CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Zander’s expression, which had initially held that dutiful impassiveness of an Enforcer, contorted in shock and hurt as he took in the sight of us. I tried to cover my upper half with an arm and my lower half with my hand, but even I felt the uselessness of it.
All five Enforcers had guns drawn, and the bulky, white-barreled monstrosities looked exactly as I remembered. The whole situation was so familiar, I had never been more certain that everybody was right about me.
I was fucking cursed.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the Enforcer to Zander’s right said with a hearty laugh, grabbing Kieran’s bandolier off my desk and slinging it over an arm. He had a round face and mild blue eyes. Under normal circumstances, he would have given the impression of being friendly and agreeable.
“Don’t feel too bad,” the Enforcer to Zander’s left chimed in. He was tall and relatively thinner than the others. I recognized him as the man who had interrupted me and Zander when we were talking that rainy morning before work. “Looks like they’re already finished.”
The fact that they had seen evidence of that on the both of us went so far beyond humiliation, I wouldn’t have known what to call the emotion. I had watched my home burn to the ground, had seen my sister murdered right in front of my eyes, but this was a whole new way to feel utterly violated.
“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Zander commanded. “Right now.”
It was the most unkind thing I had ever heard come out of his mouth. And it was well-deserved. He shook his head as if clearing it, as if trying to make the scene before him disappear. Then he said, “You’ve both been summoned to meet with The Council. I suggest you put some clothes on.”
He must have seen Kieran’s eyes dart to the balcony because he added, “We have you surrounded. If you choose to leave from the balcony, then there will be another escort waiting for you where you land.”
Kieran’s laugh was full of mirth. “And if I don’t want to meet with your ‘Council?’” His tone was as casual as if we were discussing what to eat for breakfast.
“The meeting isn’t optional.”
Kieran laughed again, and I could sense his movement beside me. He thrust my nightgown and underwear into my hands, then moved with exaggeratedly slow steps, hands raised in mock surrender, over to my desk. He dragged on his jeans.
“I like your euphemisms.” He finished buttoning his pants and strode back to where I stood, still clutching my nightgown.
“Almost makes you feel like you’re not about to be captured and held hostage against your will by a bunch of grown men that feel the need to point their big, bad guns at one of their own defenseless citizens. ”
At his words, Zander quickly scanned his fellow Enforcers then locked eyes with the two who were bringing up the rear. Their guns were, in fact, pointed at me. Without a word, they shifted so they were trained on Kieran instead.
“You don’t want to put on a shirt?” Zander asked flatly.
The tall Enforcer snorted. “I’m sure she”—he pointed in my direction—“would rather he didn’t.”
Zander’s answering expression had enough venom in it that the Enforcer clamped his mouth shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kieran tense slightly. Zander’s protective attitude toward me wasn’t lost on him.
“My shirt is in the bathroom hanging over the edge of the tub,” Kieran said. He added, his tone saccharine, “If one of you would be so kind as to grab it for me.”
After a moment of hesitation, one of the Enforcers toward the back rolled his eyes and stomped into the bathroom, returning with Kieran’s blood-stained shirt. He tossed it at his feet and seemed miffed when Kieran actually caught it.
Kieran shrugged the shirt over his head then slipped on his boots. “I think the lady would like some privacy,” he said without looking up.
I was still frozen in place.
“I think ‘the lady’ forfeited her right to privacy when she decided to harbor a Stranger in her home,” the round-faced Enforcer fired back. Zander glared at him, but unlike his comrades, the Enforcer pretended not to see it. He gestured to my clothes with his gun. “Hurry up.”
My body felt like it was moving of its own accord as I turned away from them. I slipped on my underwear and pulled my nightgown over my head. Pins and needles were making their way up my arms and legs.
I was going to pass out.
But before I had time even to faint, our wrists were bound with thick pieces of plastic, tight enough that it hurt. Zander refused to look at me as he tied mine.
We were ushered out of the apartment and into the hall. As we crossed through the open doorway, I realized we were stepping on my door. The crash from earlier had been the Enforcers breaking it down.
Thankfully, none of my neighbors were gathered to witness the spectacle. I wondered if they had actually managed to sleep through my door being kicked in. More likely, they were pressed against the inside of their doors, watching through the peephole.
We went in the opposite direction of the main staircase, which I assumed was an attempt at discretion.
The main staircase had multiple landings and was visible from different vantage points on all floors.
We walked instead toward the less grandiose stairs at the other end of the hall which were intended to be an emergency exit.
The tall Enforcer held the door to the stairwell as we all passed through.
We walked down the concrete stairs in silence, our footsteps echoing.
When we reached the landing, the round-faced Enforcer held the door this time.
Then we were headed down the hall on the ground floor.
As we approached the foot of the main staircase, I wondered vaguely what the purpose was of bypassing it to begin with, if we were just going to circle back to it. Obviously, we were about to leave out the main entrance and head to the Enforcers’ headquarters in the city.
But right before we reached the landing, the Enforcers came to a halt, stopping us with them. We were standing in front of an inconspicuous wooden door in a series of doors that led to rooms I had never been in before.
Zander ushered us inside, still refusing to make eye contact with me.
The room we entered was spacious, with plain white walls and diamond-patterned carpet.
It was mostly empty, save for more Enforcers.
They were standing in a semicircle around a long table where five people sat.
Kieran and I were led to folding chairs in front of the table, with Zander and his four colleagues taking positions behind us.
Once seated, I finally took in the faces across the table from me.
On the far left was a middle-aged woman with meticulously coiffed black hair, tawny skin, and a smile that didn’t quite meet her green eyes.
Next to her was a slight man of indeterminate age, with pale skin and equally pale eyes. His voluminous red hair was half-heartedly styled, with tufts sticking out in odd places.
Then came a man who appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with white hair and kind brown eyes. He was handsome and polished, and something about his placement in the center of the group seemed to signal his importance.
Next to him was Cato. His dark eyes, always expressive, looked deeply pained.
And finally, seated at the end of the line, was another familiar face.
The person who used to cook us dinner several times a week after our parents died.
The man who patched our roof after a particularly bad storm, showed me how to play chess, and taught Irene how to do pull-ups.
The Enforcers’ Mentor.
Leon.
The man who killed Irene.
At the sight of Leon, the feeling that I was going to lose consciousness came back with a vengeance. I shifted in my seat. Although I desperately wanted to be strong, my body began to shudder with chills. In just a few short moments, I was fully trembling.
The corner of Leon’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. For some morbid and unfathomable reason, my discomfort pleased him.
Fuck, I hated him. I hated him so much that the hate was a tangible thing, boiling and bubbling and burning in my veins. I hated him, I hated him, I hated him.
Kieran exhaled steadily beside me. I stole a glance at him and noticed his eyes were trained on me, studying my face, traveling down my body.
For the briefest of moments, his cold, irreverent expression was replaced by one of deep concern.
Then his gaze flicked to Leon and narrowed in a way I had never seen before.
The silver of his eyes had liquified, but the heat in them wasn’t sensual. It was the opposite. It was…terrifying.
The man seated in the center of the table spoke.
“Hello, Maila.” His voice was soft and soothing.
“Kieran,” he added with a nod in Kieran’s direction.
He spoke with amiable familiarity, as if we were all old friends reunited.
“I’m so glad you two could join us. I do apologize for the nature of our summoning you here and the security presence.
But it was crucial that we meet with you.
And I’m afraid we couldn’t take a chance on you saying no. ”
Kieran was silent, but I could feel that he was eyeing each one of them with quiet defiance. I, on the other hand, was blacking out in earnest now.
“Can someone get her some water?” the woman with the shiny hair asked irritably, her question directed to no one in particular. Fading in and out, I didn’t register right away that she was talking about me. “She looks like she’s about to be sick.”
A few moments later, a glass of water was being pressed against my clammy palm.
But I my fingers wouldn’t cooperate when I tried to grip it.
I had a vague awareness of the glass slipping out of my hand and heard someone’s fumbling steps, their mumbled curse, but no crash.
Someone must have caught it in time. Then what felt like a cool towel was being pressed against my forehead.