Night Betrayed (35 page)

They knew they’d arrived at the destination when they caught a glimpse through the trees of a massive solid metal fence. Theo hopped out of the truck and climbed up the nearest, tallest tree to see what he could find.

Holy shit.

“It looks like the Black Gate of Mordor would have looked if they’d had electricity and our technology,” Theo told his brother when he got back to the ground.

“Instead of magic, you mean?” Lou replied dryly.

Theo ignored him. “We can’t do anything in the daylight, but I’m betting it’ll be a piece of cake for two fucking computer geniuses like us to disarm whatever they have for security. I saw cameras and electric wiring across the top, but I doubt there’s much more. Why would they need it? I haven’t seen a sign of any settlements or people in the last three days. There’s no one around.”

“Could you see anything else behind the wall?”

“It’s sheer metal; I can’t see through it. There’s a main door where the truck went through and a smaller one to the side. I’m betting that’s the one we want.”

“Okay, then. Let’s see about taking out a couple of the cameras in the mean time.” Lou hefted the rifle Theo had acquired.

After a short time, the truck left through the gate again. Lou and Theo looked at each other. “I could stay here and you could follow them,” Theo suggested. “Wouldn’t you like to know where they’re meeting Seattle? And see what happens to Ian Marck?”

Lou nodded. He looked tempted. “Could you tell if Wayne and Buddy were in the truck?”

Theo shook his head. “Windows tinted. Couldn’t tell. But my guess is no. They said they were dropping them off.”

“Then let’s stay here and wait for nightfall. I don’t give a shit what happens to Marck. I want to get those kids back home,” Lou said. “And in the meantime, I’m going to get a temporary
NAP
set up and get us into the network—pretty sure we’re in range from here—and message back to, uh, Sage and let her know what’s up.”

They looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

Remy opened her eyes. For a moment, she didn’t move.

Something felt wrong.

Ian was there behind her, his arm locked around her waist as he spooned her. That was the way they’d slept every night since he told her he knew who she was. They slept in their clothes, and tonight they happened to be on the roof of the truck because there weren’t any secure buildings nearby.

“It’s either this,” he’d murmured in her ear the very first night as he settled behind her, “or I’ve got a pair of handcuffs. Your choice. But,” he’d said, shifting his hips nearer to her, “I have the feeling you’ll prefer this.” His hand had moved to cover her breast and his mouth went to her neck, slowly and sensually along that tender line of skin and tendon.

Sometimes they made love first—not that she thought of it as making love. It was sex. Pure, hot, businesslike, but yet toe-curling, liquid-heat, sex. And every time, he seemed to be at war within himself even as he made her body come alive.

And now every time, he made sure he didn’t finish inside her.

“The last thing I want is you pregnant,” he said once, even though she hadn’t asked.

Dantès had accepted the change in their relationship with unexpected ease. Maybe it was because Remy muffled any sounds of pleasure or release—purely out of spite to Ian, who hardly seemed to get out of breath himself. She didn’t want him to know how much she enjoyed it.

But she knew he did. It was there in his eyes, amid the self-loathing and the banked violence.

He hadn’t said anything to Remy about her grandfather, beyond the fact that he knew who she was. Nor had he told anyone else. He meant to keep it a secret, she supposed, until such time as he would act on it—however that would be. Selling her off. Exchanging her for something valuable. Giving her to the Elite.

If she didn’t escape from him first.

And if he noticed the silver-wrapped crystal she wore at her navel, he didn’t seem to realize its significance. He’d never even touched it, let alone commented on it.

Now, though, as she lay there, having just sunk into sleep on the thick blanket atop the metal roof, she realized something had awakened her in the early night.

Ian hadn’t moved. His lean, strong body lined her from the top of her head to her feet, warming her from behind. His breathing hadn’t changed. Not one lanky muscle had twitched.

Remy tried to relax. If there was something amiss, he would react before she even noticed it. He had an animalistic sense about that sort of thing; she ought to know, because he’d kept her from sneaking off to freedom twice in the last week.

Her eyes were just sinking closed again, her breathing evening out, when an explosion splintered the night.

Ian was on his feet, rolling off the truck in an instant, swearing under his breath. Yanking her down with him, he had a gun in his hand before she was even sliding off. She landed on the ground with a terrific jolt. “Come on,” he said, pulling her in his wake. Toward the explosion.

If Remy had thought this would be her chance for escape, she was disappointed. His grip was iron clad, and he towed her through the underbrush with no care for her lighter weight and shorter legs. She called for Dantès, and Ian whirled around and told her to shut up as he dragged her on.

The forest of trees and the random jut of brick foundations from long-lost houses made their trek rough and painful. Her legs banged into trunks and concrete, and branches whipped back into her face and arms.

He was ahead of her, and that was why, when four shadows leapt out of the dark, he caught the brunt of it. The next thing she knew, she was torn from his grip as three of the shadows pulled him away and bore him to the ground.

She didn’t have any time to react before Seattle, who was the fourth shadow, lunged toward her and caught her around her torso. Fighting and kicking, she tried to scratch herself free as the sounds of fists pummeling flesh and the grunts of pain and effort came from the melee.

“Come on,” shouted Seattle. “Throw him over! It’s a forty-foot drop.”

He began to drag Remy away, clamping a hand over her mouth when she tried to whistle for Dantès—who hadn’t appeared since the explosion. She turned back and saw the other three lifting a limp figure, and then, before her eyes, they lifted him, heaved, and tossed him out into nothingness.

“There we go,” Seattle said, his face close to hers. He smiled, his flattened teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “Now we don’t have to worry about a mess, do we? How about showing me where you were camping. I’m sure Marck left behind at least something useful. Besides you, of course.”

Everything had happened so quickly that Remy could hardly believe that Ian was gone. Dead, or on his way to being so.

Dantès was missing; that hurt her heart too much, so she didn’t think about that.

And she was now in the possession of Seattle.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The only good thing was that the fire would be a lot easier to escape than the frying pan.

Selena was just walking back to the house from Frank’s garden when she heard it: the purring sort of mechanical rumble that had portended nothing good, ever, in her entire life.

Her belly tightened and she adjusted the basket of green beans and tomatoes against her hip, hurrying toward the house, heart pounding.

They hadn’t come here in a long time. The snoot. Not since she’d foretold one of Seattle’s companion’s deaths. Had it given her a false sense of security?

Yes, of course.

She looked beyond the gate and saw a single black vehicle trundling along toward the wall. She’d heard about Wayne and Buddy going missing from Yellow Mountain and she thought of the arcade upstairs, with all of its mysterious computers and games that had gotten a lot of use in the last few months. Foolish, foolish!

The vehicle was close to the gates now, and Frank had appeared from nowhere, shading his eyes against the sun, watching silently as well.

Neither of them moved to open the gates.

The truck stopped and two doors opened. A man stepped out on each side, each of them tall and dark and too far away for her to clearly read their expressions.

Frank scrubbed a hand over his short bristling hair and shuffled toward the gates, moving at about a quarter of the speed he normally did. He had a rather long conversation with one of the men, who’d moved close enough that Selena could better see his face. He was good-looking enough to make her look twice, maybe in his thirties, and she didn’t recognize him as any bounty hunter she’d ever seen. He didn’t seem threatening, although he moved with confidence and certainty.

Frank nodded and opened the gate, and moments later the truck rolled through.

The two men got out again and she walked forward, looking at the second man. She guessed he was a little older, maybe closer to forty. More rugged than handsome, he had an air of barely restrained . . . something . . . And there was an aura of competence and power about him.

Selena moved closer, partly to give Frank support and partly out of curiosity.

“I’m Elliott,” said the first man, moving directly to Selena. “A friend of Theo’s. And Lou’s.” His blue eyes were gentle and concerned. She immediately felt comfortable with him. “I’m so sorry to hear about your son. I had hoped to get here in time to help.”

Selena swallowed the big lump that had suddenly formed in her throat and managed to keep her eyes dry. “Thank you. I don’t think there was anything that could have been done. But thank you. Did you come from far?”

“We came from Envy,” said the other man. She turned her attention to him and immediately recognized deeply submerged grief beneath his hard eyes and a stony face. “We’ve been traveling for more than ten days, trying to find you. Name’s Wyatt.”

There was a sharp barking sound from the truck at that moment, causing Wyatt to turn back. His face softened slightly and he went over to the vehicle, opening the door to allow a huge, ferocious-looking dog to jump out. He landed and stumbled on an obviously weak leg, causing Wyatt to crouch next to him and give the animal an embrace and a good petting.

“This is Dantès,” Wyatt said, that hard expression settling back on his face as he stood. “We found him in the basement of an old house the other day, not too far from here. Looked like he’d been there awhile, trapped down there. He . . . He belongs to someone we know. Is she here?”

Selena shook her head. “Not unless her name is Gloria and she’s dying of cancer.”

“No, her name is Remy. She’s got dark hair and the most amazing blue eyes you’ve ever seen,” Elliott replied. “Maybe early thirties? Very striking.”

Selena paused and looked at him. She’d known someone named Remy. A girl, from a long time ago—maybe almost twenty years. Her grandfather had been dying, and Selena had come upon them quite by accident in a small house far away from any other settlement. She’d never forgotten that incident.

The man had been aged in appearance, and also in years. He seemed dry as an old stick, ready to blow away in the breeze, shriveled into himself in misery. His blue eyes were empty and filled with grief, and he spoke very little, but mostly not at all. His hair was white, with only a bit of gray threading through it. He clutched something in his hand and would not release it, even when the pain made his eyes roll back into his head and discomfort shuddered his body.

He was disturbing and yet pathetic in his desperation. Selena felt great weariness and angst in the man, and threading through his every breath was fear, deep-seeded fear. It was as if more than physical pain tortured him.

He was one who fought death, who held back as long as he could, fighting, fighting, crying and moaning against the inevitable. He was terrified of what was to come. And yet, she realized, he was terrified of living too.

She spent two days with him, trying to ease his way. No guides came to help him. No one gathered in the corner to draw him through. At last, he opened his cloudy eyes and asked for the girl. The silvery cloud had turned pale blue.

The teenaged girl came and sat, holding the elderly man’s hand.

“It’s time for me to go,” he’d whispered.

“I know that, Grandfather. I love you.”

“I love . . . you too.” He seemed to gather up his strength and his voice became sturdier. “Take this,” he said, opening his hand over hers, pressing something into it. “Keep it safe. With your life.”

“What is it?”

He closed his eyes. “It’s the key. You’ll know what to do with it . . . when it’s time.”

The girl opened her hand, but Selena couldn’t see what she held. “A key? I don’t understand.”

“Remember everything I’ve told you,” he said. A great shudder wracked his body. It was a long moment before he spoke again. “I’ve done such a great wrong. So many lives. . . .” A tear trickled from his cheek and he choked, trying to catch his breath.

Selena rushed to his side as the cloud swirled faster. She covered his hand with hers, and felt the chill beneath his skin. It was time.

But he was looking at the girl, and she, with the most brilliant blue eyes Selena had ever seen, was looking back at him.

“You’re . . . the only hope . . . of changing it,” he whispered. “Hide yourself, Remy. Don’t let them find you. Don’t . . . let . . . them . . . find you.”

Selena had felt his last shuddering breath as the life left his body—abruptly, harshly, shuttling dark, wrenching memories through her mind. When she looked back at the girl, determination and grief blazed in her sapphire eyes.

“Have you seen her?” the man named Wyatt asked again, yanking Selena back to the present. He was asking about Remy.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Where’s Theo? And Lou?” Elliott said.

An empty feeling churned in her belly. I wish I knew. “They went on a trip a few days ago. I’m not sure when they’ll be back. But Vonnie would probably love to feed you something. You’re welcome to stay here a bit.”

“Right,” grunted Frank, sliding into the conversation for the first time. “I’ve got some holes in the goddamn roof that needs mending. You two’d be better climbing up there than a damn old man like me.”