Forgotten

by Kristin Smith

  She’s way too loud.

  I hurry back to her room and grab a scarf from her drawer. She watches me with wide eyes.

  “Now, Sienna, I really don’t think that’s necessary—”

  Before she can say anything else, I shove the scarf in her mouth. She shakes her head, her eyes pleading with me. I hesitate only a moment before turning to leave. Her angry yells are nothing more than muffled cries now. And when the door slams shut behind me, it drowns out her muted moans.

  As I exit the building, Trina and Curly are nowhere in sight, but the Enforcers are once again standing guard outside. My palms begin to sweat, but I hold my head high and pretend like I belong here—not hard to do considering the clothing I’m wearing. The Enforcers don’t even give me a second glance.

  Once I’m a few blocks away, Trina and Curly appear from nowhere and fall into step beside me.

  “How did it go?” I ask under my breath. I don’t turn to them, trying to pretend as if we are strangers on the street.

  “Good,” Trina mutters. “I think I could have been an actress in another life.”

  Curly snorts beside me.

  “I’m sure you were very convincing,” I say, staring straight ahead and barely moving my lips.

  “Where to now, boss?” Curly asks a little too loudly.

  I shoot him a scathing look. As we pass a deserted alley, I pull him and Trina into it. “I’m meeting Trey for dinner. You guys are my backup.”

  “Backup,” Curly echoes.

  For the next few minutes, pausing occasionally to glance over my shoulder, I go over the plan with them. I can see in Curly’s eyes that he’s doubtful we can pull it off.

  “The most important thing is securing the chloroform,” I say. “Do you think you can handle that?”

  Trina nods without hesitation.

  “Good. Meet me at Timber at eight-thirty, and whatever you do, don’t be late.”

  ***

  Timber is fancier than I anticipated. Located in the historic district of Rubex, where many of the buildings are crafted of old brick, dozens of twinkle lights wrap around the few trees leading up to the entrance. Before walking into the restaurant at eight, I take a deep breath and steel myself. I refuse to feel anything for him.

  When I enter the building, a hostess greets me. I tell her I’m there to meet Trey Winchester, and she ushers me right in. As I follow her through the restaurant, I try to absorb it all. The white tablecloths, the glass votives in the center of the tables that emit a single flame, the soft music that reminds me of birds singing and waves crashing. The lights are dim, but when I spot Trey across the room, dressed in slacks and a sports coat, my pulse still behaves erratically. I curse my heart as I slide onto the seat across from him. He’s looking down, counting the tines of his fork, but as soon as I sit, he glances up. His fixed smile quickly disappears.

  He curses as I lean toward him, resting my elbows on the table.

  “Where’s Rayne?”

  I give him my sweetest smile. “She’s a little tied up at the moment.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am?”

  Trey stares at me, hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “You’re absolutely right, but thanks to you—wait…” I pause like I’m thinking, “Should that be no thanks to you, instead? Anyway, doesn’t matter. Point is, because of your little tip off, I got chased through the streets of Rubex, had to hide out in a boat for two days, and Zane left me.” I lean forward, my eyes narrowed. “So, you’re right, I shouldn’t be here, but I am. And I’m pissed.” I pick up the steak knife and twirl it between my fingers.

  Trey’s eyes zero in on the knife. “What do you want, Sienna?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Why did you tip them off? Do you hate me that much?”

  His face softens, but before he can answer, a waiter comes by to take our order. Even though my stomach growls at the thought of eating something other than granola bars, I don’t plan to be here long, so I only order water.

  “I don’t hate you at all,” he says once the waiter has left the table.

  The way he says it and the way he’s looking at me produce emotions I don’t want. I shove them down deep. “Then why?”

  “Because I was scared.”

  “Scared?” I scoff. “Of what? The Trey I knew wasn’t scared of anything.”

  “But I’m not him.” He sighs, glancing down at the table. “Truth is, I’ve been having dreams, just like I told you.” His eyes meet mine. “Dreams about you. About us. At first, I thought it was just stress, that you’d somehow managed to get into my head, made me believe things that weren’t true.” He pauses, and I wait for him to continue. “But then things weren’t adding up. The cafe that was bombed is still there. Rayne never wants me to meet her parents or her friends. There’s a blank spot in my mind where all these memories should be.” He gestures to his arm. “And now these tattoos. Nothing makes sense.”

  My breath catches. A part of me longs for him to remember, but the other part—the part that doesn’t want to be hurt again—decides to act indifferent. I have to stick to the plan.

  “Well, that sucks. I tried to help you, but you turned me down. Twice.” I tap the knife on the table. “In my mind, you’re a lost cause. You and Rayne can get married, have adorable babies, and live a lie. I don’t care.” Even as I say the last words, my chest squeezes, but I ignore it.

  Trey stares at me. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Sure, I do.” I lean forward. “You know the difference between you and me, Trey? I never gave up on us. Did you know I had my memories wiped? But I fought to gain back what was mine. I didn’t roll over and die, like you.” Even though I promised myself I’d never cry over him again, I can feel tears filling my eyes. “I will not waste one more minute on you. I refuse to let you hurt me again.” I swipe at the tears and rise quickly from the table. “That’s all I came to say.”

  “Sienna, wait.”

  With tears blurring my vision, I weave in and out of tables. I hadn’t planned to become so emotional, but this may work to my benefit.

  “Sienna, wait!”

  I push past the people who are standing at the front of the restaurant, waiting for a table. When I burst through the door, the cool night air dries my face, leaving a trail of tears and mascara. Trey’s hand latches onto my arm and swings me around to face him. With his hair disheveled and the distinct fury in his eyes, he looks so much like the man I used to love that it makes my heart ache in so many places. And for a moment, I forget all about the plan. It’s just Trey and me.

  “I said wait,” he growls.

  I rip my arm from his grasp. “Why should I listen to you?”

  “Because I have something to say.”

  “I don’t care what you have to say,” I retort.

  Trey’s hand encircles my neck and brings me closer. “Sienna, please, just shut up and listen.”

  My heart is pounding so hard I’m not sure I’ll be able to hear his words over its steady thrum.

  His face softens. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. But mostly, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  I swallow hard, my voice catching in my throat. Where are Trina and Curly? “What are you saying?”

  Trey’s other hand slides to my waist and draws me closer, so close that we’re touching. “I don’t want you to give up on me.”

  Before I can respond, a hand presses a handkerchief over Trey’s nose and mouth, and he crumples.

  33

  SIENNA

  Ignoring the stares of passersby, we shove Trey into the nearest air taxi. Trina and I climb in the back of the taxi with Trey between us, and Curly sits in the front.

  “Where to?” the driver with dark bushy eyebrows and a heavy mustache asks.

  I rattle off the add
ress as he gives Trey the once-over.

  “He’s had too much to drink,” I explain as Trey’s head lops onto my shoulder.

  The man shrugs and pulls out into traffic, without checking to see if it’s clear. A few horns blare, and the man reaches out his window and flips off the person behind us. “Crazy drivers,” he mutters.

  Trina looks at me and presses her lips together, suppressing a giggle.

  When the driver pulls up in front of Rayne’s high-rise, we have a problem. At least a dozen Enforcers are milling around outside the building, guns in hand. I curse under my breath.

  “What is it?” Trina asks, eyeing the black-clad men with the thick white stripe running down the shoulders of their uniforms.

  “It’s Rayne,” I say through clenched teeth. “She must have escaped and called the Enforcers.”

  There’s no way we can get into her building now.

  “Uh, Sienna,” Curly says. “I don’t think she escaped.” He points out the window where emergency services are wheeling a stretcher through the pink glass doors of Rayne’s apartment building. And on that stretcher is a body zipped up inside a body bag. A lock of blonde hair has escaped from the bag and hangs limp, its owner an unknown face.

  But I know who it is.

  Drawing a shaky breath, I place my hand on my chest.

  Rayne is dead. And I’m probably the last person to see her alive.

  “Keep driving,” I tell the man, turning my face away from the window as one Enforcer keenly watches our vehicle.

  The driver’s eyes flit from the crowd of Enforcers to the passed-out Trey, and then to my face. “I know you!” he cries out. “You’re that girl they’re looking for!”

  The Enforcer watching us slowly approaches our vehicle. The driver leans out his window and hollers, “She’s here! She’s right here!”

  It all happens too fast. Curly punches the man, then reaches over and opens his door, pushing him out. The man rolls out onto the concrete, and the Enforcer raises his wrist to his mouth and shouts something before pulling out his laser gun. He runs toward the air taxi as Curly scoots over into the driver seat and presses the gas pedal all the way to the floor. We shoot out into traffic, the vehicle swaying side to side as Curly tries to regain control.

  “This is harder than it looks,” he mutters, sweat beading his forehead. I hear the sound of bullets hitting the sides and back of the vehicle, more like a hiss than a ping. I can only imagine the tiny holes left in the side of the frame from the heat of the lasers.

  Curly curses, glancing down at the dashboard. “They hit the fuel pump.” His eyes go wide as he looks in the rearview mirror. “Crikey. They’re behind us.”

  I twist in my seat and spot two Enforcers on jet bikes gaining on us. They weave in and out of the traffic, their thighs practically touching the pavement as they maneuver around cars.

  The air taxi shudders a bit, and my heart leaps into my throat. “Come on, Curly,” I urge him. “You have to outrun them.”

  Curly licks his lips, crosses himself as he says a quick Hail Mary, and turns the steering wheel hard until we’re cruising along the sidewalk instead of the road. A small potted tree looms in front of us and I grip the seat, bracing for impact. At the last moment, Curly muscles his way back into the lanes of traffic. My fingers relax as I exhale in relief. I turn around, keeping my eyes trained on the Enforcers behind us. Just when I think we’ve lost them, they pop back up again.

  “I can’t drive forever,” Curly says through gritted teeth.

  “I know, I know. Let me think.” We can’t go to Zane’s condo or the Restful 8 Motel because both will surely be overrun with Enforcers by now. We can’t get on a bullet train and go back to Legas because the netscreens are sure to show my picture everywhere, including the train station.

  I think back to what Zane said after I found out he was in Legas.

  If something goes wrong, go to the Match 360 Headquarters.

  Looks like there’s only one option.

  “Take a right up here,” I say. “Then a hard left. And another right. We need to lose them before we get there.”

  Curly looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Where are we going?”

  “The Match 360 Headquarters.”

  Curly frowns but doesn’t object. Trina, however, turns to me and says, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I’m not sure if I do. But we have no other choice.

  ***

  The Match 360 Headquarters is just as impressive as the last time I saw it, but I don’t take the time to admire it—my eyes are trained behind us. We lost the Enforcers barely ten minutes ago, but I’m still on edge that they’ll find us.

  When we pull up to the guard gate, I lean over the seat to speak to the black-clad guard. The air taxi shakes a little as it touches ground.

  “We’re here to see Steele Ryder,” I say.

  The guard bends down to peer into the back of the car. When he straightens, he says, “Is he expecting you?”

  “Yes,” I lie.

  The guard’s eyes narrow, but he radios to someone in the building. “What did you say your name is?” he asks, looking directly at me.

  “Sienna. Sienna Preston.”

  The guard repeats my name into the transmitter. My hands grip the vinyl seat back, sweat sliding through my fingertips. The next thing I know, he’s waving us through.

  A whoosh of air rushes out as I exhale and lean back against the seat. As we lift off the ground again and drive past, I glance in Curly’s rearview mirror and see the guard making a note of our license plate on a handheld comscreen. Soon, he’ll realize this is a stolen vehicle.

  Curly parks the air taxi in a parking space, and we wait until we’ve touched down before we exit. Curly and Trina drag Trey from the car and carry him toward the building, with me following close on their heels.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Trina says again through clenched teeth, but I can’t tell if it’s because she’s mad or because of the effort she’s exerting from carrying Trey.

  When we enter the building, we’re greeted with stark white walls and clean lines. Yet, despite the minimal furniture, the facility oozes wealth. A sleek receptionist desk with an interior lighting system, glowing a geometric pattern on the frosted glass, sits in the middle of the high-ceilinged room. Two pendant lamps dangle above the desk, and several streamlined chairs rest in the waiting area—clearly bought for appearance, not for comfort.

  The receptionist is a dark-haired woman with a kind smile that falters when she sees Trey propped between Trina and Curly.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” she begins, “but this isn’t a hospital.”

  “We’re here to see Steele Ryder,” I say.

  The woman nods and presses a button on an intercom. Her voice comes through a little shrill as she pages Steele to the waiting room.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” she suggests. “It may be a few minutes.”

  “We’re fine,” I say.

  Curly grunts in response, his shoulders taking the brunt of Trey’s weight. “Why is this starting to feel like a common thing between Trey and me?” He gives me a wry smile, no doubt thinking of when the Compound was bombed and it was him alone who carried Trey to safety. If Curly hadn’t been there—I don’t want to think what would have happened. I never could have gotten Trey out of the bombed-out Compound by myself. I could barely get my own self out before the drones returned and lit the place up. I shudder, remembering that night.

  When Steele does show up a few minutes later, he’s dressed in a business suit, indicating he’s probably in charge of the business side of things, and not so much the lab work. His mouth turns down into a sour frown when he sees me.

  “Sienna Preston.” He says my name as if he’s trying to work around a mouthful of dirt. “You’ve made quite the impression on the Citizens of Rubex.” He clicks on a wall comscreen, and the news is the first station that pops up. Not surprisingly, my picture fills the screen
with a similar headline as the one found on the Bulletin scrolling beneath.

  Sienna Preston—wanted for the murders of Colonel George Radcliffe and eighteen-year-old Rayne Williams. Any person with information that leads to her capture will be heavily rewarded.

  Of course they would blame Rayne’s death on me. Squaring my shoulders, I say, “It wasn’t me.”

  Steele scowls. “And to think that you’re dragging my brother down with you. It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?”

  “I didn’t kill Radcliffe,” I say through clenched teeth. “Or Rayne.”

  Steele nods to Trey. “Who is this?”

  “Your brother,” I say. I wait for the shock to register on Steele’s face, but it never comes. He remains cool and collected.

  “Why did you bring him here?”

  “Zane told me to come. We need your help.” I see Trina wince under the pressure of holding Trey upright. “Now.”

  Steele’s eyes are cold, hollow almost, like whatever emotion he had in them left years ago. “Mina,” he barks, his eyes never leaving my face. “Show them to an examination room.”

  Mina hurries around her desk, her heels clicking against the smooth stone floor. She motions for us to follow her, and Trina and Curly immediately stumble after her. I, however, hang back.

  “I need your best geneticist,” I say to Steele.

  He stares down at me. “Why do you think I’d ever do anything to help you?”

  “Because he’s your brother, whether you like it or not. He has a chip at the base of his skull that needs to be removed.”

  “Why? So he can become a rebel again? No, thank you. We don’t need scourges like him running around creating havoc. Our society can be better than that.”

  I take a few steps closer and narrow my eyes. “Your company is all about helping people. It’s time to step up and act. Trey needs your help.” And then, because I like to hit below the belt, I say, “Zane would do it if he were here.”

  Steele’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “One thing you need to learn, Miss Preston—I’m nothing like my brother.” With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, down a different hall. I’m tempted to follow him, but I decide it’s best if I stay with Trina, Curly, and Trey. Grunts and groans come from a room down the hall, so I move toward that one.