“Trey wasn’t at dinner tonight,” Trina calls casually, the water from the shower mingling with her words.
“Yeah, I think he and some of the guys had to make a run.” How long do I wait before I tell the others? How long before we send out a search party?
“A run? This late? That’s odd.”
She’s suspicious, and I don’t blame her. She’s been here a lot longer than I have. She knows the routine, understands the inner workings of the Compound and the people in it, including Trey.
“Yeah, that’s all I know,” I lie.
The water turns off and the curtain slides back, the metal rings scraping against the metal bar. “Do you mind handing me that towel over there?” she asks, pointing to the towel hanging on the rack next to me.
I grab it and stuff it into her hands, avoiding her nakedness. I’ve never understood how some girls are so open with their bodies.
After Trina’s dressed, we pad down the hall together, our flashlights bouncing along the concrete floor. We stop at my door and let a group of sixteen-year-old boys slide past. I recognize the boy with the chestnut hair as John, the one who was guarding the tunnel entrance the day Trey and I visited Chaz. They nod and wish us goodnight before continuing down the hall. A boy with auburn hair punches John, who puts him in a playful headlock.
Rolling my eyes, I turn to Trina. “Boys,” I mutter.
She laughs. “That’s right, who needs a boy when you have yourself a man?”
My eyes widen, and then a giggle escapes. I’ve never thought of Trey as a man before, but pushing twenty-two and leading a group like this definitely qualifies him as one. A man who fights his cousin for fun, and who ignored me for days when he was embarrassed for kissing me. Well, maybe he’s a man with boyish tendencies.
“Goodnight, Sienna,” Trina says before starting down the hall.
“Goodnight, Trina,” I call after her.
I crawl under the covers on my bed because there’s nothing else to do in the dark. But I can’t go to sleep. My body is filled with worry, so much that I feel like my heart might explode if it pumps any faster.
How long should I wait?
I give it another hour. If he’s not back by then, I’m telling someone. I don’t know who, but someone.
***
I slide out of my room and tiptoe down the hall, my flashlight trained on the floor in front of me. Trey never came to my room, but that doesn’t mean he’s not back yet. I adjust my black tank top and tug at the bottom of my sleep shorts, wishing they were a little longer, but when it comes to the Pavilion, beggars can’t be choosy.
Even though I try to step lightly, my sandaled feet slap against the concrete flooring. I creep down the dark corridor, my heart thumping in my chest. My flashlight creates eerie shadows on the walls, made worse by my shaking hands. The inside of the Compound has never been so quiet, but then again, I don’t make it a habit to traipse these hallways during the dark of night.
I stop outside Trey’s room and put my ear to the door, listening for any sound of movement inside. I hear nothing.
Knocking softly, I wait in anticipation. Nothing.
I try the door handle. To my surprise, it’s unlocked. The door swings open before I realize I put pressure on it.
I shine my light into Trey’s room, only to find it empty. His bed is still made, a stack of books and papers sits on his untidy desk, and a pile of folded clothes rests on the wooden desk chair.
Fear surges through me as I sink onto his bed. Do I tell someone? Do I wait a little longer?
I’ll wait for ten more minutes. If he isn’t back in ten minutes, I’ll check the tunnel and unloading area before I wake Trina.
I nervously tap my fingers against my leg as I count in my mind. I don’t know why I’m counting, maybe to help pass the time?
A noise filters down the hall—someone’s coming. I hear voices, male voices, and relief washes over me. They’re back.
As they draw closer, I freeze when I recognize Nash’s voice. What will he think when he sees me in Trey’s room in the middle of the night?
Slipping to the other side of the room, I plaster myself against the wall. As long as Nash doesn’t come in, he shouldn’t see me in the dark. I don’t even think for a minute how stupid I’ll look to Trey when he finds me glued to his wall.
The two voices stop outside the door, and I hear Trey’s husky voice mixed with Nash’s nasally, cold tone.
“You don’t think they followed you?” Nash asks, his voice full of skepticism.
“No. Not a chance. We lost them before we hit the open expanse.”
“How’s Trip?”
“He’s fine. We removed the bullet, but he won’t be able to walk on that leg for a while. He’ll be in the infirmary for the next few days.”
“That was stupid, Trey. Really stupid. You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”
I hear Trey laugh. “Isn’t that what this life is about? Staying alive? I refuse to crawl into a hole and allow those thugs to take advantage of us. I will fight for what is ours, even if it means losing my life.”
My throat closes. He was almost killed. I knew it sounded dangerous, and now my suspicions are confirmed.
“You and I are all that’s left of the Hartfield clan. Just remember that,” Nash says with more tenderness than I knew he could possess. I hear footsteps continue down the hall, and then Trey walks into his room. Slumping away from the wall, I fling myself into his arms. I breathe in the smell of him, an earthy one of dirt and sweat.
He throws his flashlight on the bed, the light illuminating a small corner of the room. His arms tighten around my back as I cling to him. “This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to find a beautiful girl waiting in my bedroom when I got back.”
I tilt my head to look at him, trying to make out his features in the shadows. “You were almost killed.”
He cocks his head. “You heard that, huh?”
“I was so worried. I thought…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes searching mine as his fingers move to my chin, “I’m right here. Nothing happened.” His lips meet mine. He kisses me hungrily, until I’m weak in the knees. When I pull back, I notice the cut above his eye.
“What happened?” My fingers graze his wound, and he winces. “You need to go to the infirmary.”
“No, it’s only a little cut. I’ll be fine with some antiseptic and a bandage.” He smiles down at me. “Besides, I’d much rather kiss you than worry about a cut.”
His lips lightly touch my jaw and move toward my earlobe, sending tiny pulses of electricity shooting through me. I wish he would stop so I can concentrate. What was I going to ask him about? Oh, yes. The man who got shot…
“Someone got shot tonight?” I murmur, pulling back. My eyes plead with him to tell me the truth.
Trey sighs and drops his hands, all playfulness gone. “Yeah, a guy named Trip. Have you met him yet?”
I shake my head.
“We were ambushed.” He runs his hands through his hair. “The truck sent to get the shipment from Estelle Langley, one of the farmers who raise chickens for us, was hijacked on the way back to the Compound. Three men wearing masks and carrying M-16s blocked the road. When Trip and his buddy Jason stopped the vehicle, the men boarded the truck and forced them out at gunpoint. Trip pulled a knife on one of the guys and got shot in the leg. The masked men escaped with the truck and the goods.”
My eyes narrow. “What was your role in all this?”
He shrugs and moves across the room. For the first time, I see his gun slung low over his hips. He unbuckles the belt and lays it on his desk. “I did what a good leader needs to do at times.”
“Did you get the truck?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course.”
“Did anyone else get hurt?”
“A couple of bruises and cuts, no big deal.”
I exhale slowly, grateful he’s okay
. Looks like I got worked up for nothing. But then, Nash’s words filter into my brain, and I know there’s something he’s not telling me.
“Why did Nash say you almost got killed? And why did he ask if they followed you back to the Compound? Who was following you?”
Trey moves close and his fingers grip my waist, drawing me to him until our bodies are touching. “These men were professionals. They weren’t thieves searching for food like the man who killed my father. These were experts who knew our schedule, knew when we’d be coming down the road. They staked us out.”
I think back to Victor’s threat a couple of weeks ago when he warned that it wasn’t over between us. “Was it the Devil’s men?”
Trey nods. “Nash was worried because I hunted them down. I went to their lair to get the truck back, which he thought was stupid. He wanted me to forget the truck.”
“They followed you back?” My throat closes, and I find it hard to breathe.
“Only as far as the outskirts of the city. We lost them once we hit the open desert.”
“You could have been killed,” I whisper.
“But I wasn’t.” His lips brush against each cheek before settling on my forehead. “Do you mind if I go get cleaned up?” he asks, pulling away.
It is then that I notice the bloodstains on the front of his shirt and upper arms. “Is that yours?” I cry out as I jump back.
“No, it’s Trip’s, mostly.” He grabs a change of clothes from the pile on his desk chair, a towel hanging on the back of his door, and the flashlight from his bed. “I’ll be back in a few,” he says before slipping out the door. The room is immediately bathed in darkness.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, I wait, relief filling every part of me and making me feel light, like a hot air balloon getting ready for takeoff. Now that I know he’s okay, I should go back to my room. But the thought of being in his arms, his skin scented with bath soap, and my fingers curling around his damp hair, propels me to stay.
There’s something he’s not telling me about the rescue. He never did say what happened when he got to the Devil’s lair. Did he and his men kill them? If so, how many? Was Victor one of them?
I shake my head to rid the images. There are some things I don’t need to know, and with Trey as the leader of this group, there are some things he has to do. I try to convince myself that this knowledge is enough.
Trey’s light fills the doorway before I see him. The flashlight shines on the wall behind me before he sets it on his dresser, light side up, and it casts the room in an eerie glow. Wrapped in the aroma of shampoo and soap, he wears clean clothes—a white T-shirt and a baggy pair of basketball shorts—and the blood on his arms is gone. Wiped clean like it never existed. His damp hair curls slightly at his neckline, and I have to resist the urge to run my fingers through it. When he sees me, his face breaks out into a smile. My mouth pulls up in response as my pulse quickens.
It’s time for me to go.
I stand and move to the door. “Now that I know you’re okay, I should get back to my room,” I mumble.
Trey hangs his wet towel on the back of the door and turns to face me. “You could stay,” he offers.
My eyes shift to his bed, a twin, big enough for one, or two people very close together. I should leave.
Trey pulls back the covers and climbs into his bed, scooting all the way against the wall and leaving plenty of room for me. I kick off my sandals as a chill creeps up my spine. I’ve never slept in the same bed with a boy before, and I’m not sure what to expect.
I slip next to him, the sheets cool and soft against my skin. His arm slides under my head and pulls me closer until my head rests on the soft spot between his chest and shoulder. My lips are only inches from his neck, and when I inhale, my nose is filled with the fresh scent of his soap. Heart pounding from the nearness of him, I try to slow my pulse by taking deep, slow breaths.
In a moment of boldness, my hands work their way under his shirt and run along the length of his scar. His stomach muscles tense in response.
“You never did tell me what happened here?”
He looks down at me and then stares up at the ceiling. “I was in a knife fight.”
“A knife fight?”
He sighs. “Yeah, after my father’s death, I was lost. Confused. Nash and I went to a bar in town to help us forget.” He clears his throat. “I was drunk. Hit on the wrong girl—one of the Devil’s girls. So his men gave me this.”
The muscles in my neck tighten as I think of the scar on Nash’s cheek. “Is that how Nash got his scar too?”
Trey nods.
“And that’s what Victor was talking about outside the Megasphere.”
He nods again. “But I’m different now. I was young. Lost. Before my father’s death, I went along with the whole idea of the Fringe because he believed so strongly in it. I had to figure out what I believed.”
“And now do you know? What you believe?”
“I believe these people we’re rescuing deserve protection. I believe Harlow Ryder is a selfish bastard who only cares about making money, no matter who he hurts.”
“I believe that too,” I say.
Trey smiles, his free hand running up and down my bare arm, from shoulder to wrist, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “I like your butterflies,” he says, his breath tickling me. I shiver and draw even closer to him. My lips touch his neck, then his jaw, but the stubble on his face pricks against my mouth and skin, making me wince.
Trey’s hand flies to his face, and he rubs his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve shaved.”
“It’s okay. I like it.”
“You do?” He sounds surprised.
I kiss him. “I do,” I whisper.
Trey kisses me then until I’m lightheaded and breathless. As I draw my hips closer to him, his breathing runs hard and shallow, our hearts pounding against each other. His free hand entangles itself in my hair, refusing to let me pull away. Not that I want to. Every fiber of my being is alive, every sense heightened, every inch of my skin crawling with excitement.
Trey is the first to pull away, of course, leaving me amazed by his ironclad control. I wonder if it has something to do with what happened in my room that day he was drunk. Is he afraid he’ll take things too far?
I roll onto my side, away from him, and curl into a ball as fatigue sets in. Scooting closer to me, he drapes an arm across my stomach, his warm body pressed against my back.
And for once, I feel safe.
***
I have to pee.
Not wanting to leave Trey, I try to hold it, but the stinging sensation in my bladder only gets worse. I groan and slip from under his arm. The room is pitch black—Trey’s flashlight must need a good crank. I fumble around his room until I locate my flashlight and Lynk communicator on his desk. When I click on the flashlight, a pale circle of light hits the far wall. I slip on my sandals, pocket my Lynk, and quietly let myself out.
The hallway is dark and silent. I imagine it’s close to one or two in the morning. Thankfully, the bathroom is deserted. Now I don’t have to crouch behind the wooden door, hoping someone doesn’t see me hovering over the toilet. I’ve never been one for public restrooms, and here in the Compound, that’s my only option.
I prop my flashlight on the ledge of the sink and let the warm tap water run over my hands. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I frown at my reflection. I never like what I see, and I’m not sure why Trey is attracted to me. Turning the water off, I stare at myself, as if seeing my face for the first time. I analyze my green eyes framed by thick lashes, my too-small nose that makes me look like a bunny when I wrinkle it, and my lips that always look like I’m pouting. My eyes travel to my hair, and my ears that stick out slightly and are more noticeable with my hair short.
The bathroom sink shakes, knocking my flashlight to the floor and shrouding me in darkness.
What the hell?
I lean over and feel along the floor for the light
, hoping I can get it to work again. A low rumble fills the air. Before I can grasp what’s happening, the whole bathroom shudders and pieces of the ceiling crash to the floor. My screams bounce off the tile as a large rock falls inches from my head. Fear claws at my throat as I struggle to my feet.
Using my hands to feel along the concrete walls, I stumble out of the bathroom. Screams echo down the dark corridor as another blast rips through the Compound and knocks me to the ground. My ears ring and colorful stars shoot across my vision. I crawl along the wall before pushing myself up and continuing down the corridor. Pieces of the ceiling fall all around me, and the screaming continues. But it sounds distant, like my ears are plugged with tissues. Red embers glow around me, and at first, I think how pretty they are and how nicely they light the darkened hallway. Then, I realize, the embers are starting small fires, up and down the corridor.
Another blast one hundred feet down the hall throws me backward, and I land next to one of the embers. My body throbs and my head aches, so much that I lay there for a moment staring at the fire inching its way toward me. The heat licks at my face. As if in slow motion, I groan and roll away from it. Someone runs past me shouting, but all I can think about is getting to Trey’s room.
I push myself to my feet and stumble down the hall, tripping over pieces of concrete and sheetrock. There’s a buzzing in my head that drowns out the yells and cries for help. The end of the hall by Trey’s room is on fire.
A piece of rock or concrete falls from above and hits me in the back of the leg. Pain shoots up my leg, and I fall face-first in the hallway, crying out Trey’s name. I have to get to Trey. I have to.
“Sienna, we have to get out of here!” It’s Curly. His arms move under me and lift me up by the armpits.
I struggle against him. “No.” My voice comes out weak, hoarse. I try again, louder this time. “No. We have to get Trey.” I point to his room and the flames outside his door. I can feel the heat from here.
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