Chapter 18 Emery
EMERY
How do you know my name?” My voice is a mere whisper, yet it seems louder than everything else in the world right now.
The man doesn’t reply. Instead his dark eyes lift above me, and before I can react a burlap sack is thrust down over my head. In the next breath I’m hit across the side of my head with the butt of a rifle.
My muscles go limp, but against all odds, I remain conscious. I play the part though, if they’re going to hold me hostage, it’s best if there’s a chance I might pick up some details if they believe I’m out cold.
The man catches me and easily lifts me up in his arms. He doesn’t toss me over his shoulder like I thought he would.
He keeps me against his chest. The familiar motion brings a stillness to my heart.
I close my eyes and focus on the scent of a storm passing through pines.
It’s comfort. Haunting in a way that feels like danger.
Who the fuck are these people? Who is he?
I sink my teeth into my lower lip and remain as limp as I can in his arms.
“Where’s the other one, Reed?” the guard who bagged my head and hit me asks gruffly. His name stirs the back of my mind, placing puzzle pieces on the board but I can’t find their place quite yet, like a dream you can’t quite remember and it’s just out of reach.
Reed adjusts me in his arms as he starts walking casually. My visibility is low, but I can make out that we’re heading to a large van.
“He’s either dead or in the back field. Scour the land thoroughly. Greg wants him too.” Reed’s voice is deep and sends shivers up my spine. A sense of evil rolls off him.
“Roger that.” Then I only hear the sound of his footsteps in the dirt as he walks away on the dry terrain.
Reed is quiet and steady as he steps into the van. After we’re inside, I lose the sense of where we are. It’s too hard to make out things through the burlap mesh, especially once the van starts moving.
The scent of gunpowder is still thick in the air, and Reed’s gloved hands are cold against my arm where my tattered uniform bares my skin.
They drive about five minutes in what feels like a pretty straight path from the hideout before pulling over. The sliding door opens and Reed carries me out.
Is there another building they own out here? My heart races and urges me to get up and run. But I know better than that. I wouldn’t get four feet away before they chase me down. This Reed guy is as tall as Mori, he’d close the distance in a heartbeat.
He takes his time walking through the unfamiliar building, not stopping once or hesitating on which direction to go. With the amount of turns he takes, I wonder if it’s as much of a maze as the last building was. As the moments pass, the dread inside me grows.
What does he plan on doing to me? Am I going to be tortured? The flicker of fear passes swiftly, remembering that I can’t feel pain. Relief fills my lungs at that small reprieve.
But how does he know who I am? Were the Dark Forces not as careful with their security as they thought? Maybe this group has a hacker like Mikah.
“I know you aren’t unconscious,” Reed says and it startles me.
Is he trying to test me? I decide to remain silent and stay limp in his hold.
He lets out a soft chuckle that sounds almost reminiscent.
“We’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get you back for a long time.
I can’t believe you don’t recognize me. It’s true then, that you lost your memories in those savage Under Trials.
” He scoffs. “Our first source of intel reported that you had died. Do you have any idea how upset your father was?” He says my father was upset, but he’s the one who sounds bothered.
What the hell is he talking about? A bolt of pressure shoots behind my eyes, making me smash them closed and cry out. I wasn’t expecting it. The same headache rippled through my head when I remembered Bree.
Reed pauses, then opens a door and locks it behind him before crossing the room and setting me down on a bed or couch of some sort. He ties my hands behind my back before removing the burlap sack from over my head.
The room is small, gray, and cold. There’s a distinct scent of wet wood that’s been sitting for some time.
It looks like a miscellaneous space, empty for the most part besides this brown sofa, a small kitchenette in the corner, and a few crates stacked around the walls.
My breaths are fast and anxious as I study my surroundings before looking at Reed.
His eyes are unmoving. Lifeless. I would even say he looks a bit annoyed in the way his brows dip just enough to suggest he’s resisting saying what he wants.
I glare daggers at him. “Who are you?” He seems amused by my question, lifting a sharp brow and grinning.
“We were close childhood friends. You know me best as your mentor, well, I guess you used to. Do you remember Mavestelli? Hmm, no. Oh, what have they done to your head, Emery?” He lifts his hand and reaches for me cautiously, but I quickly shift back on the sofa and scowl at him.
His expression hardens and he glances away.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I refuse to ask for water, but Reed hears the dryness in my throat and stands to retrieve some from the sink at the other end of the room.
He fills a paper cup and hands it to me. I glower at him.
“Oh, I forgot you were restrained.” He laughs as if we’re having fucking tea and puts the edge of the cup to my lips. “We aren’t going to do anything to you, Emery, as long as you behave. I can’t say the same for your partner.” He shakes his head and tsks.
Unease consumes me. “Don’t hurt him.” The words come out quickly and panicked.
Reed tilts his chin down and stares at me for a moment as if he’s analyzing everything I do.
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever seen you so fond of someone.
He must really be something, huh?” He pats my shoulder.
It earns him a heavy glare. “What did he do to get you to be so trusting and obedient to him?” Reed taps his finger over his lips like he can’t wrap his head around how people connect. Weird.
“You don’t need to harm him. I will tell you whatever you want to know.” I narrow my eyes as I say it. If the lieutenant or general heard me speaking like this they’d kill me in a heartbeat for being a traitor, but I won’t let them hurt Mori.
“We’ll discuss more later.” He grins.
That definitely doesn’t make me feel better.
Reed tilts his head sympathetically as he pulls out a syringe and flicks it a few times. “You certainly tried to die out there, though, didn’t you? We’ll have to get you patched up. This will help you sleep,” he mutters as he approaches me with the needle.
I try to struggle away from him, but he sticks my neck with it and everything shuts off in the next second.
It feels like I was only out for a few minutes, but when I wake up I’m splayed out on a hard bed. Bright lights glare down at me from the ceiling and white sheets are pulled up to my neck.
My blood chills, and I sit straight up. Something cold and steely pulls against my wrist. I’m handcuffed to a medical bed. What did they do to me? I use my free hand to lift the sheets and scour my body for anything abnormal.
A knot builds in my throat as I finally see how wounded I truly was from the mission. Bandages and medical wrap were generously used in patching me back up. I’m sure stitches lie beneath. Most of them are already blooming with bright blood and need redressing.
I remember myself and study my surroundings. It looks like an outdated hospital room. The floors are made of white square tiles and the wall has curtain pulls to add privacy if needed. A guard stands at the end of the room, eyeing me carefully as he lifts a radio up to his mouth.
“She’s awake,” he reports and lets his hand drop back to his side.
My lips set in a distrusting frown, but I continue to sweep the room while it’s moderately still empty. There are five beds in total and no one else occupies them.
Does that mean Mori was able to get away? Hope fills my veins.
Several minutes pass before the door creaks open.
A slender male appearing to be in his fifties strides in.
He wears a three-layer, polished navy blue suit and walks with a cane in his right hand.
The handle is gilded and curved at the edge, forming a clawlike form.
Sharp enough to kill. He doesn’t use it for weight bearing or an injury, it appears to be only for appearances. A symbol of power for him maybe.
Neither of us utters a word as he stops five feet away. He stares at me coldly. It’s not apparently clear to me who he is exactly. Reed’s words echo through my mind. Mavestelli.
This must be him.
“Em-Bee,” he says rigidly, like he doesn’t actually want to speak those words.
But they sink into me.
Em-Bee. Pressure surges behind my eyes again. It’s so intense that I clutch my head and grind my jaw.
Images of a young man resurface in my head. He’s a poisoner. Bryce. His eyes and gurgling when he was slain dash through my soul… He said the words Em-Bee to me and it proved that he worked for my father. Mavestelli is my father. Though I don’t remember him, it must be true. We look too similar.
The memories aren’t clear, but as the pain in my head fades, one question makes my stomach churn.
Who hit me across the head if it wasn’t Bryce?
My father levels his eyes with mine. “Emery, you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” He sits at the edge of the steel-framed bed and it creaks as he shifts to face me.
I hesitate to answer him. There are many fuzzy images living inside my head right now. “What happened to me? How did I end up here?” I finally manage to ask.
His dull brown eyes shift to the floor. “Well, that’s a long story. Did your partner not tell you himself? From what I’ve been informed, the two of you are quite close. I’m a bit surprised none of this came up.” His tone is scrutinizing.