38. CHAPTER 38
Zayne
The Territories
United Base, Caspador
Zayne hoped the plan to break into the United base and question Becka Rogers would fail on its own, but his brother was too good at this. It all went according to his infuriatingly impressive plan.
This wasn't an easy mission to sabotage.
Zayne and Ashantae hid in a service closet that shared a wall with Becka's room, waiting for Luke to enter her cell. Though Zayne was supposed to work with Brock to secure and protect a direct connection to the camera system, he slipped out to assist Ashantae.
They couldn't allow his brother to question Becka. Once he showed her footage of Kira in the tank and claimed it was live, the mother would likely break in order to save her from drowning.
Luke only had a five-minute window with her due to the patrol schedule at the base. So, Zayne needed to keep him occupied for that amount of time and make sure Becka didn't talk.
The most difficult part of this all would be making it to the rendezvous point on time with Brock as if he never left him, because he also planned to strike a deal with their chosen united officer—Major Tyndale.
Not a simple operation at all.
Ashantae looked at Zayne from beneath their dark mask. Though he couldn't see his friend's eyes, he felt the concern. This wasn't just dangerous. He faced off against his own brother and comrades.
Right on time, Luke's voice drifted from the room, something stifling a woman's scream.
“If you care about your daughter,” he said, tone menacing, “shut your mouth. Look at this. She's running out of oxygen.”
“Let her go.” Becka sobbed. “Please.”
Zayne clenched his body at the sound of Kira thrashing and drowning in the tank. Ashantae checked the hall and nodded for him. They slipped out of the closet for the door to Becka's room.
“How can you do that to her? How—”
“Shut up. I want locations.”
Ashantae pushed the door open and threw a knife at the closest soldier, piercing his throat. Stomach wrapped in knots, Zayne took out his target at the same time.
He knew these people by name. Knew their families. Most of them were ruthless soldiers who his brother hand-selected for their brutality and efficiency. But still, Zayne knew them. And he'd just ended the life of one.
It wasn't his first time killing a fellow soldier, not even his first time doing it for Kira, but each time hurt.
Reminded him that fighting the Phaedra meant betraying someone.
More names for his tree. But he couldn't think of that now.
His brother and the remaining soldiers moved fast, too fast for him to get distracted by guilt.
They'd been ordered not to use their guns around Becka Rogers to ensure she didn't get caught in the crossfire, but these soldiers were lethal without any weapons. Especially Luke.
Becka threw herself into the corner of the room and pulled a chair over herself. “What about my daughter?”
Everyone ignored her. There wasn't time to answer.
Zayne ducked the slash of a knife and drove straight for his brother, knowing he'd be the most deadly.
With a blade in each hand, Luke kicked the nightstand at Zayne. He jumped and picked his knees up to clear the object, but figured Luke did it to limit his positions. So while in the air, Zayne threw his remaining blade for Luke's chest, forcing him to defend himself.
He landed in front of his brother and slammed his shoulder into the man's stomach.
While stumbling back, Luke managed a kick, and Zayne twisted to avoid it, coming too close to another soldier.
It forced him to drop to the ground, skidding across the carpet on his knees.
And it didn't put him in an ideal position as Luke swiped both blades for him.
Zayne rolled off his shoulder, narrowly avoiding a strike, and picked up the knife he'd thrown, aiming for his brother's side. The man was a good fighter and in too good a position not to block it, but it interrupted his offense.
Their blades caught against each other, metal scraping metal.
They grew up training together and sparring after graduation.
Regardless of disagreements, Luke poured even more time than Father into teaching Zayne how to fight when he was young.
That meant he knew Luke's combat style well, but the opposite was true, too.
And Zayne made a concerted effort to disguise his movements as much as possible, slouching his shoulders, favoring his left fist over his right.
Not easy to do while his brother tried to kill him.
But the familiarity of fighting Luke fooled Zayne's body into feeling like this was just another match, just two brothers in a rivalry who might hit too hard sometimes and pull their punches another. Brothers who danced around love and hate, around protecting and fighting.
Right now, Luke didn't know he faced off against Zayne. This wasn't a training session. It was life and death.
But if his brother did know it was him, how would that change things?
Standing on opposite sides of the war, would they be able to kill each other?
Slashing rapidly, Luke tried to back him into a corner, but he watched for an opening and knocked one of Luke's arms away. Caught the man's other knife with his own, leaving his brother's center wide open. He rammed his knee into the other man's gut.
Luke grunted, body curling. But he fought through it, unstoppable, swinging for Zayne in the midst of reeling from the hit.
Damn it, he was fast.
And Zayne hadn't had time to check on Ashantae and the other two soldiers. He couldn't take his eyes off his brother for a second.
Every move was deadly. Every second dangerous.
What if Zayne couldn't hold him off without hurting him badly? Or worse?
He could hear his nieces playing. Hear their giggles while they yelled for Daddy to join them. Saw Luke holding Ainsley as a baby, introducing her to her big sister.
Those girls needed their father. They'd been through enough already.
Luke's boot shoved Zayne back a step. Rather than fight to keep his ground, he let the momentum open space between them, using the distance to regroup.
His brother lunged, and Zayne stayed steady, shifting his weight to his right foot rather than dodging. Watching closely.
Luke stabbed for Zayne's midsection, but he'd seen the way his body twisted, detected the threat. Sliding sideways, he narrowly avoided the strike and poised himself for a rapid jab into his brother's gut.
This one would hit. A three-inch blade into Luke's stomach.
A serious, potentially fatal wound.
Mom and Andi flashed in his mind, laughing with Luke.
No.
Couldn't.
The millisecond hesitation left Zayne in a vulnerable position. Luke's first attack had only been a decoy. His other blade hooked behind Zayne's back, stabbing for his kidney.
He threw himself into his brother, twisting to avoid the attack. Arching his back.
Almost.
Almost.
So close to clearing the danger.
Sharp steel pierced his flesh at a severe angle, driving sideways beneath skin and muscle, and embedded up to the hilt.
Pain stole his breath from his lungs. He gasped, weight falling against his brother, shifting the knife in his back with agonizing stabs of pain.
They fell against the wall together, and his brother ripped his knife free. The devastating cut of the blade against his torn insides immobilized him while Luke reared back for another stab.
Couldn't slow down.
Consumed by shock and pain, Zayne held in his scream and jammed his knife through his brother's forearm. The tip poked out the other side.
Luke's knife clattered to the ground, saving Zayne from a killing blow.
Shifting his weight, Zayne kept his brother plastered against the wall, even with how it strained his back. And Luke gripped his shoulder, despite the fact that his injured arm must have throbbed horribly. They both took in ragged breaths.
Hot blood rushed down Zayne's back. And red bubbled around the blade still lodged in Luke's arm.
His watch buzzed against his wrist, warning of one minute.
Relief washed over him.
If he kept them both alive until then, Luke had no choice but to evacuate before the guard's scheduled patrol. Still, that felt like so much time right now.
Zayne slammed his fist into Luke's side. His brother punched him in the back close to his wound.
His vision blinked black, and he took another hit, collapsing. Luke shifted to kick him, but Zayne hugged his brother around his knees, grunting as he channeled all his strength into holding him in place. And then he shot straight up, ramming his head up into Luke's diaphragm.
The man fell on top of him.
They wrestled for control, pummeling each other with weak, sloppy hits.
Every movement tore at Zayne's back.
“Who the fuck are you?” Luke asked through gritted teeth. “Die already.”
Five more seconds.
A form to his right.
Ashantae dug their fingers into Luke's wound.
His brother screamed, body contorting on the ground.
Pain cramped Zayne's chest, not just from the fight, but from the agony on Luke's face.
Ashantae pulled on Zayne. “We need to get out of here.”
He struggled to his knees, letting his friend help him up. His muscles cramped from the fight, seizing.
Luke picked up a knife from the ground while on his side, but Zayne and Ashantae ran, leaving him the only soldier left alive.
In the hall, he staggered and fell against the wall, lightheaded, nearly collapsing to the ground again. His wound pulsed with pain, and his body throbbed all over. He groaned, trying to catch his breath. Luke wouldn't feel any better.
“He's gone,” Ashantae said, ear to the wall. “Becka's safe.”
That helped him fill his lungs. Good.
“Can you make it?” they asked.
“Yes.” He scanned his friend, seeing a bloodied tear on their shoulder and leg. “You?”
“Yeah. I've got nothing serious.”
“I didn't get it,” he said.
“I did.” Ashantae withdrew the inhaler with the microphone, dropped it, and crushed it with the heel of their boot.
The Phaedra would be infuriated with today's failure and with losing the communication device. That meant they didn't have long to save Kira before he did something terrible to her.