Chapter 1 Emery
EMERY
The train stops four times on the way to Bellingham, Washington. The only indicators of my location are the signs of approaching stations and the conductor’s announcements over the intercom for the common passengers.
A weary breath escapes my lips, and I find myself wishing I was one of the civilians simply traveling to the next town over.
I’m in handcuffs and chains. Four armed soldiers are standing at the two exits, and some sort of military general sits across from me, smoking a cigar. He taps it occasionally, dropping ashes onto the tray below, while he assesses me.
I’m no expert in the justice system, but I don’t think this is how criminals are normally handled in a situation like mine. Then again, I suppose my situation is a bit…unique.
I doubt soldiers in black tactical gear accompanied by a general normally come to a high-profile murderer’s cell at three a.m., throw them to the ground, gag, hog-tie, and kidnap said murderer from a prison while the head guard and warden watch as they smoke their nasty cigars. Right? Or am I fucking delusional?
Because I think I’ve just been kidnapped by a military operation, but I don’t recognize their badges, or their attire for that matter. And I couldn’t fathom the government signing off on something like this. You know, public image and all that.
So what the hell is going on?
I shift in the leather seat, uncomfortable with the chains keeping my ankles only four inches apart from each other.
After a short drive away from the prison, the guards had forced me into a building where they made me shower and change into civilian clothes.
I could only assume this was to avoid drawing more attention to us than necessary.
The next thing I knew, the restraints were placed back on me, and we boarded a private car on a train heading to Bellingham, Washington, of all places.
It’s weird that they aren’t keeping the location secret from me, isn’t it? Maybe this isn’t really a kidnapping.
My eyes don’t rise to meet the man sitting across from me as I brainstorm different scenarios. He’s dressed in black military attire and taps his finger against the table, making me nervous.
He balances his cigar on the edge of the tray and takes another out of a box on the table, offering it to me.
I avert my gaze, glancing outside with a silent declination.
We passed Seattle an hour ago, and the view has been nothing but the bay, fishing boats, and storm clouds.
The metal feels colder around my wrists the more I see the vastness of the sea, how big and wide the world is, and how much smaller mine has become in a short amount of time.
I was never truly free to experience the world like everyone else. It’s always taunted me, though—a life free from the Mavestelli Family.
“You know, I was shocked at first when I read what a lovely young woman like yourself did.” His voice startles me for a second. It’s been hours of pure silence, and I’d gotten used to it.
There’s a distinct dullness I feel in the left chamber of my chest when people say that. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel the shock of it like they do. Or maybe it’s the understanding that there’s something deeply wrong with me.
I can’t seem to feel much of anything anymore.
It’s probably for the best, because I don’t want to know what I’d be feeling right now.
Despair. Fear. Regret. These men don’t look like they’re associated with the guards in suits my father works with.
The Families don’t usually dress outside formal wear, and these guys definitely look military, so I’m not sure what fate I’m heading toward.
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse either.
The man across from me lights his cigar and places the box back into this chest pocket. I finally meet his gaze.
His eyes are light brown, so dull that they almost look gray.
His fawn-colored hair is shaved on the sides, a bit longer on the top, enough so that he can have it sideswept.
Stubble lines the lower half of his face, making his jawline more prominent.
A smoky, mahogany cologne fills the air around him—a scent I associate with bad wealthy men who hang around nightclubs and have way too much money to throw around.
He’s handsome for someone I’d assume is in his forties.
But the way he stares at me so emptily has my mind churning.
Who is he? Why is a prisoner like me being transported before I’ve had my day in court?
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting a young woman of your upbringing to be so…
well, violent. Being born into the Mavestelli bloodline, the wealthiest family on the West Coast, no less.
It’s shocking, especially seeing how small you are.
” My throat dries when I hear my last name leave his tongue.
There’s a darkness that swirls in his gaze.
Like he’s testing me. I don’t let my expressionless facade slip.
He shakes the newspaper he’s had tucked under his arm and reads it.
“Twenty-four-year-old woman is finally captured after the heinous crimes of ten confirmed murders over the past four years.” I wince as he reads the headline so nonchalantly.
I’m used to hearing it read with more disdain and disgust.
It seems more appropriate to be appalled than indifferent, furthering my suspicion of this officer. Calmness and intelligence linger in his movements. Like he’s done this a million times before.
He uses the tip of his pen to open my file off to the side, a manila folder with only a few pages inside and a surplus of photos of my victims. “Emery Cecilia Mavestelli. That’s your formal name, correct?
” His eyes dart up at me only long enough to watch me nod.
There is a slight lift of his brow before he moves along with his spiel.
“We’re going to shorten that last name to Maves, as most of your fake IDs have listed.
Just in case there are problems with the other cadets, being who you are and all. ”
I let out a small breath.
Maves is safe. After the public fiasco of my crimes, if anyone knows my last name is Mavestelli, I’m dead. There’s no telling how many hit men are looking for me.
This guy makes me nervous. I look at the soldiers and try to get a sense of the situation, but they don’t so much as blink in my direction.
I twist strands of my pastel pink hair anxiously between my fingers.
My parents always hated that I dyed it this color, but it’s my favorite and it complements the olive hue of my skin.
Not to mention that it’s the least they could let me do for being their little executioner.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, Emery.” He shuts the folder and weaves his fingers together as he presses his lips to them, hiding his maniacal smile.
“You’re being pulled from the civilian world and placed into the Dark Forces.
It’s a military branch that you have never heard of and never will because it doesn’t exist.”
My eyes widen. A secret branch? At least they aren’t connected to one of the families my father screwed over. A small rush of relief settles my nerves momentarily, because anything would be better than a rival family getting a hold of me.
“It’s an underground operation. One of the world’s best-kept secrets. Essentially, you’re getting a ticket out of a death sentence. I’ll be your transport guide to the Alaskan base, and you will address me as General Nolan.”
My brows knit together, and a frown spreads across my lips. A general is escorting me? Why not just send some low-end corporal or something?
“Wait, what?” I pinch my thigh to make sure I’m fully sane at the moment. He’s making it sound like I’m being placed into the armed forces, a nonexistent branch at that. Why me? I’m not being put to death like the prison guards were taunting me about?
Nolan looks up at me again and those hard eyes remain impassive. “Emery, you’ll need to be much sharper than this if you expect to survive through the Under Trials.”
I slam my cuffed hands on the table. The general’s cup of coffee spills, and the four soldiers standing guard point their rifles at me in the next breath.
“What trials? What Dark Forces? You aren’t making any sense. This is why you kidnapped me from my cell? Take me back. I’m not interested in joining any more circuses,” I retort.
Nolan raises his hand passively to his side for the soldiers to lower their weapons.
“It’s not a choice. Starting today, any life you had before is over.
As far as society knows, you are deceased.
Hung yourself in your cell in the late hours of the evening and were carted away under the supervision of the warden.
I signed your death certificate this morning myself, so you better shape up if you want to survive in the Dark Forces, Cadet Maves.
You can think of the Under Trials as a sort of boot camp, a deadly boot camp.
I’m not sure you’ll even make it to the first trial given what you need to go through first.”
Okay. He’s serious. My heart rate increases.
I take in the gravity of my situation. Process what I can, then take a deep, centering breath.
I don’t know exactly what all of this entails, but it sounds like I get to not rot in a jail cell for the rest of my life.
I want to laugh; just when I had finally accepted my fate, of course something like this would happen.
My eyes open slowly, and I stare at Nolan. “Will I have to kill people?” It’s odd saying those words out loud, but surely he knows as well as I do that all I’ve ever known is how to terminate targets. The Mavestelli bloodline is cursed—wicked.
Whoever the Dark Forces are, they’ve done their homework on me.