Desolate Mantle

by L. K. Hill

  Shaun turned and barked orders, some through the radio, others to men standing behind Gabe. Gabe was relieved Shaun didn’t ask him to go. He had to find Kyra.

  Another agonizing ten minutes passed. Gabe listened to shouts and gunfire echoing from inside the warehouse, glancing at his watch every ten seconds. Ten minutes felt more like ten hours.

  The voice came through the radio again. “Move in, Shaun. Tell your men to exercise extreme caution!”

  Shaun didn’t need to tell them. They all lunged forward like they were being released from springs, Gabe and Tyke at the front. Hold on, Kyra. I’m coming.

  ***

  Kyra struggled with everything she had to get away from Jenkins, pulling with her arms, kicking with her legs, twisting and swatting at him when she could. She grunted and screeched and swore several times, but did everything in her power not to actually scream. Without screaming, no one would know where she was. She didn’t care. She wasn’t about to give him the pleasure.

  No matter how she thrashed, she couldn’t do even enough to get out from under him. She had nowhere to go, but if she could get herself upright, grasp the chain link and breathe….

  Jenkins straddled her belly, using his knees and thighs to keep her on the ground. She balled her fists and punched at him, connecting solidly several time. It wasn’t enough. He grabbed her wrists with an angry snarl, transferred both of them to one of his hands and pushed them up over her head. She wiggled her wrists around in his grip and clawed at his wrists with her fingernails. Nothing fazed him. He was too strong.

  The hand not shackling her wrists went behind him. When it emerged again, he held a wicked-looking six-inch blade. One side curved sinuously, the point coming to a sinister tip, and Kyra had a feeling it was scalpel-sharp.

  “Now,” his voice grated between heaves of his chest. “You are going to scream for me.”

  “Jenkins! Wait!” The words left her mouth before she fully formed the thoughts. Telling him the truth—some version of it—would be a gamble of the highest order, but it was only way to buy time before he cut her to ribbons.

  Jenkins’ eyebrows drew down, his face darkening at the sound of his own name. Digging his fingers into her right ear, he yanked her into a sitting position, still straddling her thighs. He pushed her chin back so far, she wondered if he was trying to snap her neck. Instead he peered into her face. He let go so suddenly that her neck jolted painfully. His hands tore through her hair. Before she could react, he yanked the wig from her head. She cried out as thick tufts of her real hair ripped from her scalp.

  He peered into her face again. Spitting on the sleeve of his shirt, he rubbed her face hard enough to hurt. She groaned, more from disgust than the pain, but didn’t struggle. What good would it do? As long as he was trying to figure her out, he wasn’t busy giving her nerve damage.

  Digging his fingers into her real hair, he pulled her face so close to his that she could feel the soft breaths exiting his nose. “You’re Supra. Why are you here?”

  She thought frantically. Some version of the truth. “I’m under—spying for Josie. He wanted to know what was going on here. He sent me to find out.”

  “He already knows what’s going on here.”

  Damn.

  Pulling off a lie—especially one she’d already been caught it—would require confidence. “Not everything. Think Jenkins. Did you tell him everything about the operation? How it works? How many of his people are involved? The logistics, the paper work, the contingency plan?” Her voice got louder and louder until she was shouting. “After all, who’s financing this? Who gets blamed when it goes south? Guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

  Jenkins frowned for perhaps three seconds. Then he shook it off. When he spoke, his voice sounded less confident than it had been.

  “If Josie wanted any of that, he could have asked me. He knows I’m involved.”

  “It’s Josie,” she forced scorn she didn’t actually feel. “He doesn’t trust anyone.”

  Jenkins looked her dead in the eye. “He trusts me.” He said it with such quiet confidence that she knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. She changed tactics, trying desperately to build on his words.

  “It’s less about trust and more about checks and balances. He keeps tabs on everyone, even those he’s closest to. Just in case.”

  Jenkins sat back on his knees, still straddling hers, and she thought she might have pulled off the lie. Jenkin’s eyes shifted upward, to her hair. Shit.

  She flinched when his fingers dug into her hair—less painfully than before—and loosened the flattened bun. Without being gentle, he dug at her hairpieces and ripped his fingers through to the ends until her dark blond hair blustered freely around her shoulders.

  His eyes bored into hers again. “Ah, but you aren’t Supra either, are you? I wondered how those blue eyes had such vibrant colors. Contacts, I take it? How many of your identities is Josie privy to?”

  “He—” Only a few second’s hesitation, but Jenkins’ grin widened. Kyra was out of buffers.

  “Just the one, then.” He leaned close to her again and she squirmed backward. His hands lanced out, slamming her arms to her sides so hard it felt like a boulder had crushed each of her wrists. Jenkins leaned his face against hers, squashing his lips and cheeks against hers. She jerked her head back and forth, trying to avoid them. It felt too intimate. Too morbid.

  He pressed his lips against her ear. “When Josie founds out you’re lying to him,” he whispered, “he’s going to kill you. Slowly. And I’ll enjoy that very much. But first, you and I are going to have our own private party so I can hear you scream.”

  “Go to hell!” she snarled.

  He shrugged. “It’s a start.” Reaching toward her with the knife, he ran the edge of it over the underside of her upper arm. The knife only slid up under the thinnest layer of skin. It felt like a demonically magnified paper cut. The pain seared into her like fire. She gritted her teeth and only sputtered. He frowned and leaned over her again.

  She could feel her blood, thick and warm, oozing out of the wound. The smell brought on a vague sense of nausea. Jenkins straddled her belly more than her hips, so she brought her leg straight up and attempted to kick the back of his head with her toe. She connected with his shoulder, though not hard. He was leaning too far forward and didn’t acknowledge the kick. She was a buzzing fly to him.

  Placing the blade directly over the first wound, he slid the knife over her arm again, cutting deeper. Kyra gritted her teeth again. It stung worse this time. Her arm shook violently and an agonized groan escaped her lips. She simply couldn’t stop it.

  Jenkins grinned maniacally. His eyes practically danced when they shifted to the blood now running more freely over her arm. She’d assumed rape would be part of the sadistic deal, but it was the blood, and evidently the screaming, that truly excited him.

  For some reason, the realization made everything worse. She thrashed harder, panic taking over. “Get off me!”

  Jenkins leaned down, pressing her wrists into the ground, his face hovering above hers. “Oh no, darlin.’ We’re just getting started.” He dropped the knife and dug his fingers into her wound.

  The scream ripped out of her before she could stop it. Before she could think. Her throat felt raw and the world went hazy with pain.

  “Hey!”

  Kyra’s vision cleared in time for her to see Jenkins look up in the direction of the deep, familiar voice. Blood spray and gore exploded from his chest in one, two, three places, the explosions concurrent with the deafening sound of gunfire. Jenkins’ eyes glazed over and he slumped to one side, though most of his weight still rested over Kyra’s middle.

  From the other side of the chain link fence, Gabe’s voice came again. “Kyra. Kyra! Are you okay?”

  Chapter 26

  Gabe pulled the muzzle of his gun free of the chain link slats as a unie with lock cutters came running toward him.

  “Detectiv
e?” the dark-eyed officer said.

  “Get this open,” Gabe demanded. “Now!” It proved more complicated than most of the locks they’d encountered because Kyra’s attacker put this one on the inside of the kennel. Precious moments ticked by. Inside, Kyra moved sluggishly. Beside a slowly widening pool of blood, she did her best to push the man’s dead weight off her. Every moment slathered her in her attacker’s bright, crimson gore. She was probably in shock, but her lethargic movements made Gabe worry she might be badly injured as well.

  After an eternity, the unie cut through the chain link to get to the lock. When it thudded to the ground, Gabe swung the door open and stalked inside. Kyra had nearly kicked her way free of the corpse by then. Her attacker still lay across her ankles, and Gabe realized she was probably having trouble because of her already-injured foot.

  Gabe jammed his gun into its holster, put each of his arms under hers, and yanked her backward, out from under the corpse and almost all the way to the door. He swung Kyra around to face him and she threw her arms around his middle, clinging to him like a lifeline. Her face was the color of fresh cream.

  Blood stained her back and shoulders. It also oozed from under her arm for some reason. “Did he cut you?” Gabe asked.

  Kyra didn’t raise her eyes to his, but nodded.

  Gabe lifted her arm and identified the wound on the underside. He clamped his hand over it, trying to hold pressure while also checking her for other injuries. Kyra clung to him so tightly, he couldn’t see much more than her arm and the top of her head. He ran his free hand over her other arm, her back, but found nothing other than the blood of the man he’d shot. Vague thoughts of STDs skimmed the surface of his consciousness. He was too worried about Kyra to acknowledge them.

  He didn’t have anything to wrap around her arm. Using his shirt crossed his mind, but he’d have to take off his Kevlar vest first. It would be easier to keep his hand around her arm as he walked her out to the medics.

  A tall figure stopped in front of the kennel door and Gabe glanced up to find Shaun looking at them. “She okay?” he asked.

  “She needs medical attention.”

  Shaun stepped into the kennel and peered over Kyra’s shoulder. Blood oozed—albeit much slower than before—from under Gabe’s hand. “The buses are pulling up now,” Shaun said. “Take her out there. Turn her over to the medics. Then get back in here. I’m gonna need you.” He said the last over his shoulder as he strode from the kennel again.

  Gabe nodded. He leaned down to put an arm under Kyra’s knees. Before he could scoop her up, she pushed back from him. She still shook so hard, if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was freezing. Her hands trembled violently and her teeth practically chattered.

  “No. I saw him.”

  Gabe frowned. “Saw who?”

  Shaun had only gone a stride and a half away, and he turned to peer back at them.

  Kyra opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She drew in a shuddering breath, eyes shifting back and forth. Gabe stepped closer to her and wrapped his hand around her arm again. The injury bled faster the moment she yanked away from him. “Kyra,” he said softly. “Take a deep breath.”

  She looked up at him in surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was standing there. Then she put her gaze on the ground again, shaking her head jerkily. “I…just have to find him,” she murmured.

  Spinning on her toe, she lunged away. Gabe was ready for it this time and tightened his grip on her. “Kyra,” he turned her gently back toward him. “You’re bleeding. You need to go to the hospital.”

  She shook her head, looking frantic. “He’s here somewhere. I have to find him.”

  Then it dawned on him. What she’d said on the phone. He hadn’t even been thinking about Manny. Hadn’t internalized what she’d said before. The second she’d told him she planned to come back into the warehouse, the only thing in his brain had been getting to her.

  Shit. “You…saw your brother again?”

  She nodded.

  Gabe glanced at Shaun, whose eyebrow was raised.

  Kyra yanked her arm away from him, more violently than before, and dodged out of his grasp and through the door, breaking into a jog as she headed down the lane. With a growl, Gabe followed. He doubted the injury to her arm was serious, but she was bleeding. If she didn’t control the blood loss, she would pass out. He cast a last glance at Shaun as he headed after her. Shaun wore a worried expression. The next moment, he spun and hurried off.

  Kyra moved faster than Gabe would have thought possible with her injuries. Up near the front entrance to the warehouse, they hit the crowd. Uniforms had rounded up fleeing suspects and were either cuffing them en mass or holding groups of them at gunpoint until more cuffs could be found. All around a cacophony of noise—crying, screaming, talking—surrounded them. It was like a mass trauma scene: controlled chaos at best; utter anarchy at worst.

  Kyra wound through the groups, breathing hard and scrutinizing faces at lightning speed. With obstacles suddenly surrounding them, it was all Gabe could do to keep her in his sights and move forward. He never fell more than a few feet behind her, but couldn’t actually catch up.

  Several unies noticed Kyra and moved to stop her. They stopped when they caught sight of Gabe, probably assuming Gabe was keeping an eye on her. It wasn’t exactly untrue, but he wished one of them would grab her. By the time he opened his mouth to call out to one of them, she’d already flown past, and they were busy trying to get a handle on the pandemonium around them.

  She negotiated the chaos, deftly covering ground and looking in every direction at once. He followed her past the altars—even more disturbing up close than they had from afar—and in a circle around the room past the makeshift ring. The blood inside it must have been ankle deep. She ran up and down the rows of cages, peering into them. He thought he’d catch her in the lanes. They were less crowded than by the door, but still filled with SWAT team members and various officers he was forced to thread around.

  He burst through a clear stretch of space as she reached the front entrance and grabbed her hand. Without looking at him, she pushed forward. The crowd bottlenecked here and were harder to push through. More people stood outside and obviously Kyra was determined to get to them. Gabe didn’t try to stop her—she was headed in the general direction of the ambulances anyway—but he held tight to her wrist, refusing to lose hold of her again.

  She wove through the crowd outside, moving swiftly, desperately, sometimes even turning people so she could peer into their faces. As soon as he could manage it, Gabe took her wrist with his other hand and clamped his hand down over her wound again. The bleeding seemed to have slowed on its own—a good sign—but it still bled and at the rate she was moving, her heart had to be pounding.

  There weren’t many people in cuffs out here. Most were small groups of victims who’d been released from the cages and were now being watched over hawkishly by unies. The victims had haunted eyes and flinched at the most subtle of noises. At regular intervals, pairs of cops escorting cuffed guards or others from inside threaded through the crowd. The cuffed perps glared defiance at the peace officers and sneered at the groups of freed prisoners. The prisoners folded in on themselves under those sneers.

  Kyra passed one group, peering at each face. Then she did a double take, and fell into a squat in front of a beanpole of a young man with messy brown hair. The squat nearly yanked her arm out of Gabe’s grasp. He hunched down beside her to keep hold of her. The young man she addressed was filthy from head to toe, his clothes thread-bare, and his hair appeared to be squirming on its own.

  “You were with him.”

  The young man looked terrified at being addressed.

  “There was another guy about your age. Dark blond hair. Curly. Would have come up to your shoulder. Where did he go?”

  The young man stared at her, eyes bleak, but unreadable beyond that.

  “Please,” Kyra’s voice took on a pleading tone, a soft, guttu
ral pleading Gabe had never heard from her. “I need to find him. Did you see which way he went? Just a direction would help.”

  The young man stared at her for seconds that felt like years, and Gabe didn’t think he meant to answer. Kyra evidently didn’t think so either because she sighed and started to rise. At the last second, the young man cut his eyes to the right. Kyra caught the motion and her head snapped in that direction. So did Gabe’s. They sat on the periphery of the crowd, so there weren’t any more groups of victims in that direction, and very few cops—only two unies, both on their radios. Beyond them were only the deepening alleys leading into the Slip Mire.

  Gabe saw something. Movement perhaps, or were those only shadows?

  A loud crash and a scream came from Gabe’s left. Keeping hold of Kyra, he twisted to see what it was. He couldn’t be sure but he thought one of the perps in cuffs lunged at one of the survivors, a female Mireling. She’d screamed while six unies pounced on the man who lunged at her. They already had the man under control and were pushing him roughly toward a squad car, while another officer consoled the woman.

  It all happened in fractured seconds, but before Gabe could turn his head back to Kyra, she yanked her arm out of his grasp. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been distracted by the scream.

  “Kyra!” He instantly lunged after her.

  She broke into a run, heading straight for the dark alleys the messy-haired young man had indicated.

  Gabe felt a stab of panic. Dodging around the prisoners and cops between them, he ran after her. Her arm didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but her jog was sluggish. Adrenaline or no, her injuries were catching up with her.

  Entering the alley, she disappeared into the darkness. Gabe followed without hesitation. Once inside, he couldn’t see anything. He didn’t stop, but slowed to a fast walk, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the opaqueness. When they did seconds later, he caught sight of Kyra disappearing around a corner up ahead. He broke into a run again.