Going Rogue

by Robin Benway

  “It’s fine,” my mom started to say, but she couldn’t look at me when she said it, so I turned to my dad, who just shook his head.

  “We’re fine,” he told me, which wasn’t the answer to my question and made my heart pick up speed. “It’s all right, it’s not a big deal.”

  And then I smelled it: cologne.

  “Was Dominic here?” I cried. “He was here! What was he doing here?”

  “He just wanted to talk,” my mom said.

  “About what?” The coins in my pocket felt like they were vibrating against my hipbone. “Did he threaten you?”

  Neither of my parents said anything for a minute, then my dad spoke. “He offered to give me ‘immunity’”—my dad rolled his eyes—“if I turned in your mother for ‘taking’ the coins.”

  “We didn’t even recognize him,” my mom said, and now her eyes were narrowing, getting mean like a mama bear’s whose cubs have been threatened. “He looked insane, not like Dominic at all. I mean, it was Dominic, but not …” She trailed off. “Power corrupts, I guess. And he’s corroded.”

  “Wait, what did you get?” my dad asked. “When you came in, you were saying you got something.”

  “The coins,” I said, and my voice was shaking a little. “I was in Dominic’s house while he was here with you. Angelo sent me in.”

  “Did someone say my name?” Angelo said, and I whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, our door still ajar after I had failed to shut it behind me.

  “I got the coins,” I said. “And Dominic was here. I tried to call you but your phone was off.”

  Angelo had an odd look on his face. “My phone’s not off,” he said, holding it up. “In fact, your parents just texted me and asked me to come here.”

  “I didn’t,” my dad said, then turned to look at my mom. “Did you?”

  “No. In fact, I just got a text from you, Angelo, saying that you were meeting us here.”

  “Why is this door open? Does this mean I can’t do the finger-scanny thing? This sucks, I love scanning my fingerprint!”

  It was Roux.

  “Maggie, can you shut the door so I can do the fingerprint scanner?” Roux asked, poking her head through the door. “It makes me feel important.”

  “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” My mom looked like she wanted to shove Roux right back out the door, and I couldn’t blame her. Roux was the last thing we needed in the loft right now.

  “Jesse just texted me and said that he wanted to meet us here. Something about making up? I don’t know what he’s talking about, but if I have to watch him be all swoony and romantical, I will vomit, and that is the God’s honest truth. Oh, hey,” she said to Angelo and my parents. “Is there any dinner? I’m starving.”

  My stomach was starting to twist, but before I could say anything, the elevator doors opened again and Jesse stepped out. My heart leaped at the sight of him. It had been only twenty-four hours since our fight, but I realized that I had missed him terribly. His hair was hanging in his eyes again, and he quickly brushed it aside when he saw me, the familiar gesture making me feel even more nervous. “Hey,” he said, coming into the loft.

  “You texted Roux?” I asked him.

  “Why would I text Roux? Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Silver. Hi, Angelo.” He was as polite as ever, making my heart beat a bit faster.

  “Why would you not text me, is the question,” Roux said, clearly miffed. “And you said to meet you here. See?” She held up her phone so we could all see the text.

  “You texted me, too,” I told him, getting out my phone. “You said we should talk.”

  “I didn’t text either one of you,” he said. “Mags, you just texted me and said to meet you here. You said it was important.”

  The six of us stood in the living room, looking at each other. I could see the realization dawning across my parents’ faces, the same way I knew it was dawning across mine.

  We had been compromised. Our phones had been hacked.

  I looked to Angelo to see if he thought the same way, but he was looking past my shoulder and out the window, his face suddenly tight and cold. I turned to look, too.

  My heart both sank and swelled as I saw the narrow red light zip along one window, and Angelo was right, be careful what you wish for, because things were about to happen, so many things were about to happen, and, oh, I should have known.

  I should have known.

  “DOWN!” Angelo shouted, grabbing Roux as I yanked Jesse to the floor. My parents hit the ground behind us, and I pressed my cheek against the cold hardwood as the first gunshots shattered the windows wide open, glass raining down, leaving us exposed to the dark, starlit sky and all the demons that were waiting to fall upon us.

  Chapter 22

  I could hear Roux screaming, her voice competing with the sound of glass exploding. There were tiny bits of it in my hair, on my skin, seeping into my clothes, and I could feel Jesse’s leg under my hand, my fingers digging into his calf so tightly that I could feel his pulse pounding just under his skin.

  But there was no time to explain or reason or even think. Instinct was starting to take over, and my brain was chanting a single word over and over again.

  Run run run run run run run.

  All the power had been cut in the apartment, leaving us in darkness, and I could only barely see my parents and Roux and Angelo, their outlines hazy and gray. They were all moving, though, shimmying toward the kitchen and its protective center island, and I grabbed at Jesse’s jeans as I pushed myself onto my elbows, staying as low as the window frames would allow me. “C’mon!” I yelled to him, my voice nearly lost over the din, but he followed me anyway, staying so close that I could smell soap and shampoo and sweat.

  “Are you okay?” my parents screamed as soon as we crawled into the kitchen. From the streetlights outside, I could just make out a cut on my mom’s head, but it didn’t look terrible. My dad’s glasses were broken, but it didn’t matter. Roux was crying, tiny little sobs that barely shook her shoulders, and Angelo looked grim and determined and more angry than I’ve ever seen him before.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine!” I yelled before realizing that the gunshots had stopped, leaving us in an eerie silence that was even more scary than the shots themselves.

  “Jess—?”

  “Fine!” he yelled before I could even ask. He wasn’t fine, though, I could see a dark red stain on his T-shirt and all the blood in my body went straight to my heart, making me feel like I had been punched.

  “I’m fine!” he said again, seeing the look of terror on my face. “I’m fine, it’s just a cut, I’m fine!”

  I didn’t believe him, though, and my hand went to his chest, shoving away his torn T-shirt. My fingers were freezing, almost buzzing with adrenaline, and Jesse’s skin was cold underneath the seeping cut. It wasn’t a bullet wound, though, just a cut, but I didn’t feel any better. He was bleeding and Roux was crying and it was all my fault.

  “We need to go!” Angelo shouted, one hand dialing his phone. “Right now!”

  “Fire escape!” I cried. “The one in my bedroom!”

  And then the bullets flew again, firing directly toward us. I clutched at Jesse’s shirt again, and he grabbed my wrist as we both ducked down behind the center island. I could feel Roux pressed somewhere against my back, and my parents and Angelo were yelling at each other in what I vaguely recognized as French, only adding to the chaos.

  And that’s when I smelled the gas.

  My parents realized it seconds later, judging from the way my mother suddenly went stock still and silent. Something very terrible was starting to form in my stomach, syrupy and acidic and hot, and I looked over at Angelo.

  He smelled it, too.

  The four of us moved as one, me grabbing at Roux’s and Jesse’s hands as we scooted down and around the corner into the back of the loft. There was a brick wall there, dividing off the bedrooms from the rest of the main living area, and it held off the bullets for a few
minutes.

  “What’s that smell?” Roux yelled. Her hair was tangled from dragging herself across the floor, and I could see mascara streaking down her cheeks. Jesse was still quiet, but I could feel both of our hands shaking together. I squeezed his fingers as hard as I could, anchoring his skin to mine before I let go.

  “What’s that smell?” Roux screamed again, only this time, the panic in her voice told me that she knew exactly what it was.

  “You need to go!” my mom told me, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me toward the fire escape. “Right now, you kids need to go!”

  The three of us ran toward my bedroom, followed by Angelo, who immediately grabbed one of my sweaters off the floor and wrapped it around his arm. I could hear my parents still speaking French down the hall, yelling at each other, but the sound of Angelo using his elbow to shatter my window soon drowned them out. The gunshots were flying in the living room, hitting lamps and picture frames and pillows, and I started to realize that the shooters weren’t trying to send a warning. They were trying to kill us and if the guns didn’t work, then the gas would.

  Angelo used his arm to knock some of the most jagged pieces out of the window frame, then beckoned to Roux. She skittered away from his hand, though, not sure what was waiting for us just outside the building.

  “There are people waiting to help you,” Angelo said, raising his voice over the sound of gunfire in the living room. “Come, come, you must go! Right now!”

  Roux looked back at me. “Maggie?”

  “It’s fine!” I told her. “I’m right behind you!” I had no idea if it was fine, though. We were in uncharted territory now, and none of our old rules applied anymore. We weren’t listening to what we had been told, what we had heard. The concept of “being beige” had gone out the window. Looking back was all I wanted to do. And no matter what was waiting for us outside, there was only one certainty if we stayed in that apartment: all of us would die.

  Going forward was the only option.

  “Go!” I shouted at Roux as the gas smell started to get stronger. “Do it!”

  Something steely flecked in her eyes then, as if she had just gotten a shot of courage as she flung her leg over the edge and stepped out onto the fire escape. It was old and rusted, and she started to make her way down the steps as Angelo beckoned Jesse forward.

  “No! Mags first!” he yelled, but Angelo wasn’t listening. This was no longer a democracy, I realized. Angelo was calling the shots, and there was no room for argument. Jesse was out the window, and Angelo grabbed me by the waist and hustled me out behind Jesse. I could see Roux gingerly climbing down the ladder, Jesse waiting for her, and a black car that glided into the alley and stopped, freezing us all.

  “It’s all right!” Angelo called to them, then helped steady me on my feet. “They’re here for you! Faster, faster, do not stop!”

  “Angelo—” I started to say, and I was surprised by how bad my voice wobbled.

  “Do you remember where to go?” he interrupted me.

  “Paris,” I replied.

  “Yes. Go to our place first and then go there. They will take care of you.”

  I had no idea who “they” were, but I was willing to trust Angelo with my life and I would have gone anywhere he told me to go. There was just one problem.

  “My parents!” I cried. “They’re coming, too, right?”

  “They’re going out another way,” Angelo assured me.

  “And you? Where are you going?”

  “Go, Margaret! Just stop talking and go!”

  I grasped the wrought iron and started to climb. My knees were shaking and it was hard to stay steady, but I followed Roux and Jesse. Angelo stayed in the window, watching us go down the ladder, one of his hands concealed in his coat. Roux had always thought he was an assassin, even though I had insisted for the past year that he was only a forger. But I knew that Angelo would always watch out for us, ready to do whatever he had to to keep us safe.

  He had promised me that.

  Roux hit the ground first, landing on her feet with a soft, “Oh, ow.” Jesse followed behind her, not having to drop as far because of his height, then the two of them scrambled into the car. It was a dark town car, much like the one that had driven me around last fall when I was investigating Jesse’s father. I flew in after them and slammed the door behind me as the driver screeched out of the alley, gutter water splashing out behind us as he veered around a trash bin and careened into the Soho streets.

  The three of us were silent for a minute, Roux glancing behind us to see if anyone was following, but the alley was empty. “Where are you going?” I asked the driver. I knew where he was supposed to go, of course. I just wanted to hear him say it.

  “Platform Sixty-one,” he replied, turning to glance at me, and I realized with a jolt that it was the same man that I had seen following me the other day in the West Village.

  “Don’t worry, Maggie,” he said, and I detected a bit of an accent. Maybe Russian, maybe Slavic. “We know what we’re doing.”

  “Wait, what’s Platform Sixty-one?” Jesse asked, Roux wide-eyed and shaking next to him. “Where are we going? We have to go home, we have to warn our parents, Maggie!”

  “Your families are already under our protection,” the driver called over his shoulder, blazing through a yellow light. “Do not worry about them.”

  “I don’t even know where my parents are!” Roux yelled up at him.

  “They are in Berlin,” he said calmly, and Roux sat back in her seat, momentarily stunned by the fact that a stranger knew where in the world her parents were while she had no idea.

  Jesse twisted in his seat to look at me. Roux stayed silent, watching the streets fly past us and gripping her left hand with her right. “Who’s protecting them?” Jesse demanded. “Who, Maggie? The same organization that just tried to kill us?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was in shock, my mind still spinning and a little fuzzy from the gas. “I-I don’t know,” I said.

  “That’s the new us,” the driver muttered, hanging a left and going around the corner so fast that he almost took out an older woman pulling a grocery cart behind her. Roux whispered something under her breath and closed her eyes.

  “The new us?” Jesse yelled, leaning over the seat.

  “Worked for them, twenty years almost. Then they say I stole evidence.”

  My ears started to fill with an odd, humming sound.

  “Did you?” Roux asked.

  “Of course not!” he cried. “They want me to turn on friends, I said no. Then they said that paperwork is missing. And then my Social Security number went missing. None of my passports work.” His glare seemed to fill the entire rearview mirror as he looked at me. “How much do you know?”

  Jesse swiveled in my direction. “Did you know about this?”

  “Of course I didn’t know about this!” I shot back. “All I know is where we’re going now and that I don’t trust anyone unless Angelo says so. And he told me to trust him”—I jerked my thumb toward the driver—“so we’re trusting him.”

  “Close enough,” the driver said, then flew over a pothole and sent all of us into the air. “And do not worry about your parents,” he added, ignoring Roux’s tiny yelp. “They are under watch. We are watching them, not the Collective.”

  Roux opened her eyes and looked at me. “The Collective’s not watching them?” she repeated. “Is that who he was talking about just now?”

  “They’re corrupt,” I told her, avoiding making eye contact with Jesse and admitting that his suspicions had been right all along.

  The driver muttered something under his breath, and although I didn’t speak the language, I could tell that it wasn’t exactly a polite comment.

  “Corrupt?” Roux repeated.

  “Yes,” I told her. Something sliced through me as soon as I said it, the entire foundation of my life splitting apart. The Collective, which had taken care of me every single day of my life, was no longer
to be trusted. Angelo had been trying to prepare me all along for that realization. The strongest force in my life was irreparably broken and neither Angelo nor my parents could fix it.

  I saw the orange light reflected off Jesse’s face before I heard the sound, a muffled sort of boom that made all three of us turn around to look out the back window. A huge ball of smoke slowly rose into the air, its wispy underside reflecting the explosion, and it felt like a smaller, more potent explosion happened in my heart at the same time, running through me like the flames that now rose in the sky.

  “That’s … that’s my home,” I managed to say.

  “Not anymore,” the driver replied.

  “Are you seriously that much of a dick!” Roux yelled at him as she put her arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure they’re fine, Mags,” she said, voicing the terrible words that were currently stuck in my throat.

  The driver held up his phone. “They are fine,” he said. “Angelo has sent the text. They got out.”

  But I couldn’t turn around from the window to verify what he said. Jesse had his hand in mine, the warmth between our palms spreading like fire, and I thought about our kitchen table, my mom’s laptop, my bed, my clothes, my life, now turning into ash.

  There was something dangerous settling in my chest, making it difficult to breathe, and I shook Jesse’s hand and Roux’s arm off me, not wanting comfort. If they comforted me, I would break down, and I had two people to protect now. There was no time to fall apart.

  Jesse just nodded at me when I let go of his hand, and I wondered how much my face gave away. “Hey,” I said, leaning forward to talk to the driver. “Can you go faster?”

  He smiled and hit the gas.

  Chapter 23

  By the time we pulled up to Park Avenue and East Fiftieth Street, Roux was pale but no longer shaking and Jesse seemed to have calmed down after his outburst. They were being brave, too, I realized, and I wondered how much of it was shock and how much was actual bravery. Not that it mattered, though. Whatever would get us through the next few hours was fine by me.

  The car screeched up to the curb and Roux reached down to unlatch her seatbelt. “I’m never complaining about a cab driver again,” she said, letting out a shaky exhale, then peered up at the building next to us. “We drove like that just to come to the Waldorf Astoria?”