Sugar Skulls (22 page)

The memory gun loads image after image into the cylinder: surgical masks, concerned eyes, halo-light surrounding their heads. “I woke up at the hospital. The surgeons somehow made it clear through the morphine that I had seriously limited options for survival.” Curled up against Micah’s chest, I keep talking, because it might slip away from me again. “The choice came down to either dying or letting them install experimental nanotech. I couldn’t even sign my name.” Distinct as anything, I remember the smear of red I’d left on the pristine touchscreen. “They let me press my thumb to a datapad to give consent.”

“What about your family?” Micah asks when I hesitate. “Some emergency contact the hospital could have called for you?”

“There wasn’t anyone.” Fresh tears at the realization. “Career foster kid, professional runaway. No one cared. Made it through the surgery, but it meant I was Cyrene property. Fourteen was too young to get recruited, but they found some legal loophole.”

“How did Damon find you again?” Micah threads one hand through my hair, teasing the tangles out like he’s trying to help me put everything in order.

“Ran across me in one of the night clubs.” Everything I thought I knew was suspect now. Damon didn’t randomly “discover” some new musical act; he tracked me down. Found his way inside just to come after me.

Then he did everything he could to keep me close. Under his thumb. The memory gun continues to fire, images slamming into me like bullets: Damon in a shiny new suit, taking me into a Cyrene recording studio; Damon bent over a mixing board, yelling at me through the intercom; Damon gripping my shoulders and shaking me hard when I flub the first take.

As Micah holds me close, my fingertips brush over the glass shards still stuck in his arms from taking down Adonis. Blood smears crisscross his shirt, but I’m not sure how much is actually his. “Forget about me for a minute. We have to get you cleaned up.”

I shove off the cot and reach for the first-aid kit, ripping open an antiseptic pack and trying to wipe away the worst of the blood. Unlike the golden god, Micah doesn’t have any nanotech to rush to his aid.

Just me. Only me.

He doesn’t flinch, even when I douse everything with astringent.
Still so focused on me, stupid sweet boy.
Once I’ve wrapped him from wrist to elbow on both arms with compression gauze, I can sit back and reassess.

“I have to get your shirt off, love.” I don’t waste time trying to pull it over his head. Surgical shears are faster, and I’m able to toss aside the filthy cotton in seconds.
No puncture wounds on his chest or back, thank god.
I go to wipe everything down with a clean damp rag just to be sure, but he catches hold of my hand.

“Today was too much,” he says. “Everything I do puts the people I care about in danger.”

I swallow, trying to get rid of the horrible empty ache at the back of my throat. “That’s not true and you know it.”

His eyes focus for a moment. “Bryn and Trav and all of them died because I
gave
them the poison. Maggie’s probably dead at this point because I haven’t found proof of what Rete’s been up to. What about you? What if—”

I slam my free hand down over his chest tattoo, pressing against it as hard as I can. “You lost them, but you have me.
You have me.
” He shakes his head, like he’s ready to argue some more, and I ball my hand into a fist. “Their names are on your skin, Micah, but I’m on your fucking heart. Admit it.”

He pauses, eyes darting as he hunts for the right words, or any words. Finally, a few stumble out. “So much it scares me. When I saw that piece of shit grab you . . . If anything ever happened to you . . . I can’t lose you, Vee.” His voice cracks as he admits, “I’m afraid I’m gonna get you killed.”

I look him square in the eyes, remembering everything we’ve just shared. “Long story short, love,” I say, “Damon’s more of a danger to me than you could ever be. He won’t ever let me go, and he’ll go through you to get to me.”

Micah holds me tight. “Let him try. I won’t let you go, Vee. No matter what comes next, no matter where we find ourselves, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” Even in a whisper, I can hear the force, the conviction behind his words. “Two against the world, right?”

I nod my answer, wishing I hadn’t wasted my chance last night.

Y
ou had all the romance ever going for you. You should have said it then.

Instead I wrap my arms around him until I can’t get any closer. “I really fucked up my timing. Remind me to tell you something tomorrow, all right?”

He kisses my forehead softly. “Sure.”

Under the blanket, wrapped up in each other, it’s a long time before either of us falls asleep, but every beat of my heart is telling him what I can’t.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M

I slowly return to consciousness, haunted by thoughts of Vee’s past. Half expecting to see her beaten and bruised, I open my eyes, grateful to gaze upon her as she sleeps. I can hear her breathing, feel the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Right now, she’s untroubled by scavenger hunters inside the city or vicious gangs outside. Right now, the weight of the world is off her shoulders, no worries about Rete’s thugs or Damon or getting out of Cyrene.

Let her enjoy a few more minutes’ peace.

Sliding out of her arms and crouching beside the bed, I tuck the blanket around her as she dozes. I slip silently across the floor and retrieve the shrink-wrapped parcel from the pocket of my discarded hoodie.
His Majesty was there to receive it. That can’t be a coincidence.

I weigh the package in my hand.
Doesn’t feel like thumb drives, cash, or prepaids.
My fingers make short work of the envelope, ripping it in two. Don’t need to worry about being careful after what happened at the last drop.

The tabs of applejack spill into my hand, confirming my worst suspicions. I might as well be watching the heads of my dead friends tumble from the parcel.

How many? How many packets of this garbage is Rete responsible for?

Possibilities and conspiracies fog my brain. Rete’s worked for Maggie a long time. Learning her distribution channels. Meeting her contacts. But even so, he couldn’t switch over to applejack so soon after she went missing.

Way too late, I’ve finally put the pieces together, and I don’t like the picture they form at all:
Maggie’s been dealing applejack this whole time.
The realization hits me with a dull thud.

I set the drugs aside and grab a clean shirt, my bandaged forearms aching slightly with every movement. Bending down to retrieve my sneakers, I jump when Vee speaks.

“Going somewhere?” She’s propped up on one elbow, eyes and nose still red from crying. Worse, she looks concerned. About me.

She thinks I’m hiding things again.

I hop once, slipping my sneaker on as I cross to sit at her side, the other shoe still AWOL. “I wanted to surprise you with a decent breakfast after our long night. You’ve had enough protein bars to last a lifetime.”

“That’s it? Just food?” She touches my cheek, suspecting something but trusting that I’ll tell her.

“I found something in that parcel.” I don’t need to say what. She’s already figured it out.

“You’ve got your proof. Rete is dealing applejack.” When I don’t answer right away, Vee pushes the hair out of my face, knowing there’s more. “Micah?”

“Not just Rete,” I tell her. “Maggie, too.”

That one surprises her. “So where do we go from here?”

“How about we discuss that over pancakes? I’ll bring some back.” I lean forward and kiss her deeply, hoping to reassure her. Breaking it off, I brush her lips with mine as I say, “Vee, about yesterday, I’m so sorry—”

Two fingers slip between us as she silences me. “Stuff it, love. I know. I just . . . I’d be fine if we never ever talked about it again. And as long as you’re not going to do anything stupid, we’re good. Are we good?”

I nod quickly, stuffing my foot in my other shoe. “I promise. Just a quick breakfast run, then we figure out what comes next. Together.”

“Okay, go. But get back here lickety-split. This blanket’s a poor substitute for warm boy.”

I smile, heading for the tarp.

“Hey,” she calls out, tossing me the Brights when I turn around. “Just in case.”

I slip them into my pocket. “Back in a flash.”

And I’m off, climbing down the familiar stonework and making my way onto the streets of the Odeaglow, my only companion the steady hum of Cyrene.

There’s plenty on my mind en route to the stimshot spot two blocks over.
Too many near misses. We need a plan, and soon, before somebody finally pins us down and puts an end to this.

So where
do
we go from here? With the drop aborted yesterday, we can add His Majesty and Rete’s thugs to the ever-growing list of people looking for us, since I doubt Rete’ll tolerate a courier kicking the crap out of a client.
No matter how much that client deserved it.

Rete’s applejack parcel is still back at the warren, too. Evidence, six months in the making. Something inside me cries out “Keep going!” Demanding justice for Zane and Rina, Trav and Bryn. My mission.

Can’t get my vengeance against the dealer, but I can still take out Rete and part of the applejack trade.

Sounds good, but what about Vee? Going kamikaze to bring down the dealers made sense when it was just me . . . but she could get hurt.
Killed
. If the thugs don’t get her, then the greyfaces might, shuttling her right to her ivory tower, Corporate’s pet back home safe and sound.

All these months, every moment has boiled down to two choices: stay or go. It always comes down to stay or go. Stay with Vee, keep her safe, make a life with her, or go after Rete, the dealers, every tab of applejack in the city.

When you put it like that, the choice is easy.

I order some breakfast sandwiches and a stack of pancakes to go, then pour two cups of the high-octane stuff, grabbing little packs of creamer for Vee and a few sugars for me.

So now that Rete and the ’jack dealers are out of the equation, the game changes. It’s still stay or go, but if we stay, we take on everybody. If we go, we have everything Vee left behind waiting for us outside the Wall. Not to mention Corporate’s impressively long reach.

As I head back to the warren, my eyes drift toward the horizon, knowing it’s a holographic forgery. Running my eyes up and down, I spot it: the thin seam between the real sky and the projection. The top of the Wall. All the parkour training in the world won’t let you climb that high.

But you don’t have to go over. People leave all the time. I got in, I can get us out. We’ll find a way. Fuck Cyrene and the drugs and the hum and the thugs and the nanotech bullshit and everything else bottled up here. I’m gonna get Vee out, leave all the bad memories behind and just go. Those gangland fuckers won’t be everywhere. We’ll find a place to start fresh.

Bag in hand, I head for home. Home and the girl who makes every second worthwhile.

V

Micah’s side of the bed is still warm, so I slide into it with an all-over shudder. Not just because I’m cold. It’s taking every bit of effort to stay focused. Present. I feel like a little kid who knows damn good and well that there are real fucking monsters under the bed. But as long as I stay away from the edges, nothing can grab me and drag me under. Not the memories of the past. Not my fears for our future.

I glance at the tabs of applejack taunting me from the floor.

Rete’s a dangerous little fucker. If Micah keeps going after him . . .

No. It’ll only end up with Micah dead in an alley. I have to convince him to let Rete go. To let it all go.

Except I don’t have any idea if he
can
let it go.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to let the panic swallow me whole. The familiar reminders of Micah offer up small measures of comfort: his blanket, wrapped around me; the clean shirt I’m wearing off the top of the laundry stack; the gentle weight of his silver chain hanging around my neck. I twist my fingers around the links of his necklace and try to relax—

Something lands atop me, and my eyes fly open. I’m expecting a paper bag of food and Micah smirking at me from the door. Instead, there’s Little Dead Thing, bedraggled, wet from end to end, a sorry scrap of fur and bonier than usual. He looks like he’s swept every inch of the city, looking for me.

“Holy shit, baby, have you been roaming this whole time?” Guilt-stricken, I scoop him into my lap and try to dry him off. Yowling a protest, he settles against my legs with his ears flattened, eyes narrowed to slits. He follows that up with a hiss at nothing. “Why the hell did Sasha let you out of the Loft . . . ?”

Shit. Sasha. And Jax.

I haven’t spared many thoughts for them lately.

They’re probably worried sick by now . . . I think. Unless they’re relieved that I bailed on them—

The rhythmic rotor-whirr of helicopter blades interrupts me. Moving the cat to one side, I run for the door and peer out, hoping against hope that the chopper will fly right past the Arkcell. Instead, it heads straight for the bridge, banks hard at the last second, and circles around to come at me again.

No.

No time for shoes and no time for Little Dead Thing. I have to put as much space between me and the warren—and Micah—as I can. This time, I know it’s not a drill. This time as I climb down, there are incoming sirens as a soundtrack.

I jump the last five feet and take off at a run just as the first black SUV screeches in. I’ve already worked up some speed, and I’ll be fucked if I stutter to a halt now. Pushing harder, I manage to plant my right foot on the front tire, pop up, and land on the hood. My ass hits metal and I slide the rest of the way across, dropping to the ground on the other side.

Thanks for the lessons, love.

Hair in my eyes, I hitch in a breath and keep running. Behind me, I can hear the Facilitators already bailing out of the first vehicle. More dark cars are heading my way at top speed. The second slams on its brakes, steering into the turn so that it stops in front of me. The third boxes me in from the right.

Keep moving, Vee. Don’t fucking stop.

I break left, a stitch in my side, the pain in my chest low and slow but gaining on me. Rocks and bits of jagged concrete rip up my bare feet, but I ignore it. One fleeting look over my shoulder and I see at least a dozen uniforms swarming after me. My only exit option now is a pile of rock and demolished concrete. My thighs and arms start to burn before I’m even halfway to the top.

“Be careful, you shitheads!” I hear Damon yelling somewhere below me; that’s all it takes to slam me back into high gear. Something pings off the rocks to my left. A second
thwip!
of air brushes past my arm.

What the hell? They’re
shooting
at me?

Matching pinpricks of pain hit me. Reaching back, I feel needles sticking out of my skin. Three seconds after that, nothing from the neck down belongs to me anymore, and I go down like a prize hunk of meat. My forehead glances off a rock. Unable to catch hold of anything, I slide several feet before coming to a stop.

All I have left is my voice, so I close my eyes and start to scream with every bit of strength left in me. Hoping Micah will hear it. Hoping he’ll stay the fuck away.

M

I hear the bustle of activity before I see it. The oppressive battering noise of a helicopter, screeching tires stopping short on asphalt. As I sprint down the alley and onto the street, the bag of food slips from my hand.

They’ve found us. Oh sweet fuck they’ve found us.

An army of Facilitators pours from several vehicles, well-armored thugs in Kevlar and black charging in all directions, cutting off any chance of escape. And Vee, magnificent Vee, gives them fresh hell, running circles around them, sliding across the hood of an SUV, and making it halfway up a wall of broken concrete before she collapses to the ground.

Darts. Must have been. Cowards.

Too many to attack. Too many to dodge. They’re everywhere, swarming over the bridge and the warren and the riverbank. Still, my Brights are in my hand as I march across the street, only a few blocks separating me from the disgusting paramilitary fucks pulling Vee to her feet and taking directions from that suit-wearing asshole.

Vee said not to do anything stupid—apparently a mantra of the women in my life—but letting them take her is the stupidest thing I could ever do. Pushing my way through a gathering crowd of onlookers, I’m ready to rush everything Cyrene Security can throw at me.

And then I stop, cemented in place as Vee screams at the top of her lungs, shrieking with everything she has. I can’t make out what she’s saying, if she’s saying anything at all. It’s agony to watch her being manhandled, but I’m powerless. And as the thugs bundle her off into a waiting limo, I realize what she’s doing.

She’s
saving
me, singing without singing to keep me from throwing myself into the fray in a futile attempt to rescue her. I stand there, stock-still, loving and hating her for it.

Her voice echoes off the walls of the urban canyon as the Facilitators tear down the tarp hiding the warren. White flashes of light document what they find before they start tossing things down to the ground below, to be shattered and scattered against the unforgiving stone. My cot. My lamps. Lara, dashed against the rocks, her neck broken and hanging off to one side, her body in splinters.

Vee’s scream fades as the limo speeds off with my darling girl inside. The second I can move again, I launch myself down the street, leaving any onlookers in the dust.

I know where he’s taking her. I need to know she’s okay.

With just the clothes on my back and her name written on my heart, I run.

V

The back of the limo is eerily silent, save for the pinging of Sasha’s laptop.
She helped Damon find me. Somehow.
My gaze drifts to Little Dead Thing, scrunched into a corner of the car, ears still flattened, tail twitching.

Kicking out with my bare foot, I nail the laptop so hard that it goes flying from Sasha’s hands.

“You
bitch
—” is all I manage to get out before she fires back a wholly unexpected “Fuck you!” at top volume.

Sliding to the floor, she drags her borked toy into her lap. I was hoping it would explode into as many pieces as my broken heart, but other than a cracked screen, it’s functional.