Sugar Skulls (16 page)

Vee’s hands trace and tease the waistband of my pants, before a button and zipper undone bring us ever closer. Her body slides down the length of my own as she shimmies my jeans off and drops them aside. Her shorts join the pile seconds later. She finds her way back into my lap, promises made with every brush of a hand.

She presses her forehead to mine with a soft sigh. When her hands find my chest once more, I gasp, my ribs still tender, and she leans down to whisper, “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

Pulling her to me, I shake my head. “No, let me. I’ve got you, remember?” I roll us over and slide into her. Vee’s arms and legs wrap tight around me, and the tiny noise she makes is just for me. My lips are against her ear, every breath and moan for her, only her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

V

It isn’t until later . . . much later . . . maybe three rounds later . . . that I finally understand what it means to be beyond the grid’s grasp. Every spark, every movement, every breath stays with us, generating more heat, more energy. There’s nothing there to collect it, to channel it into wires, to funnel it away.

It’s ours, only ours.

Even resting with my head against Micah’s shoulder, I can’t keep my hands off him, and it shows. He’s got scratches down his back and arms, splotchy bite-bruises across his chest, and an epic hickey on the side of his neck. I’d apologize, but we’ve each got our calling cards, and he gave as good as he got. My scalp is still a little tingly.
Funny, but I never would have taken him for a hair-puller.
He’s got his fingers wound through it now, like he figures that’s the best way of getting me to stay put.

How long have you been alone, Micah?

But I’m not going anywhere. The moment I step outside, Damon’s going to be there to clip my wings. I thought getting away from him, from all of it, would mean I was finally free.

As far as we ran, I just ended up in another cage.

Sitting up far enough to rest my chin on his chest, I trace over the marks I’ve left on Micah. Even the worst of them will fade in a few days.

Temporary. It’s all temporary.

Not like the name on his chest, a forever-mark. I don’t touch it. Don’t want to look at it.

You can’t start off asking him about Bryn. Pick something else. Pick
anything
else.

“How’d you end up here?” Before he mistakes my meaning, I hasten to add, “In Cyrene, I mean.”

“Oh, that’s not much of a story.” Micah looks down at me, stroking my cheek and smiling softly. “Small town just outside Seattle. Big family, kids all over the place at all hours, you know? Got into the usual trouble with my brothers and sisters and at school, but otherwise, pretty standard childhood. Mom worked insane hours as a nurse, trusting us to keep an eye on each other. I worked a lot of nights and weekends with my dad. He was a repairman, did odd jobs all over town.”

It’s not possible to move any closer, or I would. “So why not stay and help out?”

He looks away as he starts sorting through the memories. “I started to realize the stress having so many kids was putting on the family. Even though it was years off, I knew college was expensive. We didn’t have the money for that. So I put all my energy into applying for a spot in Cyrene. I’d seen the flyers, all kinds of promises. Sign a contract, do a few years’ service generating thrum for the city, and bam, job placement when my term’s up and no cost to the family. There was no reason
not
to.”

Everyone else is fighting to get into Cyrene to party, and he was thinking three steps ahead of that. Just like he always seems to be.
“Was it hard, leaving?”

“To be honest, I doubt I was missed,” he says. “One less mouth to feed. And there was no shortage of hands to help Dad out.”

There’s a wistful look about him; I can’t tell if it’s nostalgia, regret, or some combination of the two. I run my hand up and down his chest, trying to remind him I’m here, to distract him from melancholy thoughts. Preoccupied, he kisses my forehead, responding to my touch without thinking.

“I met Trav during the nanotech install. It was the first time either of us had been on our own, so we bonded pretty quickly as a survival instinct. Then in orientation, we met Bryn and Zane and Rina. Pretty soon we were inseparable. Five against the world.”

Leaning over, he reaches into the small bin beside the bed, pulling out a photo, framed and everything. Paper, not digital. Old school. Micah holds it so I can see. They’re clustered together in an alcove. All smiles. He points to each in turn.

“Zane. Our speedfreak. Rina loved speed, and Zane loved Rina, so pretty soon, Zane was all about moving fast.

“Rina. Our ambassador. She knew everybody, she could get us into anywhere. She was elegant and everyday, you know? Everybody loved her.

“Trav. Our science whiz. Most anything you needed, he could find it or jury-rig it. He would’ve loved what I pulled at the Dome . . . We used to run together, made this whole city our playground.” The longer Micah talks, the rougher his voice gets. And the only one left is the one I need to know about.

“Bryn.” The silence drops like an anvil before he rallies and continues. “Our flame. She drew us like moths. She . . . she . . .” He finally falters, and oh my god, the crack in his voice about breaks me.

“Everyone loved Rina. But you loved Bryn,” I say.

I feel him nod his head, and he gasps for breath. “Trav, too. We both. Loved her.”

He can’t say it. He can’t say, “I loved her.”

I started this shitstorm of emotion for him, and I’m going to have to finish it. Like cauterizing a wound. “The applejack killed her, didn’t it?”

“It killed all of us. I just didn’t know when to go.” He stares at the photo. Remembering. Suffering.

“Is that why you know so much about how applejack works?”

Micah nods. “I started researching it as soon as I was feeling better. Pharma isn’t really my strong suit, but I tried to learn everything about the drug. It’s how I knew about the Rivitocin.”

Shit. He thinks he could have saved her.
Should
have saved her.

I grab his face in both my hands. Force his eyes to meet mine. “You saved
me
.”

A breath. A moment. “Because I couldn’t save them. Couldn’t save her. Never would’ve known any of it.” He gets up, and cold rushes in to fill the gap.

It’s a shock, after hours and hours together. I pull up the blanket, wrapping myself in it. It’s a poor replacement for him. “Micah, come back to bed. Please . . .”

I might as well have not said anything, because he steps toward the opposite wall, putting distance between us, distance between him and that photo.

“They were waiting for me in an alcove at Solfetara’s, that little spot on Jaster? Nobody goes there anymore—bad vibes, I’ve heard—but it was a primo club back then. Anyway, I was the last one there. I’d promised everyone a big surprise. Something special. Something new.

“You know how it is. Drugs don’t hit as hard after a while, even with the nanotech scrubbing you clean every night. Blasting up and down the city on Zane’s bike, high on riprap and adrenaline, it seemed like we’d tried
everything
. Then we started combining Cyrene-approved stuff for kicks. Trav was an amateur street chemist, always trying to improve whatever Rina got a hold of. That tided us over for a while . . .

“But then we heard about a new designer street drug. An illegal drug in a city full of legal ones? We
had
to try that. It became a competition, a one-item scavenger hunt across the city. I managed to track it down first.”

Oh, Micah. It was
you
.

“Bryn and Trav were kissing when I walked into the alcove.” There’s no jealousy or possessiveness in his voice, just measured concentration as he stands there, arms closed around himself. “I think she loved both of us and never wanted to have to choose. Neither of us pushed her to, either. The thought of losing her, even to someone we knew, someone we loved just as much . . . It was too big.”

Only a terrible person would sit here and hate a dead girl for what she put Micah through. Making him chase her. Making him share her.

Which makes me a
really
terrible fucking person.

It takes every bit of control I’ve got not to reach for him right now. Not to be the one wrapped around him.

I can’t make him forget her. He has to find his way through this.

“She bailed out of Trav’s lap when I came in. Got a running start and took a flying leap at me. I dropped my backpack to catch her. She was so excited to see what I’d found for everyone, she beamed like the sun at noon. That was worth every ounce of effort right there. I picked up my backpack . . . God, if I’d just left it on the floor . . .”

He goes quiet for a moment. The story looms between us, a spell that could be broken with a single word, but I stay silent. “Everyone leaned in and grabbed a little green tab for themselves, Trav already rambling on about the new chemical delights he’d cook up with them. We counted down together, our usual ritual. ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’ Zane and Rina fed each other their tabs.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat, remembering Adonis doing the same to me.

Micah shakes me free of my own memories, his voice hollow and defeated. “It didn’t take long.”

It’s like riding a goddamn roller coaster up an incline and knowing the track ends just over the next rise. I’m strapped in. There’s no getting off this ride now. I can imagine the heat rising. A few blissed-out minutes. Everyone kissing and touching and groping everyone else . . . except Micah.

He only had eyes for Bryn.

“The mood shifted. It got so loud so fast. I felt the brush of her hand, and instead of moaning, I screamed.
Everything
hurt. I couldn’t even form words at that point. I can still hear Trav crying out, ‘It burns, it fucking burns!’ He was scratching at his arms as his muscles slowed, his skin almost lobster red.”

I remember the applejack heat, the simmering sensation of napalm under my skin, but it was nothing like this.

“I slumped to the ground against one of the alcove’s benches. I could barely breathe, barely move. Staring straight ahead, all I could see was Bryn, crying. I swear the tears evaporated as they hit her skin. She reached for me. Cried out for me with her last breaths. I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t lift my hand. I watched the light fade from her eyes. She died needing me, and I just sat there, broken and useless. Fucking useless.”

It’s not your fault.
I could say it, but he wouldn’t believe it, and he might even hate me for trying to argue. “What happened after? Did you, I mean . . .”

“I don’t know the details. Next thing I knew, I woke up at home.
Home
. Guys from Cyrene Medical had dropped me off, told my parents I’d need serious long-term care. Got them to sign something promising to keep quiet about the circumstances in exchange for a chunk of cash for medical expenses.

“Everyone was surprised I survived at all.
A miracle
, my mother called it.” Micah’s still looking somewhere far beyond where I’m sitting. “I was burned out inside, my nerves and nanotech fried. Mom took time off from work, nursed me back to health. Doing odd jobs with Dad got my motor skills back up to par. But I became exactly what I’d tried to avoid: a burden on the family. Found out later Cyrene had rejected applications from two of my sisters. Could’ve been they didn’t make the cut, but they blamed me for it, like I tainted the whole family.”

He pauses, and I pounce on my chance to nudge him away from the worst of it. “But you got back inside. How?”

“Maggie got the ball rolling. We’d been to her place a bunch of times. Guess she somehow heard I was out of the city, tapped me to provide her contacts with over-the-Wall music.”

That sounded like the Hellcat all right: reducing everything—and everyone—to dollar signs and assets.

“I convinced her to sneak me back into the city as a runner. I found someone else to keep feeding her thumb drives of the choicest tunes, so she could maintain supply. Plus Maggie didn’t need to supply me with Rivitocin. I did odd jobs and maintenance for the club, too, whatever I could to ingratiate myself with her more.”

Looking up at him, I realize that Maggie’s motives were probably more than just business. What little I know of her, I doubt she’d overlooked the fact that Micah was young, fit, attractive, and beholden to her in every way imaginable.

“But why come back? You must’ve known it would be hard, damn near impossible to live here under the radar.”

He runs his hand along the wall, stopping only to trace the lines of copper he’s woven around the room. A cell within a cell. “I owed it to them. Zane and Rina, Trav, Bryn. Running for Maggie was the perfect cover. Plenty of excuses to wander all over town, keep my eye on the darker corners of the city. Find the guy who sold me the applejack and make him pay for what he did. Then maybe work my way up the ladder, find every scumbag in the operation, and turn them over to the greyfaces. Worth getting caught inside to make that shit go away . . .”

It’s punishment. Penance for what he thinks he’s done.

But I keep that thought to myself as I close the space between us and wrap my arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, every inch of me pressed against him, I wonder if even that’s enough to pull him out of the past.

Micah’s arms close around me, and he holds me tight to him. I can feel his tears trickle down, warm splashes against my cheek. He lets me drag him slowly back to bed, and we curl up together under the blanket. Two broken people with pieces to spare.

M

I’m losing all track of time, being in the warren with Vee. Every moment is ours, and we’re taking advantage, mind, body, and soul.

You live a certain way long enough, under pressure, under stress, underfoot, and you forget that it’s not the status quo. I’d never talked about that night. Not with Maggie. Not with my family. Not with anyone. Just me and endless replays in my head. I realize I hadn’t even spoken their names aloud in months.

I’m slowly relearning what it’s like to be with someone. All the gentle touches, the stolen looks and smiles. How to make conversation, how to share. Not just the physical closeness, but all of it.

We left the world behind, but we can’t ignore it for much longer. Vee’s not used to this, deserves better than this. She makes the best of my cramped accommodations, but stir-craziness can’t be far off. Sponge baths with recycled water aren’t gonna get the job done forever.