Page 27 of Longing for Liberty

NINETEEN

STATE NEWS: POLLS SHOW STATE CITIZENS ARE HAPPIER THAN EVER IN HISTORY!

I wore my thin, plastic rain jacket when I left the house the next morning, keeping my head down as I walked. A buzz of whispers was in the air, I assumed about last night’s events. Rebecca jogged up to me, holding her jacket’s hood to keep it from blowing off.

We stood at a distance from others, and I whispered, “What happened last night?”

She turned her head enough to peer over at me in question.

“Jeremy didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head, hating the feel of water soaking into my stockings. I peered over at the empty stocks where I’d expected to see somebody this morning.

Rebecca sighed. “That young couple…she killed him. Stabbed him in his sleep.”

I brought my hand up to cover my mouth as shock pummeled me. No words came, but Rebecca kept going.

“It looked like she tried to cut her wrists after, but she was alive when they took her.”

“My gosh,” I whispered. I didn’t want to think about how bad it must have been to get to that point.

“Are you okay?” she asked me as her bus pulled up.

“Yeah…don’t worry about me,” I told her. “Have a good day.”

She rushed forward, and I saw my bus coming up behind hers.

I was glad for the rain that allowed me to keep my head fully down, hiding the way my face must have looked.

When my bus pulled up, I waited in line to climb on, then stood dripping, holding on to the slick bar with my head still down until we got close and I felt the energy change on the bus.

I looked to see a crowd outside, and my heart accelerated.

We climbed off and joined the throng of spectators on the wet sidewalks to the towers, all of us shuffling along slowly, shoes squelching. Finally, whispers made their way down to us.

“A woman is shackled in the square!” someone said.

Oh, no.

“Is she dead?” someone else asked.

“No, she’s alive, in the stocks.”

The people from my neighborhood glanced quietly at one another, and I dropped my head, afraid I might throw up.

It had to be our neighbor girl on public display.

We finally got to the building, but I didn’t join the others going toward the square to gawk despite the rain.

I went straight to Eagle Tower. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing her like that, no matter what she had done.

The Secretary wasn’t home. Thank goodness.

I had a lot of feelings to work through and was terrified I’d break into tears in front of him.

I set my heels neatly by the door and peeled off my wet stockings, bringing them to the bathroom to hang dry.

I took deep breaths as I walked through the penthouse, letting the air out of my lungs slowly.

The rooms were dim with the absence of sunlight through the clouds. Rain pattered against the windows, causing a white noise that helped to soothe my nerves.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat breakfast right away.

First, I stripped the beds and started the wash.

Once my system was calm enough, I ate half of the food, but it didn’t settle easily.

I stopped mid-toilet scrub to sit on the edge of the bathtub while a bout of nausea passed.

When I heard the penthouse door open and close, I stood abruptly, my head spinning.

Amos Fitzhugh was suddenly standing in the bathroom doorway, and my breath caught.

He was wearing gray joggers, tapered at the ankle, and a black tank top that displayed his arms. My eyes greedily drank in the moisture at his hairline as he pushed back the damp locks that had fallen forward.

I’d never seen him in anything but a suit…

and a towel that one time. It felt intimate seeing him like this, coming straight from the gym like a normal person in the old days—which he very much was not .

He eyed me as I placed the toilet scrubber back in its place.

“H-hello, sir. Good morning.” I wiped my hands nervously on my apron.

Once again, the hair flopped onto his forehead, and he pushed his hand through it to force it back. “Your neighborhood has been busy.”

My eyes dropped, along with my stomach, as I nodded. “Too busy, sir.”

“Did you know them?”

I looked directly at the middle of his tank top as my fingers fiddled in front of me. “Not very well.”

He was quiet for a moment. “What were they like?”

I opted for honesty. “She seemed sweet. A little shy. And he was not friendly. He didn’t try to hide that he beat her. Not that it makes it okay what she did.” Ah, fuck . “I’m just telling you what I know.”

“Mm-hm.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest now, and I dropped my gaze to his sneakers.

“I assume she’ll be…?” I couldn’t say the word.

There used to be public executions every week in the first three to four years, some by firing squad, some by noose.

Those had slowed down significantly in the past two years.

I’d forgotten how much I hated them. Every single shot made me jump, triggering panic inside me.

“Yes,” he said, though he seemed to get no pleasure saying it. “After the baby is born.”

My eyes flashed up to his, wide, and I swear he looked regretful.

I swallowed, dropped my eyes, and cleared my throat. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” How horrifying to know you were being kept alive so that your child could be born into this fucked up society, and that you’d never get to be its mother.

“It’s okay to be upset,” he told me as I swallowed down another bout of sentiment.

I shook my head, wishing I could get back to work and not stand here with him staring at me as I tried not to cry about the situation.

“Liberty.” His hand slipped under my chin and lifted my face.

And then he leaned down and kissed me softly.

My body gave a slight jerk of surprise as his warm lips remained over mine for a long moment, sending a tingle of need between my legs.

He pulled away, as serious as ever. “I’m going to shower and then I have work to do. ”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, still stunned by his gentleness as he walked away.

I blinked like a fool for half a minute before pulling myself together and finishing the hall bathroom. Then I found myself touching my lips. Why had he kissed me like that? I really wished he wouldn’t. It was weird and confusing when he was kind.

I scrubbed the toilet way harder than was necessary.

Anticipation had my skin feeling tingly as the Secretary passed me in the hall where I dusted a landscape picture of mountains with a bald eagle flying.

He now wore slacks, shiny dress shoes, and a light blue button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His salt and pepper hair was combed back in waves.

Without a jacket, his gun was on full display. I tried not to look at it.

He barely glanced at me as he took his laptop to the table and opened it, sliding on his black readers.

I let out a quiet breath of relief when it didn’t seem like he wanted anything from me.

He opened a spreadsheet with tons of information written.

What I would have given to get a closer look at that data…

“Liberty?”

I jumped and put a hand to my chest. “Sir?”

His eyes were on the screen. “Would you mind making me a coffee?”

“No, not at all.” I moved toward the kitchen with my dust rag.

“And make one for yourself if you’d like.”

I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned to stare at him, my heart doing a weird kick. Was he serious?

He glanced up. “You don’t like coffee?”

“I-I used to love it, but I haven’t had one in…six years.”

He took his readers off and set them next to his computer, standing to come into the kitchen.

“I have something else that you probably haven’t had in six years.”

My mind went straight into the gutter. “What?”

He opened a cupboard, which I’d opened many times myself, and reached into a higher shelf out of my sight, pulling out two bottles: Jameson whiskey and Disaronno amaretto liqueur. I gasped and automatically looked around as if we’d be caught.

The Secretary gave a dark chuckle. “There are no cameras here—don’t worry.”

Really? No cameras. That was good to know and definitely surprising.

I wondered how old these bottles were—if they were from before the takeover or if the Secretary had a network on the secret market sneaking items in from other countries while the rest of us would be sent to the work prisons for such a thing.

My neck prickled with panic, even knowing we were safe.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Come here.” I moved closer as he poured Jameson into one of the mugs he’d taken down. “Which would you like?”

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “None, sir. Please.”

“Which one, Liberty? You’re safe here.”

I really didn’t want any. It felt so wrong.

But I also realized this was a chance to further earn his trust. I eyed the amaretto and bit my bottom lip.

His lips quirked up on the side for a millisecond before he took that bottle and poured a shot into my cup.

I let out a nervous laugh and covered my mouth.

The sound earned me a sensual look from the Secretary.

For one heated moment I thought he’d bend me over the counter right then, but he held back.

I cleared my throat and went to the coffee maker. It was unlike any I’d used before, looking more like an espresso machine.

“I’ve never used one like this before,” I admitted.

“I’ll show you.”

It had a little rounded cup that he filled with coffee grounds, and I took in a huge whiff of the rich scent.

Then the lid closed over the cup, and he pressed a button to start the process.

It was basically an espresso machine, filling with hot water, then pressing down and opening a lever to drip the coffee into the cup.

My heart was beating like crazy knowing one of these cups was mine.