Chapter 27 Kaye #2
But he didn’t move. He stood there as the men filed into my home with sickening precision, like this whole scene was commonplace.
Nothing unusual. One of the men pulled a sinister-looking taser out of his pocket.
I sagged as it bit into my shoulder, sizzling the skin where the two prongs hooked into me.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Nothing mattered but that one singular pain.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” he said.
My eyes filled with tears as I looked at him from the floor, willing my spasming muscles to work. For the power coursing through my veins to repel the current.
“She’s no longer your concern,” the man who punched me said.
His dark eyes were cold as he sneered at me.
He gave his perfectly styled blond hair a brush with his fingers before digging at the inner pocket of his jacket.
He produced a small black box and presented it to my father.
“Peter Grace, thank you for the service you have rendered to the Confederation for Citizen Protection.”
My heart broke as my father accepted the package, his fingers gliding across it in a caress. He looked at it as though it were a long-lost child, salivating as he withdrew a syringe filled with deep pink liquid.
It had always been about Rose.
Bile climbed my throat. I swallowed my hurt and pushed back the tears.
I knew, as the men circled around me and leered down with pitiless, soulless eyes, that I didn’t stand a chance.
A boot connected with the tender flesh of my ribs with a nauseating crack.
A meaty fist collided with my cheekbone and stars danced at the edges of my vision.
I kept my eyes on my father the entire time the CCP’s soldiers beat me.
Every care in the world dropped away from his face as he examined his prize, forgotten in the brilliant pink glow of the liquid dripping from the tip of the needle.
He brought the syringe up to his eye, careful to hold back his lids with the tips of his fingers, and plunged the needle into its depths.
NOW
Checkmate, the Hero of New Malcolm, was betrayed by her own father. Sold out for a measure of Rose that would have cost… maybe a grand on the street. That’s what Peter Grace’s daughter had been worth to him.
Cooper had been right, and we never had the chance to make up. That was the last time I saw my brother.
Even as a fresh wave of guilt rises up my sternum at the memory, I can’t deny the tension releasing from my chest. The relief of having one other person know this thing that I’ve been carrying around with me—just one—feels like the burden of a lifetime has been lifted from my shoulders.
For maybe the first time since I was that person crying on her apartment floor, I take a full, free breath.
Zane wraps his hand around mine—warm, steady, and comforting. My heart swells as it grows tighter. Tighter? Too tight.
“Fuck!” I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since we came out of the memory. His face is tipped down, shadowed as his shoulders heave around him. “What’s wrong, Zane?”
“You knew.” His words are so quiet that I have to fight to hear them over the beating of my heart. “You knew all along.”
“Knew what?” I gasp. His grip clenches into my skin so compact I can feel the fine bones there pushing together. I try to pull away, to shake off the unyielding grip, but he only clutches tighter. “Zane, you’re hurting me.”
“I’m hurting you?” he growls. “All these months, you’ve listened and learned, and worked your way into my heart, my home, my bed. And you knew.”
I shut out the pain, the pounding of adrenaline coursing through my veins with every beat of my heart. A sick feeling permeates the pit of my stomach. “Zane, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look at me. Please, just look at me.”
I instantly regret the request. He is still handsome, even with rage carving his features.
The lips that are usually curved in sly amusement, a witty remark or flirty comment waiting just on the tip of his tongue, are now curled in a brutal sneer.
Even when we were enemies fighting in the streets, never have I seen his stance so threatening, his body towering over me like a cobra poised to strike.
And his eyes, those startling violet irises that have looked at me with such tenderness and passion now are glacial with an absolute fury. His pupils glow like two miniature stars ablaze with amaranthine light. His cheekbones are dusted with radiance.
“What happened to your eyes?” Fear skitters down my spine. My throat tightens. I swallow, but the muscles refuse to loosen. My breathing comes quick and shallow.
“You wanted me to look, Kaye. I’m looking, and do you know what I see?” His voice is hard, sharp and cutting like a knife. “Betrayal. Lies. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s why he sent you, isn’t it? The perfect little spy. Have you been telling him everything about me? About my family?”
Panic laces through me, knitting my scattered nerves into one coherent thought. “This isn’t you, Zane. I don’t know what happened, or what you think you saw, but if you’ll just listen to me—”
“All I’ve done is listen to you. Listen to your sob stories. Listen to your lies. Listen to you pretend to care for me and George and her parents. Listen to you swear to keep them safe all while selling us out to that monster. To C.”
“You saw C in my memories? I swear to you I didn’t know. Please, you have to believe me.”
“Lies upon lies upon lies,” he spits. “I am so tired of listening to lies, Kaye. You shouldn’t have come here. I told you what would happen if you threatened my family.”
His grip on my hand increases. I wince against the pain that shoots up my wrist. That finds the vulnerable fissure of a break that never quite healed right, and cracks it again. Through the pain, I feel it—the intoxicating threads of his power creeping into me.
“Please,” I beg. “Just look, Zane. Before you do something you’ll regret. I’ll let you see anything you want. Please.”
I gasp as his power spears through me. My distressed brain mounts no defense, which I guess is probably a blessing of sorts.
With the way he’s pushing, this would hurt a hell of a lot more if I had.
It feels like a dull needle stitching directly into my mind.
Sharp, and over-full, it tears through me.
Images flash through my mind, lingering only a second before Zane discards them to continue his search.
He holds the pieces of my life in his hands—the first time I rode a bike.
A librarian looking fondly on my spot in the children’s room where I am cozied up and reading alone.
Always alone. High school graduation. My first kiss.
Applause as I greeted a crowd gathered at City Hall.
Apollo’s nose rubbing mine first thing in the morning.
A skyline and a rooftop. The hope for more.
I’m a monster too, Kaye. And I’m not afraid.
A white mask, hiding a pair of violet eyes.
He tosses them aside as if they are nothing. As if they aren’t more than I have ever shared with anyone else. As if they aren’t the core essence of me.
“Where is it? Where is it?” he mutters, growing more and more frustrated with every memory he drops. “None of this matters! Forget these trivial things and SHOW ME C.”
“Zane, I—” I begin, haltingly, but I no longer remember what I wanted to say. There was something… The pain is intense now, blinding. All-consuming. And he tears through, faster and faster, though I no longer know what he’s seeing or where the memories go once he’s through with them.
I double over as a wave of nausea crashes over me. My head feels… strange. Cold and sick. A sweat forms at the base of my skull. I realize I’m about to pass out just as the brown and black spots begin to dance in the edges of my vision.
I can’t remember who I’m talking to. All I know is, “You’re hurting me.”
Maybe I don’t even speak the words.
“This is all bullshit, Kaye! Forget about all of it and show him to me.”
A shiver flickers across my skin as, at last, the spots overtake me. Dimly, I feel some kind of physical reaction. Maybe I get sick.
None of it matters.
It never did.
Let the blackness…
…consume me.