The Lost & Damned 1

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “They’re not people, Silver, and that’s the point.”

  “Is it? Are you really so sure? If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck …”

  “Don’t try to take the moral high ground, it doesn’t suit you.” Maydevine finally gives in to the craving and lights up a fresh cigarette for himself. “You’re not here in political protest. You’re here because you broke the first Hunter code in the book—something I’ve been trying to drive into you since you first learned how to hold a gun.”

  “What’s that? To follow orders blindly, without question or complaint?”

  “Act, don’t react.”

  Silver takes a final breath of the cigarette, crushing the butt of it beneath the heel of her boot. “Kill, or be killed—I get it.”

  Maydevine shakes his head. “Clearly not. I offered you a chance to take back everything that was taken from you, and you chose throw all of your energy into an emotional attack against an indestructible enemy. You made this personal.”

  “I did what I felt was right.”

  Silence.

  Maydevine pulls out an emotional trump card.

  “You know what the difference is between you and the man you got your name from?”

  His question catches her off-guard, her defenses crashing to the floor at her feet, waiting for him to continue.

  “Jonathan Cross was a true soldier.”

  “I exceeded his kill count before my twenty-fifth birthday,” Silver prides. “I forged myself in the heat of battle, and earned my status as Commander. I’m every bit a soldier, and you and I both know I never had any choice about that.”

  “You fight and you kill. You lead fearlessly, and you’re capable of great things in battle, but you’ve never once fought for something you believed in.”

  Silver, so angry she’s speechless, isn’t given the chance to contrive a response.

  “You’re a fighter,” Maydevine keeps on. “You fight with pure, unadulterated anger for the enemy before you, and you’re utterly consumed by it. Whatever you set your sights on, you drive that hatred into the power behind your gun. You destroy, and you revel in the destruction that you cause.”

  “Destroy. Reclaim. Rebuild. Control,” she repeats, failing to understand the criticism. “The first words I ever spoke.”

  “A fighter fights to destroy what they hate. A soldier fights to protect what they love.”

  Absolute silence.

  Silver never saw her life from that angle before, and Maydevine’s got one final point to make.

  “Jonathan Cross fought for the love of his family. He fought for their protection—for your protection. He fought for this city, and for the people in it. He fought because he loved what he was fighting for. That’s what made him a great soldier, and that’s the reason why, no matter what you ever did—no matter the successes you achieved—you could never be the soldier he was.”

  Silence closes in on them again, but this time, the oppressive nature of it begins to choke Silver’s emotions. Internally reeling from Maydevine’s battery of her character, she reaches for the HK USP. Steadily, she inserts the bullet into the magazine and loads the gun, locking the single bullet into the breech.

  Facing Maydevine, standing mere inches away, she holds the gun at her side. She watches his eyes dart from hers, to the gun, and back again. Somewhere down the hall, a door opens and several heavy footsteps make their way toward Silver’s cell.

  One last time, she locks eyes with Maydevine. “Is this really what it’s come to?”

  Two heavily armed Police Division Agents and a detainment guard arrive at her cell, and the two Agents pull their weapons on her when they see that she’s armed.

  Maydevine’s cigarette smolders between his fingers, his chest tight. He wants to breathe, but he can’t, his chest is just too heavy.

  “Ella …” he whispers.

  Before he has a chance to say more, she raises the gun and slips her finger around the trigger … then releases her hand around the grip, and lets the gun tip forward and dangle upside down. Wrapping her fingers around the barrel, she holds the weapon out through the bars toward Maydevine.

  “His gun,” she announces. “Take it.”

  She waits for him to accept it, and he does, although more so for the fact that he doesn’t want her to use it than for fact that she wants him to possess it.

  “Apparently, I don’t deserve it.” She forces her facial muscles to combat any display of emotion whatsoever. “I guess, by your standards, I never did.”

  Once she’s disarmed, the Agents lower their weapons and wait for the detainment guard to open up the cell door.

  Without resistance, Silver quietly accepts her fate.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Charges Laid

  Silver’s standing in the dock of a small court room, facing a panel of suits from the Banishment and Enforcement Council. Among the spectators in the public pews is Maydevine, the black armband still on his sleeve. This time, in anticipation.

  Silver’s face gives nothing away—no hint of sorrow or pain—while the foreman of the Council addresses her directly.

  “Ella Cross, among many other things, this Council has found you guilty of treason. Your other convictions include …” He dons a pair of reading glasses and consults his notes. “Kidnapping, assault—”

  Silver glares at Ethan Raine, who’s watching from the public pews.

  “—Reckless endangerment of human lives,” the foreman continues, “vandalism, willful destruction of government property, carrying a weapon without a license, storing weapons without a license, malicious mischief, attempted murder—”

  Silver glares at Lockie McKean, also in the public pews, and he pantomimes a gun firing at her.

  The list goes on: “—Possession of a controlled substance, theft, arson, terrorism, trespassing on government property, and handling stolen goods.” The Council foreman puts down his notes and sets his glasses to one side. “This verdict is unanimous, and the sentence is enforcement. Do you understand?”

  “A chest full of lead. Yeah, I get it. Why dress it up? You’re just paying some guy to shoot me. There’s no glamour in the gutter, gentlemen, just more filth waiting to be swept away.”

  The foreman carries on regardless, behaving as if she’d never even spoken. “The ordered enforcement shall be carried out immediately, and—”

  “Wait. What?” Silver interrupts him, every muscle in her body suddenly tense. “You can’t do that—I have rights.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m entitled to an appeal.”

  “You’re not entitled to shit!” McKean shouts at her from the pews.

  “Next time, I’m gonna shoot you in the face,” she snaps back at him.

  Crack!

  The foreman slaps the gavel down, forcing her attention back to him and putting McKean back in his place.

  “Under usual circumstances, you would be held in the detainment corridor, under armed guard, for seventy two hours following your judgment. But these circumstances, Ms. Cross, are most certainly not usual.” He locks eyes with her. “You’ve been convicted of treason.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was listening.”

  “Good. Then you’ll also be aware that this is not your first conviction for such. So let’s not forget who you are in this.”

  “Who I am? A Hunter Division Commander, accused of a crime she didn’t commit, wrongly banished, and now standing before you as a traitor because she dared to stand up and call a liar a liar. And who tried to stop said liar from destroying the lives of countless innocent civilians. Is that what you mean?”

  “I mean, the banished Hunter on her third strike, facing enforcement for petty theft and assault. The banished Hunter who was only spared enforcement the first time around because the evidence against her was wholly circumstantial, and her father was the second most powerful man in the city.”

  Silver rolls her eyes. “Oh, that Ella Cross. Okay, well, she’s got a message
for you.”

  Silver flips him her middle finger.

  The foreman doesn’t care. “That’s the attitude that got you banished in the first place.”

  Jaw tight, “I was banished because I didn’t allow the Council to pre-approve the guest list into my bedroom.”

  “You will not provoke me, Ms. Cross. Now, unless you have anything further to add, our session here shall be concluded.”

  Silver remains silent.

  Across the room Maydevine drops his head, wishing there was something—anything—he could say in her defense. He feels impotent, and Silver feels abandoned.

  “Very well, then.” The foreman shrugs. “This court is now adjourned.”

  Before he has a chance to raise the gavel, another member of the Banishment and Enforcement Council approaches the bench and elbow nudges him, handing him a slip of paper.

  Moments pass in whispers.

  Eventually, the foreman clears his throat and prepares to speak, the message scribbled on the paper clearly making him feel uneasy. “Though the Governor regrets he was unable to attend this afternoon’s proceedings, it appears he’s written a brief note for me to share with you on his behalf.”

  Reading from the paper, he avoids making eye contact with Silver. “I just want you to know …” He licks his dry lips and hurries through the rest of the note at double speed. “I’m sure it was you she was thinking about while I was fucking her.”

  Dead silence.

  Silver loses it.

  She leaps over the dock railing and sprints toward the Council foreman, instantly tackled by two security Agents. They restrain her, and begin to lead her away despite her kicks and screams.

  “He’s an asshole! You should do this city a favor and let me kill that worthless sack of shit!”

  It takes five men to hold her back.

  “He’s a corrupt, immoral prick, and you know it!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “He forces women into prostitution, and falsifies criminal evidence to suit his own goals. Fuck, that greedy, good for nuthin’ bastard will rape anything that moves!”

  The security Agents pull her backwards through the entrance to the court room, and out into the lobby of the DDH. She kicks at one of the Agents who dares to place his hands on her, and he stumbles backwards, smacking his head against a public water fountain and spilling blood.

  “Fuck you!” she yells at him.

  The lobby falls into low murmurs. Two more Agents accost her and bring her to the floor, one of them kneeling on her back to tighten her cuffs. Crushed beneath them, Silver looks up to see another team of Agents making their way into the building.

  Alex and Red are safely in tow behind them, and now, Silver’s silenced.

  She doesn’t even try to fight back against her oppressors.

  Alex looks much better—healthier—and the sight of him pleases her. Red, calm and unsurprised, doesn’t need her sight to know that Silver’s in the room—or where she’s going next.

  For the first time, Silver’s face shows some raw emotion as she looks across the crowded room toward Alex, and her heart breaks all over again. Repatriation was within a hair’s breadth of her—of them. At least, this time, she doesn’t have to live with it.

  The Agents haul her to her feet, and Alex finally notices the kerfuffle. One glance at the manner in which she’s being restrained, and the sheer number of Agents detaining her, and he knows where they must be taking her.

  He tries to break free of his guard. “Silver! What did you do?!”

  She turns away from him, not willing to cry in front of so many hoity toity Omega onlookers. He gets no more than two paces toward her when another guard subdues him, and tackles him to the floor.

  Outside, Silver continues to be the center of public attention. A large and very vocal crowd has gathered to watch them load her into the Police Division van after her sentencing. Journalists snap photographs and people wave banners at her, cheering for her enforcement.

  One journalist pushes past the Police Division barrier and thrusts a voice recorder in front of Silver’s face. “A word for the News and Times?”

  Silver looks the woman up and down. She’s a well-kempt, forty-something, housewifey sort of woman. Averagely attractive, but not particularly memorable, Celia is the Editor in Chief of the Amaranthe News and Times.

  Silver scowls at her. “I’d give you a few words, but you wouldn’t be able to print any of them.”

  Celia lowers the recorder, knowing better than to press her luck. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”

  “No. And guess what? He still loves me.”

  Celia is forced back by one Agent while several more haul Silver into the back of the waiting criminal transportation van, headed straight into the Fringe District.

  Safely locked inside, Silver is handcuffed to the side of the truck and shackled into her seat. As if that weren’t enough, she’s also being guarded by an Agent armed with a stun gun. She recognizes the scent of his cologne and looks up at him.

  Luka.

  Silver drops her head back down, refusing to bear the judgment of his eyes. She waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s speechless. She wishes he’d break protocol and engage her, but he’s a stickler for the rules and the vans are monitored with cameras.

  He’d be fired in an instant.

  At the southernmost edge of the Fringe, the van pulls up alongside a warehouse that’s decorated with Omega emblems. Silver’s led out of the van, leaving Luka behind, and is escorted through the nondescript entranceway where a dark stairwell leads them up several hundred feet to the very top floor.

  Here, they drag Silver into an all-too-familiar room.

  The enforcement bay.

  Just three walls and a roof, the fourth wall never existed. Backing directly out onto the ocean, this place used to be an Old World shipping warehouse. Construction materials were routinely hauled out from this room onto the transport boats waiting below, using an old pulley system.

  Now, though, it’s just a place of death.

  Her hands cuffed behind her back, Silver’s led to the far side of the room in front of the drop, and forced to kneel. She’s walked this floor so many times before, but never on this side of the gun. Where she kneels, the floor is stained with blood.

  Once they have her in position, the Police Division Agents stand aside and congregate in the corner of the room, some turning their backs on her. A moment or two later, someone else enters the room.

  The Enforcer.

  Silver can tell by the lack of confidence in his step that he’s a virgin in this room. His boney frame and gaunt features show that he’s gone without a proper meal for quite some time. He’s malnourished, and desperate to rid himself of the disease of poverty. Upon seeing Silver, he seems hesitant, but approaches her nonetheless. Standing within two feet of her, he aims an HK UMP sub-machine gun at her head.

  Worse than being an enforcement virgin, Silver takes one look at the unsteadiness in his hands and knows he’s never even fired a weapon. At least, he’s never killed anything before—especially not a human.

  “Do you know me?” she asks.

  The Enforcer nods.

  “Then do me a favor.” For his sake, she tries to sound as if she means it. “Shoot me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Denouement

  His hands clammy, Maydevine wipes nervous sweat from his palms before knocking on the door to Phaeden Rist’s office.

  It’s locked.

  The tag plate glows, inviting him to swipe his credentials.

  He does, and the door lock surrenders to his name and rank. Only a handful of people have this type of access to Phaeden’s private office: the Hunter General, the Commissioner, and the Governor’s two personal aides.

  Nobody else is allowed to be alone with the Governor.

  Ever.

  Maydevine enters the room and the door locks automatically behind him. They’re alone, but not out of sight. Maydevine
eyeballs the CCTV monitoring system in the corner of the ceiling, knowing that every inch of the room is covered under its watchful gaze.

  He glances at Phaeden, standing by the window with his back turned.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  There’s an unopened bottle of Old World scotch on the desk, with two glasses beside it. Through the reflected image of the room in the window pane, Phaeden catches Maydevine staring at it.

  “Will you do the honors?”

  Maydevine solemnly obliges, keeping his back to the CCTV camera and an eye on Phaeden in his periphery.

  Phaeden checks his watch.

  It should be over by now, and he cracks a small smile. Maydevine notices, but keeps his emotions in tight check as he hands Phaeden a glass of the scotch.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  Skipping right past the disingenuous pleasantries, Phaeden gets straight to the point. “I need for us to be clear on something, Gabriel. It’s important that there be no hard feelings between us, after all that’s happened.”

  “If it’s my forgiveness you’re after, forcing the subject on the day of my daughter’s execution might not be the best way to go about it.”

  “On the contrary, it can’t wait a minute longer. Not if you intend to retain your position.”

  His slightly ambiguous threat doesn’t shake Maydevine in the least.

  “You didn’t have to press those charges. You could’ve banished her again, if you had to, for what she did to McKean. But you found nothing linking her to the sabotage of your decoy’s convoy. There was no evidence of treason.”

  “Other than her history, you mean? And the small matter of her confession.”

  “Her confession was coerced, and she was never affiliated with the People’s Front. The attempt on your life that year was an act of terrorism by an isolated cell of extremists.”

  “Who just so happened to be in possession of a restricted military weapon that was last registered to your daughter?”

  Maydevine can’t explain how they got that weapon. He couldn’t explain it then, and even now, he’s no closer to understanding the series of events that lead to her conviction. That’s why, when it came right down to it, there was nothing he could do to prevent her banishment to the Fringe.