My nerves steely as ever, I turned to CEO Cutler. Last time I’d seen him, he hadn’t been all that pleased with my performance, but apart from hanging any old culprit for a crime not committed, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could have done.
And now this.
Cutler had the appearance of a bald eagle from his white crested hair to his regal nose and strong, streamlined torso. He exemplified the same predatory aura too, at least when he was dressed in more than a towel. The birds were extinct now, but I’d seen one a long time ago back in Epsilon. My pop had pointed it out, explaining the majestic American symbolism of the eagle.
Cutler missed the majesty part by the cruel curl of his lips.
Making with the howdy-do, he scrutinized the tension televised between me and Blondie. “Commander Cannon, welcome.”
I managed some sort of response.
“This is Mr. Rice. Head of technological acquisitions.”
Mr. Rice. The hacker with the all-the-best gen. The hunk who’d sucked my cock.
Major Head Fuck, more like.
I figured I had a couple minutes’ reprieve before being fisticuffed, face-punched, and hauled over to the Tribunal, so I put on the dog-and-pony show.
Taking a seat, Blondie Rice watched the proceedings with as much interest as choosing a new tie from a rack of hundreds.
“We’re under attack.”
“Yes, sir.” State the obvious, why don’t you? “What do they want?”
“Freedom, I presume.” Cutler sneered.
Can’t allow that, can we?
He clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s neither here nor there. The ingrates will be dealt with. You’ve got something else to worry about, Commander. Assuming you’re ready to prove yourself after the last cock-up?”
From the cushy lounge, Blondie’s eyebrow rose.
Cock-up. I’ll give him one if he doesn’t watch it.
“At your service, sir.”
“You know the strategy, then.”
“Top Corps to escort Company execs to the Outpost.”
“Exactly.” Cutler took a seat, leaving me standing. I widened my stance and considered discreetly fingering my guns off safety, just in case.
“You are charged with the safety of Mr. Rice. Escort him to the Outpost and I’ll wipe the gigs off your record. Shouldn’t take more than four weeks to reach it. You can keep your head on straight that long, can’t you?”
Which one?
“Yes, sir.”
He went on about the Outpost, aka the Brier, the legendary place that didn’t exist. Unless you were top-level clearance, apparently. All I could make out through the droning anxiety deafening me was that it had been a bunker built when the defunct United States was embroiled in a Cold War.
Things were about to heat up.
Blondie relaxed like he was prepping for a vacation while the details were hashed out about how I was going to guide him. Alone. He even stretched out on top of the sofa and linked his hands behind his head so his shirt and jacket strained over his chest.
This smelled like a case of crotch rot and total setup. In fact, the whole situation was ludicrous, including the one rising in my pants because being pissed off made me horny, obviously, and he wasn’t helping with that highly unprofessional slow lip lick of his.
As if I didn’t have enough worries, I planted my size-fourteen boot in it. “With all due respect, this mission is bogus. I have command of my infantry. Here.”
“Are you implying you have no faith in your second, Lieutenant Grant?”
Right. The motherfucker made it look like I questioned Liz, putting her in jeopardy. “No, sir. She is completely capable of leading our company.”
“Then you will complete your assignment to rendezvous at the Outpost where the leaders are convening to regain control of the Territories. Meanwhile, the remaining infantry will quell the uprising…or level the city.”
Did I say mother fuck?
“I’ll leave you to formulate plans. Make full use of the maps.” Cutler rose to his feet, gripping my hand. “Your transport will be readied by twelve hundred tomorrow.”
I thrust my contaminated palm into my pocket when he sent back, “I trust you’ll be fully armed, Commander.”
He had no idea.
The door closed behind him.
I pulled out maps, pinning the location of the place. Isolated, its position couldn’t have been worse. What should’ve been a straight two-week shot north looked like a freaking mine had exploded all over the landscape. Checking measurements, I reckoned hundreds of meters of inhospitable vegetation in every direction stood between me and the Brier. What an apt name.
After adjusting the guidance system on my D-P, I approached the slit of a window overlooking the Quad walls and wished I hadn’t. Reeling back from the volcanic fountains of artillery, smoke, and fire outside, I hit a solid wall of male body. Blondie’s scent drifted over me.
“Not gonna talk to me, then?”
I swiveled around. “Not into chitchat.”
“You were pretty chatty a few hours ago.” A lean smile pursing his cocksucking lips, he looked me over. “Four weeks is a long time, you know?” He’d dropped his Company-composed veneer, becoming the fantasy man I’d fist-banged in my shower.
“Got nothing to say to you.”
His hands whispered to my shoulders, sending thrills through my body. “Had a lot to tell me earlier, Cannon.” He tugged my earlobe, his teeth biting, his lips healing.
“Is this foreplay or foul play?”
“Gettin’ to ya, am I?”
Peering at the high corners of the room where I guessed one, if not two or three, recording devices spied on us, I hissed, “Why don’t you keep your hands to yourself. Eyes and ears, asshole.”
“Got the cameras on loop.” His fingertips brushed the back of my neck.
I shoved him off. “You’re a cunt’s hair from getting your head shot off—”
“Don’t I know it.” He watched the crotch of my fatigues stretch to obscene proportions.
“The head on top of your neck, Rice.”
“How about a name?”
“Commander Cannon.”
He cajoled, “Given name?”
“Caspar.”
“Commander Caspar Cannon.” The way he said it made me want to throw him over the desk, rip his pants off, and sink into that rosy bud of his. Immediately.
He knew it too.
“A soldier.”
“Correct.”
His prowl toward me had my breath trapped in my windpipe, my mind scrambling for even footing.
I did not fucking swoon.
I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the fatal thud of my heart. “You gonna capitulate? Because I’m not calling you ‘sir.’”
“That so?” His fingertips brushed across my belt, then tugged me closer.
Walking my fingers down his tie, his shirt buttons, his jacket, I found his cock, and he was impossibly hard. “Affirmative.”
I palmed him with rough strokes, the feel of him so fulfilling in my hand, no matter how damned I was for giving in.
When he sighed against my shoulder, “Nathaniel Rice,” I relinquished him.
Now I had a name, one I could curse at will, sparing a few choice swears for myself. “Landowner.”
“Yeah.”
Great. His surname denotes him as a spoiled, living-the-high-life Company exec from a privileged background.
The reports and maps gathered up, I not-so-gently knocked past him.
Calculation quirked the side of his mouth. “You’re wonderin’ if this is the real me. Or am I the man who had your delicious cock down my throat”—he stopped to look at his heavy gold watch—“four hours ago.”
“I’m wondering how long I have to deal with this bullshit before I can brief my troops. Oh, and I gotta feed my goldfish. Let’s get this straight, Blondie—”
“Blondie?”
“That’s an insult, not a pet name.”
His eyebrow arched.
“You’re an assignment, not an assignation. Soon as I get your pretty-boy ass through the Wilderness and deliver you to the Outpost, you’re no more than a stain to spit shine off my boots.”
He slinked forward, invading my space. I feinted left and he blocked me with his forearm to the wall, backing me into a corner. That shit made my blood boil. I could chop my hand down, probably break a bone or two in the process. I was contemplating the smarts of that move when the bastard brought his palm to my neck, his fingers dipping in to the throbbing pulse, measuring how much he affected me.
“Yeah. What if I’m on the Executive Committee, huh, Caspar? You wanna know if I was takin’ names and faces at the Amphitheater? That’s what got your heart pounding?”
“You got it. Congrats. You win a furlough with me.”
“Maybe you’re still thinkin’ about how much you want to slide that gorgeous cock of yours into my ass?” He lifted his hands, halting when he realized his hair was tethered back. He settled for pulling the ends of his ponytail, the one I wanted coiled around my fist when I yanked his head back for my kiss while I fucked him slow and deep from behind.
“Or maybe you wanna rush off to report me.”
I sent him an evil grin. “Thought had crossed my mind.”
“Good. Don’t trust anyone.”
“Double that.”
Mutual distrust, a nice little bed warmer.
He had me turtle-up. My hard shell cracked when I thought about his words, his mouth, his tongue. I cranked down on those memories, filed ’em away in a lockbox stored in a safe, hidden inside meter-thick vault walls.
“You’re gonna need to spiff down before I take you anywhere,” I said.
His smile broadcast across his face, playing up some serious dimples. Bet he had a matched pair on his ass. That smile made a massive misinterpretation of my words, filling me with a before I take you out on a date kind of vibe.
I headed out in front of Blondie because (a) it was impossible to hide my hard-on and (b) having a front-row view of his ass in those perfectly tailored slacks wouldn’t help. At fucking all.
Great way to inaugurate the rebellion. Getting screwed from the inside out.
Not if I turn him in first.
I clicked right, toward Corps Command.
A hand clasped my shoulder, making me blow my wad because one more suggestive comment in his southern c’mon, boy voice, I was gonna fuck him until he couldn’t walk anymore, or I was gonna pull my Glock out and—
Jesus Goddamn Christ. I saw why Blondie had stopped me. Dead in front of me stood Leon.
Stood was a poor choice of words, but it was Leon all right. Looking one hundred and eighty degrees different from the last time I’d seen him.
Held up between two military police, his hands were cuffed behind him, his shoulder stretched back. His face was a mass of swollen tissue in shades of purple with ugly greenish yellow mixed in, a thread of bloodied spit dangling from his lips. His mesh vest was torn to shreds, revealing slender muscles bruised by fists and metal-capped boots.
When I marched up to the troopers dragging his floppy body by the elbows, Blondie kept pace.
The traitor better not mess with my operations.
I addressed the grunt closest to me. “Where are you taking this man?”
At the sound of my voice, Leon drew his head up. His hair hung in sweaty clumps over his eyes, but he recognized me—the little shit had had his hands on my crotch only a few hours earlier. More cunning than I suspected, he maintained the same blank look Blondie and I adopted, with a hate-filled sneer for added emphasis.
MP Coombes had a face like the sole of a boot and about as much charm. He and his hard-liner cohort were the opposite of the recruits I’d sent ass-backward at the never-ending beginning of this night.
“He’s not a man; he’s a faggot,” Coombes spat.
Being a ruthless bully, he grabbed Leon’s chin, digging his fingertips into one of the fresh cuts. Leon didn’t flinch when he jeered, “Ain’t you, boy? Like it up the ass. Fuckin’ dog. The queer’s implicated in the rebellion. Arrested him at that gay rave, the Amphitheater. All dolled up, wasn’t he, Jenoah?”
The Jenoah in question was a bleak-featured bitch with eyes that held all the emotion of steaming shitholes in snow, except now there was a sick gleam to them, because she’d caught one of us.
Landing a blow on Leon’s cheek, she agreed. “Sure was. Had to mess up that pretty face. The body too. Unnatural is what this shitpacker is. Bet he won’t get much action anymore.” She beamed at me, her superior, expecting a reward.
Taking very deep breaths, I barely held in my hotheaded temper.
“MOVE OUT!” A fresh wave of troopers deployed to the left of us, reminding me there was a lot more going down than just Leon, but he took top spec in my mind. Damned if I was going to let another good man end up with a rope around his throat.
“He’s headed for the stockades for now,” added Coombes.
“Under whose orders?” My hands curled into fists, ready to do something seriously stupid. Blondie touched my shoulder, murmuring something too soft to hear, but his light assurance delivered instant calm.
“The XO.”
No way around that.
Leon’s eyes stopped spinning long enough to pierce me. “What you be lookin’ at, Corps cunt?” His insult came out gargled with fresh blood.
That earned him another ball-kick before they hauled him away.
His barb salted the open wounds from the entire messed-up night. There was only one way to deal with the duality of what I was—cut out all the emotion from my life.
Another blast shook the ground. That would be the electrics grid shorting out.
Blondie staggered into me with the earthquake hilling under our feet. For a second, I let myself be the fulcrum to his body.
My D-P went off. I barely heard it through his low words, the rat-tat of gunfire, and the buzz of generators starting from scratch, relighting the Quad first and then hum-hum-humming halos outside the compound. Their weak illumination joined the rising sun barely visible through black entrails of fire and the rain of fat ashes.
Leon was at the doors of the Tribunal.
The acrid smoke choked me, stung my eyes.
When Blondie said something about seeing what he could do for my moony-eyed boy, I figured my ears were still tinny from the explosions until he clasped my hand, holding it firm and tight and letting go to say, “I know you feel responsible for him. Not sure why.”
A grin pushed up my lips. “Me neither.”
“Should count him as competition and call myself lucky he’s off your grid.”
“Leon isn’t even in the running.”
The smirk. The wink.
My error.
“I’ll get him off the stockades, see about delaying the Tribunal. They’ll have more important things to deal with than your Leon.”
My Leon.
Those words rang a hollow tune inside my heart. I had a wish, a dead plant, and no relatives. I didn’t belong to anyone and for damn sure I didn’t possess Leon, Blondie, or any other man. I wheeled left. All thoughts, all memories, all wants that were not gonna happen got stuffed into the Happily Never After crypt. “Pick you up in six,” was my curt goodbye.
I didn’t have to look back to know his hands were on his hips, his cheek curved upward, his eyes merry over my words. This was exactly the weak in-love stuff I steered clear of. Men like him. Guys who slashed into my heart with their free-and-easy grins, until those grins were ground out of them right in front of me.
Maybe I preferred the anonymity blessed unto us by the Company. Whatever. I shoved it all into the lockbox, inside the vault of my memories, contained behind a reinforced entrance, then strode to the indestructible doors of Command. After a thumbprint and a retinal scan, I was in.
Making my way through Central Command, I might have been a little shaken by the night’s events—with Leon the unpopped cherry on top—but I wasn’t gonna show it.
The room I entered was a sight for sore eyes. Guess I got my sense of decorating from the Corps, because the bland gray walls finally settled my balls. One long table glowed from the multifaced D-P vomiting streams of information from its center. A cold, concrete room, the only color in it came from the rows of Territory flags, sixteen identical sentinels stationed against the walls. Regeneration. Veneration. Salvation. The standard salvo was printed in blue across thick bars of gold. Stars and stripes rebranded to bars and strips.
The Roman numerals on each was the only bit of individuality allowed, denoting the separate Territories. Repetition was crammed up our asses until it was ingrained in our brains.
The air vents stalled as generators went to work on the most important electrics—halos, security, data banks—leaving the banners hanging like limp prisoners from their posts. Liz stood between two of the flags, their edges caressing her shoulders. Her posture was precise whereas they drooped in defeat. Only her slow popping of knuckles from one finger to the next gave away her worry.
“Give it to me, sir.”
I joked, “Like this? Here? Goddamn, I thought you women were into the romancing.”
Her short dark hair created a sharp cap on her head, the sharpness reflected in her narrow eyes. She didn’t crack a smile. “Our troops are suited up, awaiting your orders.”
“Change of plans.”
Pushing off the wall, her chin jerked up. “What’s our detail?”
I clasped one hand at the back of my neck. “My detail.”
Other than the visible gulp in her throat, she showed no reaction. That’s my girl. “You’re going outside.”
“Affirmative. Personal escort to the head of technological acquisitions.”
“This Head-of got a name?”
“Yeah…Asshole.”
That won me a short-lived snort.
She didn’t fidget or fight when I brought her to me, folding her inside my arms. She grabbed my shoulders and held on, too.
Fucking hugging and hand-holding.
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Always.”
She cupped my chin, brought it to her shoulder, whispering into my ear, “I know you’re different.”
My arms dropped and my head shot up. Shock was replaced by sternness when I said, “You’re in charge now.”
“Commander—”
“Clear the streets of Nomads and rebels, enforce the curfew, and evacuate the civilians to Beta Territory. They’re more capable of handling this blitz. They’re bigger, with better resources.”
“Cannon—”
“Restore order, Liz.”
“Is that really what you want?”
“I have no opinion.” Because the other one would put her in danger, and there’d be a great big grave with my name on it.
She tugged down the sleeves of her jacket. “Caspar, you better stay on your game out there.”
“I’m always on point, Lieutenant.” I drew a line in the sand, using her title instead of her name.
“Right.” She drew herself up.
“Got my six?”
“Always.”
“Liz…”
“Don’t say it, Commander.” She pivoted on her heel and aimed straight ahead. “Don’t send me off with some bullshit story.”
She didn’t think I was returning any more than I did. I performed an internal check, and yep, that notion hurt. Not enough to let her know though. I winked and gave her an easy smile. “Don’t say what? That you better keep this place tight until I get back?”
“You’re such a dickhead…sir.”
“Just don’t go soft on me.”
Grabbing her crotch, she grinned. “Not possible.”
“I’ve got my D-P, so we’ll be in touch. And you’ve got your orders.” I spoke through a throat working overtime. “You take care.”
Blinking rapidly, she saluted and marched from the room without a backward glance. Palms down on the table, I rolled my neck a few times, loosening that shit up. Sucked in a couple deep breaths and let ’em out slow.
Fucking errand boy. I wasn’t gonna fall apart over this situation. I took a moment to inventory my arsenal and nodded. So be it. If this was my mission, I was gonna be the best damn errand boy money couldn’t buy. Make sure no harm came to Blondie unless the blow was personally delivered by me.
I allowed myself a nasty grin at that thought before striding outside.
* * *
I had some details to square away, and sleep ranked low on my things-to-do-before-I-got-fucked list. My remaining time in Alpha also didn’t include being pussy-whipped about Blondie or wondering whether he would bring me flowers. Oh, and that goldfish I had to feed? Little turd went belly-up the week after Liz gave it to me. Surely had something to do with it being one of the pet clones the RACE team worked on in their spare let’s-fuck-with-nature time, not the fact I knew nothing from nurture.
My things-to-do were nothing compared to the Company’s. The initial catastrophe dropped the orderly CO into chaos, and I would have liked that if it wasn’t so damned detrimental to the people.
The smoke from the S-5 blazes had some serious hang time, swathing the area in great gray clouds. On my way into the sector, the water plant was cordoned off and more suits swarmed around, but this time the suits were less business attire and more neon, neoprene outer-body shells to protect against possible contamination.
With most of the rebel action taking place near City Center, civilians in this area were contained and housebound. I hoped to get a private moment with Mrs. Cheramie. The least I could do was let her know her son was alive, if not exactly safe.
Stripping off my helmet, I leaned my bike on the kickstand. The square plots of weeds that passed for lawns in S-5 were scorched, but those pretty red flowers blossomed brighter than fire in the early morning’s haze. I bounded up the crumbling stone steps toward the door, which hadn’t ever hung straight from its jamb.
Before I could knock, the door swung wide. Close up, Mrs. Cheramie was younger than I’d thought, making me realize her son had been born when she was barely legal. She had the long wild hair of a Nomad—loose, sun-catching waves. A small slight to the Company. There was a little rebel in everyone.
“You be here about Leon.”
A painful twist of guilt knotted my stomach. I should never have left the kid alone at the Amphitheater. Holding her strong summery green gaze, I told her, “I’m Commander Cannon, ma’am. Leon’s been taken into custody.”
Mrs. Cheramie stepped back, inviting me inside. “He be mentionin’ you.” Her voice richer than her son’s, she growled out the words in a thick accent.
I must’ve looked panicked, because she hastened to reassure me while she ushered me through the doorway. “Only dat he respec’ you, Commander.”
“Caspar, if you please, ma’am.”
She beckoned down a hall lit by candles, overwhelming in its colorful scavenged disorder from patterns of dried flowers forming makeshift wallpaper to beads shimmering from lamp shades.
There was a reason I hated untidiness like this. Climbing with shelves of books that were surely restricted and jars of this and that, the hall sent me into a claustrophobic nightmare of memories. It put me in mind of a place I’d once considered my second home, small rooms overflowing with similar types of shit that had pissed me off on the one hand and become loveable on the other.
Since I couldn’t control my desires, I maintained brisk control of my area. My small rooms were devoid of visual interest so no remembrances could sneak up and fill me with unattainable ideas of what-if.
Running my fingertip down a crack in the wall that zigzagged from ceiling to floor, I couldn’t see how I was gonna maintain my distance from Blondie for four weeks. He represented the whole big ball of what-if, bringing it together in one sexy, strong, eager package.
When Mrs. Cheramie called over her shoulder, “Dem put da fah-yuh out; let’s do da same, boy,” she threw me back to a different era.
Boy. Mom used to call me that when she was pissed off.
In our family, Erica had been the tearaway, but as the oldest I was always the one facing the boy charges. I’d been well aware something was wrong with me that I couldn’t get over with a quick fix, so I’d tried to fit in any way I could, unlike my sister. There wasn’t much trouble to get into up in Epsilon, but she sure made a point of sniffing that stuff out. I could never talk her out of her harebrained ideas and I couldn’t let her go alone, so I ended up shadowing her.
That last time, she’d wanted to see the ocean. “C’mon, Cas! It’s what? A four-hour hike? We leave at sunrise, return at dusk. We can do it.”
I’d been sixteen to her fourteen. I’d never been a pushover, but give me those big brown eyes and the pout from Sis’s mouth and I was much more moldable than now.
Escape was easier back then, some saved-up scrip in the right hands bought a day of liberation. It had been August, a hot one. During our hike, I’d marveled at the massive trees with Erica making fun of me in her free-wheeling way, nothing I’d ever take slight to. When we’d finally hit sand, we’d thrown off our clothes down to underpants and T-shirts, racing each other into the wild surf.
She’d hooked her fingers behind her ears, shoving her tongue out, taunting, “Scared to go deeper, Cas?”
Diving into the cold water, the effervescent bubbles coating my skin, I’d grabbed her ankles and dragged her down. I’d come up triumphant while she rose to the surface like a spitting cat, shaking out her hair.
“Ass.”
“Pain in the,” I’d replied with my teenager’s insult.
Salt. That’s what I remembered. That frothy water had tasted like salt on my lips. The ocean pounded so hard, knocking us back only to have us come up from the depths sputtering, laughing.
The northern ocean had been limitless, the sun glorious, the day unmatched.
We hadn’t made it back before sundown. Worn out from the surf, Erica dragged ass until I’d hefted her across my back, carrying her through the dense Wilderness. There was no scrubbing away our sunburns or the smell of sea water; the foreign air clung to us. There was no excusing the demerits on our records for a day missed from the institute.
Once home, Erica was sent to her room, leaving me to face our mom. Already she was shorter than me, but she was still capable of inspiring fear. Anxiety had gnawed a hole in my stomach.
Looking up at me, brow furrowed, eyes wide, she’d whispered, “Damn it, boy!”
She’d backed away from the windows, making me follow her into the kitchen, where everything was labeled, organized, shipshape. Chair legs scratching against the floor, she pushed the four matching seats tableside and smoothed the napkins laid out for breakfast in the morning. Her lips trembling, she’d shut the curtains with quick yanks, though not before I saw her peeking outside.
Tears had spilled from her eyes, fear fading to relief. “Get over here.”
She’d embraced me while I listened to the catch in her voice whispered against the new stubble on my cheek. “You know we do everything we can to keep you safe. But when you disobey the rules, Cas…”
She hadn’t finished her sentence.
It was already fully loaded.
When I disobeyed, people—my family—got hurt.
There was only one time I’d told Erica no and I’d regretted it ever since.
Trying to hide away my reopened wounds from the past, I double-timed it into Mrs. Cheramie’s kitchen, hitting the top of my head on some hanging gewgaw.
I rubbed my skull and glared at the decorative eyesore. “Could use a top-up, ma’am.”
She scooted me to the side, rising on tiptoes to stop the clash of the mobile I’d swung into motion. “Shoosh, grand beede! Gar ici, dat be from my mamère. Dem shells seen da best and worst of it. From da Grand Isle.”
“Grand beede?” I sloped across the floor, measuring out the small space with my paces until I found a homey corner with a view of everything.
“Big clumsy man.”
I went red in the face. “My apologies, ma’am.”
Waving my courtesy aside, she picked up a bottle of liquor from the counter overrun by tiny plant pots and mugs whose glaze was cracked, half their handles chipped away.
“You take your libation here, you call me Evangeline.” She swirled the bottle, its potent fumes lifting between us. “Don’ be reportin’ me?”
“No, ma’am, Evangeline.”
She moved with the same slinky grace as her son, from cupboard to cups to table. She clinked my glass. “Que le bon Dieu vous benit.”
The alcohol burned my throat, warmed my insides. Just the kick starter I needed. When I set the glass down, I was tempted to swirl it, or jitter my thigh, talk some crap. Helpless in this situation, all I could do was tell her the truth about what had happened to Leon.
“My Leon’s mal pris?” She rubbed her hands over the scarred tabletop, resting her fingers near the tips of mine. “Tell me da trut’.”
She earned my admiration with her straight-shooter talk. “It doesn’t look good. He was caught at the Amphitheater. They’re charging him with being an instigator in the rebellion.”
She used her shirtsleeve to dab her eyes. “He got the gumbo, dat boy, but he don’t mean to make the misère, eh, Cazpar?”
“I’d like to tell you I’ll do what I can for him.”
A wry smile flew over her lips. “Mais, you can’t.”
“No, ma’am.”
She nodded. “Dat I know, cher.”
Christ. Her maternal acceptance wrapped around me like the soft blankets neatly folded at the top of my closet, the ones I never let myself use.
She patted my hand. “It’s g’on be okay.”
This was too close to home, hearth…heartbreak. Thinking, It won’t be okay, I got to my feet and left her to believe whatever the hell she needed to.
“You should leave soon with the evac. Find First Lieutenant Grant and follow her orders.”
She was right behind me, with her riotous hair and willfulness. “He be wily, dat boy. Don’ you be worryin’ about him none.”
There is one other thing I can do.
I brought the keys to my bike and the helmet to her. “When Leon makes it out”—my voice got real low—“tell him to take care of my motorcycle for me.” As if by giving him my touchstone, fate would have no choice but to bring him home.
I took off on foot. The riots might not have reached S-5, but shit was alive and well near my building. A skinny rebel bent toward the door of the building, trying to jimmy the keypad. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, I hauled him up to meet my fist, splitting four knuckles against his teeth. He didn’t have much to say after that, collapsing in an unconscious pile at my feet.
Then I got really pissed when the message end of a gun muzzle nuzzled up to my ribs. I rolled out from the rebel and took his feet with me, catching his gun when he hit pavement. Swiveling it through my fingers, I took aim dead center on his forehead.
Except it wasn’t a male.
Fear widening the female’s eyes until the irises were surrounded by dinner plates of white, she scrambled back. She searched for a weapon and came up with a jagged hunk of brick.
“Drop it,” I barked.
Instead of taking my advice, she leaped to her feet. She was an agile thing with too much courage for her own good. I counted to five, watching her hesitate and scan the area for an escape route before her resolve firmed. She lifted her arm, preparing to launch the brick at my skull.
I never liked to use weapons on women, but I was forced to cock the gun as I spoke through gritted teeth. If one of us had to die this morning, it would not be me. “I said drop it.”