Breaking Through (5 page)

Kray walks me
back to my bunk. He says nothing, which is fine. I know what I did. Had I completely lost it, I’d have sunk the ship and everyone on board.

“You want me to come in?” Kray asks when we get to my room.

I shake my head.

“Look, Nautia, I understand you need to know what happened to Nate, okay? But you can’t live like this. That wall inside your head has to come down, and only you can do that. I know you’re scared to see what’s behind it. I also know it’s the only way you’re ever going to be free.”

I glance up at him. He’s not an empath, so he can’t read my emotions, which means he must somehow
see
the fear in my mind.

He nods, answering my thought.

“It’s in everything you think,” he says, pressing a finger against my forehead. “You’re afraid of your power, Nautia. Afraid you’ll fail like you think Nate failed. Afraid you’ll let everyone down.” He slides his finger from my forehead down the side of my face. “But do you know what I think scares you most?” He pauses and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “That you don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Nautia Olson. An aquator,” I say quietly, because that’s what I know. It’s all I remember.

“Break down the wall, Nautia.” Kray backs four steps away from me to his door, right across from mine. “And you’ll find yourself.”

Kray disappears into his room, and I do the same. I don’t even change my clothes before I collapse on the too-thin mattress. Already, I dread sunrise. Even with what I did tonight, we’re diving headfirst into training in the morning, and I’ll have to see Haskal, Gibson, and Britta, who I was told has a concussion and six stitches in her head. All because I let that son of a bitch get to me.

I don’t even know what came over me in the dining hall. Haskal has always been an asswipe, trying to get into my pants. It just…hit me wrong tonight. That he knows the kind of danger I put people in when I lose control pisses me off. It’s happened twice. The first time, I thought it was a fluke accident. I was in my boyfriend’s room—
ex
-boyfriend’s room—losing my virginity. Rain started falling, and I figured I’d busted some pipes in my pleasure. But when I opened my eyes, the ceiling was covered in storm clouds. Thunder rumbled above us, and a bolt of lightning set his dresser on fire. Below us, water rose until it was even with the mattress.

The second time, to avoid what happened the first, we did it outside by the pond. Such a stupid idea. Not only did the storm create a flash flood, but the pond also overflowed. When I realized, it was too late. The floodwater swept us up and carried us into a nearby field.

After the water receded, I found Jax lying facedown in the grass. He wasn’t breathing. I performed CPR. Tried to will the water from his lungs, but I was so scared, I couldn’t do it.

Luckily, Cara noticed the isolated storm and knew something was wrong. If it weren’t for her, Jax would be dead.

Pleasure. Pain. Anger. Fear. I can’t control myself through it.

Barton’s right—I’m dangerous.

Calm down. Relax. Slow your heart rate.

I breathe out through puckered lips. Salt water from the leak above me seeps into my eyes and mouth. All I see through the window is darkness. I’m a hundred feet underwater and falling. Eventually, the weight of the water will crush the tube I’m in. Which will also crush me.

The ocean whispers to me, quietly encouraging me. I have no idea what it says.

I pull against the ropes holding my wrists. It’s useless, but I can’t just lie here and die, can I? I have to try something. Someone put me in here somehow. I can escape in the same way.

I kick my feet. Twist my body. Yank my arms.

There’s an inch of water under me. With the rate it’s spraying in, I probably have ten, maybe twelve, minutes before it covers my head. If I’m not already a pancake by then.

Then a voice at the back of my mind reminds me the pressure won’t flatten the capsule until it’s ten thousand feet under. The metal surrounding me is strong. Super strong. The outer coating is water compliant.

And suddenly I realize I know all of this because—

I designed this tomb.

I bolt upright. Sweat drips into my eyes. Before I can wipe it away, someone bangs on my door.

I drag my palms down my face. Then I get up to answer whoever ripped me from my sleep. Part of me wants to give them a hug.

I undo the lock. Pull the door open and see—

“Haskal?” Never mind. I don’t want that hug.

He peeks around me. “You okay in here?”

I rotate as if there’s something or someone behind me. There’s nothing.

“Yeah. Fine. I was sleeping until you decided to pound on my door,” I say.

“You were screaming, Nautia. Thin walls, remember?”

“I was screaming?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I always scream during my nightmares. But Haskal doesn’t need any more grenades when it comes to me.

He pushes a hand through his blond hair. Then he nods. “Nightmare.”

“Um, I guess,” I answer, shrugging it off.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, wondering why he suddenly cares about my well-being.

“Okay, well, if you need me—”

“I won’t. Good night, Haskal.”

I close the door, re-lock it, and lie back down. The dream spins in my head again. It’s always the same. Trapped in a tube, unable to escape. Dumped into the ocean—into the one thing I’m supposed to be able to control. Except, I can’t.

My mind loops through the nightmare again. Nate’s death. I’m screaming. I can’t escape.

I.

Nate.

Shit.
I’m Nate
.

I excused Britta
from training today. With a concussion, she doesn’t need to be working hard this morning. Gibson said he stayed in her room all night while she vomited. I was close to giving him the day off as well when he insisted he’d be fine. A leader indeed.

Last night after Kray took Nautia back to her room, I pulled the knife out of Haskal’s shirt, but kept my knee pushed against his chest.

“You don’t want me for an enemy, Special Officer Smith. And I don’t think you want Nautia for an enemy, either,” I warned.

He grunted from the pressure I had on him. “I was just having some fun, sir.”

“‘Fun’ doesn’t almost kill people, soldier.”

“She got it under control. She’s fine.”

“You got lucky, Haskal. From now on, you even look at that girl the wrong way, I’ll toss you overboard and let her deal with you herself. We clear?”

Haskal coughed. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now get to your bunk.”

This morning, he’s not even standing beside Nautia. In fact, he’s on the opposite end of the line. I snicker to myself. Let’s hope he stays on his best behavior.

As I take my place in front of my recruits, I can’t help but glance over at her. I tell myself it’s because of last night and she’s my subordinate, my responsibility. But as I take her in, I notice how her dirty blonde hair is pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head, making her look as sexy as hell. Makeup isn’t caked on her face, yet her blue-green eyes stand out by the sheer beauty of them. The curve of her waist gives way to the perfect hourglass figure, and the way her black top dips slightly in the front reveals a hint of cleavage.

I also notice the light bags hanging under her eyes, and how she refuses to lift her head. The whole assessment only lasts two seconds, but it was two seconds more than it should have taken. We’re here on a mission—to save the world. Whatever attraction I have to her isn’t important.

I peer down the short line of four. “You will train six days a week, six in the morning to six in the evening. Your day off is yours to spend as you please. From six to noon, you’re with me. We’ll work on military basics, weapons, hand-to-hand combat. After lunch and until dinner, you train with your partner. Your partner is your lifeline out in the battlefield. Know them. Trust them, because your life might depend on them.”

Kray’s hand slips into the air like he’s in grade school, but he doesn’t wait for me to call on him before he speaks. “Do we get to pick our partners?”

Unbidden, my gaze teeters from Nautia to Haskal and back again. “No. I partnered you based on your abilities and the job you were recruited for. You will receive your assignments today at lunch,” I say, working to keep my thoughts clear from the telepath. “All right, everyone, let’s get to work. We’ll begin with running laps. Ten miles. Try to keep up.”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Kray groans and bends over the side of the railing on the upper deck.

Gibson’s also hunched over, gasping for breath. Beside him, with her back against the wall, Nautia slowly slides down and sticks her head between her knees. She doesn’t flinch when Kray vomits into the ocean.

I shouldn’t give them more time to rest. Time isn’t something you get when you’re in battle. I’m about tell them to stand up when Nautia raises her hand into the air, mesmerizing me. Lazily, she twirls her wrist a few times. Then she opens her palm, and a small ball of fresh water suspends above it.

“Did you just pull water from the air?” I ask.

She brings the swirling ball to her lips and drinks it down. “Better than bottled water,” she says, her smile brightening at my interest.

She creates two more balls. One she offers to Gibson, who nods and levitates it to his mouth. The other she holds out to Kray, and he drinks from her palm. After Kray sucks down two, Nautia looks at me. “Do you want some?”

When I hesitate, she adds, “It doesn’t touch my sweaty skin. The water’s clean, I promise.”

More than wanting to taste the water she creates, I want to be that close to her, drinking from her. I want to peer into those ocean eyes as I do and thank her just to hear her say “You’re welcome.” But I won’t do that, because it’s a dangerous path to tread for a million different reasons.

I swallow and reel myself in. I break my gaze away from her to address everyone. “Push ups. Here on the deck. Two hundred, minimum.”

By ten o’clock in the morning, my recruits stare at me as if they’re praying whatever I have for them next will kill them off. What they don’t know is tomorrow will be worse.

I lead them to the weapons training center. Lasers scan my retinas at the door. “Captain Riley Barton,” I say clearly for the voice detection program.

“Access granted,” the computer replies, and the metal door slides open.

“Officers first,” I say, motioning them inside.

Like zombies, the four of them stagger forward. Nautia brings up the rear, and I follow her in. Unlike the others, her clothing isn’t drenched with sweat, even though it was soaked ten minutes ago. I snicker, thinking about her reversing her earlier skills. Instead of creating the molecules, she probably broke them down and evaporated them into the air.

She must have heard me laugh, because she glances over her shoulder. For a second, our eyes lock before she slides her attention forward. I straighten and don’t say anything.

Once everyone is inside, I clear my throat as I walk in front of them. “There’s a station for each of you. Pick one. Those will be your weapons for the remainder of this mission. Get comfortable with them. I’ll come around to each table to set up your microchips with your fingerprints.”

There’re ten weapons on each table. Knives and guns, mostly, with one defective grenade to practice aim. Light chemical warfare devices are in a different training room for a later date.

Gibson, Haskal, and Kray pick up their weapons individually and examine them. Grins on their faces, they nod their appreciation for the power they hold. But none of them have the reverence that’s in Nautia’s expression. She stares at the weapons, not touching them. Her gaze roams over each one.

Against my better judgment, I walk over to her table. I tell myself it’s to coach her, but deep down I know that’s only half true. “You ever shoot a gun before?”

Her brows pinch together, her focus remaining on the table. “I…don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” I repeat. “I’m pretty sure you’d know if you had.”

She tucks her lower lip between her teeth, then lets go of it slowly, white skin returning to pink. “Yeah. Right.” She looks at me, then says confidently, “No, I haven’t.”

“How about a knife? Ever handled one of those before?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. If a steak knife counts.”

“Pick it up,” I instruct, nodding to the one on the end. It’s the smallest of the three.

Carefully, she lifts the hilt into her palm and looks at me, uncomfortable. I reach out and touch the top to activate the microchip. As I do, her nostrils flare and her stare becomes more intense. I can almost smell the anxiety pouring off her.

A small cloud forms above her, but nothing falls from it.

“Don’t move,” I tell her, working to keep my voice assertive instead of gentle. I slide the access channel open and press the button. The channel closes on its own and won’t reopen for anyone except the knife’s new owner.

“Squeeze your hand around it,” I say, and she does. In five seconds, the knife beeps to accept Nautia’s fingerprints.

She peers up at me, her features indicating she’d rather put the weapon down and never retrieve it again. But I can’t let her do that. The North Koreans won’t hold back and neither can she.

“It’s an extension of your arm. A part of you, so treat it as such,” I say. Then I address the men. “Handling a knife isn’t like handling a gun. Guns will kill someone from hundreds of feet away. A knife cannot. A knife is personal.”

“Will we actually have to use these?” Kray asks. “Wouldn’t a gun be easier?”

“You might have to,” I answer. “And if you do, you’ll need to know how to use them.”

Kray grins. “Are we going to learn how to throw them? ’Cause that would be
sa-weet
!”

It took him longer to ask that question than I thought it would.

“Yes, but that’s not where we’re going to start. Keep in mind, if you throw the knife, it’s gone and you’re weaponless. Throwing it should be a last resort.” I draw my own. Point it toward the dummies at the far wall. “Those are your enemies. Pick the knife that feels best in your hand. The one you’ll be able to control.”

Nautia doesn’t even touch her other options, whereas Kray, Gibson, and Haskal spend a few minutes with each before deciding on one. I set their weapons for their use, then the guys clutch them as they cross the room. Nautia, though, walks over slowly, her gaze hard on her knife. When she finally reaches her faceless dummy, she stops in front of it and drops her arms to her sides.

“Show me what you’ve got,” I say, giving them all time to maneuver themselves.

Kray rips into the cloth. Gibson and Haskal stab. Nautia does nothing.

I work through some stances and techniques on the middle dummy, where they can all see me. Nautia repeats the footwork, and even some of the fighting moves, but she only slashes at the air. Her form’s really not bad.

Kray is a natural. He strikes hard and fast, and I bet hand-to-hand combat will be easy for him. Haskal catches on fast too. Gibson struggles, though. His equilibrium isn’t as solid as Kray’s, and his moves aren’t as smooth and precise. His kill shots miss the mark ninety percent of the time.

“A close hit won’t work. You have to be exact. An inch can be the difference between your opponent dead or you dead,” I tell him, sticking my blade into the dummy’s chest cavity at the exact center of its heart.

“If someone comes at me, I’ll just hurl him up in the air. Spin him around until he pukes,” Gibson says, and I can’t argue with that. In a fight, no one should even get close enough to touch Gibson. Still.

Kray spins around the back of his dummy and slides the knife across its neck. “Kray four hundred twelve, dummy zero. I’m a fucking ninja, man,” he celebrates.

“If you make a kill in close combat, you’ll see the lights go out of a person’s eyes, and it’s not something you’ll ever forget. Killing a human being should
never
be taken lightly,” I say, stopping in front of Kray’s dummy.

Kray puts his arms down. “Yeah. No, of course. I wasn’t…I was just…” he stammers.

Smack.

My attention snaps in the direction of the sound. Nautia’s knife slides across the floor and comes to a halt at my feet. And face down on the floor, lies Nautia.