Why was I able to tell Dean this, but not Benjamin? The words flowed out of the emptiness inside me. Unlike many other anguished confessions, I didn’t yearn to take them back. Telling someone relieved my pain a little, but not enough to erase the fact that I’d brought it on myself.
To my shock, Dean wrapped his arms around me. “I won’t. Please tell me you don’t blame yourself.”
“Well, yeah,” I said into his shoulder, still shocked by the gesture. “I have super strength, but I didn’t do anything to stop him.”
“They were threatening Reid,” he said gently.
“Who also could’ve left whenever he wanted.”
“You guys didn’t know that. Part of being in a cult is psychological control. I’ve dealt with so many people who blamed themselves for things that happened to them while they were in the camps. You are not responsible for what happened.” He rubbed my back.
“But Marco said—”
“Marco grew up in the cult, too. He probably still believes something really weird.” He let out a little derisive snort. “Camp men are… well, they might not admit it, but a lot of them think they’re inherently superior, that their word is always law. They’ll tell you to your face that they love you and respect you, but just last week I had to counsel a married couple who came to blows because the Mrs. turned down the Mr. for sex. He thought he was entitled to it.”
I pushed away from Dean. “That’s what Benjamin and I argued about before the tribunal.”
Dean’s face fell. “You’re married to the doc? He never mentioned that.”
“No… no, we’re not married.” Though I loved Benjamin, I could no longer find joy in the idea of binding my hand to his, like I had in the past. “He wouldn’t sleep with me because I believed if we were married, I couldn’t say no to him.” I buried the urge to assure Dean that I wasn’t in the habit of seducing men.
Dean turned to stare over his shoulder at the infirmary, then sighed and turned back to me. “He’s ethical, I’ll give him that. Maybe I should have mercy on him and stop calling him ‘Doc.’ I only do it because it pisses him off.”
“He’s still not telling me the truth about his past, so piss him off all you want.”
Dean grinned. “I’m glad we had this talk.” He looked at the infirmary again. “Although, I think you should talk to the doc about what you told me, if you haven’t already. If something like that happened to my girlfriend, I’d want to know.”
“That’s never going to happen. I don’t want him to know.”
“Why not?”
My shoulders slumped. “Benjamin has always thrown the cult in my face and acted like I could just waltz out of it whenever I wanted. I… I can’t stand that he’s right. He was so angry that I was going to accept the judgment of the elders. What would he think of me if he knew that I’d let Matthew stick his hand down my pants?”
“If he’s anything like me, he’ll want to make sure you’re okay, then he’ll want to kill Matthew.”
“And that’s the other thing.” My voice grew louder. “Why should I tell him about one of my worst experiences when he won’t tell me about the crimes he committed? I’m not going to call the cops on him, I just want him to be honest.”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you there. But I do still think you should tell him about Matthew.” The snow began to fall harder, swirling thickly around us. Dean pointed ahead of us to the armory. “Let’s get inside and get you a weapon.”
I tucked the rose into my braid, and we hurried to the armory.
The inside of the armory was warm and smelled strongly of steel, lubricant, polish, and lead. Cages of weapons lined the walls and center of the cement room, each one padlocked shut. Metal cabinets flanked the front door—I assumed they contained ammunition. I pulled off my gloves, aching to hold one of the many firearms displayed around me.
I walked around the armory and examined the collection, taking in the sight of so much raw power. Dean followed me around, tender amusement written on his face as I admired each weapon.
While I walked past an ammunition cabinet, a metallic clatter near my feet made me look down. Several stray bullets were littered around one of the cages.
“That’s weird,” Dean said. “The guys know better than to leave live ammunition laying around like that.”
He kneeled to pick up the bullets, and I joined him, reaching into the dusty space underneath the cage to grab the last few bullets.
I felt a pinprick on my hand and hastily removed it. A black spider the size of a dime scuttled out of the shadows, and I smashed it with the heel of my hand.
“Ugh, it bit me.” I squinted at the side of my hand, then shook it. I looked up and saw Dean’s surprised face—then cracked up.
“What’s so funny?”
I pointed to his lip piercings. “Now we’ve both got spider bites.”
“Yeah, but mine look cooler.”
“They do. I’ll give you that. I really like them.”
He gave me the goofiest smile I’d ever seen, which only made me laugh harder.
When we’d finished putting the bullets in their box, I stood up and put the box in the cabinet. After locking it again, Dean led me to a smaller cage in the corner. “Your gun’s in here.”
I peered through the holes of the cage. “Which one’s mine?”
Dean pulled out a key on a string from around his neck. “I’m starting you off with a handgun. Small, easy to use. I think you’ll enjoy the similarities to your knives, since you’re used to a smaller weapon.” He removed a pistol and placed it in my hands. “An M9. Military issue and very dependable. Semiautomatic, nine-millimeter rounds.”
I held the sleek black handgun up to the light, enjoying the weight of it. “I once stopped a hostage taker. He had one of these. Held it to his wife’s head.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No. I should’ve, though. But I didn’t want to make waves. Patrick was still alive.”
“Patrick?”
“My old leader.”
“Ah, the much-despised Atropos.” Dean handed me a thigh holster. “Try this on for size.”
I strapped it on. “I almost killed another leader after the tribunal. But when I was drowning him, I saw Patrick’s face. My team has accused me of harboring anger, and I think it’s at Patrick. I have a lot to be angry about, but I feel like Patrick is the root.”
Dean studied me, tutting for a second while he thought. “I want you to take that anger and let it drive you when you’re fighting the Westerners. During the ‘pretty boy’ speech last night you mentioned torturing someone, right? I assume that was Matthew. Did the anger drive you then?”
“Oh, yeah. God, yeah.”
“Good. Let that take root. Nurture it. Take every shred of hatred for Matthew, Patrick, and everyone in the cult who has ever hurt you and make it your fuel. Their victim will become their executioner. That’s what I told Gregory and all the others.”
I ran my fingers over the pistol and tried to visualize executing my enemies. It was an enjoyable picture, but odd. A question popped into my head.
“Why don’t you guys use your powers? Why don’t the Westerners use their powers?”
Dean leaned against the cage. “You just revealed more of your cult brain. Powers are rarely reliably useful in combat, and it can take years to become a proficient hand-to-hand fighter. No offense intended, but superhero-style fighting, with fists instead of guns, is flashy, but stupid. No offense. Even the Westerners don’t normally use their powers as their first weapon. Guns make everyone equal. Besides, very few powers have the range of a handgun. Almost none have the range of, say, an M-16.”
“Oh.”
Like an aftershock from the mental earthquake of the night before, my brain shook as another pillar of belief collapsed into dust.
I’d never considered that my style of fighting was a problem. I was so good at superhero-style fighting… but then again, why did we all wear bullet
proof vests?
I let myself imagine me holding a firearm again, and this time it didn’t feel odd. I was going to be so much more badass now.
The emptiness in my chest began to fill. I lovingly brushed my fingers over the M9 in its holster, then realized that my index finger was stiff.
I glanced down. “Oh, crap.” My finger was swollen from the spider’s venom. I unstrapped the holster with the gun still inside and handed it to Dean. “I gotta go see Benjamin.”
“Good idea. And while you’re there, talk to him about Matthew. Afterwards, come see me, and I’ll get you started on shooting practice. You’re going to need a lot of it if you’re going to win that bet. Which you won’t, by the way.”
“Prepare to eat humble pie, Monroe,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out of the armory.
He was still snickering as I closed the door behind me and walked to the medical building, sucking on my finger.
I pushed open the medical building’s door. The entrance opened into a short hallway that led to a large back room containing half a dozen hospital beds and an examination table. On the right of the hallway, a door opened to a bedroom with two twin beds. On the left, there was another room, probably a bathroom. Though sterile, I had to admit that it was a very nice set-up.
I walked into the back room, where I was greeted by the sharp smell of blood. Benjamin was tending to a little boy who’d had an exciting time on the playground, if the bloodstain on his collar was any indication.
Of course, with Benjamin attending to him, his wound was gone, and he was chattering away with a friend while Benjamin washed up at the sink.
Benjamin looked up as I walked in and turned to the boys, who were sitting on a table and swinging their legs. “Jonah, Aiden, you can go back to class now.”
They hopped off the table and ran past me. “Bye, Doc!”
Benjamin shook his head. “Doc,” he muttered.
I squeezed my finger, which was starting to throb. “Do you have anything for spider bites?”
Benjamin made a little noise of disgust and turned around, his hand on his hip. “Yeah, take them out and let them close up so you don’t look like a washed-up reject from an emo band. Why are you here, Jill?”
I held up my hand, which had swelled even more in the last few minutes. “An actual spider bite, smartass. But I think I’m just going to go home and see what happens.”
“No, don’t!” He turned red and began to fish around in a drawer. “I’m sorry. I have some antihistamines in here.” He popped two pink pills out of a foil blister pack. “Do you know what kind of spider bit you? Are you breathing normally? Does your hand hurt?”
He handed me the pills and a small paper cup full of water.
I swallowed the pills. “No and yes. And my hand doesn’t hurt. It just feels kinda weird.”
“The pills will help with the swelling, but if you start having muscle pain or anything serious, come back. You might need some antivenin.”
Benjamin squeezed an ice pack to activate it, then gently placed it on my swollen finger and held it there. The warmth of his hand clashed pleasantly with the coolness of the ice pack.
He looked up at me, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry for being rude just now.”
I curled my fingers around his. “I forgive you,” I said quietly.
“We didn’t really get a chance to reunite properly, did we?” Benjamin said before he kissed my knuckles. “We should try again.”
I looked up into his shining hazel eyes. The shadows underneath them had only deepened since the previous day. I hoped he didn’t have nightmares of his ordeal with the Westerners like I had nightmares of Matthew.
Instead of asking him, though, I grazed his cheekbone with my fingers. “I’m so happy you’re safe. I almost lost my mind when I found out that you were gone.”
The whirlwind of the tribunal’s aftermath came back to me, carrying with it the pain and fear I’d felt. Dean was right; Benjamin would want to know about those memories.
He’d care, because he always cared. That was one of the reasons why I loved him.
I continued to stroke his cheek with my good hand and he lovingly caught my hand in his. “I… I want to talk to you about something. Something important.”
Our reunion had gone wrong when the discussion had turned to the tribunal. This time I’d be honest even if it killed me.
“What is it?” He gazed at me, concern evident in every corner of his face.
I squeezed his fingers, searching for the words to describe what Matthew had done to me and how I still felt about the events of that terrible day. “The tribunal didn’t go well,” I began after a shaky breath. I pulled my hand away from his and nervously stroked my braid, waves of wretched memories crashing over me. “They made Ember stay away, probably because she could hear what they had planned, and then… I mean, they said Reid had to—”
My nervous fiddling caused the rose to fall out of my braid.
He picked it up, staring at it quizzically. I held out my hand to take it back, but he kept staring at it.
“Where’d you get a rose around here? It’s Jan...” He looked up at me, his eyes darkening. “Did Dean give this to you?”
I was startled by the venom in his question. “Y-yes, but—”
He shoved the rose back in my hand. “You were saying?” All warmth was gone.
I scrambled to find my words. “I… I was talking to him just now and he thought I should talk to you about…”
Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Oh, I have to hear this.”
A lump formed in my throat.
I shoved the rose into my pocket. “You know what? Never mind. Thanks for the pills, Doc.”
Benjamin glared at me. “Now you’re doing that, too?”
I crossed my arms. “I’ll stop right here and now if you tell me exactly what happened at the chemical lab with Artemis. Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Benjamin turned red but said nothing.
I snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. If you feel like talking, I’ll be at the range learning how to shoot. I’d ask you to teach me, seeing as how you can hit hearts and between the eyes with no problems, but I don’t really want to take lessons from a liar.”
He swallowed. “You’re learning how to shoot now?”
“Yeah. I’m a Sentinel, remember?”
“You’re going to kill people?”
“Uh, yeah. Hence the gun.”
“And you have no problem just showing up to a camp and mowing everyone down?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I have a bet going with Dean. The person who kills the most Westerners tomorrow gets to make the other one do something embarrassing.”
Benjamin’s mouth fell open. “You’re making a game out of ending people’s lives?”
I raised an eyebrow. “They’re Westerners. Who cares?”
“I do! I care that you’re so flippant about torturing people who make you mad and killing people you don’t like! They may be Westerners, but you’ll never forget the look in their eyes as you kill them! You can’t pretend your decisions don’t have moral consequences, Jillian!”
There was a long pause.
“Wow. You really are Bleeding Heart Benjamin.”
I turned and opened the door, catching a glimpse of his devastated face in the mirror on a medicine cabinet.
I stepped out into the snow and strode toward the range behind the main building.
Whenever guilt pricked at me, I pictured Patrick and Matthew, and soon I was too angry to care about anything other than revenge.
25
The rules were simple: always keep our weapons pointed in a safe direction. Keep our fingers off the triggers until we wanted to shoot. Don’t load our weapons until we’re on the firing line and the range is “hot.” The shooting must stop when someone yells “cease fire.” Wear ear and eye protection.
Judd, a rugged, surly Sentinel no older than my brother all but snarled as he told my team
and me the rules and presented us with our weapons. Marco and Reid accepted their handguns and walked to the far end of the range, where a bored Gregory greeted them and began to demonstrate a proper shooting stance.
Judd handed me a tiny handgun better suited to a child. There was a malevolent gleam in his eyes.
I refused to pick it up. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s your weapon, hero.”
Nearby, three Sentinels stifled their laughter. Beyond them, Eleanor watched us, her forehead wrinkled slightly.
“No, my weapon is a standard-issue nine mil. Dean assigned it to me less than an hour ago.”
He crossed his arms. “And why would he give you that? You can’t hurt anyone with this gun. If you want, I can paint it pink.”
The other three Sentinels didn’t bother to hide their laughter anymore.
The monstrous rage that had driven me to torture and kill returned. My fingers trembled while I slid the gun toward Judd. “Get my weapon or explain to your commander why you’re disobeying him.”
Judd raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Have you ever shot a gun before, chick?”
My face, I was sure, was white. Judd had not given lip to Marco or Reid. He hadn’t offered them the ridiculously tiny gun.
I leaned in close to him. “Have you ever felt your bones snap one by one while you’re lying on the forest floor with a broken leg? Your internal organs turn to mush as I punch them?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Would you like to feel your lungs fill with water as I hold you beneath the surface and watch the light leave your eyes?”
Eleanor strode toward us. “Judd, give her the gun she was assigned, then leave.”
“But—”
“I bought them, so these are my guns. Clearly you aren’t mature enough for this job.” Eleanor gave him an expectant stare, and he pouted.
“Fine,” he spat, pulling my assigned weapon from a box beneath his table. “Try not to shoot your eye out. Or do. I don’t care.” He shoved the gun and holster into my hands and stormed out of the range.
Sentinel Page 23