Rebel (The Alliance Chronicles Book 4) Page 6

  Grekov stops beside me. “The only thing I am here for is making sure you comply.”

  “Not happening.” I cross my arms over my chest and wait.

  The man delivers a right cross to my temple. Stars dance in front of my eyes. Someone really should have restrained me. My hand fists automatically.

  “Now, answer my question.” Grekov removes his dark gray suit coat and loosens his tie.

  I rub my forehead. If it weren’t for the soldier, I could take down Grekov. Choke him out with his fucking tie. But this is a no-win situation. Either I stop the Russian and take a bullet or I become a punching bag. The second option might allow me to see my girl again. Witness the birth of our child.

  My decision comes a minute too slow for Grekov. A hairy fist cracks across my jaw. I sway along with the wobbling chair. The taste of copper fills my mouth. I spit out the blood.

  “Talk,” he barks.

  I steel my spine for another blow.

  The door slides open, and the soldier stands down. A well-dressed man walks through the door.

  Shit! Not him.

  Rid yourselves of outlandish omens and senseless superstitions. Death is all that should be feared.

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

  Tru

  It’s surreal being back in a place that unraveled and tore me to shreds not so long ago. My past reaches up and chokes the shit out of me. Keeps me from breathing properly. Being back in the same room I shared with my mother before her death doesn’t help. I’m sure I have Eden to thank for this twisted act.

  Everything here reminds me of my mother. From the bathroom where we shared memories and secrets to the plush burgundy sofa where she admonished me for poor decision-making. The last time I sat on this thing, my mother told me she loved me.

  And I argued with her.

  My muscles quiver as I think about my shitty behavior and realize there’s nothing I can do to atone for it. I clutch my arms around myself.

  Damn it! I need Zared here with me. He’d allay the wall of darkness threatening to take me under. My face tightens along with my arms and legs. I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. Take a deep breath. My heart hammers my chest. It’s all I can do to sit upright. Damn panic attacks!

  Focus on something else.

  That’s what Zared would say. Breathe, babe.

  In.

  Out.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  It takes a few minutes for the shaking to cease. When it does, I lie back against the cushions and inhale deeply. Zared and I have been through a helluva lot in such a short time. We can’t give up. Not now. Giving up means Taa and the New Order win. For once, I’m not thinking of the citizens. I still believe they deserve to know the truth because an unencumbered life is only possible without secrets, but our fight has to be about Zared and me.

  And the baby.

  Our child deserves both parents living in a free world. That’s only possible if we keep fighting. I have to be brave for my child. But courage takes strength...

  Get a grip!

  I’ve been here before. We survived. We’ll do it again.

  I want to believe everything will work out, but something keeps nagging at me. My little voice tells me to prepare for the worst. Tragedy is going to happen, and I won’t be able to stop it. My inner guide screams, “nothing good comes from New Belle Isle.” The permeating stench of rotting fish hits my stomach, reminding me that death waits for anyone who comes to this damned place.

  Enough!

  My fucking inner voice, conscience, whatever it’s called…needs to shut up. I’ve had it with worrying. Everyone wants to make decisions for me, about me. Not one person asks me what I want. Well, the only thing waiting for anyone attempting to screw up my future is a beat down. No one is taking away my shot at normalcy.

  I recall the look on Zared’s face before we were separated. He’s still fighting for us. I know he is. We just need to play this out. See what Taa and her cronies have in mind. Then we can plan. Then we will act.

  The door swings open without so much as a knock. Someone needs to learn good manners. A Riza soldier stands in the doorway. He speaks without emotion. “Truly Shara Shepard, your presence has been requested.”

  “By whom?” I ask without moving.

  “My commander,” he answers and waits for me.

  It comes down to this one moment in time. I’ll either live to see another day or my body will join the decaying fishes in the New Detroit River.

  I think about Zared—his chiseled features, smoky eyes, and slightly full lips with a deep dip on the upper one. If I’m to be executed, I wonder if I’ll get one more chance to see him. Tell him how much I love him.

  We knew there’d be risks with this mission. No one takes on the government without consequences. I just don’t know if we took the possibilities seriously enough. If we had, we would have done things differently. I want to believe we would have made better plans. Trusted the right people. Got rid of the SIM card.

  But even if circumstances were altered, one thing holds true. I’ll love Zared Aoki until my last breath. If there’s an afterlife, I’m sure my heart will continue to be his even there.

  The soldier’s face tightens as he demands, “Let’s go.”

  I take one last look at the room. Mom would say go with pride. I push my shoulders back, lift my chin, and walk out.

  The soldier is another participant in my cruel mental torture. He leads me out of the White House, a tiny all-white cottage Katsuo Aoki had renovated to serve his needs on the island, and to a waiting sedan. I sit in the back and watch the scenery change from the manicured landscape surrounding the property to the neglected, overgrown greenery circling the isolated park.

  Within minutes, we’re back at the antiquated farmhouse serving as headquarters. I recall my first time entering this building—hands in restraints and my legs refusing to go forward. A soldier had to push me through the front door.

  Different time. Same scenario minus the restraints.

  The soldier enters a code on a pad to the right of the door. He yanks my elbow and pulls me inside.

  My arm throbs as we walk the stark white corridors. At the end of a hallway, we step onto an elevator. I’ve been on this one. Happy memory. My mind flashes back to how Zared and I subdued the two guards. Although I had a dislocated shoulder, I got out of that situation. I send up a small prayer with the hope I’ll survive this one, too.

  The elevator stops, and the doors slide apart.

  Time spins backward and locks in place. My heart stutters, and my feet anchor to the floor. I’m back in Eden’s office. Nothing good happened the last time I was in this room. Eden gave me an unwarranted glimpse at her soul. I provoked the bitch and left here with an injury.

  Nothing has changed in the office outfitted with tacky furniture and knick-knacks. I walk past the expensive ornate antiques, the black leather sofa, and ugly-ass white suede chairs. The soldier and I stop in front of the glass and chrome desk. The queen bee sits on her oversized chair.

  Eden gestures to the soldier to leave.

  “Don’t think you need backup?” I quip.

  “Not exactly the greeting I expected from family.” Her words are tainted with antipathy.

  “My family is dead,” I point out.

  “Yes, they are.” A smirk dangles on her lips as she manipulates a glass paperweight in her palm.

  Does this woman think I’ll let my guard down by talking about my family?

  Ain’t happening.

  My eyes scan the room for any obvious weapons. I don’t see anything. My blade is tucked in my boot. I can protect myself if needed. The soldiers always check for guns. One of these days, someone might instruct them to check boots.

  I break the silence surrounding us. “Why am I here?”

  Eden gestures toward a chair. “We need to talk.”

  Understatement.

  Mom told me ab
out the accident involving my biological father. The man turned to drinking when he got frustrated. One night, he went to a bar and drove home after a binge. His decision cost Eden her parents and a sibling. My father obviously had an error in judgment. I understand grief. What I don’t understand is lashing out against my family. One person obliterated Eden’s connections to this world, not all of us.

  I sit down and lean back in the suede chair. “My mother told me what happened to your family.”

  Eden pulls a face and tilts her head. The horse mane she’s wearing must be getting heavy.

  “I understand your anger, but it was an accident,” I explain to her.

  She checks her nails. “When there is an accident, people usually say they’re sorry.”

  I shake my head. Is she serious? Can this bitch be so unbelievably childish? “Was all of this over a damned apology?”

  She places her forearms on the desk and leans forward. “No, you ungrateful little shit! This is about respect.”

  “Huh?” Her weave must be in too tight.

  Eden spits out, “Your mother never paid her respects to me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” This bitch is bat-shit crazy.

  “Gabriela never paid her respects to me and my aunt. Not one phone call, not one visit, not even one damned flower. Your mother didn’t go to the funeral home for the viewing. She didn’t even attend the fucking funeral,” Eden shouts.

  I jump to my feet ready to defend my mother. “She was grieving! Remember, she lost her husband!”

  “And I lost my family! I was just a child. Gabriela had your uncle and tons of family consoling her. I had no one but an aunt in the military. Strangers cared for me.” The words tumble non-stop from her mouth like water gushing from a broken pipe.

  I sit down, and the weight of her words sink in. The loss of my biological father devastated my mother.

  Understood.

  He was the love of her life.

  I’m guessing.

  She was fortunate that my uncle Frederico stepped up and helped raise me. Before the Virus, I had cousins and grandparents to ease the pain. It had to be tough to be a kid and lose your entire family. Hell, I get that. But targeting someone else’s family doesn’t replace that loss. It doesn’t even assuage the soul. No. You’re left with a black hole that can’t be filled.

  “If it means anything, Eden,” I start, “I am sorry. What you went through wasn’t fair.”

  “A little too late.” She folds her arms. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “It’s not pity,” I say quietly.

  What is her real problem? If what she wanted was someone to show remorse for my father’s mistake, I offered it to her. This runs deeper. Reality dawns on me that Eden is lying. This isn’t about an apology or respect. Eden wants plain, ugly revenge. “Tell me, do you feel better now that you’ve taken my family from me?”

  Eden doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “Yes.”

  “You’re a cruel-ass bitch.”

  The corners of her mouth lift. “I am that, but read your Bible. ‘An eye for an eye’ is how you get justice.”

  “No. It’s not.” I refuse to believe that for an instant. This woman is just perverting theology to serve her own purpose. People have done it for years to prove nonexistent points. Much like our leaders have pushed their own twisted rhetoric on unsuspecting citizens.

  Eden raises an eyebrow. “Come now. If you had the chance, you’d end me right now. You want your justice, your revenge.”

  “Don’t assume we want the same things,” I lie. My problem is figuring how to do it and walk out of this office alive.

  Feign weakness and the enemy will show his ego.

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

  Zared

  A slight tremor rocks my body. It shakes my foundation and shatters my fucking senses. The sensation, however, isn’t the aftershock from the blows Grekov delivered. No such luck. This internal riot comes courtesy of the sophisticated man staring back at me. A man who bears an uncanny resemblance to the face I’ve seen in the mirror every day of my life.

  My mother never told me anything about the man. Everybody assumed Katsuo Aoki was my father including me. It’s the lie Mom told me for years. In all honesty, I had no reason to doubt her. I was a gullible kid easily duped by a woman skilled in the fine art of deception.

  The first time I saw a video stream of Jacoby Craig Venter, my mother told me he was a cruel man who ran our country. In her opinion, Leader Venter was a self-serving bastard who didn’t know how to treat those around him. I never questioned her unkind words. After all, he was a politician. He didn’t have to be liked by everyone including my mother. Over the years, her disdain grew for him while my curiosity flexed and stretched. I wanted to know more about the leader I shared my middle name with.

  I’ve seen countless pictures of Venter, but the obvious connection between us slipped by me like undetected blips on radar. His eyes are my eyes. The hair, the nose, even the way his damn jaw is set. If someone took my picture and aged it, we would be the same person. There’s no disputing it, no matter how much I don’t want it to be true. The leader of this fucked up country is my damned father.

  His hazy dark eyes rake over me with hawk-like intensity. I’m certain my stare is just as hard, just as cold. What the fuck is going on in his mind? Somehow, I doubt it’s surprise. Rumors say nothing gets past this man. Deep down, I’m certain he’s known about me for years. I was probably a burden he didn’t feel the need to recognize.

  If my father’s smart, he won’t ask what I’m thinking. The appearance of the pompous prick screams patriotic. I’m sure someone selected the right clothes—navy-blue pinstriped suit with crisp white shirt and bold red tie—to perfect the image. Even his graying hair is flawless. Deep down, however, lies the truth. His patriotism is garbage. It’s pungent with the stench of a cruel government. Hell, it’s deeper than that. He’s deeper than that.

  Arrogant.

  Dominant.

  Privileged.

  Asshole.

  “Damned unbelievable,” Venter mutters. “It’s like looking at a fucking photograph. Glad to see you made a full recovery, son.”

  Son.

  My body tenses. Fire courses through my veins. The words push forth and squeeze past my clenched teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

  What fucked up lottery did I win to get such crappy parents? I have a mother who willingly faked her death with little regard to the child she left behind. My biological father didn’t fight to keep me in his life. And I can’t forget the surrogate who gave away his acquired parental rights. As far as I’m concerned, damn them all. I’m better off without parents. As for my child? He or she will never know the grandparents. Not if I can help it.

  “I understand your sentiment,” he says. His tone is as comforting as a paper cut. “It’s been a rough road for you.”

  Sentiment? Rough road? Is he serious?

  “You understand nothing,” I blast at him. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  He plucks at the cuff of his shirt as if my words don’t faze him. “Well, we do have an unfortunate situation to clear up.”

  I push off the chair. The soldier lifts his weapon but my father raises his hand, and the gun is lowered.

  “Tell me, Father, am I a part of this situation? Something you need to handle, sweep under a rug, and forget about?”

  Venter’s lips move in a brief smile. “If only it were so simple.”

  He nods at Grekov. The foreign Purebred leaves along with the soldier.

  “Now we can speak in semi-private.”

  “I have nothing to say to you unless you’re telling me where Tru is,” I reply.

  “Son, we have plenty to talk about.” He points to the chair. “Sit down and try to relax. We’re being watched. If things get out of hand, the trigger-happy soldier or maybe even Grekov will be back.”

  There’s a mirror
on the wall, undoubtedly two-way. I sit down willing to play along for now. “What do we need to talk about?”

  Venter leans against the wall. “Your contempt for me is priceless since you survived because of me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I snap.

  “How do you think you’ve stayed alive all these years?” His eyebrow lifts. “If it weren’t for me, you would have been picked up years ago for vagrancy.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and lean back. He can’t take credit for my staying alive. I did it despite my wonderful parents. “I wouldn’t have been on the streets if it weren’t for you and Mom.”

  Venter scrubs a hand over his face. “Can’t blame me for that one. Aoki was an ass for leaving just because Taaliba was gone. He was supposed to take care of you.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me. I’m not a fan of his.” Curiosity is nagging the hell out of me. “So, how did you keep me from being arrested?”

  “After Aoki departed, I realized someone needed to look out for you. So, I made sure you stayed off all radar. Local authorities thought you were dead.”

  Humph! All that time I thought it was my intelligence keeping my ass out of jail. If he wants a thank you or something, it ain’t happening.

  There’s a flaw in what he says, though. If authorities believed I was dead, then what was all the uproar after Akemi Humphries—a girl from the Corps both Carter and I dated—was found dead?

  “You look puzzled, son.”

  I clench my fist and try to ignore his constant use of the term. “Why was I questioned about Akemi Humphries’s murder?”

  Venter’s head rocks back and forth. “Valid question. That happened under my authority. When I found out what happened, I launched my own investigation. Neither you nor Lieutenant Carter was responsible for her death. I had the case closed, and the record redacted and sealed.”

  “That explains a lot.” So, I was wrong about Carter’s involvement. But my distrust of him goes farther than what happened with Akemi. Some things aren’t easily forgotten. I rub a hand through my hair and draw in a deep, noisy breath.