By the time we get back to our temporary base, Lieutenant Erik already has a roaring fire going with the rest of the Fury Squad sitting around it. He doesn’t flinch when he sees me covered in red; he only looks at my blood-stained uniform and sighs. What? Does he expect the work I do to be clean? I glower at the judgment in the others’ gazes. Thomas and Gage share an uneasy look while Kayden presses his palm over his mouth.
“Mori…did you count like I told you to?” Erik asks with a long frown pulling at his disappointed expression. His dark hair is mussed from the long day.
I raise a brow and nod. A nefarious grin spreads over my lips before I realize why.
“Then what’s that you’re holding?” He sounds pissed.
My eyes drift down to my wet, burdened hands that are holding Titan’s head. His eyes are dull and I can’t recall when I did it.
Goddamn it.
If I keep doing this, they’re going to terminate me themselves, no matter if I’m their longest surviving lab rat or not.
1
EMERY
The train stopsfour times on the way to Bellingham, Washington. The only indicators of my location are the signs of approaching stations and the conductor’s announcements over the intercom for the common passengers.
A weary breath escapes my lips, and I find myself wishing I was one of the civilians simply traveling to the next town over.
I’m in handcuffs and chains. Four armed soldiers are standing at the two exits, and some sort of military general sits across from me, smoking a cigar. He taps it occasionally, dropping ashes onto the tray below, while he assesses me.
I’m no expert in the justice system, but I don’t think this is how criminals are normally handled in a situation like mine. Then again, I suppose my situation is a bit…unique.
I doubt soldiers in black tactical gear accompanied by a general normally come to a high-profile murderer’s cell at three a.m., throw them to the ground, gag, hog-tie, and kidnap said murderer from a prison while the head guard and warden watch as they smoke their nasty cigars. Right? Or am I fucking delusional?
Because I think I’ve just been kidnapped by a military operation, but I don’t recognize their badges, or their attire forthat matter. And I couldn’t fathom the government signing off on something like this. You know,public imageand all that.
So what the hell is going on?
I shift in the leather seat, uncomfortable with the chains keeping my ankles only four inches apart from each other.
After a short drive away from the prison, the guards had forced me into a building where they made me shower and change into civilian clothes. I could only assume this was to avoid drawing more attention to us than necessary. The next thing I knew, the restraints were placed back on me, and we boarded a private car on a train heading to Bellingham, Washington, of all places.
It’s weird that they aren’t keeping the location secret from me, isn’t it? Maybe this isn’t really a kidnapping.
My eyes don’t rise to meet the man sitting across from me as I brainstorm different scenarios. He’s dressed in black military attire and taps his finger against the table, making me nervous.
He balances his cigar on the edge of the tray and takes another out of a box on the table, offering it to me. I avert my gaze, glancing outside with a silent declination. We passed Seattle an hour ago, and the view has been nothing but the bay, fishing boats, and storm clouds. The metal feels colder around my wrists the more I see the vastness of the sea, how big and wide the world is, and how much smaller mine has become in a short amount of time.
I was never truly free to experience the world like everyone else. It’s always taunted me, though—a life free from the Mavestelli Family.
“You know, I was shocked at first when I read what a lovely young woman like yourself did.” His voice startles me for a second. It’s been hours of pure silence, and I’d gotten used to it.
There’s a distinct dullness I feel in the left chamber of my chest when people say that. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel theshock of it like they do. Or maybe it’s the understanding that there’s something deeply wrong with me.
I can’t seem to feel much of anything anymore. It’s probably for the best, because I don’t want to know what I’d be feeling right now. Despair. Fear. Regret. These men don’t look like they’re associated with the guards in suits my father works with. The Families don’t usually dress outside formal wear, and these guys definitely look military, so I’m not sure what fate I’m heading toward.
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse either.
The man across from me lights his cigar and places the box back into this chest pocket. I finally meet his gaze.
His eyes are light brown, so dull that they almost look gray. His fawn-colored hair is shaved on the sides, a bit longer on the top, enough so that he can have it sideswept. Stubble lines the lower half of his face, making his jawline more prominent. A smoky, mahogany cologne fills the air around him—a scent I associate with bad wealthy men who hang around nightclubs and have way too much money to throw around. He’s handsome for someone I’d assume is in his forties. But the way he stares at me so emptily has my mind churning.
Who is he? Why is a prisoner like me being transported before I’ve had my day in court?
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting a young woman of your upbringing to be so…well, violent. Being born into the Mavestelli bloodline, the wealthiest family on the West Coast, no less. It’s shocking, especially seeing how small you are.” My throat dries when I hear my last name leave his tongue. There’s a darkness that swirls in his gaze. Like he’s testing me. I don’t let my expressionless facade slip. He shakes the newspaper he’s had tucked under his arm and reads it. “Twenty-four-year-old woman is finally captured after the heinous crimes of ten confirmed murders over the past four years.” I wince as hereads the headline so nonchalantly. I’m used to hearing it read with more disdain and disgust.
