“What information, that thing about her son?”
Mcallister nods.
“Is there no other way she can find her child? Why go through Titus?”
“Because he’s the one who took her son.”
I utter a curse. “I don’t understand why this is even your job. Let her deal with Titus. Why are you being dragged into it?”
His fingers tighten around the wheel. “Because once we find out where Aurora’s son is, she will give us permission to kill Titus.”
Hm. Not a bad plan, to just start knocking the Whitcombs off the line one by one. “And then we kill Aurora, yes? And then Walker can lead the country. He is the next in line, after all, being the closest living relative to Aurora and Titus.”
“Well, Gideon would be next in line.”
“Gideon?”
“Aurora’ son.”
“Oh. Right.” Can’t very well kill off an innocent child. It’s not his fault he was born with polluted Whitcomb blood. “Well, no one else knows about…Gideon. So we’ll just send him off to live with someone else.”
Mcallister nods, almost like he’s entertaining the thought, but then says, “Let’s give Aurora a chance.”
“What? No. Not you too—”
“Give her a time limit to carry out what she says she’s going to carry out.” He glances at me. “If anything, let her do the work of freeing Ky. Then the citizens will rise up and kill her for you.”
Hm. Not bad thinking, Mcallister. “Unless they see her as a hero.”
“Well then maybe she will be a hero if she rescues them. And maybe she’ll disprove everything we believe and maybe she’ll actually be a worthy leader—”
“One week.” I glare at him as we pull over in front of the Black Tiger Club. “I’ll give her a week to begin distributing the antitoxin to her citizens. If she really cares for them, it shouldn’t be a problem, right? I mean, she would already be on top of this if she really cared.”
“I think she has a lot on her plate, dealing with angry politicians and all—”
“Then fire the shoddy politicians! This country has never run on its morals, anyway. It’s always been the chief’s final word. She changed the way we swear people into Defenderhood, apparently. Why not fire the board of politicians and hire all new ones who actually support her cause?” I shove my door open. “That’s what would get the Resurgence and the Indy tribe on her side.”
The Black Tiger is hopping when we arrive. Or maybe I should say roaring. Mcallister stops in his steps as soon as we’re inside, and I practically stumble into him.
“What’s the hold up?” I follow his gaze.
To the naked statues standing along the wall. And the dancers on stage. And the citizens indulging in the Proletariat women.
“You’ve never been here,” I mutter.
“This is…just…wrong.” He looks at me, disgusted. “I understand why you came here before, Rain, but why now?” He shakes his head, his nose scrunched, stares at me like he doesn’t even know me. “Why do you want to come here now?”
And now I feel sick. Because of all people, Mcallister and Walker are the two I definitely don’t ever want to be at odds with. What’s worse, his question begs for an answer, even from me. And the fact that I came here for no other reason than to indulge in drink makes me question who I really am. Who have I become? I hated this place for years, and here I am, attending the black heart of Ky…voluntarily.
Just the thought makes me cringe.
“I just need a shoddy drink,” I say, trying to justify my need. “Something stronger than they offer at the shoddy mansion, y’know? And I need some loud music to drown out the shoddy demons in my shoddy head. So just…do your Defender thing and stand by and watch if you want, or you can join me.” I shove past him. “Just a few drinks and we’re out of here. I swear.”
Thank God there’s an empty gap. Five stools on the far end of the bar where nobody’s sitting. I keep my head down to keep people like Cherry from recognizing me, and take my spot at the bar, relieved when Mcallister sits beside me.
“Two Viper’s Tongues,” I order the bartender. He places them in front of us. “This,” I say, looking at Mcallister, “is the strongest shoddy stuff on this side of the cupola.” I jerk my head back and swallow the concoction. Mcallister coughs beside me, but I order another. “Actually, bring the whole bottle.”
“I don’t want any more of that,” Mcallister says.
I roll my eyes. “Water for the Defender.”
He snorts and hands the waiter his glass. “So this is your thing, huh?”
I grit my teeth. “No. Yes.” I clamp my mouth shut, then turn to face him while simultaneously reining in my irritability. “Like I said, I just need something strong. And the music isn’t bad.” I spare a guilty glance at the statues, then turn around. “If your beloved chief would start fixing things, there wouldn’t be any dancers, save for those who voluntarily work here. But I can’t very well rescue every damsel in here without consequences, or without them shipping more girls in.”
“I didn’t say you had to save everyone,” Mcallister says. “And I agree. I’ve seen some pretty bad stuff, but when Aurora stopped the tiger feedings and halted all executions, I thought things were sorta looking up.” He glances at the stage, then looks back at his glass. “I see now there are still people suffering.”
“Hang on.” I accept the bottle from the waiter and take a drink. “You’re telling me Aurora stopped all executions?”
“Yes. And she’s giving everyone a fair trial, starting tomorrow afternoon.”
Wow. Aurora is actually taking steps toward a better country, though small. Jonah told me she wasn’t feeding prisoners to the tigers anymore, but I didn’t realize all executions were coming to a halt. That’s a good first step.
“Do you know who’s locked up? Anyone from the Resurgence?”
He shrugs. “I just returned to my position as a captain. I didn’t have keys or card or any access to the prison before, but now…I could probably check things out tomorrow afternoon while they’re on trial.”
“Best to get the good people out before they go mad.” Unbidden the thought of Ember crosses my mind—the first time I saw her, when I first realized she wasn’t compelled.
When I was taking her to prison.
I think of all the times I visited her in the prison arena. I remember her spark that got the attention of even Forest. Ember had Alpha Blood, but she sure didn’t need it to make changes happen. She had me and Forest hypnotized before either of us even knew she was Titus's sister.
I lift the bottle to my lips and swallow, willing the liquid to wash away my memory of her, and yet wanting to drown in my thoughts of her at the same time.
She was always so passionate. Always ready to fight. Always prepared to stand up for what she believed in, even if it wasn't the way I would have chosen. Always smiling. Rainbow eyes. I miss the way her brunette hair fell down her shoulders. I miss the way she looked at me when she really started to have feelings for me. Like she needed me. She had no idea how much I needed her. I miss our compatibility. I miss the way her lips felt, pressed against mine.
I take another drink. This stuff is strong, shooting sparks down my throat and into my stomach. Feels great, but what feels better is the way my head begins swimming once I drink half the bottle. The weight of my grief is lifted, the depression blurring out of existence.
Until the last fond memory we had together bombards my brain. I remember sitting on top of the hill looking toward the ashen city, Julius by our side as we stared at the crumbling ghost of Louisville. Her head on my shoulder, her hand in mine. The kiss we shared. The promise I felt in our future.
Another drink.
“You should slow down,” Mcallister says.
I grit my teeth.
“Is this how Ember would have wanted you to handle things? By drowning yourself in alcohol?”
I
turn to glare at him now. Try to decide which word would best tell him to shod off, but he seems to get the idea. Understanding weaves in and out of his eyes.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he mutters. “Then we seriously have got to head back, alright?”
He leaves his stool and I drain the bottle. Order another before my escort Defender drags me back to the mansion.
I look at my bottle. All I want to do is drown, disappear forever and take my memories with me. I think of Ember. I think, think, think of her, recall every memory I have from the moment I laid eyes on her on the prison bus until I held her in my arms by the river. I remember her. And I mourn. The reality of her death has sunk in—sunk in deep. There’s no denying it, and there sure as hell isn’t any bargaining with God. He won’t bring the love of my life back. And because of that, I feel dead. I feel like I’m sinking and there’s nothing to grasp onto.
The loud chatter and laughter of the crowd seems to fade into the background until the only thing I hear is the rhythmic beat of the music encoding with the rhythm of my shattered heart. A new bottle is delivered and I begin drinking.
My fear of losing Ember kept my walls from collapsing, but as soon as the walls crumbled, she was gone. My worst nightmare came to life, and now all I want is to forget. I need to forget what her eyes looked like. I need to forget her passion. Forget I ever met her. If I could compel myself to forget her, I would. Holy hell, I would do that in a heartbeat.
Even after those moments you spent together? My subconscious asks.
Absolutely.
I take another drink, lift my eyes to the ceiling where the dancing lights seem to spin and colors explode across the surface, and I find myself praying for the first time since Ember’s death.
Just one minute, please, where I don’t have to think about her. One minute where life can be normal again.
Please.
The lights swirl around, merging together faster and faster. And then darkness explodes in my head.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RAIN
“Rise and shine.”
Blinding light flits across my eyelids, and I bury my face into my pillow.
“Word on the street is that you passed out at the Black Tiger last night.”
That voice. Exactly like Ember’s. So deceiving.
“Mcallister and two other Defenders had to drag you back here.”
Ugh. My head. Will the pounding ever stop? I begin pulling the blanket over my face as a shield from the world, but it’s ripped off my back before it gets past my eyes.
Now I’m just pissed. I sit up to face the villain, but too quickly. Black invades my vision and my head. Oh, holy jackal nuts. My head. I place my hand on my temples to ease the pain.
“What the shoddy inferno is wrong with you?” I ask, lifting my eyes to Aurora’s.
She smiles sweetly. Too sweetly. “Well, first I wanted to thank you for not attempting to run off. You must have big plans on how to assassinate me when the perfect opportunity arises. Is it going to be epic?”
“Don’t tempt me to act prematurely.”
She tosses the blanket on the ground and claps twice, sending more sharp pain into my head.
“Holy hell, witch! Will you stop that?”
“Time’s ticking away, Rain.”
I hate how oddly soothing her voice is to my pounding head.
“If you want to be present for your previous chief’s torture, you need to get up, like, ten minutes ago. Chop, chop. I’ll be waiting outside. You have five minutes.” She steps out, closing the door behind her.
Shoddy vixen.
I spare a glance at my clothes. Still wearing what I wore last night. I must have passed out. How the shoddy rot did that happen? I mean, yeah. I have a reputation of drinking, but I’ve never passed out. Ever. Never even been drunk. Son of a jackal, what the media will be saying now. Father will be so disappointed. The thought brings a grin to my face and I stand, drain the glass of orange juice on my nightstand, then change into the clothes lying neatly folded at the end of my bed. How kind of Chief Aurora to provide me with new clothes. She must really be trying to garner my affection.
It might be working a little.
When I step out, Aurora is standing there with two other guard dogs—I mean, Defenders.
“Where’s Mcallister?” I ask as we begin walking.
“He’s preparing the interrogation room. Titus is already waiting for us.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AURORA
When we step into the interrogation room, I’m surprised to find Mcallister has already begun the torture. Titus is strung upside down, blood running from his mouth to his forehead and into his hair. His hands are bound together, hanging limply below his head, his back arching in agonizing response to whatever Mcallister is doing to him. His screams are something I’ve never heard before. Chills spread across my skin. Mcallister’s upper lip is beaded with sweat. He immediately stops interrogating and bows when he sees us.
“I got a head start, Chief,” Mcallister says. “Sometimes it can be a long, arduous task.”
“Aw,” Rain says. “Save some for me, Mcallister. I have a bit of rage I need to get out, too.”
Walker stands on the opposite side of the room, his hand stroking his beard, discomfort filling his green eyes. I can’t say it’s easy for me seeing Titus like this, either. He’s family after all. No matter how cruel he is, he’s my brother. His face is swollen and red from all the blood rushing to his head. Red marks streak his back, and bruises are already forming on his sides. He’s already been severely beaten, and he hasn’t even broken yet.
“Sister,” he chokes out, a spittle of blood coming with it. “How fortunate that you come now. Will you please get me away from these butchers? Seriously. This is not the way to treat a former chief. Have I taught you nothing?” He groans, like all these words take too much energy for him to get out. “You owe me your life.”
That one statement, and the pity is gone. I step closer and glare at him. “I owe you nothing. Now tell me where Gideon is.”
“This again? Seriously. You can’t just get over an infant you knew, what, a few months?”
Mcallister strikes him with a rod and he groans. Walker winces. I wince.
“Six months,” I say, shaking my discomfort. “And he is my son, so, yes, I’ve developed quite a bond with him.” I nod at Mcallister and he begins torturing Titus again.
I take a step back between Walker and Rain against the wall.
“Tell her where Gideon is.” Mcallister’s voice is deep and grave. He’s wearing his crisp Defender uniform, stands tall and stiff, and the fire in his eyes is slightly intimidating. “Tell her!” He strikes Titus with the rod again. Titus arches his back, his screams reverberate through the room, and I have to look away. My eyes catch Walker’s.
“You don’t have to stay and watch if it’s too hard on you,” Walker says. “You can trust Mcallister and me to drag it out of him.”
I shake my head. “He’s never going to tell.”
Mcallister strikes him again and again. I wince with every snap of the rod. My ears start ringing from Titus’s screams. When Mcallister finishes, he begins questioning again. “Tell us where Gideon is.”
Titus’s breathing is labored, but he somehow manages a laugh. It’s maniacal and phlegmy and he sounds more like a zombie laugh than a human.
“What if—” he rasps. “What if I told you he was…dead?”
My stomach drops one hundred stories. “Y-you already told me he was alive.”
“Well, yes. You had a gun pointed at my head. I had to say something to stop you from shooting me.”
I have to rest my hand on the wall to steady myself. But Titus wouldn’t kill his only heir. No. He’s playing mind games with me. And he’ll keep playing mind games, because Titus always has to win. And that familiar feeling—that familiar sick feeling I always get in his presence—creeps into my
stomach until all I want is Titus out of my life forever.
I force a casual shrug—even though I’m screaming in inside—and look at Mcallister. “I guess, if Gideon is dead, we have no use for Titus. Go ahead and kill him.” I turn and walk out of the room.
“No, wait!” Titus shouts. “He’s alive! You know he’s alive, Aurora, and I know his only location.”
I stop and turn toward him. “Then tell me.”
His face is pomegranate from hanging upside down too long. “Get me out of here first. Clean me up. Heal my wounds. Give me some good food and wine. And I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me now.”
“Those are my terms.”
“You don’t get to have terms. Tell me where Gideon is, then I’ll give you those things. Those are my terms.”
“You’re such a bad liar, Aurora,” Titus says. “You always were. I know that this is the one piece of information keeping me alive. As soon as you know where Gideon is, you’re going to hand me over to the Resurgence. Or worse.”
“Actually,” Rain cuts in. “James and I were going to kill you.”
“See?”
I roll my eyes and glare at Rain. “Thanks a lot, Rain.”
He lifts his hands in mock defense. “He already knows!”
I nod at Mcallister and he continues. Titus begins screaming, and now I feel sicker than I did before. But when I look at Mcallister, I wonder if he feels worse than me. Sweat drips down his forehead and he winces every time the rod strikes Titus. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think I see a thin sheen of tears in his dark eyes. What is going on with him? I’ve never seen him like this. Like he’s the one being tortured.
“Mcallister,” I say. He stops and looks at me, and the destroyed, haunted look in his eyes breaks my heart. “You’re done. Let Rain have a chance. Take a break.”
“Are—are you sure?”
“I’ve experienced Rain’s torture firsthand,” I mutter. “If anyone here can drag it out of Titus, it’s him.”
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