Page 24 of Captured Immune (Secrets Trilogy #2)

24

ARELLA

“You look good in a hat,” I say as we claim the farthest seat in the back of the bus. We’re some of the first people to board. I slide in next to the window, then set our backpack at my feet.

Trey settles down next to me. “You do too.”

I wince when he accidentally rubs against the shirt tied around my arm.

“Oops. I’m sorry, babe—I mean, Arella.”

I almost forgot I had told him to stop calling me babe . I’m fine with him calling me that. I only told him not to because I was angry.

I press against my arm to ease the ache. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt much unless it’s bumped. I’m more worried about your ribs and thigh than my arm.”

“Funny. I’m more worried about your arm.” Trey stands and gestures for me to stand as well. “Let’s switch spots so I don’t bump your arm anymore.”

After we switch, Trey glowers out the window from behind a pair of black sunglasses—another purchase from the souvenir shop. I’ve got a matching pair covering my eyes. I think he’s trying to see if anyone out there is a Royal. Can he know that someone’s a Royal just by looking at them?

Katie said Zordis feel a special tingle in their chests whenever they get close to each other. Does Trey’s tingle work from a farther distance?

Katie also explained that every Zordi has three powers. Trey’s elemental power is Fire, and his body power is telekinesis. I don’t know what his mind power is, nor will I ask right now because I don’t want him to lose concentration on whatever he’s doing. Whatever his mind power is, it was able to tell him that a teenage boy was getting roughed up in an alleyway, and it’s able to tell him if someone’s a Royal just by looking at them.

The bus is about half full when the bus driver finally shuts the door, and we roll away from the Greyhound station. Only then does the tension in Trey’s shoulders relax.

Since the closest people to us are three seats away with headphones on, I turn to Trey and ask in a low voice, “Are there a lot of your kind in the world?”

“Lots. Most live in Europe and Asia.”

“And is everyone either a ZIRDA agent or a Royal?”

“No. Most are just regular people. Think of ZIRDA like a secret organization that does research, develops products, and also works to stop the Royals. Then think of the Royals as violent gang members.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Why is it up to a research facility to stop violent criminals? Didn’t you say you guys have a special government?”

“The zovernment is useless when it comes to getting rid of the Royals. A part of me thinks the Royals pay them off. It wasn’t until after the Royals caused the Black Plague that ZIRDA started their anti-Royals department, and only because at the time, the zovernment was too busy still trying to clean up the mess from the mass genocide and worldwide scrub job. Considering that was over six hundred years ago and the Royals are still around, I think it’ll take more than the zovernment and ZIRDA to get rid of them.”

I take a moment to process all that before asking, “Why don’t the zovernment and ZIRDA work together to fight off the Royals?”

“Because that’s not how things work. That’s like saying, why don’t the cops team up with regular civilians to stop crime? To the zovernment, ZIRDA is just a bunch of researchers who think they’re vigilantes. To ZIRDA, the zovernment is nothing more than some elites in uniforms who only care about keeping Ordinaries from finding out about us.”

“Interesting.” There is still so much I want to learn about Trey’s world, but my eyelids are getting heavy. I fall asleep within minutes.

When I wake up to our bus pulling into the Greyhound station in Vegas, Trey is wide awake.

“Why didn’t you take a nap?” I ask as I lift my head off his shoulder.

“How can I protect you if I’m sleeping?”

My heart does a little backflip in my chest. It’s endearing how much he cares about me and isn’t afraid to show it.

“Besides,” Trey says, “I was enjoying watching you sleep. Whenever you stayed over and it wasn’t my night to sleep, I used to spend those hours just holding you and trying to sync my breaths with yours.”

With anyone else, that statement would be creepy. With Trey, it’s wholesome. He told me once that he used to hate cuddling until he cuddled with me. I’m happy to know he likes cuddling with me enough to do it for hours upon hours without getting bored.

I tilt my head back so he can see my smirk. “When this is over, I’ll be sure to tell the media that watching women sleep is one of your favorite hobbies.”

Trey lets out a light laugh. “They’ll love that.”

We’re the last to leave the bus. When our feet are back on the ground, Trey spends a moment scanning the crowd.

“I think we’re good.” He takes my hand, then leads me toward a row of taxis waiting for passengers.

We pick a taxi toward the front of the line and climb into the backseat.

“Gold Coast Hotel and Casino, please,” Trey says.

Fifteen minutes later, the driver drops us off outside a large white building with wide arches in the front. Some gold letters at the top of the building read casino .

I wait until the taxi is gone before saying, “I thought we were going to Chinatown.”

“We are.”

I glance around us because I must be missing something, but even after a second look, I confirm that there’s nothing here that remotely resembles a Chinatown. No Chinese characters on buildings. No pagodas. No dragons with open mouths scaring off the evil.

“In case anyone asked him, I didn’t want the driver dropping us off inside Chinatown,” Trey says as he begins half walking, half limping down the sidewalk. “We’re only a few blocks away.”

“How many is a few?” One block already sounds like too much. This backpack is heavy, my body is sore, and these flats I’m wearing are almost paper thin. I might as well be barefoot.

“Would you like me to carry you?”

“Are you serious? You have broken ribs, and you can barely walk on your own.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I carried you with my broken ribs before. And I did it for miles.”

“What? When?”

“How do you think I got us to that barn after my motorcycle ran out of gas?”

My mouth drops. “You had me on a motorcycle while I was passed out?”

“Yep.”

“Where is it now?”

He shrugs again. “On the side of a road somewhere.”

“But you love that thing.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

My heart skips a beat as I gaze up at him. His eyes meet mine with a look that says, I mean those words with every fiber of my soul.

Earlier, when we were on the flying tire and he confessed his love to me, I didn’t know how to feel. At the time, I was trying to process the idea that we didn’t meet by accident and that he spent weeks fake-dating me solely to gather information for his uncle. Hearing him say the L-word again now, I still don’t know how to feel.

I keep putting one foot in front of the other. “Didn’t you say that besides your memory box, your motorcycle is your most sentimental possession?”

Trey told me once that I’m the first woman he’s ever taken on a motorcycle ride. He said his motorcycle is special to him because it’s what he rode while he traveled the states, searching for his place in the world . He said he had never wanted to share that experience with anyone else until he met me.

“You remember me saying that?” Trey says.

“Of course. You don’t open up a lot. Whenever you do, I take notes.”

He keeps his attention on the sidewalk. “I’ve opened up more with you than I have with anyone else.”

“That’s not true. Don’t you tell Liz everything?”

“Nah. She has to force it out of me. And trust me, I make her work for it.”

Liz has told me on more than one occasion that Trey is like a puzzle box: “No matter how hard you twist and turn him, he won’t open. However, if you’re patient and keep working on him, you’ll be rewarded with bits and pieces, but it’s still never the full picture.”

At the time, I wasn’t sure if I agreed with Liz’s description of Trey. I thought after he had shared with me that his parents hadn’t actually died in a house fire that I had unlocked everything I needed to know. Turns out, Liz was right.

I play with the straps of our backpack as I ask, “Have you ever told Liz that you love her?”

Trey’s answer comes easily. “No. Not soberly, anyway. She claims I said it once when I was wasted, but I don’t remember it, which means it doesn’t count.”

“It probably counts for her. I actually think it counts more because it was unfiltered.”

“I don’t love Liz the way I love you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I’m not. I’ve seen how you two are together. The kind of relationship you guys have is pretty exceptional, but not romantic.”

He lets out a little scoff. “You should say that to the media. Maybe they’ll stop making up stories about me leading her on.”

“Okay, to review, the list goes: Trey Grant did not kidnap me, he does not abuse women, he likes to watch women sleep, and he does not want to bang Liz Hart.”

A bright smile lights up his face, and it’s the brightest one I’ve seen on him in what feels like weeks. “Yes. In that order.”

I miss these moments between us when we’re just talking, all light and playful. I miss the way things were when simply being with him was enough. I miss feeling like as long as I had Trey by my side, everything else would fall into place. Can we ever be like that again?

I don’t know how that can happen, considering that law forbidding Zordis from being with Ordinaries. If the zovernment is afraid that I’ll find out about their world, that ship has sailed. Maybe now I can be an exception. Is that a thing? Can they make exceptions?

I can’t be the first Ordinary who has found out about Zordis. Trey mentioned that they erase the memories of those people, but since they can’t do that with me, what would happen instead? I’m not sure if I want to find out.

I know we’ve made it to Chinatown when some reddish-orange pagoda roofs with curved edges appear in the distance. The signs say things like thai food, pho, and sushi . Still no dragon statues warding off bad people, but there is a golden statue of an Asian man riding a horse.

Trey leads me past a bunch of shops. Most of them look slow and empty. The parking lot is pretty vacant too.

We’re walking past more shops when Trey stops and his body goes rigid. I follow his gaze to a storefront window, where a bunch of miniature golden cat statues are waving at us with one arm. Trey stares at them like they’re about to spring alive and attack him.

Suddenly, he grabs my hand. Then he flips around and scans the parking lot.

I give him a moment before asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” With a tug on my arm, we continue walking. Not even for a second does Trey release his firm grip on me. I don’t mind. It’s giving me a sense of comfort and safety.

His mind power must be some type of danger alarm. That’s how he knew that teenage boy was getting hurt. That’s how he can know if a Royal is close. If his danger alarm went off just now, why aren’t we trying to hide?

My feet are achy by the time we stop outside a store with a turned-off neon sign that says ginseng . The inside is dark and messy. Cardboard boxes are scattered all over the floor.

A handwritten note on a blank sheet of paper is taped to the inside of the door.

Closed for remodeling. Reopen Oct 1.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Trey grumbles.

“Is there another Healer nearby?”

Trey responds to my question by banging on the glass door. “Hello?”

I seize his arm. “Stop! Didn’t you read the sign? They’re closed.”

He ignores me and slams his other palm against the glass. “We need help! Please!”

“Trey!” I try shoving him from the store, but it’s like trying to move a house. He barely budges. “Stop it. No one’s here.”

“Yes, there is. Two people are inside this shop, and they heard me. They’re just refusing to come out.”

“How do you know? Can you see through walls?”

He knocks again. “Please! It’s urgent!” He bangs some more until his fist stops in midair. “Thank fuck. Someone’s coming.”

A short Asian man in his early sixties glares at Trey and me as he unlocks the door. He opens it a crack just so he can yell at us in his thick Chinese accent. “Can you read duh sign? Open October one! Right now, not October one!”

“We need your help,” Trey says.

“Come back October one.” The man is about to shut the door when Trey sticks his arm through the opening.

“Please, I’m begging you. She’s hurt. All she needs is a little Healing Goo.”

I’m not the one who needs the most healing; Trey is.

The gray-haired man wiggles a finger in the air. “You know duh law. No healing foh her.”

“She already knows about us.”

The Asian man scolds Trey like a father would a son for swearing when he shouldn’t have. “You should be in z-prison then. Now go away before I report you to duh Enforcers.”

“Please! She’s sliced badly.” Trey points at the bloodstained T-shirt wrapped around my arm.

The Asian man is still unfazed. “Maybe next time you don’t play with sharp tings.”

“She was kidnapped by the Royals. They’re the ones who hurt her. Please? I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Royals?” The Asian man’s eyes go wide as he shoves, or attempts to shove, Trey from the door. “No, no, no! Go away! Do not bring dem here. I don’t want trouble.”

Trey opens his mouth, probably about to beg again, when a woman yelling from inside the store stops him. She’s yelling in Chinese, and she doesn’t sound happy. The Asian man responds in the same language in an equally yelly tone. The woman shouts back, then appears from around a shadowy corner. She looks a few years younger than the man—probably his wife.

With a hand to her chest, she gasps. Slowly, she approaches the door. The whole time, she stares at Trey with her mouth wide open. It’s not the same astonishment he usually gets from the young women who recognize him off social media. This lady’s shock feels different. Maybe she recognizes him from the news. If that’s the case, why is she not running to call the police? Instead, she’s... tearing up? Huh?

“Are you...” She takes a step closer. “Are you Trey Grant?”

Trey grips my arm. He looks like he’s about to run away and drag me with. “Who wants to know?”

“Wow. You are not a kid anymore, but it’s definitely you. You look so much like your father.” The lady turns to her husband, scolding him. “Trey Grant shows up at our door, and you want to kick him away? How ungrateful!”

The Asian man throws his arms up. “How was I supposed to know who he is? He is not wearing a name tag.”

“Please excuse my husband’s cluelessness.” With a beaming smile, the lady shoves her husband aside and waves for us to enter their shop. “Come in, come in. Let me get a better look at you.”

I glance at Trey, who looks back at me with a weary look. Still, he grips my hand tightly, and we enter the store.

While the Asian man locks the door behind us, the lady gapes up at Trey. He’s almost two heads taller than her.

“Wow. You’re so big, and tall, and very handsome. Look at your arms.” She takes the liberty of squeezing his muscular bicep. “I can’t believe it’s really you. And who’s your friend? She’s so beautiful. Very long hair and—” The lady with no boundaries is about to touch my waves when Trey extends a protective arm in front of me and pulls me behind him.

“Don’t touch her. Tell me who you are. How do you know me?”

The lady is unbothered by Trey’s ready to attack stance. She slaps a hand against her forehead. “Oh, right! I apologize. I’m being rude. Of course you don’t remember. My name is Li-Fong. Most people call me Li. You used to call me Auntie Li-Li. This is my husband, Tao. Your parents were our best friends. Come, come. I’ll show you.”

Trey gives me a look like, should we follow this lady? I respond with a shrug. Curiosity must take him over, because he grabs my hand again. Then we follow the eager woman through her dimly lit store that smells of herbs, spices, and dry earth.

“Watch your step,” Li says. “We’re remodeling. There’s stuff everywhere.”

She’s not exaggerating. The shelves are covered with giant glass jars filled with dehydrated things. I can’t even begin to guess what they are. Boxes are stacked on top of each other so high, I’d need a ladder to reach the top. I can barely see any of the wood flooring through this chaos.

Li takes us down a long flight of stairs, flipping lights on along the way. The steps creak under our feet. When we reach the bottom, she flips more lights on. The basement is one big room that’s dim, cool, and has equally as much stuff everywhere.

One half of the basement is a little kitchen featuring cluttered countertops and a dining table for two. Opposite of that is a small living room with a loveseat and some end tables covered with old books.

The other side of the basement looks like a giant office, with an array of desks, chairs, and storage shelves along the walls. Every surface is littered with big books, glass jars, and tattered boxes.

On a desk in the corner is a bunch of papers with Chinese characters written on them. From the bottom drawer, Li drags out a photo album and flips some pages until she finds what she’s looking for. She removes one of the 4x6 prints from the book and hands it to Trey. He accepts it with the hand that’s not holding mine.

“This picture was taken when you were only a year old,” Li says.

Trey gapes at the photo with his mouth slightly open. I steal a glance too. The picture features five people standing outside this shop with a banner above them that says grand opening!

Younger versions of Li and Tao are standing next to Trey’s mom, who’s holding baby Trey over her hip. On the other side of Trey’s mom is a younger version of Victor. In the picture, he’s smiling so brightly, I barely recognize him. I’ve only ever seen Victor scowling. It’s weird to see him look so happy.

“Your parents came to visit on opening week to help us kick off this shop,” Li says. “For many years, they visited almost every month. They always brought you to play with our kids, who are slightly older than you. I doubt you remember them either.”

“I don’t,” Trey says with his attention still glued to the photo.

“My husband is the original Healer who provided the teardrops for your parents to research and develop the formula for Healing Products. Our cut of the royalties allows us to live a pretty good life.”

“Uh...” Trey points to the picture. “This is definitely me, and that’s definitely my mom, but that’s not my dad. That’s my uncle, Victor. My dad and Victor were born only fourteen months apart, and they looked a lot alike, so a lot of people got them confused.”

Li stares at Trey for a lingering second before she turns to Tao, who’s leaned against a table behind us. She says something to him in Chinese. Tao responds in Chinese with a half shrug. Li says something while gesturing at Trey, and Tao responds in more Chinese. They do this back and forth for a moment before Li’s attention returns to Trey.

“All right,” Li says. “We decided you should know the truth.”

Trey’s shoulders go taut. “What truth?”

“Victor is not your uncle. He’s your father.”