The Deadly Nightshade (28 page)

But as I look back into Roman’s black eyes, it hits me that Connor will not survive, not as long as this man is alive. No, once the gang leader is done with me he will turn on Connor, who will be powerless to stop him. And if Connor is dead then there is no way of telling if there will be anyone left to defend Sweetbriar—who knows how many Sweetbriarans have been killed at this point and how many of Roman’s gang still live. All those people in that bomb shelter . . . what will become of them? The image of Roman’s gang bursting through those doors and pouring fire upon all those unarmed men, women, and children in that bunker brings a hollow pain to my chest unmatched even by the bullet wound in my shoulder or the feeling of Roman’s hands squeezing the life out of me. But there is nothing I can do now. I am fading and my vision is dimming and soon I will be gone . . .

You’re a survivor, Nightshade. Survive!

The voice in my head rings so loud and clear that it almost sounds as if my father is in the room with me—so loud and clear, in fact, that in my dazed state I can’t be completely sure he isn’t. He was right—I
am
a survivor, I always have been, and I always will be. But maybe I was never meant to survive on my own. Maybe all those years of training, of suppressing, of learning how to stay alive at all costs were preparation for this very moment.

I am a survivor. And I will survive.

I look upon the man who seeks to destroy my life and the lives of everyone I have known, feeling an intense passion like none I have ever experienced rising inside of me—anger. No, not anger—rage,
hatred
. I hate him, with my mind, body, and soul I hate him. He is a beast, a monster, scum. And he has summoned four whole years’ worth of fury out of me. And he will feel their wrath.

Whether it is adrenaline or the sheer power of my emotion that drives me, I summon the last bit of strength left in my body to swing back my leg and land it right between Roman’s thighs. Howling in pain, he drops me and clutches his groin with both hands, his expression a mixture of shock and agony. I collapse beside him, sucking air into my lungs for what feels like the first time in a lifetime—I have never valued anything more than that one breath. Knowing I must act fast, I force myself to my feet, ignoring the pain that flares in every part of my body, draw the black machete from my belt, and plunge it through Roman’s abdomen until I feel its hooked end exit through his back. He gasps as I thrust the weapon upward inside of him, and I smile at the warm sensation of his blood running through my fingers. His black eyes meet mine, full of fear and absent of life, and I know it is finally over. I pull the machete out of him and Roman falls to the floor, dead.

And such is the way of the world.

Chapter 49

I drop the bloodied machete beside Roman’s corpse, gasping to catch my breath as it clatters to the floor. Connor, who has just pushed the dead woman’s body off of him, stares at me incredulously.

“You did it,” he breathes. “You— You killed Roman. You did it, Nightshade! My God, are you alright?”

But I ignore him. All of my attention is focused on the preacher who lies a few feet away, his chest rising and falling slowly. Still alive, still alive. I scramble toward him and kneel at his side, examining the gunshot wounds he took for me. I press down on them to stop the bleeding, but he tries to push my hands away.

“Elijah, stop,” I insist, my voice hoarse from the strain of nearly being choked to death. I almost don’t recognize it as my own. “I need to keep pressure on it. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine, don’t you worry. We’ll get you some help and you’ll be just fine.”

He smiles at me, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Don’t, Nightshade,” he murmurs. “It’s my time. I’m not scared.”

“No. No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Please, Sheppard. Just hold on for a little while longer. Connor will go get Dr. Lam and she’ll take care of you. Please.” My eyes begin to fill with tears and my lip quivers uncontrollably, but I do not feel weak. No, there is no weakness in feeling. I know that much now.

The preacher presses a bloodied hand to my cheek and strokes it gently, his fingers trembling with the effort. “Now don’t you dare cry for me, Nightshade,” he says with a smile, his eyes also brimming with tears. “It is not a sad death. I’m going to see my girls again. God, it’s been so long, but I’m finally going to see them again.”

His hand drops to his side and he leans his head back against the floor, his hazel eyes filling with a heavenly light. He grins gleefully as a tear travels down his cheek, emits a contented sigh, and ceases to breathe forever. And just like that, Elijah Sheppard is dead.

I stare at the lifeless body of the preacher for a long time, feeling paralyzed. In my peripheral vision, I watch Connor walk across the room and kneel beside me, then wrap his arms around me in a hug. I collapse into him and he presses me against his warm chest, stroking my hair to soothe me. I cry without tears, my chest heaving against his and my face buried in his shirt. Suddenly everything hurts all at once, not just the physical pain of the gunshot and the wounds Roman left, but also the grief. I had forgotten emotions could do that, be more painful than a bullet wound or a broken rib. It is exhausting to feel.

No more gunfire rings through the streets of Sweetbriar. All is quiet except for some unintelligible shouting, but it is impossible to tell who the voices belong to—Roman’s gang or the Sweetbriarans. When Connor and I break from our embrace, we crouch beneath the window and peek our heads over the ledge, unsure if we will see Roman’s men or ours. But the first people I lay eyes on are Claire and Sophia as they drag an injured woman down the cobblestone street, calling out for assistance. There are others too, each of them covered in blood and picking through the bodies to find anyone who is still alive.

After casting one last glance at Elijah Sheppard, I exit the building with Connor as my support and we meet up with Claire, who allows Sophia to carry the wounded woman alone so she can speak to us. From what I can tell neither of them are badly hurt, although their clothes are spattered with blood that isn’t theirs. Even Claire’s pretty blond hair is stained crimson at the tips.

“Where’s Reina?” I ask. “Is she alright?”

“She’s hurt pretty bad. We brought her back to her house to have Dr. Lam take a look at her.” Then, after a slight hesitation, she adds in a grim tone, “She asked for you, Nightshade.”

I exchange a glance with Connor. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here and help with the injured,” he says.

I nod. He and Claire head toward the other survivors. I watch them go, surveying the horrific scene before me. Dozens of dead litter the ground, some familiar and some not. A few people still twitch and moan, and if they are Sweetbriarans one of the survivors pulls them out to tend to their wounds, but if they are not they are quickly dispatched. Among the bodies I catch sight of a young black man lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Before I know what I am doing my feet have carried me toward him and I am kneeling at his side. Poor Nate. Poor, sweet Nate who loved me and was filled with such unconditional loyalty to his leader that he died to save her life. I press my fingers gently against his lips, wondering if they ever would have known the taste of mine if circumstances had been different. As a tear rolls down my cheek for the first time in years, I bend and kiss his lukewarm forehead, get up, and walk away.

I slowly make my way to Reina’s mansion, feeling every wound Roman inflicted upon me with each step I take. When I finally reach the house, I catch sight of Sophia, who has just laid the woman she was carrying down beside a handful of other wounded people for Dr. Lam to assist. She directs me to go upstairs to Reina’s room, where the doctor is tending to her. I do as I am told and, with a great deal of effort, haul myself all the way up the marble staircase and down the hallway until I reach Reina’s bedroom. When I enter, Dr. Lam is sitting in a chair beside the leader, who lies in bed with several blankets over her body so that only her face can be seen. Upon catching sight of me, she dismisses the doctor and tells her to take care of those downstairs. Dr. Lam exits and closes the door behind her, leaving the two of us alone.

“I’m glad to see you alive, Nightshade. You, well, you look like hell,” Reina says in the heavily accented, unembellished voice I am not yet used to hearing. “I barely recognized you. You should really get yourself looked at.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” I say. “How are you feeling?”

She laughs ruefully. “Like I just lost everything I ever had. But, hey, at least we won . . . It cost dozens of lives, but we won . . .”

“Do you regret it?” I ask. “Fighting back instead of giving us up?”

She shakes her head. “Sweetheart, I would fight a hundred gangs with my own two hands before I gave any of my people to that man.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she asks, “Where’s Nate? Is—? Is he—?”

“Dead,” I affirm. “Sheppard too. I don’t know how many more.”

At this news, she closes her eyes and lays her head back upon the pillow, sighing. A tear hangs on the tip of her black lashes, but she wipes it away before it can fall. I want to tell her I know the feeling, I know what it’s like to have someone die for me, I know that guilt and pain and sorrow. But all I can do is stare at her wordlessly, wishing I could find a way to console her. But I’ve never been very good with words.

When Reina regains her composure, she opens her eyes and gestures for me to take her hand. I do so, feeling the chipped, jagged edges of her broken nails as they scrape against my palm. She looks so different lying in that bed, so disheveled—her curly black hair is messy and matted with blood, her makeup is smudged and all but gone, and her brown skin is pale and shows no sign of the warm, youthful glow it previously held. Seeing her like this is almost like seeing her naked—she is so vulnerable, so exposed. I don’t even want to look. I break eye contact with her, staring at the fleece blankets and feeling them absentmindedly with my free hand, but Reina tightens her grip to draw my attention.

“I need you to make me a promise, Nightshade,” she whispers. “I’m not going to be here much longer, and I need you to promise me something.”

“What are you talking about? Dr. Lam was just—”

“There’s nothing she can do for me now,” she says, throwing the blankets aside to reveal a massive abdominal wound that is bleeding onto the white bed sheets underneath her. “It was a shotgun. I told Dr. Lam not to bother with me, to focus her resources on the others who still have a chance. Besides, I’m their leader. I’m the one who led them into the fight. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that’s true,” I say, suddenly feeling angry with her. How could she be that stupid? There has to be something Dr. Lam can do for her. Surely this can’t be it. “You’re their leader. You’re supposed to lead them. Who else is going to do it if you’re gone?”

“You,” she whispers.

“
Me?”

“Yes, Nightshade. You. I need you to lead Sweetbriar when I’m gone. It’s always been you, ever since I met you I hoped it would be. You remind me of myself—you’re authoritative, you’ve got vigor and courage, and you’re not afraid to make decisions. You’re smart and logical—you think out every option before you act and you choose the safest one. You know how to keep yourself alive, and I have no doubt you’ll be able to use that knowledge to help these people survive. Nate, he was a good man, a loyal man, an intelligent man, but he was never meant to be in charge. But you, you’ve got all the makings of a great leader. That’s why I couldn’t let you leave—I knew I needed you, and I knew you needed this place.”

I shake my head, unable to believe the request she is making of me. “Reina, I
caused
all of this. All of those people out there, they’re dead because of
me.
All of the death, all of the destruction . . . This is all
my fault
.”

Consumed with the emotional realization that I am to blame for everything that has happened today, I begin to cry. No, not cry—sob. I sob so violently that my body quakes as hot tears streak my face and sting my wounds. Reina squeezes my hand tighter to calm me, and I am grateful for the comforting warmth of her skin against mine.

“None of this is your fault, Nightshade. Things happen. People die. That is life. We were fortunate enough to live in peace for so long, but we were bound to be discovered eventually. Listen to me, these people are frightened and they need someone to reassure them. You need to be that person. You need to guide them, protect them, keep them safe and happy. Please, Nightshade. Promise me.”

I stare into her pleading brown eyes and realize I cannot deny her. After all, if I don’t lead them, who will? I can’t just walk away from Sweetbriar and leave these people to fend for themselves, not with a clear conscience, not after what I have done. They must be my responsibility now. I owe her that much. “I promise,” I say.

She smiles at me, a wave of relief passing over her worn face, and lays her head back against the pillow. Her hand still clutches mine tightly as she closes her eyes to rest. I watch her chest rise and fall for a few hours as she sleeps, until her breathing grows shallower and shallower and then stops completely. When she has passed, I press my lips against her hand and lay it on the bed beside her.

I tread slowly back down the hallway, down the marble staircase and into the main room where I find Dr. Lam still tending to the wounded. Connor is there assisting her, and when he sees me coming down the stairs he hurries over to meet me. I am not sure whether the zombie-like look I wear on my face or the remnants of tears on my cheeks give it away, but, in a voice low enough so that none of the others can hear, he whispers, “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

I nod.

With a long sigh, Connor bows his head. “Eleven of ours dead—well, twelve now. Five people are pretty badly hurt, but Dr. Lam says none of the injuries appear life-threatening.”

“I promised her I would take her place,” I tell him. “I promised I would be their leader.”

He stares at me for a moment, as if unable to believe what I am saying. “And you’re— you’re going to do it?” he asks.

“Yes, I made her a promise and I’m going to do it. And if I’m going to lead these people, I’m going to need a right-hand man, just like she had. Connor, there isn’t anyone on this earth I would rather have by my side than you.”

He smiles, and seeing that smile is like knowing everything is right with the world. “I would be honored.”

“Then there’s just one thing left to do,” I say.