Chapter 70
Chapter Seventy
Emilia
The bench feels warm beneath my thighs. Heat bites through my pale-blue overalls, seeping into my skin.
It’s a metal bench—it isn’t hot. I’m just too fucking cold. It’s as though my body knows it’s the end so can’t be bothered to try anymore.
My hands are cuffed in front of me, wrists already aching, the chain jangling whenever I move.
The Enforcer in the back of the truck with me leans against the opposite wall, legs splayed wide, looking like he’s half asleep. But his hand rests just above the gun in his waistband, fingers resting lightly on the grip.
I stare at his hand for longer than I care to admit, trying to assess whether I could take him, whether I could steal his weapon, whether I could land even a single hit before he shot me.
And every time I run through the scenario, it ends the same way. Bullet in my skull before I even reach him.
My breath has grown too thin to be healthy.
The truck sways, and my body refuses to tilt along with the motion. My entire being is stiff, shoulders rigid, spine locked, nails digging until blood pools in my palms. I’m petrified.
Far more so than I was during the war, or during my time spent in The Cell.
They’d hauled me out of City Hall and into this truck without telling me where we’re going.
Only five minutes passed before I realised we weren’t going anywhere I’d been before.
We’re heading out of the city, without time spent in The Cell, without a trial, without… a judgment.
Which means my fate has already been decided.
I knew the second they arrived at the farm it was over. The field span around me, rows of potatoes blurring, and then I fell to my knees, vomiting in panic.
Even then, I think I knew what the outcome would be.
I’m about to die.
My chest tightens so suddenly that I gasp for breath. Zac will walk through the door of our home tonight and find silence, no idea that I was taken or killed.
Or… far worse, the Enforcers will be waiting for him, too.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the palms of my hands over my eyes. He was right from the very beginning; I’m a fucking liability.
I force my eyes back onto the Enforcer, to his bored expression and the gun. There’s no way out of this truck.
No way to escape or fight. No way to keep Zac safe.
My head drops back against the corrugated metal, eyes fluttering closed.
I think of my mum and dad, wondering what they’d think of my situation now. I think of my brother, and how little we knew one another. I think of Mr McCready and how disgusted he would be to see his science teacher sentence her student to death.
I think of Sam and Heidi, at how happy I am that they seem to be falling head over heels into their marriage. It couldn’t have worked out better for my roommate and my best friend.
But Kayla. Dumped into the Safe House where she knows no one and left alone to find her way out of this mess, all whilst hiding from the State…
And I can’t even imagine what this will do to Rayden. He’s isolated himself, and there’s no time for me to even try to help. And this… this will just sink him further, and further.
I think of Zac. Of the stars, and the self-defence, and the biscuits, and the way his smirk plays havoc with my stomach. Of the way his warm fingers feel against my cheek. How his eyes flicker with a fire whenever he argues with me, or when he’s in the throes of passion—
The truck jolts, the brakes screeching before my body is flung sideways, feet skidding over the metal floor, and I slam into the divider between me and the driver. My ribs crack and the blow rips every ounce of breath from my lungs whilst the truck shudders.
The Enforcer guarding me falls to the ground with a dull, heavy crack. His baton slips from his waistband, clattering across the floor. My fingers curl around the edge of the divider as the truck groans to a stop.
The Enforcer in the passenger seat curses before shoving the door open and jumping out.
My head jerks up, and my legs wobble as I peer over the top of the divider, past the driver, and through the windshield.
Ahead of us, a truck that’s larger than the road itself has come to rest sideways across the street, jutting out from the mouth of an old side road.
It blocks everything, as though it chose this exact spot to wait for us.
A groan from behind jerks me back to my situation.
The Enforcer is pushing himself up, still stunned, confusion swimming in his eyes.
I don’t think. As though knowing this might be my only chance, my body moves as if possessed, and I fall to the floor, fingers scrambling before they close around the baton’s handle.
Lifting it, I swing as hard as I can just as he turns towards me.
The metal cracks against his temple with a sickening thud, and he slams into the side of the truck before falling to the ground.
In the cab, on the other side of the divider, the driver grabs a radio from the dashboard.
“Code Five,” he barks, voice laced with panic. “Code Five. We’ve been—”
No.
The last thing I need is reinforcements. I don’t know what kind of divine intervention this is, but I’m going to use every ounce of my being to make the most of it and run as hard, and as far, as I can.
Somewhere beyond the vehicle, a loud pop that sounds an awful lot like a gunshot echoes through the air.
I’m running out of time.
I shove my arms through the opening, the metal barrier slamming against the lower half of my body, stopping me from getting any closer.
The driver twists towards me, but he’s too slow.
I throw my cuffed wrists over his head and pull with everything I’ve got.
The chain bites into his neck, and the metal digs like a knife into my wrists.
He chokes, radio dropping as his hands claw at my arms instead.
My muscles tremble, but I hold tight, teeth gritted as a cry of effort slips through my lips. Within ten seconds his struggling lets up, hands falling to his sides.
I can’t let go. Not when I don’t know how much time I have—
Movement out the windscreen catches my eye.
At first, all I register is the shape. The broad shoulders and the tall, muscular physique. The gun in hand. The quick movements. The urgency.
And then I freeze. Everything inside drops straight out of my body.
Zac.
Zac’s come after me.
And he’s alone.
It’s just him, approaching the motorcade of armed Enforcers like he isn’t one wrong breath away from being shot.
And the expression on his face… I’ve never seen it before.
It’s not shaken or panicked, not scared or angry or annoyed. It’s utter ice staring back at the Enforcers. Pure fury, jaw locked so tight that I’m sure it’ll shatter.
And just as I begin to ease my hold on the driver, he pulls the trigger.
Behind me, something shrieks—a harsh, scraping sound. I whirl around as the truck doors are torn open.