Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Deep in the hooded jacket I took from the box full of lost garments and items left from clients at Kitty’s, I ducked farther into Warwick’s back, the motorcycle speeding over the bumpy streets. The rain pelted at my exposed skin as the wind whipped brutally against my face.
It was late morning, the weather keeping most people off the streets, but it was still dangerous to be this exposed.
Warwick tried to shroud himself under a hat and driving goggles, pebbles and rain kicking up into his face, but the man drew attention no matter how much he tried to hide. His entire presence demanded it, even if he were asleep.
Probably even dead.
Heading northeast, Warwick turned down a grand lane that I had never seen before.
The lines dividing the street were no longer there, but it stretched at least six lanes across, as if they wanted the whole city to fit here.
Sitting back on wide crumbling sidewalks were large decrepit buildings.
Relics of a time long past. Stylish large homes, neglected museums, theaters, cafes, and shops were boarded up and falling apart, but they still showed their elegance, the desolated structures screaming old money.
I had heard of this area. It was where a lot of the elite living in Leopold came from.
Most abandoned their grand mansions and elaborate townhomes on the illustrious Andrássy Avenue to hide in the protective walls under Istvan’s protection, while the rest of the world fell apart and was overtaken by nature and poverty.
Graffiti covered walls, trash was everywhere, and campfires burned in front of long-abandoned designer stores and pricy cafes.
Some mansions were burned out or on the precipice of tumbling down.
People built makeshift camps in gardens, using the overgrown plants for shelter.
The prestigious area was now no more than a campground for the underprivileged, the destitute, and abused.
Warwick whisked the bike down a lane where groups of savages peered at us with interest, their eyes tracking us through the rain, ready to take or attack. Guns and knives were pulled out as we passed, their bodies threatening and defensive.
Warwick pressed into me as if to say, “Stay alert and close.”
Weaving the bike down another lane, he slowed to a stop.
“On foot from here.” He waited for me to climb off before he followed, tucking the bike under some overgrown foliage. “Keep on guard.”
Nodding, silently I followed, knowing it was pointless to ask him where we were going. The gun he gave me before we took off was kept cocked and ready to use. Still not accustomed to a place so lawless, I had to remember out here no civility existed.
Warwick pulled me into buildings and out, his head constantly snapping around, the tension in his body tangible. I could feel his nerves licking against mine as if they were crawling through me as well.
We stepped into a building that had been burned, black soot painting the walls, the rainy sky darkening the chilly space to almost blackness.
Click.
The muzzle of a gun rammed into my temple, silent as the dead. Two huge outlines appeared from a burned-out hallway, moving in on us from either side.
Terror dropped my stomach and stole the air in my lungs.
“Drop your weapons. Both of you.” The voice was low and cold. Detached.
“No,” Warwick growled.
“You have two seconds to drop it, or I will shoot her in the fuckin’ head. Your pretty girlfriend’s brains will be all over the floor.”
My chest struggled to move as I lifted my gun, showing I would cooperate, moving slowly to place it down.
“It’s me, you fucking morons.” Warwick turned his head to the speaker. “And if you touch her, I will use your entrails as wall art.”
The figures moved in closer. My head swung between them.
Identical, the guys were almost as tall as Warwick, built with thick necks and longer noses.
Compared to anyone other than Warwick, they’d be intimidating.
Handsome in a unique way, their eyes were so dark brown they appeared black.
They had pure white hair that looked like fur and only appeared to be in their twenties.
The way they moved, stalking and ready to strike, reminded me of bears, giving me little doubt they were shape-shifters.
Polar bears.
“Then you know how it goes,” the same guy replied. He seemed to be the leader of the two, the other one keeping his gun aimed at us. “Never can be too careful.”
Warwick scoffed. “You think anyone could pass as me?”
The first twin simply shrugged. “The lieutenant still doesn’t trust you after the stunt you pulled.”
Finally, Warwick huffed, handing his gun to the second guy, the first one taking mine.
“This way, legend. Keep your hands where I can see them.” The first one sneered, sticking his pistol into Warwick’s back, pushing him forward. The other one got behind me, doing the same, trailing after the other two.
Trust was something I had been low on lately, but all I could do was go forward and believe Warwick knew what the fuck he was doing.
“It’ll be fine, princess.” Warwick’s voice rose into my ear, the feel of him next to me making me jump. My eyes darted around, knowing I wouldn’t see what my brain was sure of.
Him behind me.
In front of me, Warwick curved his head enough to smirk at me.
“Bastard,” I whispered under my breath, producing a low chuckle from him.
The guard grunted behind me, pushing me forward. We went through several guarded gates, upstairs and down, twisting and turning down various hallways. A perfect maze to confuse or trap any intruder.
“Warwick to see the lieutenant.” One of the guards spoke into one of those rare high-tech walkie-talkies, which surprised me. They were very expensive and hard to get. I would think only the elite would have technology from the Unified Nations.
Where were we? Who could get access to those in the Savage Lands?
We climbed up some wide curving stairs of the dilapidated mansion to the second floor.
Timeworn, wooden floors creaked under my feet as the guards stopped us at what looked like an old receiving room.
Thick boards covered the windows, cutting off any light or exposure to the outside world.
Firebulbs bathed the bare room in shadowy light, which glittered off the flaking gold-leaf trim, softening the peeling wallpaper and paint.
If you squinted and really used your imagination, you could almost picture this place as it might have been.
We stood for a few moments, tension strung tightly across my shoulders, before we heard footsteps pound up the stairs. A tall, lean figure emerged into the room, dressed in plain brown military pants, a jacket, hat, black boots, and a belt, with three guards behind him.
A sharp gasp ripped through my lungs, my feet stumbling back, not believing it could really be the familiar face that lingered in my childhood memories.
His hair was peppered with salt now, but I knew his sharp features, dark bushy eyebrows that had always been in contrast to his lighter hair, and the deep scar that twisted the side of his face.
He’d gotten the wound in battle, saving my father’s life.
He’d been a constant at my father’s side—his right-hand man—who I’d believed died in the same battle my father did over five years earlier.
Lieutenant General Takacs.
“Un-Uncle Andris?” I stared at the ghost before me. His “remains” had been buried near my father. I had attended his funeral.
The man’s head jerked to me, his light blue eyes finding mine. Shock parted his lips.
“Brexley?” He stared at me as if I was the manifestation, slowly moving toward me. “Drágám . . .” My dear.
“How-how is this possible?” He was really here. In the flesh. “You are dead . . . I-I went to your funeral.”
His boots hit my borrowed ones, his slender frame standing over me. “You shouldn’t be here, drágám.” His head snapped to Warwick. “Why did you bring her? She shouldn’t be here. Involved with this . . .”
“I shouldn’t be here?” I exclaimed, my brain ready to explode. “You’re supposed to be dead. I stood next to your wife and cried with her.”
“For all intents and purposes, I am dead,” he said softly, cupping my face tenderly.
The man was a strange contradiction. He looked foreboding and intimidating, almost cruel.
But he was the opposite, at least with me.
He always brought me gifts and treated me like the daughter he and his wife never had.
“Nagybacsi.” Uncle. Tears batted at my eyes. I’d called him uncle since I was six, even though he was not a blood relation. Never knowing my father’s mother or my real uncle, Mykel, my father did his best to create a family for me.
Andris and Rita Takacs had been that family to me. She had died two years ago of a lung disease when a virus swept through our country and she couldn’t fight it. Losing her had felt like losing the last bit of my father. Of my family.
“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” I stared up at him in disbelief.
“No . . . No, this can’t be. He would not want you to be part of this.
” He shook his head vehemently, ignoring my questions, his eyes watering, his hands clutching my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace.
Holding me so tightly. It was like I stepped back in time, and I was a little girl again, surrounded by love and people who cared about me. Protected.
Nagybacsi held me as if he never wanted to let go, rocking me back and forth. “I promised him, dragam . . . I made a vow to protect you the best way I could. I tried . . . You shouldn’t be here.” He leaned back, anguish filling his eyes.
“Who?” Though I already knew who. It was written all over his face. The only man Andris had ever shown any affection to.
My father.
“Is he . . . Is he still alive?” A bubble of hope floated up my chest but was quickly popped as soon as I looked into Andris’s eyes.
“No, dragam . . . he’s not. He died that night.”