Chapter 1 #3
I nod in gratitude. I do feel grimy and in desperate need of a shower after spending days in the Blacklands. And I could use a moment alone.
The shower stall is small, designed for one person. I crank the water and wonder where it’s coming from, how it fills these pipes. Underground reservoirs, maybe? And how are they filtering the air this deep into the mountain? Controlling the temperature? I’m so curious about this base.
I drag a bar of soap all over my body and wash away the dirt of the journey here, watching it swirl at my feet before disappearing down the drain.
I wash my hair, which has grown longer than I usually keep it, falling well past my breasts.
The shampoo smells like citrus, and I scrub my scalp three times because those yellow ants in the Blacklands have a way of getting into your hair and clothing.
When I no longer feel like I have insects crawling all over me, I turn toward the spray and close my eyes. As the water soaks my face, I finally allow myself to do what I’ve desperately been resisting all day.
I reach out to my best friend.
Wolf.
Cross.
I imagine he’s busy in the city, cleaning up the mess I left, picking up the pieces of the Mod attack that destroyed a Command hangar and took out a nice chunk of their fleet.
I’m sure his brother isn’t thrilled with him right now.
Although our relationship was never public knowledge, Cross’s older brother, Travis, suspected we were together.
The fact that Travis was appointed the new General only complicates matters.
He has ultimate control now. If he chooses to punish Cross for any alleged wrongdoing, he has the power to do so.
A wave of emotion swells inside me when I hear his familiar voice in my head.
“You good, Dove?”
Dove.
What began as a way to mock me eventually became a term of endearment, and now I melt every time I hear it.
I prefer it to sweetling or honey, though I wouldn’t be against hearing either of those escape his sexy mouth.
Hell, Cross could make anything sound sexy.
He could recite pages from a weapons manual and still succeed in turning me on.
I picture his perfect face, those cobalt-blue eyes, the mocking dimple and wicked smile…I think about his tall, broad body and big, capable hands…and the charged, heated shiver that rolls up my spine has nothing to do with the hot water pounding against my flesh.
“I’m fine. We made it to the Uprising base,” I tell him.
“That’s good.”
Something in his voice gives me pause. “Are you all right? You sound off.”
He takes a beat before answering. “I haven’t been sleeping much since you left.”
“Where are you right now? Are you in your quarters?”
Another beat. “Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?” I push.
“It’s just a shitshow,” he finally says. “All of it.”
“Same here. They detained Xavier.”
“Figured that would happen.”
“I was hoping he’d earn some goodwill with them by helping me, but they don’t trust him. I’m going to do everything I can to get him out of lockup, but we might need to find a way for you to extract him.”
The moment the suggestion leaves my mouth, I realize it’s impossible. An extraction would mean revealing the location of the Dagger, and I can’t give that up, not even to Cross. I’d be endangering every single person here.
“I don’t know how feasible that is,” he says. “They’re watching me like a hawk.”
“Does Travis suspect you helped me escape?”
“I told him you deceived me and seduced Xavier into helping you, but I don’t know if he believes that. Either way, he’s not happy that I let you into Silver Elite. He thinks I compromised Company intelligence.”
I tip my face toward the shower spray so I can pretend it’s soaked with water and not tears. I hate the thought of Cross all alone in the city without any backup.
I hesitate, not sure how much more I should tell him, but it feels wrong keeping secrets from him, so I blurt out the confession.
“Kaine is alive.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. He was working for the Uprising the entire time he was in Silver Block. He helped them the night the B-8 was stolen.”
I leave it at that, because while I trust Cross, I also feel oddly loyal to Grayson. Gray. Whatever the hell his name is.
Unless Cross fully comes aboard and works with the network, he doesn’t need to know that Kaine is Grayson Blake, the pilot who Silver Elite has been trying to compile intelligence on.
“That prick was playing us the entire time?”
“Hey, I was undercover, too,” I point out. “If you’re not mad at me, you can’t be mad at him.”
“I sure as fuck can.”
His indignant growl makes me smile. It’s crazy how much I already miss him, and we’ve only been apart a few days. My lips crave his, my hands tingling with the urge to run over his sculpted muscles, his tattoos, the strong line of his jaw.
“So Kaine is Modified?” Cross says, and I can practically see his shrewd military brain working over the implications.
“Yes, but I don’t know what abilities he has.”
My skin is turning beet red from the heat, so I twist off the faucet and open the glass door, stepping onto a black rubber mat.
I find a fresh towel next to the sink and wrap myself in it before wiping the steam off the mirror.
Gray also left out a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and a few other toiletries. My dead friend is a gentleman.
Silence stretches between us. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and find a pair of weary honey-brown eyes peering back at me.
“Why didn’t you come with me?” I can’t stop myself from saying.
“You know why. I have to protect my mother. And someone needs to keep my brothers in check. Travis just declared war.”
“Yes, and we’re on opposite sides of it when we should be on the same side,” I say in frustration.
“I couldn’t have gone with you even if I wanted to,” he replies, equally frustrated. “The Uprising would’ve killed me on sight. I’m General Redden’s son. They’re never going to trust me.”
“What if you offered them intel in exchange for asylum? You said Travis is rounding up all the known Mods in the wards. Is he killing them?”
“I think most of them are being sent to labor camps for now. And there’s no intel I can provide that will ever earn me their trust.”
“But what if they knew you were Modified?”
“Have you told them about me?”
His question triggers a jolt of shock. “Of course not. I would never do that. But I think if they knew—”
“It would only piss them off more,” he finishes. “I wouldn’t just be the enemy. They’ll call me a traitor to my people. No better than Jayde Valence or any of the other loyalist Mods.”
“But you’re not a loyalist,” I object. “What, you’re supposed to single-handedly topple a regime that pervades every aspect of society? Just you? You’re doing what you can to change the system from within. To save the lives you can.”
“Wren,” he says, his voice gruff, “do you honestly believe your Uprising will view it that way? Because we both know they’ll just declare I’m not doing enough. And then…they’ll kill me,” he reiterates.
I don’t want him to be right, but I fear he is.
“There’s one more thing…” I trail off, trying to unravel the inexplicable knot of shame I suddenly feel. “When Xavier and I were in the Blacklands, I found a letter from my uncle in our old hut. He said my parents were traitors to the Uprising. They got hundreds of Mods killed.”
“Fuck. Have you told anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.” Cross’s tone is sharp, forceful. “You can’t say a word about it. Your life could be at risk if they find out.”
“I know.”
I push wet hair off my forehead and reach for a smaller towel to dry it with. Cross falls quiet again. Several seconds tick by before his husky voice ripples through my mind.
“Daisy.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
My heart clenches. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll check in with you later.”
He’s gone before I can respond, the link breaking and my mind already missing his presence.
I towel-dry my hair and brush it back into a ponytail, then put on the clothes Gray brought me. The black leggings have some stretch and fit me fine, but the T-shirt is too tight around my chest because my breasts are larger than Luisa’s.
I walk into the living area to find Gray speaking into his comm. He sounds annoyed, and when he notices me enter, he wastes no time ending the call.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he mutters before sliding the device into his pocket.
“Thanks for the clothes,” I tell him.
His eyes sweep over me, twinkling when they rest on my bare feet. “Boot up. The Authority is ready for you.”
“Gee, I’m so honored.” I find a pair of socks and clean boots on the armchair. “So this Authority,” I say, lacing up my left boot. “It’s like a leadership council or something? How many people are on it?”
“Five.”
“Including Adrienne.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“Yep.”
I raise a brow. “That’s a huge position of power you’ve got over here, Grayson.”
“Damn right, Wren.”
We grin at each other, and for a moment it’s like old times at the Command base.
Ugh. Fine. Maybe I missed him. I missed his laughter and his teasing and his cocky jokes.
I suppose I’m not entirely outraged that he’s still alive.
“Who are the other three?” I ask, hopping to my feet.
“You’ll meet them soon.”
We head out and ride the elevator to the Operations floor. Gray points out a set of doors at the end of the hall and tells me that’s the training wing.
“You’re going to be impressed with our target ranges,” he says. “I know how much you love your guns.”
“I don’t think you can make fun of me anymore about my gun love, considering I just found out how hot you are for planes.”
We reach a pair of wide metal doors with yet another security keypad.
“This is the war room.” Gray is about to scan his thumb, then stops. “Listen, just…be prepared.”
A frown touches my lips. “For what?”
“Ah…” He closes his mouth. Then opens it. Then lets out a breath. “Fuck it. You’ll see,” he says, and scans his thumbprint.
Beyond the doors is a vast room lit by harsh fluorescent bulbs, with a long table in the center.
The ceiling is a grid of pipes and vents, the floor a polished dark tile that echoes with the sound of our footsteps.
Holoscreens line the walls, as well as some Old Era monitors, the kind that require electrical plugs. Backup system, maybe.
There’s another holoscreen in the center of the table.
Two women sit in front of it, peering at the green-white particles that project an image I can’t make out.
I catch a flash of red hair, and then my gaze locks on a familiar face.
Big eyes, sensual mouth, narrow chin. Adrienne has an assortment of features that comes together to create a face that’s not quite beautiful but is certainly striking.
Next to Adrienne is an older woman with pale skin and short blond hair streaked with silver. At the head of the table, two men stand with their backs to us. One of them, a young man in his late twenties with a tawny complexion and cropped hair, glances over when we enter.
The second man turns at our footsteps, and shock slams into me.
For a second, I can’t breathe. Lungs seizing. Throat squeezed shut. I’m rooted in place, wholly stunned by what I’m seeing.
It’s Uncle Jim.