I crossed my arms. “How do you know whether I’m a good medic? Was that in my research file too?”
He did nothing other than offer that tiny smile I wasn’t sure even existed.
“I’m not that good at it,” I admitted to him, then wished I hadn’t. Lucas Scott didn’t need to know my weaknesses or insecurities.
His head cocked, curious again. “Everything you learned about the human body, you learned through sheer will and determination. You can fly under the radar in med school. There’s no skirting by in the field. You know how to save lives when there’s no electricity and barely clean water. You’re better than a doctor. You’re a combat medic. Own it.”
“Yeah,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “What a respectable title to have.”
“Better than cold-blooded killer,” came his answer, icy and sharp and edged with bitterness.
I forced my aching body to straighten as I looked him in the eye. “You earned that title.”
“No,” he bit out. “Many titles I’ve earned, butthatone I did not.”
My heart raced at his sudden intensity. A million questions soared through my head, but would he answer any? I chewed onmy lip and asked the only one he might. “What title have you earned then?”
His bare expression morphed, now absent of the cold. “Doctor.”
I narrowed my eyes. “No way. I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged and struck once more.
When my endurance finally imploded, he walked me to the door. “I have something for you.”
Once again wary of innuendoes, I faced him.
He wiggled a silver key in my face. “It goes to the front door. In case you arrive before me again.”
Suspicious, I tested it. The key slid into the knob and turned without a catch. Hmm. Alright, then.
A crease formed between his eyebrows as I pocketed it. “Why do you always assume I’m lying to you?”
“Because you’re a traitorous murderer.”
He expelled a long breath. “Keep that key on you at all times.”
First the knuckles, and now the key. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes.” He patted the top of my head like a dog. “And you’re such a good girl.”
My teeth snapped with how hard I gritted them. “You have no idea how much I hate you.”
“Mm-hmm. I hate me too. Have a good night.” He pushed me into the darkness and shut the door in my face. I left sore and nursing several bruises, questioning every moment I’d spent with him.
Less than a year ago, this same man had arrived at Unity Square a newly minted colonel. On our television screen, three dozen condemned men and women stood against the familiar bloodstained wall, bound at the wrists and ankles. Each month, the execution changed locales, but that one was ours.
Those people were ours.
And Lucas Scott was assigned to kill them.
Like every other execution day, we’d gathered in the common room, jostling for the best view of the screen, each of us desperate to look, but scared to see.
Tekqua had gripped my fingers, her gaze riveted to the screen.
When Lucas appeared, tall and sharp, his features cut from stone, his dead eyes stared straight into the camera. “Good evening,” he said in a robotic voice. “I am Colonel Lucas Scott. In accordance with…” He droned on with the same speech they all spoke before those unlawful executions, pretending as if an executive order was enough to forego all due process. After he finished his address, and the unseen audience echoed theAll hail the Commander, he stepped toward the line of prisoners.
But he had no weapon. I remember my perplexity with crisp clarity. Normally, the executioner chose from the torture devices on the table, but Lucas Scott had appeared empty-handed, as if he planned to kill three dozen people with his bare hands.
