Chapter 12 Common Ground #2
The room went utterly still while he examined every inch of my face, and whatever he saw there urged him to surrender. He extended a hand toward the wall, an invitation to sit. Only after I was settled did he take a seat next to me.
I curved my fingers in the universal gimme sign. “Let me see.”
He proffered his arm. “There’s nothing you can do.”
With a quick tug of his sleeve, a gasp clawed through my throat. Three familiar brands marred the radial aspect of his forearm, two long healed and one bright red, fresh.
The Brotherhood Cross.
“Why?” I whispered.
He glared at them. “They’re a reminder of what we’re fighting for.”
I swallowed my pity. “It’s an odd place to put them.”
His gaze drifted to mine, and he offered his hand like he wanted me to shake it. I set my palm against his, and my attention dropped to his forearm. Every time he greeted someone, the marks would be visible.
An announcement.
This is who I am.
But he hadn’t chosen these signatures of ownership. These reminders to hate.
What had he done to earn the other two?
I released his hand and traced the scars. When I reached the fresh wound, I found no signs of infection or necrosis, though I could only imagine the pain. I started to ask what he’d been using to tend it, but his gaze was hyper-focused on my mouth.
I dropped his arm like it zapped me and wet my suddenly dry lips. “Do you have antibiotic creams?”
“Yes, Sophia. I’m not an idiot.” How was his voice so controlled when that look on his face was…not?
“Could have fooled me,” I said, “since you’re serving a regime that thinks branding is an appropriate punishment for a mistake.”
Mercifully, he moved his attention to the ceiling. “He lost his daughter. You’d want someone punished if you lost a loved one.”
“I have lost loved ones. I’d never brand the people responsible.”
I willed him to look at me again, and he did. Ocean eyes alight, he trapped me in a silent staring contest, one I was determined to win.
Determined, that was, until the corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted smile, and something corkscrewed in my chest.
My gaze dropped to my lap.
Coward.
“We have something in common,” he murmured.
“That’s impossible,” I said, just to be stubborn.
Chuckling, he rose to his feet and extinguished the candles. “Come on. I have something for you.”
I followed him to his communications closet. Inside the small room, with the lamp glowing softly in the corner, he handed me a sheet of paper. The writing flowed freely in dark ink, with a funny little curve to the Ds I found endearing.
“Is this your handwriting?”
“No,” he deadpanned. “I have a scribe.”
Irritated, I flicked a cross expression at him. The smirk was back, and he pointed toward the title of the paper. Jack Miller.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A psychological profile.”
I read through the first few lines. It detailed intimate characteristics of his fellow Blood Colonel—habits, weaknesses, and most intriguingly, his schedule.
“You want us to target him?”
“He was injured yesterday. Fell hard onto asphalt, scraped up his arm pretty bad, jacked his shoulder. He won’t be able to fight the way he normally does.”
I perused the information with a little more interest.
“He’s still vicious, but if you wanted to kill one of us, this is your best chance.”
I leaned against the shelves, continuing to read.
“How good is your memory?” he asked.
“Pretty good, but there’s a lot here. This’ll take me a while.”
“Take your time.” He left the room, and I meandered behind him, scanning each line three times before closing my eyes and trying to recall.
Adaptive charisma. His men are loyal to a fault. Beware they will die for him.
Sleeps little. Often patrols southern parts of the city close to midnight for fun.
Thinks of humans only in terms of utility. Has no one he cares about enough to sacrifice his honor or rank. Do not be fooled by his ‘dedication’ to his men.
Obsessive preoccupation with the subservient role of females. Will always underestimate a woman.
I curled up on one sofa in the living room while he read a book on the other, ignoring me. Midnight had passed before I lifted my tired eyes.
He shot me a wry grin. “I was wondering if you were going to nod off.”
I blinked a few times, struggling to keep my lids up. “Aren’t you sleepy?”
He shook his head. “I don’t sleep well.”
“Why not?”
He stretched out on the couch and shut his eyes. After a long moment, he said, “When I close my eyes, I hear voices begging me not to kill them.”
Instantly awake, my gaze snagged on his face.
With his eyes closed, I could study him as long as I wanted, and I stared hard, trying to find answers to his mystery in the lines of his profile—straight nose, tense jaw.
He still had those shadows beneath his eyes, likely caused by the ghosts of his past haunting him at night.
It had never occurred to me he didn’t want his job. So what compelled him to keep doing it? Why would he support the NAO in the first place if he didn’t believe in their cause?
Had something happened to change his mind?
They hurt my sister.
Maybe he thought they’d hurt her again if he didn’t stick around.
“Where is your sister, Lucas?”
His jaw clenched. “She’s dead.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart tripping. “What? She died? When?”
No answer came, but a muscle in his cheek twitched. Recent, then? Perhaps the grief still cut at him.
“Wait. Did she…die, or was she killed?”
A click filled the quiet between us when he swallowed. “What do you think?”
I bit my lip, unwanted pity settling deep inside me. “Why was she killed?”
His gleaming eyes snapped open and found mine. His voice went hard and dark, like sharpened steel. “She defied them.”
Defy.
She…defied them.
Was she a Defiant?
Eerie sorrow unfurled in my chest, a night-blooming flower right in the center of my heart. The amount of pain in those three words severed an artery feeding my hostility toward him.
Lucas wasn’t protecting his sister, but avenging her. He wanted retribution.
A scary thought. The receiving end of Lucas Scott’s vengeance was a fatal place to be.
“What was her name?”
His face softened, and the amber flecks in those blue-green eyes burned in the scant candlelight. “Her name…was Sophia.”
We stared at each other in the silence that followed. A current came to life along my nerves, hovering the border between pain and pleasure. Was he lying? He was messing with my head, right?
He shifted as if the sofa had grown uncomfortable. “I called her Sophie.”
The current pulsed as pieces of the puzzle began to shift into place. Was this why he wanted me to survive? Why my life mattered to him? Maybe he thought he’d failed to save his sister, this other Sophia.
Sophia Scott.
One day, I wanted to learn all about Sophia Scott.
“Do you have it memorized?” He gestured to the paper in my hand.
My face contorted into a grimace. I’d forgotten some lines in the midst of this new revelation.
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Maybe just a little more time.”
“It’s the middle of the night. You’re not going home this late.”
I figured he’d say that. The route to headquarters was short, but it was by no means safe.
“Take as much time as you need. I’m going to try to sleep. Don’t leave this house unless the sun is up, please.” Instead of using one of the beds, he sprawled on the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. I returned to the paper, and after a while, my eyes drooped again.
Darkness took me, and even in sleep, I swam in a sea of ever-expanding questions, most of them centering around why.
Was his sister’s death really why he’d betrayed them? Or was there more to it?
Why was it so hard for me to believe? Wasn’t I angered by my own losses? Didn’t I resent the Defiance for taking everyone I loved away from me? Unlike me, Lucas had simply decided to do something about it.
Warmth touched my face. “Sophia, I need to leave soon.”
Groaning, I turned into the warmth. Fingers?
I jolted awake.
He’d been stroking my cheek, probably hesitant to touch me anywhere else. My eyes landed on him as he leaned over me, freshly washed and shaven, hair damp. The watery morning light underscored the shadows under his eyes.
He jerked his hand away at once, but his fingers left invisible, burning lines on my face. “Time for you to go back to your people.”
Touching my cheek, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to wipe his touch away or press the heat deep into my skin. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, yawning. The paper I’d memorized fluttered to the floor.
He snatched it up. “Hope you got it all.”
I nodded, and he ripped it into tiny pieces.
Taking a moment to stretch, I ran my fingers through my curls. Morning usually wasn’t a great look for me. Jayden called it my just-fucked hair.
“You can’t hide the mess from me now,” Lucas said without looking at me. “I’ve already seen it.”
I choked on my disbelief. “Insulting a girl’s hair is a good way for a man to get maimed.”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Who said it was an insult?”
My whole body flushed. I spun on my heel, aflame under his scrutiny as I replaced my baggy clothes. Before I could flee, however, he approached me, expression wiped clean. He raised my hood, tucking in stray curls with gentle hands and unfocused eyes. “Hide these, please. Too tempting to grab.”
Who was tempted? Was he tempted?
I bit my lip. “Do me a favor, yeah?”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Antibiotic ointment and moisturizer, twice per day.”
His small smile clawed its way into my good graces.
I started to leave, but turned back, finally gathering the courage I should have mustered weeks ago. “Lucas, does—does the name Tekqua Madden mean anything to you?”
Those arched brows drew together. “No. Why?”
My insides shrank to nothing. What had I expected?
It doesn’t mean she’s gone.
“No reason.”
It meant nothing. How many prisoners did he deal with every week? He couldn’t remember each one. He probably didn’t even pay attention to the names.
But…now what?
A quick bike ride later, I headed to Theo, but slowed at the security detail outside the door. I traded glances with them as I gingerly entered his office, then stilled when I found the Prime Delegate sitting across from him.
My skin turned to ice even as my heart broke into a heavy sprint.
It was like being in the same room as the president. Once, when Williams gave us a motivational speech after a particularly bad loss, Tekqua had leaned in and whispered, “I want to be her when I grow up.”
I had laughed and laughed.
But now I saw what she’d meant, as Williams sat there with her pristine power suit and perfect hair.
The authority she possessed radiated from her very pores.
The influence she held pressed down on my shoulders, making me feel small and inconsequential.
This woman negotiated with foreign nations, commanded our armies, upheld our beliefs.
She was an icon, and I was no one.
“Sophia!” She stood to greet me.
I was frozen in the doorway. “Miss Williams.”
“I’m back from Aota’s area,” referring to the commanding officer on the eastern lines. “I’ll be here for a few weeks.”
I closed the door with a loud snap. “Any news from their neck of the woods?”
Her close-lipped smile was small but genuine. “Rumor is Russia is thinking of joining the fight against Haynes.”
“Really?”
She glanced at Theo. “The tides are truly turning, and this informant is a godsend. The NAO knows we’re a threat now.
Our ranks grow by the day, and their loyalists have discovered the regime doesn’t taste quite right.
If my sources are correct, Haynes’s Security Restoration Campaign is losing ground in Canada.
With Russia in the mix, the NAO won’t have a chance.
Haynes’s administration is falling apart, piece by piece.
We keep up this fight, and we will have victory in our hands. ”
“That’s…great.” I tried to muster some enthusiasm, but it rang hollow.
Theo’s deep voice brought my gaze to him. “I expected you last night.”
“I had a lot of information to memorize. It took hours.”
His eyes roamed my body, searching. Did he think Lucas would leave marks? He could just ask.
It’d been weeks.
He still hadn’t asked.
Instead, his mouth tightened, and he tapped his fingers on the desk. “Very well. Tell us what you know.”
“Yes,” Williams said. “I’m very interested to hear what sort of information he gives you.”
I swallowed and sat beside her, proceeding to list every fact I’d learned about Jack Miller.