black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1)

by Sara Baysinger

  “Why do you need more Defenders?”

  “You know exactly why.”

  Of course. Of course I do. The Resurgence. “You need to train a whole army against that tiny, little rebel group?”

  “Don’t underestimate the power of the Resurgence. They may be small, but they’re clever. We’ll take all the precautions necessary to keep them from nefarious activity.”

  “Why can’t we just reason with them? I mean, maybe they have the same problem you do with the government. Maybe they just want to see some changes made. Fewer starving citizens and less burnings on the Rebels Circle.

  He stares at me as if that was an options he’s never thought of before. “I’m not sure they can be reasoned with.”

  “Why not?”

  “Any politician who enters their territory is killed on the spot. Any rebels we arrest have been given the antitoxin, and so cannot be compelled into giving us answers. They keep their mouths clamped shut, offering no compromise. How on earth are we supposed to reason with people like that?”

  “Maybe you need a…a messenger.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  I almost choke on my own saliva. “No. I don’t want any association with them. I’m already suspected of working with them, and look where it’s gotten me?”

  He nods. Looks at the street below. “You could work with us, though, you know. I mean, your mind is Patrician-clear. You’re not afraid to verbalize your beliefs, and you’re passionate about what you believe in.” He looks at me and smiles a little. “Like I said earlier, you’d make an excellent politician. You would be very useful in taking steps to improve our government. Maybe you and I could approach Whitcomb and, I don’t know, work together to make Ky a better place.”

  And I’m suddenly left completely speechless. Because Congressman Turner, a politician in the chief’s inner circle, is basically offering me a job.

  “As nice as being a politician sounds, I could never do it.”

  Forest frowns. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think Titus would ever listen.” I look at him. Should I say exactly what’s on my mind? “You’re the one who told me how dangerous Titus is. And now you basically want to instigate him?”

  “Not instigate.” Forest waves his hand. “Enlighten.”

  “I don’t think he needs enlightenment, Forest. He’s the one who told you that the rest of the country is starving. And look at how he’s living. Like a king.”

  “Because he is, in essence, our king.”

  I snort. I can’t help it. “If he wants to bring equality to everyone, if he wants to stop the hunger issue, he would have done it a long time ago. I mean, can you imagine? Titus, sitting on his throne, throwing lavish feasts Every. Single. Day. Can you imagine him just giving that all up?”

  Forest shoves his hands behind his back, thinks for a moment. “If he’s the leader I think he is, then, yes, he will. All he needs is a little pushing. Between your unstoppable passion and my position as his advisor, I think we can do it. I think we can work together to come up with a solution and encourage Titus to execute it.”

  And it suddenly makes sense. Why Forest is so nice to me. Why he goes out of his way to meet with me when he’s already engaged to a beautiful woman. Because he wants to hire me as his assistant. I swallow hard, my pride shot, humiliation painting me red. “I thought—I thought you wanted me to stay on his good side and remain quiet. Didn’t you just tell me today to stay on his good side?”

  “Yes. Titus is dangerous. You don’t ever want to cross him. But there’s a way to anger him, and then there’s a way to…charm him into doing what is right.”

  “And you think you know how to charm him?”

  “After the way I saw you handle him at the ball, I know you’re more than capable.”

  “Yes, but that got me nowhere. I’m still stuck here, aren’t I? And after letting Jonah Walker and his posse into my room and not sounding the alarm on him—”

  “Wait, what?” His eyes widen.

  Oh. Oh. Kill me now, because Forest didn’t know I let Walker escape.

  And now he does.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s too late. The truth already slipped through my non-existent filter and tumbled out of my mouth, and here I am: Ember the liar.

  Lies are interesting little webs built by clever little spiders of the brain. Whoever thought it was a good idea to lie in the first place? Did they get away with it? And if they didn’t, was it worth it just to buy them some time? Because right now, in this very moment, I’m thinking, it was totally not worth it to lie to Forest.

  He grabs me by the arm and jerks me around to face him. “You told me you had nothing to do with the rebels.”

  “I didn’t plan for them to come.”

  “But you were fully aware they were there? So, what, then? Did they hold you hostage? Did they press a gun to your head to keep you from sounding the alarm? Did they threaten to kill your family if you squeaked one little word about them being there?”

  My fear is screaming at me to lie again, but my brain is trying to convince me it won’t work.

  “Answer me, Ember,” Forest says. “Answer me now, or so help me—”

  “No,” I say. “They didn’t do any of those things.”

  He releases me. Blinks. And I feel like I should probably just go ahead and tell him everything. Well, almost everything.

  “Jonah Walker broke in with his group. They engorged themselves on food, and they left. They didn’t tell me where they were going or anything about the Resurgence. They came. They ate. They left.” I don’t tell him how Jonah said he knew my mom or how he tried to recruit me.

  “Why,” Forest says, his voice just barely controlled, “are you just now telling me this?”

  “Why do you think? Just the suspicion that I was working with them was enough to put me on Titus’s bad side. Why the shoddy inferno would I sentence myself to prison by telling anyone that the Resurgence was in my apartment and I did absolutely nothing to sound the alarm?”

  He laughs a humorless little laugh and says, “Great. Perfect. What a beautiful disaster.” He drags his hands down the length of his face, then back up and then weaves his fingers into his hair. “So you helped rebels and then you lied to the chief. How are we ever going to convince Titus that you want to help now?” He slams the rail and I take a startled step back, because I’ve never seen Forest this angry and it’s kind of extremely terrifying.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s all I can think to say right now when the calmest person I’ve ever met is shaking with rage. “I just…wanted to go home.”

  He barks out a laugh, but he’s not smiling. Nothing in his eyes tells me he thinks this is funny. “You’re not going home. You’re not going home until this clears up. Until you clear this shoddy mess up.”

  “You mean…you think I should tell the chief what really happened?” Is he out of his mind?

  “No.” He inhales. Exhales. Closes his mouth then opens it again. “No. At this point, you’d better just stick to your original story. I’m sorry I got so angry. I just—I’m trying to help you, and you keep screwing everything up.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  His eyes lock with mine. And he looks so distressed and distraught and almost…destroyed. He steps closer, searches my eyes, his own raw with emotion.

  “I know it’s hard for you to believe,” he says. “But I truly just want to help you.”

  I stare at him, confused. Because why would he care for little old me when he’s dating someone like Olivia Doss? And why, exactly, does he even want to be associated with me when I keep—in his own words—screwing everything up? Sure, he could care for me maybe. For some ungodly reason, he could actually be concerned for my life.

  Or he could just be fueling his campaign as a politician—something Dad taught me. Politicians are always looking for some new way to become more popular, and sometimes those new ways go
against the norm. Trying to help the commoners would certainly be against the norm here in Patrician City. And if I remind myself that Forest is a politician—if I try to see him through that lens—it’s just a little easier to think clearly. To feel less attached and more level-headed. Because until I understand why he cares for me, I have to take Leaf’s and Judah’s words to heart and trust no one. And by the way he talks about Chief Whitcomb, I think Forest might be the last person I should trust.

  Which leads me to my next question.

  “Forest, are you and Titus…friends?”

  He looks warily at me. Unsure. “We grew up together, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. Are you guys close? Do you ever…hang out just for the heck of it?”

  His jaw clenches. He looks away, and I know my answer before he gives it.

  “Yes.” He nods. “Yes we are close. We confide in each other. We’re…friends.”

  “Like. Good friends?”

  He looks at me. “Best friends.”

  I grip the ledge because even though I knew Forest was in Titus’s inner circle, I never really pictured them as friends. I didn’t really know anyone could be friends with the chief. And I suddenly feel exposed and humiliated because the chief’s best friend knows me on an uncomfortably intimate level. And I have the sudden urge to hide because I’m standing next to the best friend of the man who basically owns my family. And it’s a strange feeling, this sense of powerlessness and yet having power. Because Forest is looking at me. He’s listening to me. He’s offered me a high position in society and he cares for me.

  And he’s best friends with the man who owns my life and controls my fate.

  And I think I should probably get back to my room. It’s getting late and I need to rest. I need to clear my mind and paint a picture of an apple tree or something.

  I unwrap my fingers from around the balcony ledge and offer a stiff nod. “I guess, um, I guess I should go. I’ll see you in the morning, Congressman Turner.”

  Something shatters in his eyes. A look of tortured regret. “Wait.”

  I pause. “Yes?”

  “Do I…intimidate you?”

  “No. If anything, you make me feel safe.” Too safe, is what I don’t say.

  “Then why the sudden eagerness to get away from me?”

  I swallow hard. “Because. You’re best friends with Chief Whitcomb.”

  “And?” He takes a step toward me. “Why does that have to change anything between us?”

  I’m finding it suddenly hard to breathe. “I—I don’t know if I like the chief.”

  “And whatever you decide about him, you’re just going to foster onto me?” Another step closer.

  “You are working for him,” I breathe. “And I don’t know if I can trust him. And if I can’t trust the chief, I’m not sure if I can trust his b-best friend.”

  “You can trust me, Ember.” And he’s standing right in front of me now, and he’s staring down at me with earnest eyes. Hungry, even. And just when I think he’s going to change his mind and dismiss me, he steps closer, cups my face, and covers my mouth with his.

  And I’m melting. I’m melting beneath the power of his passion. And he’s suddenly standing so close, his body pressed against mine, and the heady scent of cinnamon consumes my senses. And his kiss. His kiss is gentle and inviting. His touch promises freedom and joy. And his hands slide down my neck and slip down to my waist, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  I want this. I want it so bad. I’ve wanted it since I met him in The Tap, since I saw him standing in the office wearing his politician suit, since he told me he was trying to get me out of prison, and every moment that I’ve seen him since I was free, I’ve wanted this.

  I cling to his vest—his crisp politician vest—like a lifeline, and I’m screaming inside. I’m whispering please hold me. Hold me until the smoke clears. Until the air is crisp and clean and the chief isn’t breathing down my neck anymore and I’m free. Free of this chaotic nonsense. Please. Hold me. Hold me until it’s safe to come out.

  Too soon, he breaks off the connection. He takes a startled step back and he’s breathing heavily an his eyes are wide and he says in a raw voice, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  And I want to tell him it’s all right. It’s fine. I want it too. But then I remember Olivia.

  Olivia Doss.

  The pretty one. The smart one.

  And Forest keeps saying I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I nod. I turn around. I begin walking numbly toward the door, hoping he didn’t see the humiliation painted all over my body.

  A gust of wind blasts into my face, and I pull my robe tighter around my shoulders, trying to keep out the sudden chill with the same useless effort I try to keep out the strong, magnetic effect I feel around Forest Turner.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The next morning brings with it the same mundaneness I experienced yesterday morning. Except I have the memory of Forest’s kiss that thrills me every time I think of it. But I shove it out of my mind, because a kiss, when given out of unfaithfulness, isn’t something to be excited about. And by kissing me, Forest was unfaithful to Olivia.

  I pace the living room, press the memory out of my mind, and try to think of something else. I’m not used to staying inside for hours with nothing to do. The orchard kept us busy from sun-up till sun-down. But here, there’s nothing to do but wait for the results on how I’m a Patrician and hope that no charges are pressed on me for helping the Resurgence out.

  Because, even though Forest told me to keep my mouth shut, I’m almost certainly positive he did, or will, tell Titus the truth. Because they’re best friends.

  I walk to the window and look at the park across the street. Couples stroll along the trails, some teenagers sit on a bench laughing and talking, older people walk their dogs and cats and tigers and—is that a chicken? Such a strange culture here. At least one good thing comes out of being here, though, and that’s that I get to soak up the warm weather.

  My entire day is wide open. No picnics. No feasts. No interrogations from Mcallister or instigations from Rain or torturous conversations with Forest.

  And I want to paint.

  I gather my brushes, easel, and paint; grab a blank canvas; and head out of the hotel flanked by my two guard-dog Defenders. Checking for traffic, I cross the street and stroll through the park. It’s nice to take a walk by myself, with no one offering me an elbow—because apparently girls can’t walk on their own around here.

  The leaves of the palm trees are long and green. They billow in the wind and shade the trail from the winter sun. A limestone building stands to my right. It’s one of the few buildings in Frankfort not made of glass. Flowers gather at the edge of the trail by the building, glowing orange in the sunlight. I pause and marvel at the long petals specked with an even darker hue of orange. The long stem makes the flower almost look like a swan.

  Yes. I want to paint these.

  I take a seat on a marble bench, set up my station, and begin to paint. I carefully paint the long stems, then mix the yellow with peach and red to create a sunset-orange glow. After dipping my brush in the orange, I fill in the petals, letting my brush flare out at the curves. Gentle strokes, applied with just the right amount of pressure, can create a masterpiece. Defender Shepherd once told me that.

  “You have an eye for color,” a boy says.

  I blink, momentarily interrupted from my art-trance, and glance at him. And I suddenly have the urge to puke, because Brendan. Brendan is standing here and he almost raped that girl the other night but now he’s wearing the vest of a dignified politician and he’s got a smile plastered on his face that almost looks kind.

  “You paint well,” he says. “Your tiger lily almost looks like the real thing.”

  Others who have gathered around murmur their agreement.

  I swallow down my bile. Blood rushes into my face and I want to walk away. But why should I
let this bully scare me off? I was here first. I turn around. Look back at my painting and try to focus on the flower apparently called a tiger lily. Even their lilies are named after tigers.

  Gripping my paint brush, I fill in the bold color and eventually lose myself in my painting again. I try to ignore the fact that Brendan is standing entirely too close and I remind myself that the girl is safe now. He can’t hurt her. And then I decide that maybe I can do something, something to make him realize what a heartless jackal he is. So I fill in the heart of the flower, making it look more like a girl kneeling on the ground. Her long hair flares out with one of the petals. Her head is bowed. And I use another petal to form her arms splayed on the ground in front of her, bound together. Captive. Slave.

  Then in the background I paint a silhouette of a man holding a scythe, ready to chop the flower.

  “Wait,” Brendan says behind me. “What are you—”

  But he doesn’t finish his sentence before a loud BANG shatters the silence into a million pieces. A gush of wind knocks me off the bench, and I’m falling, crashing face-first into the dirt. My heart pounds and thunder rolls in my head and I can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe until I’m gasping.

  Strong arms wrap around my shoulders, and a solid body lays on top of me, and debris falls around us like blocks of hail and black rain.

  “Stay down.” I hear Brendan say through the ringing in my ears.

  My heart pounds against my chest like a drum. Screams resound all around us. As the debris starts to lighten, another explosion invades my eardrums and shakes the ground. A whoosh of air torrents over us. This bang is louder than the last, the gust of air stronger and hotter, whipping my hair in every direction, and now I really can’t hear anything but ringing and thunder and then—

  “Let’s get out of here,” Brendan shouts.

  I feel his weight lift off me. But when I try to stand, my leg won’t move. I look back. A giant piece of scaffolding lies across my calf, pinning my leg to the ground.