Lockdown (The Fringe #4)

by Tarah Benner

  Closing the distance between us, I wrap my arms around Eli’s waist and lay my head on his shoulder. He nuzzles his face into the side of my head and inhales deeply.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “This is all my fault. I told Natasha Mayweather about the arrowhead. I gave Jayden the evidence she needed to charge you with treason. Constance had you because of me. You were demoted because of me. ”

  “It’s not your fault,” he rumbles. “Jayden was determined to put us away. She would have built a case with or without your confession.”

  I pull away slightly so I can look into his eyes.

  “How bad?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but —”

  He shakes his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

  “Okay.”

  “And as far as Recon goes . . .” He shrugs. “It was only a matter of time before Jayden played that card.”

  “God . . .” I trail off, trying to keep my own emotions in check. Eli was the one who was hurt the most in all this, but I’m the one who’s going out of my mind with fury.

  Eli squeezes me fiercely, his eyes darting all over my face as though he’s trying to soak in every detail.

  “Harper . . .” He breaks eye contact and stares down at our feet, which are so close they’re practically touching. “When Constance had me . . . they tried everything. But no matter what they did, they couldn’t break me.”

  I wait, barely breathing, with a sick feeling rising up in my throat.

  “Hurting you was the only thing that could have made me talk. I knew eventually they would try to use you against me. And if they did, I would have told Jayden anything.”

  His confession is laced with so much pain and guilt that it makes my stomach lurch.

  “I never wanted that,” I murmur, trying to pull away despite the death grip Eli has on my arms.

  He looks confused — maybe even a little hurt — so I try to find words for what I meant.

  “I . . . I never wanted to be a weakness for you.”

  “No!” he says, shaking his head emphatically. “No, Harper. That’s not what I meant.”

  He opens his mouth and looks around, as though the words are eluding him. “You . . . kept me alive in there. I knew I had to hold out to protect you as long as I could. If I’d talked — even if I’d lied — Jayden would have been done with me.”

  He shakes his head, and the full weight of the situation settles over me.

  He’s absolutely right. Jayden would have killed him the second he stopped being useful to her.

  Eli’s next words are so quiet I have to lean in to hear. “That’s when I realized . . . I love you.”

  Three words — that’s all it takes to knock the air out of my lungs.

  I swallow a few times as the force of that statement sinks in. My face feels very hot, and there’s a soaring feeling in my chest I’ve never experienced before.

  Slowly, I meet his gaze, and those piercing blue eyes are so unguarded and sincere that I don’t know if I’ll be able to make my voice work.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper.

  As soon as I speak, I realize that I’ve never said those words aloud in my entire life. Of course I’ve loved people before. I love Celdon and Sawyer like family, and I must have loved my parents, but saying it to Eli seems so much more important.

  He leans forward, and his lips crash down over mine. Everything I’ve felt for the past four days comes pouring out in that kiss.

  I don’t know if he moves or if I do, but somehow we end up on the blanket in the grass. He sits down, and I wrap my legs around him.

  One of his arms stays locked around my waist; the other hand gets tangled in my hair. His thumb brushes along my cheek and earlobe, and I suppress a shudder of pleasure at finally having him with me.

  I can’t see his face, but I read his urgency in the heat of his lips and the gentle pressure of his hand cupping my head. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it, and my body is radiating heat.

  I grab the hem of his shirt and tug it up over his head. It comes off slowly, as though he’s reluctant to let me see him, and as I drink in the sight of his strong chest and chiseled abs, I see why.

  Eli’s ribs are marred by deep-purplish bruises that spread all along his back. I hold in a gasp as I trace them lightly with my fingers, and I catch sight of several unusual red marks on his neck that look as though they came from an electric shock collar.

  I shake my head and run my thumb along the scar on his right arm. It’s a burn from the explosion out on the Fringe — about half an inch wide and silky smooth to the touch. All the scars and bruises don’t make me want him any less; if anything, they serve as harsh reminders of how lucky I am to have him with me.

  I place a gentle kiss along his clavicle, and his hands grip my waist under my shirt. He pulls off my sweater and tank top and then buries his face in my chest.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that we’re in a public space where anyone could wander up. But the combination of the darkness, the deserted deck, and the shock of having Eli back makes it difficult to care.

  He’s already fumbling with the front enclosure of my bra, and I suppress a laugh when he grows frustrated and just yanks it over my head. I shiver at the sudden exposure, but instead of making me shy, it just increases my enthusiasm.

  He finds his way back to my lips, and I part them enough for him to slip his tongue inside. He runs his warm, calloused hands up and down my arms and then shifts so I can lie down next to him. When I reach up to touch his face, he moves onto his elbows so he’s hovering over me.

  Our eyes lock, and we come to a silent agreement: Yes, we’re doing this.

  Slowly, I reach down and yank open the top button of his jeans. I help him shimmy out of his pants and give him a playful smile.

  He makes a slow, torturous trail of kisses down my neck, chest, and stomach. When he gets to my waistband, he tugs my pants down with both hands until I’m lying there under the stars practically naked.

  Eli pauses to study me, and I meet his gaze fearlessly. I’ve wanted this for such a long time, and I know he has, too.

  “So sexy,” he murmurs, bending down to place a kiss just above the silky hem of my panties.

  I inhale a large gulp of air, and I feel his mouth move down until I’m gripping the blanket for dear life.

  I let out a soft moan, and he responds by frantically ripping them off me. Then it’s just his lips and tongue doing all kinds of wonderful things that make my chest heave as if I’m sprinting. I feel a tiny bite, and I gasp in surprise as he continues to devour me.

  A slow trickle of heat starts in my chest and drips down into my abdomen like warm honey. I pull Eli’s hair as my body shudders, and he holds me as the force of it rocks through me.

  We lose ourselves momentarily in the fumble of hands and kisses. He positions himself over me carefully, but I grab his shoulders and pull him down.

  He enters me slowly, and I sigh as he pushes himself completely inside me.

  I’m instantly overwhelmed by how good he feels — and how right we feel together. My eyes drift from his triceps flexed on either side of my head to his strong shoulders bathed in moonlight. I follow the outline of his jaw up to his eyes, which are slightly dazed and unfocused.

  But then those arresting blue eyes meet mine, and I try to communicate everything I’m feeling in that one look.

  He starts to move, slowly and deliberately, and I pull him closer so I can feel his entire body against mine. I trail kisses down his neck and shoulder, and he rocks me gently as he thrusts in and out.

  Each time, I’m amazed by what we’ve been missing out on all these months we’ve known each other. I raise my hips to meet him halfway, and he lets out a low moan of satisfaction.

  I love that sound. I want to hear it again, so I roll over until I’m on top. He closes his eyes as I move my hi
ps, and soon his breaths become ragged and shallow.

  Finally, when he can’t take it anymore, he pulls me down so our chests are crushed together and kisses me until I’m dizzy. His abs tighten, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

  I slow my hips and then go still, folding my body over his. He rolls me over so we’re both lying on our sides, braiding our limbs together until I can hardly tell who’s who.

  “I knew you’d be amazing,” he whispers.

  “That was all you,” I murmur in a sleepy voice.

  I want to curl up right here and fall asleep with Eli wrapped around me. But then I remember we’re lying on the observation deck completely exposed.

  Reluctantly, I rise into a seated position and begin collecting my clothes. When I find my bra, I meet Eli’s gaze and make a show of correctly unfastening the front enclosure.

  He chuckles and goes red around the ears. “Yeah, I’m getting you a new one of those . . . one that doesn’t require a key card and a retinal scan to gain access.”

  I give him a wry smile and put it back on. I toss him his boxers and pull on my shirt, and we spend the next few minutes hunting for our scattered clothes in the dark.

  Once we’re dressed, we cuddle up on the blanket and stare up at the stars. I don’t intend to fall asleep, but Eli’s chest makes the perfect pillow, and soon I’m drifting in and out of consciousness.

  The next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes to a sky that’s lightening near the horizon. I watch in a daze as it transforms from a smoky navy blue to a light gray.

  By the time the first rays of light begin peeking over the deck, Eli is stirring.

  “Morning,” I murmur against his neck.

  He shifts underneath me and plants a kiss that gets lost in my hair. “Morning.”

  I smile to myself and shift slowly into a seated position. Eli moves behind me and puts an arm around my shoulders to fend off the cool morning air. The observation deck retains some of the sun’s heat throughout the night, but it’s still colder than normal.

  As the sun rises, I see four shadowy figures moving out on the Fringe. I stiffen. I hadn’t noticed them before, but there are definitely people out there. Eli has gone completely still, too, watching the figures cross the open desert.

  They’re drifting farther and farther away, which means they must be Recon.

  As I stare, I recognize something vaguely familiar about the two on the inside of the group: One of them is tall and bulky, but the other is small and childlike. A cold chill whips over my body as the realization sinks in.

  Bear and Kindra are being deployed.

  sixteen

  Sawyer

  A feeling of dread settles over me as I wheel the breakfast cart down the tunnel toward the psych ward. Serving patients’ meals isn’t normally part of my job, but Watson doesn’t trust the ward’s normal nurses with Xavier — at least that’s what he says.

  After overhearing Watson’s interface conversation yesterday and seeing Eli being tortured, I can’t really believe anything that comes out of his mouth. The only thing I know for certain is that he’s working with Constance, which makes him dangerous.

  As soon as I enter the room, Xavier’s expression shifts into an accusatory gaze. He knows I’m the one who recommended he be put in psychiatric holding. I’m the one who’s been on the receiving end of all his morbid remarks.

  He stares at me without blinking as he shovels oatmeal into his mouth. He’s got this self-satisfied gleam in his eye that makes me feel off balance, and I hurriedly beam all the data from his monitors to my interface so I can get the hell out of there.

  As soon as the file finishes uploading, a notification flashes across my interface: patient ready for discharge.

  I freeze.

  “What is it?” Xavier asks innocently.

  I swallow and try to act casual. “You’re being discharged today.”

  “Really?” Judging by the smug tone of his voice, he isn’t surprised.

  “Yep.”

  “So . . . I’m not crazy after all, I suppose.”

  “I guess not,” I say, forcing a bright smile. “And your vitals look good. I’ll escort you out as soon as you’re done eating.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he says, covering his glare with a cold smile.

  “It’s the medical ward’s policy,” I say in a terse voice.

  “Very well.”

  I back out of the room with the food cart, gritting my teeth to keep my anxiety in check. As soon as the door closes, I shove the cart away from me and let it crash into the opposite wall. It bounces back wildly, sending a box of forks flying. Silverware spills out all over the floor, and I hear a low whistle to my left.

  I turn to see Caleb walking toward me with his hands held up in surrender.

  “Whoa. Everything okay?”

  “No,” I say in a defeated voice, bending down to gather up the forks.

  Caleb joins me on the floor and waits for me to explain.

  “There’s something seriously off about that guy,” I mutter. “But they’re just gonna let him go.”

  “The shrink said there’s nothing wrong with him,” says Caleb. “He’s just a little off from his ordeal.”

  I shake my head, staring at Xavier’s locked door. “There is something wrong with him. I can feel it in my gut.”

  “He’s been here for a full forty-eight hours. We can’t hold him any longer unless he poses a danger to himself or to others.”

  “I know.”

  Once we’ve retrieved all the forks, Caleb gives me a bracing squeeze on the arm, and I run up to the front desk to complete Xavier’s paperwork.

  By the time I return to the psych ward, Xavier’s empty bowl is waiting on the tray table, and the water is running in the bathroom. I hover near the door with an electric wheelchair, seething with anger at Watson, Xavier, and whatever shrink gave him a clean bill of health.

  Finally the water stops, and the door creaks open.

  I clear my throat to announce my presence, but Xavier doesn’t look surprised to see me standing there.

  “Ready?” he asks, tucking something into the pocket of his Recon fatigues.

  “Yep.”

  “Lovely.” He flashes me a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and takes his time settling into the wheelchair.

  When he’s ready, I motion the chair forward, and it starts off down the tunnel. I try to adjust the speed with my interface, but for some reason I can’t get the chair to move any faster than a crawl.

  “You ready to get back to Recon?” I ask to break the awkward silence.

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going back there,” he mutters dreamily.

  “Oh.” I don’t really know what to say to that. “I guess they’ll probably give you a few days off to recuperate, won’t they?”

  I can’t read Xavier’s full expression, but the side of his mouth turns up in a slight smirk. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make small talk. I know you feel guilty about labeling me a head case, Sawyer.”

  “I —”

  “It’s all right,” he says. “I know you were just doing your job . . . however misguided that may be.”

  That pisses me off, but there’s no sense getting into an argument with this nutcase. There’s nothing I can do to keep him here, so I’d rather just get him out of my sight.

  “Right,” I say after a protracted silence. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t suffering from any . . . residual effects from your ordeal.”

  He blinks slowly and gives me that creepy smile again. “Well, there are always residual effects, Sawyer. Once we see things as they truly are, we can never go back, can we?”

  “I guess not,” I say, thinking of Watson. He’s been my supervisor for months. All this time, I just thought he was a sadistic asshole, but he was really working for Constance.

  I let out a sigh of relief when w
e reach the waiting area. It’s bustling with sick and injured patients, but it looks as though Watson managed to get the reporters out of here. Caleb is filling out some of his own paperwork at the front desk, and he shoots me a bracing smile when he sees Xavier.

  “Well . . . come back and see us if you experience any night terrors, anxiety, depression . . .”

  Xavier hoists himself out of the wheelchair and turns his creepy smile on full blast. “Thank you, Sawyer. And I meant what I said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t blame you for what you did. You were just doing your job.”

  “Thanks . . .”

  He shoots me a conspiratorial look. “We all have a role to play.”

  “I guess.”

  He nods and strides off toward the megalift. I glare at his back, every fiber of my being screaming not to let him walk out of here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caleb coming up behind me, but I’m still watching Xavier.

  He bends down next to the wall a few yards from the megalift, on the pretense of tying his boot — only his boot hasn’t come undone.

  From this angle, I can’t see exactly what he’s doing. But a second later, he withdraws a clear vial and leans forward.

  “Sawyer . . .” warns Caleb. “What’re you —”

  I don’t realize I’m walking toward Xavier until I’m halfway across the waiting room. My eyes are fixed on the glass vial in his hand. And suddenly I realize what he’s doing.

  Directly in front of him is a large air vent. He’s trying to release the contents of the vial.

  “No!” I yell.

  Without thinking, I lunge for the vial in Xavier’s hand. He turns. I see the flash of realization on his face, but he isn’t fast enough to move. I throw myself on top of him, and we both hit the ground.

  “Sawyer!” yells Caleb.

  The waiting patients gasp as I make a grab for the vial, but I don’t care. I knew he was up to something, and I was right.

  I slam my forearm down on Xavier’s throat and reach out to grab the vial, but he’s much stronger than me. In one quick thrust, he manages to buck me off him, and my shoulder slams into the ground.