Skin Dive (8 page)

The words looped in his head in tandem with his heartbeat. Defending her had become his sole purpose and his reason for living; he did not know how to lay down his sword and shield. If this were some old-school medieval movie, he would die for her. In fact, that was the way he wanted it, only he was selfish enough to prefer his sacrifice meant something.

Taye’s nerve endings had long since overloaded, sending shocks through his system. This wasn’t painless. Nothing ever was. But it was necessary. These men wanted to take them both prisoner again—and that just wasn’t happening. He’d promised.

He didn’t have much, not even his fucking name. That bothered him most of all. He’d lied to her at the facility. He didn’t remember. Mostly likely, his real name
did
start with T; Rowan had been consistent in his methods. But Taye was just the first name he’d thought of that started with that letter, and he’d said he was sure so she wouldn’t think,
Poor bastard, he’s worse off than I am.
In those early days, he saw pity in her face mingled with wariness. She’d feared that Rowan’s experiments had turned him into a subhuman thing, a monster that would hurt her.

Sometimes real memories nibbled at the edges of his brain, but most often, just fragments of cold and isolation, darkness and silence, broken by violent flashes. Of one thing he was sure: she deserved so much more than him. The Foundation had taken everything from Gillie. He wanted it to give it all back.

Even if he had nothing else, he had his word.

Taye stilled, listening.
First movement overhead
. The strike team had killed the homeless man because he was a potential witness and then proceeded to the first floor. Therefore, they must have just missed the trackers at the landing, but the team was heading down now, straight into ambush. He hoped they hadn’t neutralized the other tenants; he hoped they hadn’t suffered for living in this building. But the Foundation had no limits. No harm they wouldn’t inflict to further their agenda. It sickened him, knowing they’d made billions from Gillie’s pain, and that they intended for her to spend her whole life in their labs, without love, laughter, or sunlight.

No. Fucking. Way.

His power blazed brighter as the soft treads on the steps quickened. He felt the drain and acknowledged it as necessary. The agony blazed in his stomach, always there, like a web of barbed wire. Taye didn’t care how much he hurt himself, so long as she walked away. By this point, they had to see the glow kindling from the stairwell.

That’s right, bitches. Walk into the light.

The width of the stairs bottlenecked their enemies effectively. When the first two popped into view, he slammed them with twin arcs of live power. The lightning danced and crackled, sizzling the fat beneath their skin. A disarming stench kicked up, the smell of their eyeballs cooking in their skulls.

Screams of dying men broke the silence, but their comrades readied weapons as they stepped into the breach.

“Stay down,” he called to Gillie.

He understood how it worked. His body produced a limited amount of power in its cells, so he had to pull from nearby outlets, drawing from the grid. A halo formed around him, limning his body in light much like the aftershock of a flash grenade. Neighboring buildings browned out, lights flickering as he drained the juice and funneled it toward the Foundation goons. They too howled as they died, their flesh charring. Two more ran from him, dodging blasts as they sprinted for the lobby doors.

He didn’t blame them. They couldn’t have known how far he’d go for Gillie Flynn.

Letting the power die, he held out a hand to her, and she scrambled to her feet. In the dark, she came to him without a single hesitation, without a single misstep. Her blood-slick fingers tangled with his, and his heart gave the most awful kick in his chest.

Oh, Gillie. Gillie-girl.

“Time to fly,” he said.

And she led the way toward the exit, though he felt the trembling of her hand. He ached; his skin felt as though it covered a blackened husk. One day, he’d die of this. There was no doubt in him. Each time he powered up, each time he pulled, he felt the darkness growing, eating away at his insides. Since the symptoms first plagued him, he had done some reading. Learned about the link between increased risks of cancer and tumors for those who worked where they were exposed to strong electromagnetic fields. And his body was worse than a microwave oven.

The Foundation had turned him into something that could only kill and kill some more, then die of it. No future in that. Perfect disposable weapon, in fact. The loose end would tie itself off. If they could make the gift a little more virulent, they could create an army of assassins who existed only to serve and be discarded. But he had to focus on escape.

Most likely, there would be more outside. The other two wouldn’t flee the scene. They’d go for backup or to choose better ground for the fight. He had to stay sharp, even though his head swam with weariness and pain. If he breathed too deeply, it felt as though he had powdered glass in his lungs; that only added to the awful burn in his stomach. The cookies he’d consumed threatened to come back. He forced the weakness and nausea aside. No time. Not tonight.

Outside, the snow still fell. It stuck in irregular patches, dusting the ground white. Not nearly thick enough to draw out snowplows, though salt trucks had come around. Michigan was used to much worse. But winter gave the night a wondrous quality, the air crisp and cold. Soothing. Taye scanned the street both ways, searching for the remainders of the strike team.

“Anything?” she asked.

The ping of a tranq gun pierced the night, and he spun her too late. Gillie flinched as the dart sank into her shoulder. Her blue eyes filled with terror, glimmering in the dark, and then she crumpled to the ground. Diving for cover, he couldn’t afford to catch her, but they’d pay for this, every last one of them. Fucking bastards. Her backpack fell to the ground, dark against the snow; its contents spilled. She had taken such pride in picking out those shirts, those jeans, the first clothing she’d ever bought for herself.

When will you fuckers stop stealing from her? When?

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