around him, forgotten what it felt like to watch him move—with such fluidness, and assurance, and strength. It made me think Jack believed that even solid objects would move out of the way for him. Maybe they did.
The last time I’d seen Jack, he was falling toward the ocean below me, away from the helicopter where I watched in horror. It had been a good idea at the time. And yet, here he was again, the two of us together, right where Vasterias wanted us. So it made me wonder if it had all been a waste of time.
Jack kicked free from the cello debris, looking back at the musician as he stepped out of the orchestra section.
“Sorry about that,” he said as he brushed off the front of his shirt.
He turned, still holding his gun, and called out to the crowd. “Hello everyone! It’s J. A. So happy to see you all!”
Jack reached for a steak knife from the nearest table, and using his left hand, flung it toward the guard nearest him. The knife grazed the guard’s hand, which had been inching its way to the holster at his waist. The knife stuck into the wall behind the guard.
“Tell your men to keep their guns holstered,” Jack said to Xavier.
“Don’t shoot them,” Xavier said in a level voice, eyes connecting with his guards around the perimeter of the room. “Don’t shoot any of them.” Xavier glanced toward the table where Beckett and I sat, clearly making the connection as to why Jack would actually be here. Still, Xavier seemed less disturbed and more intrigued by Jack’s entrance than anything else. This made me shift nervously in my seat. My hands gripped the edge of the table.
Jack stepped up to the table that he’d gotten the knife from. He jerked at the corner of the white table cloth, pulling the cloth off the table and leaving all the dishes undisturbed.
The woman in the purple dress and bright pink lipstick sat closest to Jack at that very table, and she gasped.
Jack smiled at her as he wrapped the tablecloth around his neck, forming a mock superhero cape. I couldn’t tell if lipstick lady was completely enthralled or completely terrified by him.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Jack spread his arms wide at the onlookers. “You wanted a show, right? A display of the science you’re all vying for?”
Jack reached in, leaning over lipstick woman, and grabbed a handful of grapes off the table centerpiece. Yes, she was definitely gathering some sort of thrill from Jack standing so close to her.
Jack tossed all the grapes high in the air.
Before they had a chance to land on the ground, he shot a bullet through each of the five grapes. They exploded, sending little pieces of skin and tiny drops of juice raining down. The gunshots rang through the ballroom, the sound bouncing off the marble floors, ricocheting off the ceiling tiles.
Lipstick lady covered her ears, along with others, and yet, her eyes were wild with excitement. Xavier stood, unflinching on stage.
“Impressed?” Jack called out to the silent crowd. “No? Not impressed?”
He grabbed another knife off the table and sent it flying toward the glass display case on the stage. The glass shattered as the knife pierced the dome. The crowd gasped. Jack followed it with another knife, which knocked the stand out from underneath the petri dish resting inside the glass dome. The petri dish clattered to the floor. The crowd gasped again.
Xavier made a step toward the dish. A knife went sailing by Xavier’s cheek.
“Please don’t move,” Jack said, gun raised at Xavier. “There’s no need for pretense about the eggs.”
Xavier tensed at Jack’s admission, looking uncomfortable for the first time.
Jack turned and ran at the wall between the stage and the orchestra, getting halfway up the wall before back-fli
pping off it, his cape trailing behind him, producing the appearance of his body briefly flying. He landed near the stage, just opposite the shattered display case, Xavier and the podium in between.
Again, Jack turned toward the crowd. “Do you like it?” he shouted.
The pink lipstick lady clapped three times before realizing no one else joined her.
Jack aimed his gun at Xavier as he stalked across the stage. He pulled the other gun from his belt, tossing it across the room to Beckett.
When Beckett caught it, shocked expressions erupted from all the members of our table: He was part of this? But how? He’s so friendly, so innocent!
Jack lifted the petri dish that had fallen to the marble floor. He held it up above his head.
“This is what you’re all here for?” A mocking tone filled Jack’s voice. “This?”
Everybody in the room seemed frozen in mixed terror and awe at Jack’s boldness. Those within Vasterias—who knew the truth about the eggs—looked less horrified than those who believed they were real, but everyone sat stunned in a sort of numb trance at the show.
“Beckett?” Jack called, holding the petri dish in Beck’s direction.
Jack glanced over at Xavier and shrugged. “Just in case.”
Jack tossed the petri dish up in the air, and a gunshot rang out next to me at the table, making me jump.
The guards stepped away from their positions at the walls.
The petri dish fragmented into tiny pieces. Beckett lowered his gun. Inside, I felt my body give an internal sigh of relief at the destroyed petri dish, even though I hadn’t believed the eggs were really mine. Now, even if I had fainted with Dr. Stanstopolis at headquarters, and she actually had extracted my eggs, the threat of the possibility had been removed.
“Don’t shoot them,” Xavier said again. Then, looking at Jack, he said, “I hope you’re planning on paying for those.”
The Golden Order Page 16