The Color of Rain (28 page)

He drops his shirt to the sand. “Are you serious?”

I look out across the lake. The moons have dipped low, and in the distance, the navy sky melts to a lighter blue.

“You think that I want to . . . that I'm trying to . . .” His words sputter out. “I have real feelings for you. But if you can't tell the difference between me and Johnny, you are damaged.”

His words dump icy water all over me.

We're quiet for a moment, and I watch the whirl of red that's starting to streak out of the blue dawn. “We have to go.”

“Rain.” He reaches for me, and I push past his fingers.

I scale the pockmarked surface of the rock face. At the top, I wring my hair out and find my dress. Ben follows right behind me, and I don't care if he's watching me dress. He's seen it before. So many have, and they're all the same.

He stands at the hover cab, his damp shirt clinging to his chest. “I didn't mean that,” he says. “I don't think you're . . . damaged. You're different from the other girls. Better.”

“What's so different, Ben? Men give me money and I take my clothes off. Just like the other girls. Unless it's Johnny, in which case I'm apparently free.”

“Hell, Rain.”

“Doesn't matter,” I manage, getting into the vehicle. When the door shuts us in together, I feel like screaming, but I swallow my voice.

“You liar. How can you pretend this doesn't matter?” he asks. “If anything matters, it's this. At the very least, we should be able to be honest with each other.”

“Yes, but don't forget.” I stare out the window. “I belong to someone else.”

We return to the Entra Suns Casino in an ugly silence. Tonight we saved the lives of almost a thousand people, and yet we can't look at each other. We take the dropping platform back into the corridor of the large glass-floored building, and I'm thankful for the stream of people moving through to the restaurants and bars, and the wash of colored, gaudy lights.

We weave and bob through the crowd, getting pushed apart from each other. This time we don't reach out. This time, my hands are buried in my crossed arms and his are in his pockets.

“I can find my own way to the hotel from here,” I say.

“We stick to the plan,” he responds coldly.

The Silving Suns Hotel is much more deserted, but I walk faster and faster, feeling the tug of Ben's presence at my shoulder.

“Remember, he'll be disoriented. Just say that he fell while drunk, and you took care of him. I've fixed the feed on
Imreas
, so if he checks the control board, he won't realize they're gone. We have to lull him into a sense that nothing has changed so that he doesn't check the cargo in person.” I keep walking, and he catches my arm a stone's throw from the end of the hallway.

I tug my arm free. “I can do this.”

His expression pulls on me. The anger that had boiled up in him by the water has evaporated. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I.” I almost choke on the words. “But that can't change this.”

He nods a terrible nod and leaves. I wish I knew why I love being near him one moment, and then the next I can't stomach the pressure between us. I wish I could tell him that my mind and body are at war . . . that he is 100 percent correct. I am damaged.

I push forward, and when I get to the end of the hall, the door opens.

But I freeze in the frame.

Johnny is propped up on pillows against the headboard. His head is tilted back, eyes closed. A woman with hair like a golden waterfall sits beside him, running fingers over his chest.

Crysta's smile is menacing. “Johnny, your red girl is back.”

He lifts his head, his stare groggy and yet somehow full of fire.

I'm not breathing.

I have to breathe.

Dawn breaks over the forest line and pours orange-red light into the glass-walled suite. I squint from the brightness as Johnny tries to stand on unsure legs.

“Sit, my love. You're still out of it.” Crysta touches the spot at the back of Johnny's head where I blasted him with the lamp, and he winces. The door shuts behind me, pushing me further into the room.

“Where were you?” Johnny asks, leaning back against the bed. “Fucking someone?”

“I was taking a walk. I wanted to see the casino.”

Crysta stands, her hair falling over her shoulders in silky waves. “She's a bad liar.” She picks up a tablet from the couch. Her nails click on the glass screen until she's found what she wants. “There was a hiccup in our security, but we have a backup system.”

“A
hiccup
?” Johnny sits up too fast and has to grip the edge of the mattress.

“No doubt installed by your Mec in pursuit of your girl.” She touches the tablet, turning the view screen in her hands into a life-sized holographic image before me.

And the image stings.

Ben is kneeling on the floor beside Johnny's body, pressing my wrist between his palms. Then he holds me—an almost naked me—stroking my hair so tenderly that something flares in my chest at the sight of it.

“This is moments after she knocked you out,” Crysta says. It's only a few seconds, but the clip loops over and over, and even the angle is incriminating. The camera must have been outside the hotel, recording through the window like a secret stalker.

Crysta smirks. “If you were smart, little girl, you'd realize that a glass-walled room is no place to throw stones or a lamp. Or choose a lover.”

Now Johnny really gets to his feet. His neck is stained with a brilliant red as he watches the repeating embrace. He fingers his com, and I know that he's calling Ben.

“Don't bother summoning him,” Crysta interrupts. “My men already have him.” She clicks something on the tablet, and within heartbeats, the door bursts open. The two bouncers who threw Johnny earlier now muscle Ben into the room.

He gets the better of one of the men, stringing the man's arm up behind his back, but the other bouncer pulls a blade and holds it to Ben's cheek until he releases. The men get a secure grip on Ben as his gaze turns to the holographic image of our embrace.

He stops struggling.

“Shall I have him beaten? To think that your own servant
would bed your girl. You might be losing your touch, John.”

Johnny snarls loud enough to shut her up. “I don't need help with my servants.” He crosses the room to Ben. “You were so much easier to deal with when you were a skinny nothing, no more than the weight of one of my legs.”

Ben? Skinny? I examine the way they stare each other down in a new light, full of familiar dislike and competition. Jealousy. Not unlike the hatred between two warring brothers.

“All those push-ups,” Johnny sneers and touches something on his com.

The bouncers drop Ben—throw him. But no, that's not right. I choke on a scream. They jump away because Ben's rioting from the shock now surging from the silver band on his wrist. His body beats the floor, vibrating so hard that his teeth clack.

Johnny lets up on his com, and Ben's gasping fills the room. He leans over him and kicks at his forearms. “All those push-ups for nothing.” Johnny looks to Crysta. “He may be a Mec, but he doesn't have the balls to go after one of my girls. Not again. This is
her
doing.”

“No.” Ben gasps. “I wanted her. I went after her.”

Johnny looks my way, but I have nothing. Why in the world would Ben egg Johnny on about this? He'll go crazy with jealousy! He'll—wait.

He'll be blind to our other plans, and the Touched will have a chance.

“Johnny,” I start, but he swings at me, backhanding my face so that I lose my balance and wind up on all fours, my palms and knees spiked with pain.

Johnny hunkers beside Ben. “And to think, I wasted a perfectly good girl Mec trying to teach you a lesson.” He leans even closer. “You know I had to kick Bron's teeth out before she'd admit to being involved with you. You must not have left a good impression. But I suppose it was worth it. You should have seen her gummy expression when I hit the airlock release.”

Ben surges to attack him, and Johnny sends another shockwave through him. Ben's back arches and he yells, clawing at the glass floor.

Somehow I'm both screaming my heart out and not making a sound.

“Pipe down,” Johnny says almost playfully when the torture has ceased. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the dose rod he took from Ben. He flips the setting to adrenaline red and gives himself a shot.

“Didn't he make you into a prostitute?” I hiss at Crysta standing over me. “How could you help him now? Didn't he hurt you?”

She leans down, her golden hair falling past my face. “Girl, what part of this
isn't
hurting him?”

Johnny gives himself a second shot, and he yells as it courses through him. His shoulders straighten, and he grows stronger and crazier before my eyes.

“Look at this, Johnny.” Crysta plucks a leaf from my hair. “They must have been down in the forest. Remember when you used to take me to the woods and lay with me in the leaves?”

Johnny's face is briefly frozen. He looks at Crysta without the aggressive possession that I'm so used to—like he's lost in her presence. And just for a second, I catch something like regret and
sorrow in Crysta's perfect face. They might both be stuck on the same memory.

But Crysta breaks first.

“Enjoy your little mutiny, John. I have business.” She presses the leaf into Johnny's palm. “I'll see you next time your daddy sends you back through.” Her golden hair twirls as she pivots and leaves, the bouncers slamming the door in her wake.

Johnny stares at the leaf before he crumples it in his fist. Rage returns to his bared teeth, and he surges toward me so fast that I fall backward long before he kicks me.

And still, he kicks me.

My stomach. My ribs. My chest. I curl into a ball that does nothing to stem the thundering pain of being stomped. Johnny's foot comes to a stop on the side of my head, pressing my cheek into the glass floor. Ben's eyes meet mine across the distance where he sobs to breathe. He mouths something that I can't understand.

“Know that this is only our warm-up,” Johnny growls, pressing even harder on my head.

And even harder . . .

Pressure sears from my eye to my neck in the second before my jaw
snaps
.

I
'm wrapped in a blanket of stiffness and suffocating pain. I pant through my nose, unable to open my mouth. And still, I try, but only manage to wail through my teeth.

“Stay asleep.” Ben's voice hovers over my ear. “You don't want to wake up to this.”

He shouldn't be this close. I open my eyes. My head rests on Ben's lap. He combs my hair from my face over and over as though he's afraid to stop. “You never listen.”

I try to sit up, but the lead blanket that I thought I was wrapped in is really my body. I'm dead weight. And I can't open my mouth to talk.

“He won't let me heal you,” Ben says. “And he locked us in here together as punishment. He wants me to watch you suffer. How creative of him.” His voice breaks. “He broke three of your ribs. And your jaw. Your only luck was that your lungs weren't punctured.”

Lovely
.

His fingers stroke my hair a little faster. I manage to push his hand away and lift my shoulders and then my head. I look around at crates and boxes.
Where are we?

“We're back on
Imreas
,” he answers as though he can hear my thoughts. “We're in the cargo den where I first brought you.” I slowly recognize the high ceiling—as well as the line of harnesses on the wall. “I don't know if he realizes what we did,” he whispers. Ben slips his arms around me and lifts me against his chest. I cry out my pain through my clenched teeth, huffing horrible, animalistic breaths.

I feel his face in my hair and something like a nuzzle. Groaning a warning, I point up at the ceiling.
Remember that we're being watched, Ben?