Rebel (The Alliance Chronicles Book 4) Page 5

  Zared and I work in silence putting together a sandwich for Malcolm. I make one for myself and place a container of soup in the inverter oven. Sarah Miller is a nosy little bitch. She can’t stop looking over at us.

  “Would you like a sandwich?” I ask her.

  She licks her lips. “If you don’t mind.”

  I’m tempted to tell her to say please. I let the snippy comment melt away like ice on a hot surface. We need a moment without her watching us though.

  “I’ll make your sandwich if you can get the cheese from the fridge.”

  Sarah mumbles under her breath and leaves her post at the door. I nudge Zared. He quickly removes three pills and crumbles them.

  “I don’t see it,” she complains.

  “Keep looking. It might be in a drawer.”

  Zared slips the powder into Malcolm’s soda. He does a quick stir and nods that it’s ready.

  I pick up the package containing the cheese. “Silly me. It’s right here.”

  Sarah whirls around. Before she can complain, I shove a plate in her face. She takes the food and returns to her spot in front of the door. We continue going through the pretense of preparing a meal for ourselves.

  The oven timer beeps. I remove my container of soup and place it in a bowl. Zared places his hand over mine. He says loudly, “Take Malcolm his food first.”

  I pick up the plate and glass. Zared kisses me near my ear. “If he asks where your food is, tell him you ate it already.”

  I nod and go back to the living room.

  Malcolm’s eyes meet mine. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Zared thought you might be hungry.” I pass him the soda and place the plate on a side table.

  He takes a big gulp from the glass. Malcolm swirls the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing it. “’Bout time Zared did somethin’ right. Nuttin’ stronger than soda, sweet thang?”

  It takes everything in me to not put my blade in his chest. “Sorry. We’re kind of low on supplies.”

  I take a seat on the sofa. Nothing left to do but wait.

  Unless you achieve something worthwhile, stay put.

  —from “An Introspective on Combative Strategies” by Dawa Zhu

  Tru

  Time sputters and chokes as I wait for the ice-cold rapper to fall asleep. He polished off the soda in no time. The fool even asked for a refill, which I gladly got for him. I’m not shocked he didn’t finish the sandwich. Synthetic meat will kill your appetite faster than bug spray on a roach.

  Malcolm’s body sags in the chair. He props his head up with his free hand, attempting to find some level of comfort. When relief doesn’t come, Malcolm shifts his position again and stretches out his long legs. His head begins to droop forward. Before it touches his chest, Malcolm jerks backward.

  It takes a moment for the constant yawning and tearing eyes to register with him. He keeps pawing at his face like the motion can wipe away the pending sleep. Suddenly, awareness chimes like a bell. Malcolm’s eyes widen. His words slur, and he struggles to push himself upright.

  “Wh-what the f-f-fuck did you do, sweet thang?”

  I sit back, clench my fists, and glare at the bastard. He’s lucky I don’t permanently steal the light in his freakishly pale eyes. If he calls me ‘sweet thang’ one more time, though, I might not be able to help myself. “I have no idea what you mean, Malcolm. You know, it is late. Maybe you’re just tired. I know I am.”

  His eyelids get heavier, and his head lolls from side to side. “Naw. Ain’t that late. Y-you did s-s-something…”

  Last words.

  Finally.

  I push myself off the sofa and catch his gun before it hits the floor.

  “Thank you, asshole.” I look down at the weapon. It resembles my uncle’s gun with one major difference—the six-inch long barrel attached to it. I may not know much about firearms, but I’ve seen movies. Malcolm had no intention of letting us live, and no one would know until our bodies were discovered much later.

  “That took forever,” the voice comes up from behind, startling me.

  I jump. “Damn it, Zared! You scared me.”

  He smiles. “Sorry, babe. We need to move before he wakes up.”

  “Do you realize the only way we’re getting out of here is by force?” I hold up the pistol with the silencer.

  Zared’s eyes bulge. “I don’t think the plan was for us to leave at all.”

  Duh!

  “We can’t dwell on that now.” I wave a hand in the air. “Where’s Miller? Ko?”

  “I saw Ko go upstairs. Miller went to the bathroom.”

  “Perfect. I’ll take care of her.” I tighten my grip on the gun. Suddenly, I’m thankful for the silencer. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Sounds of the toilet flushing reach me in the hallway. I press my back against the wall, check the gun for ammunition, and wait. It doesn’t take long since Miller doesn’t believe in good hygiene. The door swings open. Her pale blonde head pokes out, and her jaw drops when she sees me. I press the barrel into her stomach, the vulnerable part of Riza’s battle gear, before she can remove her weapon. This woman stands between me and freedom. There can be no hesitation.

  I squeeze the trigger. The silenced pistol coughs against her uniform. Miller’s body pitches forward. Blood flowers from the wound while crimson dribbles past her thin, chapped lips. I step aside and let her hit the floor.

  Rapid footfalls approach. The wooden floor behind me creaks. I swing around with the gun raised. My heart slows when I see it’s Zared.

  “I thought I told you to stay put.” This man has got to stop sneaking up on me. It’s too dangerous.

  “No,” he corrects. “You said to give you a few minutes.” He steps around the growing pool of blood and crouches beside Miller’s dying body. Zared’s hand goes to her neck. He shakes his head and removes her service weapon, also equipped with a silencer.

  I’m sensing a theme here—don’t let anyone leave this house alive. Who ordered our executions? Did the command come before or after Asher and Mark left?

  “We need to take out the soldiers on the deck,” I tell Zared.

  He extends his hand. “After you, Miss Bad Ass.”

  I wink and grin. Not too long ago, I couldn’t even handle a gun. Now look at me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The two of us rush up the dimly lit hallway. I check over my shoulder, making sure Malcolm’s still asleep and Ko isn’t waiting for us. All is clear. We step into the kitchen. The guards stand outside with their backs to the door.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I whisper. “Kill the lights and step into the shadows.”

  Zared quirks an eyebrow up.

  I look directly into his eyes. “Trust me. Just do it. When you get a clear shot, take it.”

  He nods, turns off the lights, and goes to stand in front of the sink. I hold my weapon behind my back and walk over to the door. Slowly, I open it.

  “Can one of you be of some help?” I whine. “The lights went out. Might be a breaker. I have no idea where the box is.”

  “Where the fuck is Miller?” complains a man with a heavy voice.

  “Who the hell knows? I swear that bitch is a waste of a good uniform,” replies the soldier closest to me. “I got this one, Compton. Damn broads can’t do shit for themselves.”

  I plaster a smile on my face as the tall man crosses the threshold. “Thanks for doing this. I really hate being in the dark.”

  He shakes his head. “Just goes to show, you females would be lost without us.”

  “Actually,” I raise my weapon and aim for his head. “We’re kind of lost with you.” I squeeze the trigger. Time slows down as his head recoils with the impact. A liquid halo erupts behind him as flesh and brains explode, painting the patio door glass red.

  I blink, and time resets itself, shifting forward.

  “Hey Compton, can you come in here?” I shout and step away from the door. “There’s something wrong with
your partner.”

  “Can’t send a boy to do a man’s job,” he complains and comes inside. He doesn’t notice the stained glass, but he can’t miss the body on the floor. Compton’s hand goes to his weapon. A bullet through the heart stops any further movement. The man drops like bricks imploding.

  Zared steps out of the shadow, lowering his weapon. His hands sweep across the bodies in a frantic search. A jingle from a pocket halts his probing and he removes a set of keys. “Let’s hope these belong to a vehicle out front.”

  He stashes them, and we hurry back to the living room. The floor above us creaks and groans. Heavy footsteps hit the stairs. Zared presses me back. He switches the gun into his left hand while making a fist with the other.

  Seconds later, Ko rounds the banister. Her head rocks over to Malcolm, still asleep. Before she can make a move, Zared delivers a right cross to her jaw. Her legs buckle, and she hits the floor. Girl must be made of glass.

  “We use her as a hostage,” Zared says. He reaches into his back pocket and hands me a couple of zip-ties. “Tie her up. I saw a roll of duct tape in the kitchen for her mouth. Hurry up!”

  “What are you going to do?” I ask as I kneel down and start binding Ko’s hands.

  “Take care of some trash.” He’s staring at Malcolm. Zared readies his weapon.

  I try hard to ignore what he’s about to do, but ignorance won’t settle the fluttering in my stomach.

  Slowly, Zared walks over to Malcolm and kicks the man’s leg. “Wake up, fucker!”

  The former rapper stirs. His eyes flutter, but they don’t open.

  “Fine. I only wanted to see the look of shock on your ugly ass face. See you in hell.” Zared raises his weapon, place the gun on Malcolm’s forehead, and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters. It trickles from Malcolm’s mouth. Zared lowers his arm and stares at the perfectly rounded, burnt out hole.

  I tap Zared’s shoulder. “We need to go.”

  He faces me with empty, hollow eyes. We don’t need to discuss his actions. Malcolm Rivera may have saved Zared from a life in Purgatory. But he delivered him, personally, to Hell. I probably would have done the same thing in his shoes.

  We skip the duct tape—probably a bad decision—and prepare to leave. Zared picks up Ko and swings her over his shoulder with little effort. I open the door and my heart stops.

  Damn.

  My feet stop moving and Zared runs into me. The queen of Hell, decked out in a black leather jacket and pants, is on the other side of the door. Behind her is a throng of Riza soldiers, nearly an entire battalion. They’re gathered around the front of the house like a marauding murder of crows hellbent on destruction. Weapons drawn. Determination vivid on their faces.

  I choke back the hot bile ready to skyrocket from my mouth.

  “Going somewhere?” Taa asks.

  Secrecy is a key component in any war. Armies must work in obscurity.

  —from “An Introspective on Combative Strategies” by Dawa Zhu

  Zared

  Damn it!

  Nails bite into the palm of my free hand. I grind my teeth and attempt to slow down my pounding heart. Losing control won’t help us. But my body is so tense, I think it might snap in half. I shift Ko on my shoulder. I’m close to dropping her ass. Holding her, though, keeps me from making a dumb move. One I won’t recover from.

  Breathe.

  I swear, no matter how far ahead we get, we can’t seem to catch a fucking break. If my mother had shown up with only a couple of soldiers, we could have attempted an escape. But she brought a whole damned squadron with her. Surrendering might be our only viable option.

  Our eyes lock in a mother-and-son version of a Mexican standoff. She can stare until flames flicker from her eyes, but I’m not budging. As far as I’m concerned, our relationship is over. It burnt out years ago when she chose a bunch of zealots over her family.

  Over me.

  “Zared, do not make this so difficult. I promise you will not be harmed.” My mother gestures toward Ko. “Put Castaneda down. She is not your problem.”

  What the hell does ‘not my problem’ mean?

  Does that mean Ko reports to my mother?

  The stench of death is growing stronger in the room. I gulp down the foul air. A breath of the great outdoors would be appreciated, but I can stand here for as long as it takes. I’ve been in worse situations.

  Thanks, Mom.

  I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin. “And if I don’t? What do you plan on doing?”

  “This is not our war. Let these men do their job.” She jerks her head toward Tru, and signals to one of the soldiers. “Collect the girls. Take care of whatever mess you find. My son is not to be harmed. He rides with me.”

  A gun clicks near my ear.

  My eyes drag from my mother to the floor. I love Tru for her bravery, but now is not the time for this girl to be a bad ass. If the stern expression on my mother’s face is any indication, I suspect she won’t have an issue executing Tru in front of me.

  “Don’t do it, babe,” I throw over my shoulder. My stomach rolls. If Tru chooses not to listen, I’ll protect her and the baby with my life.

  Tru states flatly, “Zared, I’m not giving up this easy.”

  I let Ko’s body slide to the ground. A soldier picks her up. I face Tru and gaze into her beautiful eyes. They capture me, leaving me breathless. Years ago when I lost touch with her, I swore to myself I’d never let her go if our paths crossed again. This isn’t the end, not by a long shot. We just need to stay alive. Aiming a gun at my mother won’t achieve that goal.

  I cover the barrel with my hand, and slowly lower it to the ground. “Babe, think about all our futures.” I move closer, snaking my free hand through Tru’s hair until I’m palming her neck. “Don’t give them a reason to shoot. If I lose you, I’ll lose myself.”

  Tru nods, relaxing against me.

  “This is all very heartwarming.” My mother exhales loudly. “But I have no time for your drama. Take them in. Now!”

  Tru’s shoulders droop as soldiers gather around us. I watch as hope fades from her eyes. Restraints go on her wrists, and she’s dragged away from me.

  My chest hitches, cutting off my breath. In a low voice, I tell her, “Be brave, babe. They won’t win.”

  Tru’s watery eyes are the last image I see of her.

  Soldiers bring body bags through the door. My mother pivots on her heel and walks toward a vehicle. Someone shoves me forward and I trail behind her.

  This time the escape plan is up to me.

  Once again, I sit in the rear of a vehicle on my way to New Belle Isle—a place I don’t want to go. Gray concrete and steel are all I see as we travel over the desolate bridge. Its lights punctuate the dark sky like tiny stars. The driver makes a quick stop at the security gate and then on to the main building—a stone and shingle old-world farmhouse. Its quaint exterior is the only thing vintage about the structure. My recall includes images of sleek, white walls and floors along with harsh fluorescent lights. A modern, sanitized Hell.

  The back door bursts open. Rugged hands grasp my elbow and drag me to my feet. My nose wrinkles at the ever-present stench of decaying fish. I survey my surroundings. Another black SUV sits near the door, but no signs of life are visible.

  I can’t stop thinking about Tru and the baby. They are my second chance at a normal life. Nobody will take that from me, especially the deceitful woman walking beside me.

  Mom’s gaze swings toward me. Her lips are locked in a permanent smile. I can’t read her expression. Is she happy to have captured us? Does my discomfort please her in some sick, perverted way?

  For God’s sake, she’s my mother.

  I’m supposed to love and trust her, but she has secrets.

  We all do.

  Something tells me hers, though, are at least a mile wide and an ocean deep.

  Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I make the trek toward the wooden door separating me from insanity. A muscular
asshat rushes forward. He enters a code on a pad—I don’t recall seeing that before—and I’m ushered into the building. A sea of Riza soldiers all dressed in black surround me. Our footsteps echo across the tile floors.

  We wind our way through the maze of darkened corridors, all familiar to me. Memories knot my stomach. Last time we were here, bad things happened. Lives were lost…

  Stay focused.

  We stop in front of a plain metal door. It slides open, and I’m pushed inside. A somber, bald man in desperate need of a tan leans against a wall.

  I’m forced into a chair in the center of the room. The soldier takes a position in front of the closing door.

  “Zared Aoki.” The bald man clasps his hands behind his back. “My name is Alexei Grekov.”

  The name means shit to me. From the sight of his yellow, decaying teeth, the name of a good dentist isn’t meaningful to Grekov.

  “We’re gonna have a little chat.” He runs a hand over his cropped, gray hair. “Now tell me, who has the card and where did they go?”

  Shouldn’t he question Ko? I’m sure she’d puke her guts willingly. Call me a fool, but I need to have a one on one with Asher before I turn on him. Giving people second chances has always been a problem for me. Rarely does it turn out good. Case in point? My own mother.

  Grekov drones on while over-pronouncing his words. “We know you don’t have it. Who are you protecting?”

  Without a weapon, my only hope of leaving this room is a battle. The soldier at the door readies his combat weapon, a SOCOM 16 CQB, and glares at me. I don’t stand a chance against him. There was a time when I might have risked it all. Back when I thought I had nothing to live for. I was on a train going nowhere, and then I met Tru. She gave me a reason to turn things around and fight. Our baby gives me a reason to stay alive.

  My thoughts drift over to the Russian, maybe Bulgarian, walking circles around me. What are my odds against him?

  “Hybrid or Purebred?” I ask.

  “I’m asking the questions here,” he sneers.

  I ignore him. “Why would the AR employ a Russian Purebred? What’s in it for you?”