The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 4): Kill Them All

by Brand, Kristen

  I broke through, coughing the moment I had air. Struggling to keep my head above water, I wiped my burning eyes and looked around. The orange lights were the fiery wreckage of our boat.

  The ocean pulled me under for a moment, and I swallowed more saltwater. Dave? Elisa?

  I cast out my telepathy as far as it would go. Dave?! Elisa?! Where are you?

  Mom?

  Elisa. I pinpointed her mind and went in. She was disoriented but keeping her head above water. Her shoulder throbbed from the bullet, and something had hit her back, but neither injury felt major.

  But what about Dave? I couldn’t sense his mind anywhere. That shouldn’t be possible unless...

  No. It didn’t mean he was dead. An explosion like that couldn’t kill Dave. There was no way. He must be alive.

  Your dad? I asked Elisa, trying to hide my panic. One of her memories surfaced: Dave covering her with his body right before the rocket hit. She’d lost him in the explosion. Had the blast thrown him out of my range somehow? It didn’t seem possible. I felt like I was going to vomit. The explosion couldn’t kill him or throw him far, but it could knock him unconscious. I couldn’t sense unconscious minds unless they were in REM sleep. How long had it been? How long had he been underwater already?

  I sent the realization to Elisa in an instant. Look for him, I half ordered, half begged. Her terror came back across the connection, multiplying mine and threatening to overwhelm me. I blocked her out and swam. The light of the wavering flames on the wreckage of our boat wasn’t nearly enough to see by. That dark shape floating there? I grabbed it, feeling hard fiberglass. My heart sank. Where was he? He could be anywhere.

  I dove. It didn’t take long to reach the soft, silty bottom. The water was fairly shallow, but it was more than deep enough to drown in. I spread out my arms and groped blindly. This was impossible. He could be four feet away, and I wouldn’t see him. I had to try. Something brushed my leg, and my whole body jerked. I snatched it—just seaweed. I cursed and kept going.

  My lungs burned for air, but I stayed underwater, zigzagging frantically to cover as much ground as possible. My fingers yearned to brush the muscles of his arm, the wet fabric of his shirt. I imagined grabbing his limp wrist and dragging him upward. I’d save him. I had to. But my head was foggy and my limbs heavy. If I stayed down any longer, I’d drown, too.

  I swam to the surface and gasped in air but kept moving. As I caught my breath, I scanned the dark ocean. The fires on the wreckage were smaller now, the boat almost sunk. What about our attackers? I couldn’t afford to think about them. Every second Dave spent underwater meant oxygen wasn’t getting to his brain. Even if we managed to find him, he might not...he might not....

  Dave! Dave, where are you?!

  My lungs still ached, but I dove again, anyway. The sting of the saltwater against my eyes was welcome; it meant I could deny any tears. The ocean was too big. The current could have pulled him anywhere. No. Think. Which way was the current going? I went perfectly still, beneath the waves. It was hard to tell, but... That way. I kicked and stroked as hard as I could, nearly smashing against the sandy floor as it rose. Of course. We hadn’t anchored far off the island. Maybe Dave had washed ashore.

  I swam for the beach until the water grew too shallow, then ran, splashing and nearly tripping. Where was he? The moon had come out from behind the clouds, giving me a little more light to see by. He had to be here somewhere—there! Waves crashed around a shadowed form. I dashed for it. My heart felt like it was on the tip of a knife, like it was impaling itself with every beat. I didn’t even dare to pray.

  Ten feet away, I slowed down. I wanted to scream, to cry. I kept walking on shaky legs then dropped to my knees. It wasn’t him. I stretched out my hand and touched the tattered remains of one of the boat’s bench cushions. My hand clenched into a fist, and my whole body trembled. Don’t you dare break down, I told myself. If only I could control my own mind as well as I could others’. I reached out to Elisa, but she hadn’t found him, either. Desperate, I scanned the dark, narrow beach. It wasn’t too late. He could still be here somewhere. He—

  I pushed myself up and staggered around the cushion. I tried not to hope. I tried not to breathe. Another dark shape appeared, long and low against the sand. As I approached, low water flowed up to it, caressed it, and then receded into the ocean. The moonlight couldn’t be trusted, but that looked like a back, a leg, a head. My steps grew faster, my chest tighter. A strangled cry escaped my mouth. It was him!

  I sprinted forward and lunged to the ground next to him. He lay face-down in the wet sand. I rolled him over and lowered my ear to his mouth and nose.

  He wasn’t breathing. And I couldn’t do CPR, not on someone with super-strength.

  Elisa! In a fraction of a second, I transmitted everything she needed to know.

  She started swimming for us immediately, but were we already too late? Don’t think that. I put two trembling fingers to his neck, his skin soft and wet. He had a pulse—faint and slow, but it was there. Oh thank God.

  I tilted back his head and checked his mouth and throat for anything obstructing his airway. Nothing. I put my lips to his and attempted rescue breathing. Elisa seemed to take an eternity. I forced myself not to tell her to hurry, knowing she was going as fast as possible. She came up on the beach about a dozen yards down and dashed for us, diving to the sand next to Dave. I moved back to give her room.

  She put her hands on his chest and began compressions, fast and hard. I could only sit there, staring at Dave’s pale face as Elisa counted aloud. This wasn’t going to be enough. CPR was just supposed to keep a victim alive until emergency services arrived, but we were on an uninhabited island in the middle of nowhere. We couldn’t even call—

  Elisa’s cell phone. It was waterproof. I glanced at the back pocket of her jean shorts, seeing the telltale rectangular bulge. I pulled it out and touched the screen. When it lit up, I exhaled in relief. It had survived the explosion. I dialed 9-1-1.

  Elisa had reached the count of thirty. She leaned her ear over his nose and mouth. I was reading her mind, so I knew the moment she did that he still wasn’t breathing. She looked at me, her eyes wide and afraid.

  “Two rescue breaths, then start the count again,” I said, right as the operator picked up. I explained the situation quickly, stumbling over my words. How long would it take help to get all the way out here? Elisa breathed for Dave then began another set of compressions.

  Dave’s body jerked, and he heaved seawater and vomit. Elisa cringed. I dropped the phone and grabbed his neck and shoulders, tilting him forward. When the heaving stopped, I reached into his mouth again and made sure his airway was clear. Then I leaned him back down and checked for breathing.

  A faint exhale of air tickled my ear. “He’s breathing,” I said. “He’s breathing!”

  I sat up and saw my own smile mirrored on Elisa’s face, but the euphoria left as quickly as it had come. We both looked down at Dave’s closed eyes and slack mouth.

  He was breathing, but why hadn’t he woken up?

  Chapter 3

  The waiting room for ICU was a dull, off-white purgatory. A TV hanging in the corner was stuck on CNN, and a battered soda machine hummed next to it. Chairs sat in a line along the wall and had annoying wooden armrests that dug into my and Elisa’s sides as she rested her head on my shoulder. I ran my fingers through her damp hair, staring at the closed door and waiting for the doctor to come.

  Eddy and Irma had shown up two hours ago, bringing sympathy and a change of clothes for each of us. My linen pants and silk top were clean and dry, but salt and sand still clung to my skin, and my hair was a wet mess. I needed a shower. I needed twelve hours of sleep. More than anything, I needed Dave to be all right.

  The door opened. Elisa’s head left my shoulder as she straightened up, but it wasn’t the doctor. I wished it was, but then again, I would have preferred just about anyone over DSA agents. There were two of them, both male, one old and g
raying while the other was a young rookie. They pulled their badges from their crisp suit jackets in unison. The Department of Special Affairs was basically the FBI for crimes involving people with superpowers. I’d never dealt with them under pleasant circumstances.

  “Ms. Belmonte, can we have a moment of your time?”

  I kept my tone cordial. “Of course.”

  Anger radiated off Elisa, her headache and the stress of everything making her already short fuse microscopic. Let me handle this, I told her. Just try to ignore them—and don’t read their minds. I don’t want to have to bail you out of juvie on top of everything.

  Elisa didn’t form a coherent mental reply, but she settled down reluctantly. The throbbing in her head almost made me reach to massage my own temples. A crowded hospital was one of the worst possible places for a telepath. The sheer force of the dread, pain, and sorrow of the building’s occupants was like a thousand voices screaming in your ear. She couldn’t stay here for long.

  The older agent pulled out a notepad and pen. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “It was an assassination attempt,” I said. “They knew exactly where we were and how to avoid our powers.” I described the incident in detail, satisfied with how unemotional my voice sounded. When I’d told Eddy and Irma what had happened, I’d barely been able to hold in choked sobs.

  “Don’t you find it suspicious that your husband was the only one hurt?” the younger agent asked when I finished, glaring in what he must have thought was an intimidating way.

  “He was the only one hurt because he threw me to safety and shielded our daughter instead of trying to save himself. That’s not suspicious—it’s what he does.”

  “Thank you for your time,” said the older agent, cutting off the younger one’s response. “If you think of anything else that could help our investigation, don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

  He couldn’t honestly expect me to call them, so I didn’t lie and say I would.

  “And don’t leave town,” said the younger agent.

  I gave him a look of utter contempt. If they weren’t going to charge me with anything, then I could go wherever I damn well pleased. He should leave lines like that for the cops on TV. The older agent’s face flushed, and he gave his partner a glare before leading the way to the door. Good riddance. But then they stopped, the door opening from the other side as they reached it.

  Julio Fuentes rushed in. Better known as Freezefire, Dave’s former sidekick and current superhero, he was twenty-something, bronze-skinned, and lean. His dark hair was on the long side, and his sharp features earned his superhero persona a legion of devoted fangirls. Wearing jeans, a tight T-shirt, and some nice sneakers, he wasn’t here on business like the two DSA agents. He exchanged a few words with them in a low, worried tone, then crossed the room to where Elisa, Eddy, Irma and I sat.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” he said. “Any news?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  I gestured at the seat across from me, and he sank into it. There was the faintest bit of stubble on his face, having likely rushed here without shaving, and his mouth was tight. A white cast wrapped around his hand, a souvenir from the theme park where he’d fought Bloodbath alongside Dave.

  “How did you find out he was here?” I asked.

  “Agent Greenberg told me.” He was thinking of the older agent, not the idiot younger one. “He figured I’d want to know.”

  Then what had happened hadn’t gone public yet. Good. I didn’t want to think about how many of Dave’s enemies might take a shot at him if they found out he was hospitalized. Hell, my own father might have, if he were still alive. Then again, they might not need to try. Dave could die before they got the chance.

  I closed my eyes, trying to force the thought from my head. Dave would be okay. Any minute now, the doctor would come in and give us the good news. I had to believe that.

  “What happened?” Julio asked, and there was a hopeless quality to his voice, as if he knew getting the answer wouldn’t change anything.

  I repeated the story for the third time, my voice sounding oddly robotic. I glossed over all but the most important details, but judging by the way Elisa cringed when I described the boat exploding, she was reliving the scene in her mind, too.

  “And you have no idea who they were?” Julio asked, referring to the gunmen.

  I shook my head. “There are so many people who want to kill us.”

  I might not know who was responsible now, but one way or another, I would find out who had done this. And I’d make our list of enemies that much shorter.

  Elisa pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them as she clenched her eyes shut. I rubbed her back, wishing I could give her more aspirin, but she couldn’t have another pill for seven more hours. I sensed Julio bite back an urge to speak. He wanted to ask Elisa how she was doing but knew it was a stupid question. He sat in silence instead, and none of us attempted to start more conversation. Time dragged cruelly forward until the waiting room door opened again.

  This time, it was the doctor, and I surged instantly to my feet.

  “Mrs. Del Toro?” she asked.

  I didn’t correct her; I went into her mind immediately. The information I wanted was easy to find: Dave was stable but in a coma. They didn’t know if he would wake up.

  I stood there, nodding when a pause in the doctor’s speech indicated I should. Her words reached my ears but didn’t form any sort of meaning in my mind. I couldn’t focus. This new state of existence was too surreal. This hospital room, the doctor, finding Dave washed up on the beach: did it have to be real? Couldn’t it just be a nightmare instead? If I refused to accept it, would fate deal me a new hand?

  “When can I see him?” I asked.

  “Now, if you’d like.”

  I stepped forward, but my legs had turned to mush beneath me. I swayed, and Julio reached out to steady me, but I pulled away the instant his hand touched my back. Don’t show weakness; that was rule number one. Don’t ever show weakness to anyone. I straightened my back and followed the doctor down the hall.

  When we entered Dave’s room, it took all my willpower to stay composed. Dave lay in bed, his skin almost as pale as the white sheets covering him. His face was swollen, his mouth slightly open. I’d seen him look worse. Just a month ago, he’d been bruised and bloodied, but there had never been any doubt he’d survive. It hadn’t been like this. What was I going to do? If he never woke, would I have to make the decision to pull the plug? I clutched my throat, swallowing the urge to vomit.

  Dave?

  I extended my senses, looking for a thought, a feeling—anything. But there was nothing. He may as well have not been there at all.

  Julio moved chairs to the bedside, reminding me that I wasn’t the only one here. Elisa stared at her dad, blinking rapidly as if fighting tears. Eddy wrapped a comforting arm around her, and Irma touched my shoulder. I wanted to say something to reassure my daughter, but my throat felt dry, and the lies wouldn’t come as easily as usual.

  I sat down and grasped Dave’s hand. It hung limp, cold, and lifeless, unable to give his normal gentle squeeze. Two white bands encircled his wrist, his patient information printed across them, but there was no IV. There couldn’t be, not with his unbreakable skin. They’d have to use alternative methods to get fluids into him. I brought his hand to my lips, wishing for the power to help. But I couldn’t help. The only thing I could do was sit there.

  God, the silence was awful. It was as though we sat at his deathbed, like we were already at his funeral. My head was a whirlpool of dark thoughts, pushing nasty feelings into the pit of my stomach. I wanted to turn off my emotions. The more I stared at Dave lying comatose, the more my anxiety surged, until each passing second hurt. Still, there was no change in his condition. He didn’t even know we were there.

  It was only twenty minutes later when my phone beeped with a message, but it felt like hours. My sister, Bianca, texted saying she was about an hour
out. (I’d contacted her almost as soon as we’d arrived at the hospital.) Elisa was hunched over in her chair, her hands pressed to either side of her head, and when I opened my thoughts to hers, it gave me a phantom migraine. I texted Bianca back, decision made.

  “Time for you to go,” I told Elisa gently.

  She abruptly sat up. “What?”

  “You need to go,” I told her. “The hospital is too much. I can barely stand it, either, so don’t think it’s because you’re weak.”

  “It’s not too much.” She shook her head, then winced as it made her headache spike.

  I gave her The Mom Look, and she wilted.

  “But I want to stay with Dad,” she whispered.

  “I know. But if he could talk right now, he’d tell you to go home and rest.”

  Elisa kept her eyes downcast, trying not to cry. I reached over and grasped her hand. “It’s hard, I know. But I’ll call you the moment anything changes. I promise.”

  She nodded wordlessly. I glanced over at Eddy and Irma, who stood. Don’t take her home until I’ve dealt with who’s behind this, I told them telepathically. Use the safehouse in Spring Garden. It was a small, modest house originally built in the fifties, but the lot was big enough that Elisa shouldn’t be able to hear more than a few neighbors’ thoughts, and it was close to the hospital.

  “You want me to stay here with you?” Eddy asked.

  “No thanks,” I said. “Bianca should be here soon.”

  “Take care of yourself, squirt,” Julio said as Elisa reluctantly stood up.

  She smiled weakly in reply as Irma and Eddy escorted her to the door, Eddy glancing back at me with a worried look before leaving.

  Julio and I sat in silence for some time after they were gone. Sounds from the hallway filtered in from the other side of the door: the squeaking of wheels as beds were pushed, softly beeping machinery, and low voices. The toe of Julio’s left sneaker twitched rapidly up and down as we waited for Dave to move, for something to happen. Consumed with my own thoughts, I wasn’t paying attention to Julio’s, so I didn’t know what led him to say, “I used to think he was invincible.”