Chapter 21
Somehow, even when trying to prevent a presidential assassination, I can’t escape my glam squad.
The vote was moved from the Capitol building to the National Theater. Any other day, I’d marvel at the beauty of this place,
but I’m a bundle of terror and nerves as Kaleb tries to bat my nose just one more time with a powder puff. I gently shake
him off and push through the crowd, trying to keep an eye out for Hux. What the hell does he have planned? But even in a sea
of black-clad guards, I know he’s not there. A worried part of me imagines that Callum changed his mind and that Hux is in
a prison cell. If he’s even still alive.
President Graves thinks the Capitol building was rigged by the Machs—which maybe it would have been, if Hux hadn’t compromised the Machs’ computers and lost all their plans—so he was all too happy to move here.
But what advantage do we have now? If anything, it makes the vote feel better.
More special. Blue and purple house lights fill the stage, casting an unreal, fantasy glow to the situation.
It’s picture-perfect, built for a DopaMine feed.
It’s a play. We just gave him the perfect stage.
And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that people love a story.
People are already filling up the seats, a murmur of excitement rippling through the whole theater. I recognize senators and
their spouses and America’s richest, familiar faces from my one and only yacht trip. The voters and the people who bought
the votes.
We have our audience.
I slip backstage, pacing nervously, when I catch my reflection.
Make her look presidential, President Graves had ordered from the hallway, since I’m going to be sitting behind him. Kaleb picked a simple black dress
and white pearls, something you’d wear to a funeral. Which, I guess, is also fitting. I worry the strand of pearls, catching
movement in the vanity mirror.
Becka appears at the doorway. She hasn’t said a word to me since I saved Callum. It’s like she wanted me to let him die.
“Security threat. We have to go,” she says curtly, not really looking at me.
“What? Where’s Hux?” I ask, unsure if this is a threat that should delight or worry me. Becka’s face doesn’t move.
“We have to go, Ms. Hart,” Becka says. My stomach sinks, and I follow her backstage.
President Graves is at a fork in the hallways, his immaculate suit pressed and wrinkle-free. Callum stands next to him, but
he crosses the small concrete area to pull me next to him.
“Thank God,” he says into my hair, and I grip his jacket out of habit, hating the part of me that felt instant relief that
he was safe. The gold camera pin there winks back at me.
I love Hux. I know that like I know my own name. And I’ve loved him for longer than I’ve known it.
But I guess it’s not as easy to stop loving someone. Because part of me still loves Callum, especially when he holds me like
this, looks down with pure adoration in his eyes. When I was alone, I had Callum, and he’s always been mine. In my mind, in
my stories, and now, because I have his ring on my finger. I trace the scar along his palm. My Callum, always trying to do
the right thing. Maybe he was misguided. But with my guidance, and his power? We could have changed the world. Saved it, even.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he murmurs into my hair, pressing a kiss to my part.
“Security threat?” I question. “Isn’t that why we moved it to the theater in the first place?”
President Graves shoots me a tired look, his face drawn and angry. “This is a different one. A snake in our midst.”
Callum’s hand tightens on my waist, and I know he won’t dare look at me. Not with his father looking at us like he’s waiting for us to break and admit something.
Becka moves past us, but President Graves doesn’t even blink as she steps around him to open a side door. “Stay here until
we clear the house. We’ll do a sweep, and then the vote will be back on,” she orders.
“After you.” President Graves mock bows.
We crowd into some sort of antechamber, all black-painted brick and a single overhead light.
President Graves steps carefully behind me, and I clock his movements as he makes his way around me, shiny shoes clicking
against the black floor.
“Are we waiting on anyone else?” Callum asks nervously at his father’s pacing.
And then the door slams open, and a fourth figure topples into the black room. I grip at Callum, who is suddenly the only
thing keeping me upright.
Hux.
“No,” I breathe, the same time Callum steps in front of me.
“Father. Stop this.”
I’m surprised I can even recognize Hux, after what they’ve done to his face. When he smiles, blood gushes and he spits red
onto the floor. His arms are bound behind his back. I want to run to him, but I feel Callum grip my arm, squeezing tight.
Callum’s right. I can’t let anyone see how much this upsets me. They’ll only hurt him more.
President Graves sniffs in disapproval. “My team was alerted this morning to a breach in our system. A hacker. We were able to stop him before he found anything, but we traced it back. To him.”
Callum keeps his face neutral. “Well. Our security team does good work. That’s a win for us, right?”
President Graves smiles, but it looks like he’s baring his teeth. “It’s not. Because he got close. He was on my security detail, Callum. This is a wake-up call. We need to do better. Do you think all this will stop once the vote is secured? We have
to make sure there are no other rats on our ship.”
His eyes shift to me, and Callum takes a decisive step forward.
“Ripley is above suspicion,” he says, his tone even.
President Graves purses his lips. “There’s your mistake. No one is above suspicion.” His eyes seek mine as he lunges, grabbing
Hux hard by the hair.
I make a noise—something like terror that races up the back of my throat. The sound makes President Graves pause, looking
at me expectantly. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Friend of yours?”
At the look on my face, President Graves pulls a knife from his jacket and presses it to Hux’s throat.
“Don’t touch him!” I scream, my voice strangled and desperate.
“Father, enough,” Callum yells. “Ripley isn’t a traitor. But she also isn’t strong like you or me. You know she’s delicate. This is upsetting her.”
President Graves tilts his head, smirking. “Anything you’d like to share, Ripley?”
“She saved my life,” Callum reminds his father.
“Well, he planned to kill me,” President Graves says. He leans closer to Hux. “He pretended to protect me. Gained my trust.
All the while, he was a Mach. Who’s to say your little fiancée didn’t do the same? She could be working for them too. The
only way for her to prove it?”
He flips the dagger at me and, despite my years of training, I almost drop it.
“Kill him,” the president orders.
“Father—”
“Shut up, Callum,” the president snaps. “Perhaps this is my fault. I coddled you. Well, it’s time for you to see what it takes
to clean up your own messes.”
I step forward, sweat dripping down the back of my satin dress.
“So,” the president continues, “what will it be, Ms. Hart?”
“I know what it’s like to be betrayed,” I say truthfully. I feel Callum flinch, but I press on. “But love is stronger. I wish
I didn’t love Callum anymore, but I do. I could never hurt him.” The dagger drops from my hands. “But I’m also not a killer.”
President Graves listens, cocking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ripley Hart. In the right situation? When your back is up against the wall and the enemy is closing in? Anyone can be a killer. I learned that eight years ago.”
My stomach sinks. “When you instituted the draft?”
The president grins, a cold, twisted expression. “No, Ripley. When your parents stabbed me in the back.” His eyes glitter.
“Or tried to, at least. And then I realized I would have killed you, to stop them. I might have even enjoyed it. After such
a long time, regardless of what my insipid son thinks of you, don’t believe for a minute that has changed.”
Becka sticks her head in. “Mr. President. We’re clear.”
She glances briefly at Hux, who winks at her, sprawled on the floor with blood gushing between his teeth. She shows no emotion,
but we both know that he could out her too. She could be right there on the ground next to him. But she’s not.
“I think I know what my first act will be,” President Graves says, with a light whistle. “You know public executions are always
fantastic for morale.”
I don’t know which one of us he’s talking about. Maybe he’ll kill us all.
And then he winds up his foot, kicking Hux squarely in the cheek. I rush forward, ignoring Callum’s hurt look, and cradle
his head, stopping it from cracking against the pavement.
“Hux,” I breathe, and he just shushes me. He can’t say what he wants to say, and neither can I. Not with our audience. Even
Becka’s lip curls.
“Hux,” I whisper as quietly as I dare. What if this is the last time I see him? I love you. Thank you. I love you.
All the things I need to say dance on my tongue, but I can’t utter one of them.
“I think I win, Hart,” he whispers. “But you should have something to remember me by.” He uncurls one of the hands bound behind
his back, where gold glitters.
The poker chip.
The fucking poker chip. I want to slap him. How could that help now? He may have given it little pincers—what am I supposed
to do, pinch the president to death?
“Keep it close, yeah?” Hux whispers as I stare, unbelieving. “Get out there, Hart. Don’t let them see you sweat.”
Becka beckons me onward, and I glance back once, at the shutting door, to see Callum bending down to Hux, holding him up by
his hair.
“Let’s go,” Becka urges, opening a door and thrusting me out into the wings. Because the president is waiting for me at the
edge of the stage. With a smirk, he holds his arm out to me. I shudder at the thought of touching him, but I know what I have
to do. I take his arm, and we walk out onto the stage, up the stairs to the dais.
I tuck Hux’s poker chip in my bra as I climb the stairs.