I grimaced at the image he’d just painted. “And Brendan used to be a part of all that?”
“Not willingly. But . . . there was Bells. She was their blackmail piece. If he didn’t cooperate, she was punished. Don’t ask me to elaborate on that.” My throat tightened as I struggled to stop my mind from forming awful conclusions. “After witnessing his parent’s deaths, he knew how serious they were, too. He endured that life for eight years, working as their human ability detector. But there came a point when he couldn’t protect Bells anymore. She was budding into a young woman and . . .”
At his uncomfortable shrug, I put the pieces together. Oh no. “Was she—is she—?”
“No, he got her out in time,” he reassured, pausing to pick a few dead leaves off a flowering plant. “He knew they wouldn’t just let him go though. So before he left, he made it seem like there’d been a fight. Blood, broken furniture. A lot of the clan members were jealous of his standing with the boss, so the idea that one of them would kill him wasn’t farfetched. But then there’s the boss’s son.”
Jaxon turned to me, studying my expression. I raised my brows, confused at the wariness in his eyes. Did he think it was a mistake telling me about Brendan’s past? “Please, Jaxon. I need to know.”
After another moment of hesitation, he nodded. “I’m only telling you this because I’ve never seen the dude so conflicted. I know it’s because of you, and that distracted state could get him killed. It’s against protocol to disclose what he does for The Ridge, but I can tell you what he used to do for the Recruiter Clan. Are you sure you want to know?”
No. “Yes. I want to understand why he would willingly lock himself inside a city that might never let him out.” And why he would leave his friends and family, everyone he cared about behind.
“There’s a simple answer for that, but it’s hard to swallow.” He held up a finger, then jogged backwards around a corner. Uh, okay. I trailed after him, and when I rounded the bend, I sucked in a gasp. Stone gave way to lush grass, and in the middle of the clearing was a shallow pool with a fountain at its center. Next to the water was a voluminous willow tree, its branches drooping so low, they brushed the grass.
Jaxon was nowhere to be seen, so I inched forward, even went so far as to remove my shoes and sink my feet into the soft grass. A grin pulled at my cheeks. Before I knew it, I was inches away from the pool, staring in wonder at the gold and white flashes rippling beneath the surface.
“Koi fish,” a deep voice said next to me, and I suppressed a squeak of surprise. “I’m assuming you didn’t have any of those in your city based on the puckered, fish-like look on your face.” I whacked Jaxon’s chest. With a loud crunch, he bit into a shiny red apple, then tossed one to me.
I held up the perfectly ripe fruit. “So this will give me immortality?”
“No, I put a spell on that one. Spoiler alert: it puts you into a deep sleep and only tall, dark, and handsome can wake you with a kiss.”
Shaking my head, I took a big bite. I liked Jaxon, but holy crap, I really really liked apples, spelled or not. Maybe apples were my favorite food.
“Should I leave you two alone?”
My eyes popped open—okay, maybe I liked apples a little too much. “Shut up,” I mumbled, taking a seat at the pool’s edge. “So what’s the simple answer?”
He sighed, like he’d hoped I would have forgotten why we came here, then sat beside me. For several moments, the only sound was the soft rush of water falling into the pool’s center. I waited, feigning patience by leisurely twirling a blade of grass and wiggling my toes in the water.
Just as I was about to press further, Jaxon quietly said, “He’s doing penance. Over the years, he’s destroyed many lives. They haunt him still—guilt eats at him every day. So now, the only thing that keeps him going, the only thing that lets him sleep at night, is saving lives.
“Of course we’re upset at the thought of never seeing him again when he goes on his missions, but an aimless Bren isn’t a Bren you want to see, trust me. I’d rather he live his life dangerously than not at all. My only worry is that he won’t stop until he’s sacrificed himself in the process.”
At that, unease stirred in my gut, along with a deep ache in my chest. I let silence settle between us again, too afraid to pursue the next question. What had Brendan gone through that would drive him to continually risk his life?
The moment for answers dispelled a minute later when Jaxon checked his handheld, then jumped to his feet with a whoop. “They caught your dance killer. Found the knife hidden in his room and everything. Let’s head back. I gotta be there for the interrogation ‘cause, you know, my ‘other job.’”
I blinked, trying to wrap my brain around the news as he hauled me upright. We were nearly to the elevator when I finally muttered “dance killer” with an eye roll. A little on the nose, but funny.
The shock wore off a couple hours later.
I was safe. Really safe now. Relief hit me like a shot of adrenaline. I hadn’t realized until this moment how tense I’d been all week. Knowing that the person who’d wanted me dead couldn’t harm me again was a terrible burden lifted. I could breathe easier. I could stop peering over my shoulder.
Jaxon hadn’t said if he was going to swing by my room after the interrogation, and I grumbled at my continued lack of a handheld. Too hyped up, I couldn’t fall asleep. And I couldn’t visit Bells’ room without a guard. Brendan must have been out as well because every time I pressed my ear to the wall separating our rooms, there was only silence.
Did that make me a creeper? Oh well.
He was probably at the interrogation too if he was as important as Jaxon said he was. Or maybe he was simply trying to stay as far away from me as he could. And who could blame him? The last words I’d said to him had been ugly. I might as well have spat on him while I was at it.
Guilt gnawed at my insides, further ramping up my energy. As soon as I saw him again, I’d apologize. Thanks to Jaxon, I knew him a bit better now. Knew that he carried a burden so much bigger than the one I’d just removed from my shoulders. Still, I had so many burning questions. Pacing the room grew boring, so I opted for a shower. Water would help soothe away the persistent buzz beneath my skin.
A half hour later, steam curled around me as I towelled myself dry, then stepped out of the shower. I slipped on a black tank top and yoga pants, my muscles completely relaxed for the first time all day. Maybe the first time in weeks. As I opened the bathroom door, I ran my fingers through my wet hair, working out any remaining knots.
When I reached the middle of my room, I frowned. Something felt . . . off. The air was thicker out here, even without the shower steam. My eyes lifted and that’s when I saw it. Bold, red letters on the wall. My chest tightened, heart thundering as I slowly read the words.
We don’t want you here. Leave now.
Crap. Oh crap.
There were others. And they’d been in my room. My room.
I could feel the blood draining from my face at the realization. Brendan. I had to get to him. I lunged for the door, but something snagged my hair. Yanked me back. Before the pain could register, before I could scream, an arm snaked around my neck and squeezed.
For an unbearable moment, fear froze me. The arm tightened. Air escaped my lungs. I wheezed, unable to draw breath. Unable to think. Fire burned my throat. My eyes widened as dark spots blotted my vision.
Then I reacted.
My heel slammed onto a booted foot and my assailant grunted, loosening their grip a little. Enough for me to create some distance between our bodies and ram my elbow into their rib cage. I heard a hiss of pain, which fueled me onward. As my attacker curled around their injury, we tilted forward. I went limp and my dead weight pitched us even more off balance.
We tumbled to the floor. I rolled so that I was on top, staring at the ceiling, then snapped my head back into their face. After a muffled shout, the arms fell away and I dragged air into my lungs. Coughs racked my body
as I rolled again, seeking out the intruder. A dark hoodie and mask hid their identity, but my burning desire to know who they were overrode common sense.
I reached for the mask. My fingers grabbed the material. A sharp bite of pain pricked my neck. I dragged the mask off, but just as I caught sight of pale skin, the world tilted. The floor rose up to meet me and I was once again rolling onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. But there was something terribly wrong this time. I flexed my muscles—or tried to.
My body didn’t respond.
I couldn’t move. The only part of me still responsive was my eyes. They widened as my attacker, with their mask once again firmly in place, loomed over me with a syringe in hand. I opened my mouth to scream, but even my lips refused to move. My heart pounded wildly as I helplessly waited for my impending death, for a knife to stab me. No one was here to stop them this time. No one would find me until morning, and by then, I’d have bled out.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
The wait was the worst. The anticipation of pain. I just wanted it to be over. What are you waiting for? I wanted to yell. The masked figure stepped out of my line of sight. My panic grew, a thundering beat inside my skull. Would they prolong my death? Torture me? Wake up, body, wake up!
Thoughts of being flayed alive consumed me. The need to defend myself was a raging fire that grew hotter and hotter the longer it was trapped within my unresponsive body. A minute passed. Then two. Nothing happened. More time slowly ticked by, and not knowing where my attacker was ate away at my mind. I could feel the anxiety like a heavy rock on my chest, pressing the air from my lungs.
If I didn’t calm down soon, I was going to pass out.
Brendan. Think of him.
My instincts rebelled against closing my eyes, but I squeezed them shut so I could picture his face. His voice. Think of his voice. The deep, rolling notes that always brought me comfort for some inexplicable reason. If I could just hear him, maybe the hand gripping my heart would loosen so I could breathe again.
Exhaling through my nose, I focused all of my energy on seeking the sound of that voice. My name on his lips. His teasing drawl. Concern on his tongue like a gentle touch. The rare anger that further deepened his voice, kind of like right now as he spoke to someone I couldn’t see.
“He swears that the knife isn’t his, that he’s being framed, and I believe him. I’ve known him for years and he wouldn’t jeopardize his family like that. I still think it’s our traitor trying to instill fear throughout the community.”
“I agree, which is why I’ve allowed Miss Avery to roam about the premises without much protection this last week,” another voice sounding like Dr. Moore said.
“So you’re using her as bait?” Brendan hissed.
“You know how long we’ve been trying to catch this traitor, Bren. First the rumors to cause unrest, then the theft of our high tech. Now attempted murder? You know the stakes more than anyone if this spy is working for Renold Tatum. Besides, she can take care of herself. Dominic says her visions are becoming stronger, faster, and more accurate. She would make a valuable asset on this case.”
“No. Absolutely not. She didn’t sign up for this. She wouldn’t want—”
Brendan’s words abruptly cut off. No, I needed to hear more, I needed to understand how I was doing this. Was this real? I opened my mind to him and shouted into the void. Brendan. No response. Panic swirled through my thoughts again, but I shoved it down, projecting my desperation for him to hear me instead. The feeling rushed through me and I immersed myself in it, sensed it gather into a writhing ball just behind my closed eyelids. I pushed the emotion into the dark silence.
Brendan, I need you.
The words echoed along a corridor I couldn’t see, but could feel. I directed them to him, not knowing where he was, but believing that I would find him anyway. The sound bounced around in my head for a moment more before all went silent again. I inwardly sighed. This was stupid. No one could—
“Lune?”
My heart slammed against my chest and I wrenched my eyes open, expecting to see him standing above me. There was nothing but the white ceiling of my room. I started to cry then, frustrated and scared. Except tears wouldn’t come. They were frozen too, burning behind my eyes with no way to get out.
More time passed and a new worry wormed its way into my mind. What if I was stuck like this forever? I wanted to thrash and wail but could only manage a weak flutter of my eyelashes. The need to expel my fury drowned out the fear that my attacker was still nearby, ready to chop up my limbs piece by piece so they could better hide the evidence of my murder.
Just wait until I got my hands on them. I would chop off their—
The door banged open and I inwardly jumped, a scream building in my throat that couldn’t find release.
“Oh, God. Lune!”
Blessed relief shuddered through me at the sound of his voice. Please, let it be real. His face, so worried, so beautiful, filled my vision, and the tears burned hotter. I formed his name on my tongue, but it stuck there. I felt his hands on me—my face, my arms, my stomach, my legs, back to my face—searching for injury. Finding none.
“Lune, speak to me,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “Where does it hurt?”
I blinked slowly, not knowing what else to do.
“Okay, I got it. Blink once for yes, two for no. Are you in pain?”
Blink blink.
“Good. Good,” he said, but the deep groove between his brows remained. “Can you move?”
Blink blink.
He stared at me, mortified, then his face fell. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “This is all my fault.” His agony was so intense, I could feel it in my bones. A tear escaped my right eye. Then the other. He caught them, carefully wiping my cheeks dry. “I’ll fix this, little bird. I will.”
As he pulled out his handheld and hurriedly typed in a message, I wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. To tell him over and over that I was sorry. That this wasn’t his fault. I wanted to kiss away his guilt and sorrow, erase the worry lines on his brow.
But all I could do was blink.
And silently cry.
“The effects of the drug-induced paralysis should be out of your system by morning,” Dr. Stacey said, unwrapping a blood pressure monitor from my arm. “Unfortunately, there are any number of people who could have stolen the drug from our medical supply wing. We haven’t needed to worry about that sort of thing until now.”
She looked down at me sympathetically, but her thin smile seemed forced.
“So you haven’t noticed anything strange lately?” Dr. Moore asked from his position near my feet. “Abnormal requests, lower than usual supply count?”
She stood, shaking her head. “Try asking Dr. Bradfield. His team makes the drugs, after all.”
Dr. Moore lowered his voice, glancing around before saying, “Do you have any reason to believe Dr. Bradfield would want Lune gone from Blue Ridge Sector? It’s almost been a month and he hasn’t created an antidote for the memory blocker serum. Maybe he hasn’t even tried.”
Dr. Stacey’s eyes widened. “No. I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything. Have you discovered the reason behind the threats on her life?”
“We thought so about an hour ago, but now I’m uncertain. We think it’s more than some misguided fear of her abilities.”
“Oh? What else could it be then?” Her gaze rested on Brendan who was leaning against the wall opposite the bed I was stuck in.
His golden eyes never left me as he said, “I’m not sure yet. I think it involves Tatum City though and her connection there.” He shared a quick look with Dr. Moore. “Can I take her back to her room now?”
The Ridge leader nodded, gesturing at the door. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
When Brendan crossed the small private room and bent over me, Dr. Stacey was ready with a wheelchair. “No need,” he said, carefully lif
ting me into his arms. Even if I could complain, I wouldn’t have. All I wanted was to be near him. I just wished that I could turn my head an inch so I could bury my nose in his shirt. The hallways were empty, which I was grateful for. If people saw me this way, helpless and weak, would they finish me off at the soonest available opportunity?
I suddenly wanted to be on my own two feet. But no matter how much I struggled, not even a finger would move.
Brendan peered down at me, probably sensing my heightened emotions. “You all right?”
I wanted to lie and say yes. I wanted to see his shoulders relax and the brackets around his mouth disappear. But maybe it was everything Jaxon had told me or my steadily growing feelings for him that made me tell the truth instead.
Blink blink.
He didn’t speak again the entire walk back to my room, but his arms tightened around me, fitting me closer to his chest.
Safe, my mind hummed. With all my heart, I believed that.
After nudging open my bedroom door, he took one look at the writing on the wall and turned around. When we entered his room, I breathed a sigh of relief. I doubted the attacker would attempt another pass at me in my room, but the thought of sleeping there sent chills down my spine.
He gently placed me on his bed, then fussed with the pillow behind my head and tucked a blanket under my chin. If my muscles would cooperate, I’d have a big goofy grin on my face right about now. He caught me staring at him—what else was I supposed to do?—and cracked a small smile.
I wanted to bask in that smile forever, but he was moving again, stripping his shirt off as he went into the bathroom. It was only a few measly seconds of glimpsing the long length of his spine and perfectly bronzed skin, but heat flared up my neck anyway. How could the shape of skin and muscle be so . . . attractive?
Adaptive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 2) Page 18