Page 19

Chapter Nineteen

Sera

I sit outside a rundown bar. It looks abandoned. The sun has stained the exterior a blood-red color. Broken glass litters the surrounding street. The nearest building also looks abandoned as well. It’s like a little corner of the apocalypse.

Sera: Are you sure this is the place?

I text Luke, sending him a photo of the bar.

Sera: You said it was your ‘special little place’.

He replies right away.

Luke: Yes, that's it. I’m in here now.

I grind my teeth, thinking about the interview that was uploaded to Cynthia Linx’s online channel an hour ago.

Sera: Why did you say that stuff in the interview, and how did she upload it so fast?

Luke: We recorded it two days ago, sweet pea. I had to say what I had to say because it was what I had to say.

I read the text a few times, trying to make sense of it. It just doesn’t feel like Luke. It feels strange, even his wording sounds off. I try to call him, but he rejects it.

Luke: We’ll be talking in person any second now.

Sera: Why won’t you answer the phone? Are you mad I didn’t tell you the truth about TechGuard right away?

Luke: A little, but that’s not why I won’t answer. I want to talk with you in person.

Sera: Then come out here.

Luke: If you’re certain, that’s what you want.

I stare at the bar, keeping my engine running, ready to drive away at the first sign of trouble. This situation is giving me seriously bad vibes, and I’m not sure what’s happening. I grew up in a dangerous neighborhood, around desperate people, and there’s something about Luke’s messages that are giving me similar feelings.

As crazy as it seems, I’m thinking that somehow, somebody switched Luke’s number in my phone. This person doesn’t text like Luke?—

I scream when my passenger-side window is smashed, turning away and covering my face. Before I can think about driving away, somebody has leaned into the shattered window and reached all the way across, poking something cold and metal against my head.

“Get out of the car. Slowly.”

“Please,” I whisper. “Damien?”

“You’re even cleverer than I thought. Come on now, sweet pea. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Trembling, I opened the car door and climbed out. I remember what Luke said about Damien being desperate and manic. I need to act fast in case he does something he might come to regret… but it’ll be too late for me.

He walks around the car, keeping the gun trained on me. He’s definitely the guy who spilled coffee all over my laptop. His hand trembles as he gestures with the firearm. “To the bar. Now.”

Nothing good will happen if I do what he says. I need to stall. This may be a quiet neighborhood, but I saw a car go by a few minutes ago. If I get lucky, maybe another car will notice us. Damien isn't exactly being subtle with the gun he’s waving around.

“How did you switch the number?” I say, trying to get him talking.

He smiles thinly. “This goes deeper than you can imagine. This goes to the root of your entire existence, girl.”

“Did you break into my…” No, that’s not it. Oh, fuck. “You threatened Ellie, didn’t you? When I visited her, I went to the bathroom. I left my phone with her. Right before I left, she looked… terrified. You threatened an innocent woman who has cancer .”

He walks right up to me, prodding me with the gun, causing a fresh wave of terror to drench my entire being. “I’d change your tone if I were you.”

“But I’m right.”

“Luke owes me. His entire company owes me. I’m the man behind it all. I’m the kingpin. I’m the big dog.” He barks in my freaking face. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Now – walk .”

With no other choice, I move slowly across the street, holding my hands high above my head, praying someone will notice me. I take small, slow steps, then stop, panting as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack. It’s easy to fake it… or I’m not totally faking it.

“Walk, bitch, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

“Puh-please,” I say, almost choking on the word. “Please, just let me?—”

“ Walk. Oh, fuck…”

That’s when I hear it, the sound of tires approaching. I want to cry out in relief, but I can’t claim victory. I need them to stop, I need them to care enough to save a life. Thankfully, I still have my hands up in the air.

All I’m hoping for is a distraction to run away, but when I turn to look, I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see. A man with a big, bushy mustache pokes his head out of his pickup, holding none other than a shotgun. He looks like can handle the gun well. It is Florida, after all.

“What do we have here?” the man yells.

“Mind your business, old man,” Damien yells. “Or I shoot the bitch.”

“You shoot her, I shoot you, mister.”

“You can shoot me; I’m already dead.”

“But there are things you want to do,” I say. “Think, Damien. If it all ends here, how will you get what’s owed to you? How will you take control of NeuroDrive? You need to stay alive long enough to take what’s rightfully yours, don’t you? You need to be smart about this.”

Damien groans. “I’m accurate with this gun, mister .”

“That makes two of us,” the man says, racking his rifle. Damien must not know a lot about guns because a shotgun isn’t a firearm known for it’s precision. A buckshot could take us both out. So, either the big man is bluffing, or he’s as crazy as Damien.

“Now get!”

Damien doesn’t say anything for a minute, but my potential savior isn’t too patient.

“Move it now! This is your last warning.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to back up, but I’m keeping the gun aimed on her. If you make a move I don’t like, I’m going to blow her fucking brains all over the road. Got it?”

“And if you make a move I don’t like, I’m going to explode your head like a watermelon dropped off a skyscraper. Just so we’re clear.”

The next several seconds are tense as pure terror pulses through me. Damien backs away. I can’t see him, since he’s behind me, but I know where he is because the driver never takes the barrel of his gun from him. Damien climbs into a car and screeches away, but the man never lowers his weapon.

When he’s gone, I slump to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest and shivering. I can’t stop. The man climbs from his truck and drapes a blanket over my shoulders. Soon, there are sirens in the air. Despite that, I can’t stop shivering.

For the next two hours, I go from the hospital to the police station. I give them my statement about Damien, starting in Vegas and ending with the switched phone numbers. He’s still at large, so they put a police escort on me. They try to comfort me by saying they’ve informed all their officers to be on the lookout for him. His travel is also going to be restricted.

I feel raw after what happened. As the police give me a ride, I take out my phone, open my socials, then mentally kick myself. I’ve got several messages from Luke.

Luke: Sparkplug, is everything okay?

Luke: Whatever this is, we can talk about it. I know our time in Vegas meant something to you. I know you felt the magic too. Whatever’s happening, we can fix it – together.

I try to call him via socials, but he must not have any signal. Navigating my phone, I go to my blocked numbers… and there it is, his real number. I unblock it and then try to call him, but it goes to voicemail.

The police cruiser stops outside the medical center. Perhaps I’m stupid for coming here, but I need to hear Ellie say it. She’s ill. Fine, I get that. But she still fucking betrayed me. I walk to the reception desk and ask to see her. The receptionist looks at me weirdly, and I realize I’ve got dried tears streaking my cheeks.

Before I head to her room, I go to the ladies and clean myself up. Cold water on my face, a few deep breaths, and I’m ready I go to Ellie, mostly.

She’s on her feet, standing at the window, her eyes raw and red, her hands clasped in front of her like she’s praying. She bursts into tears when she sees me.

I resist the almost overpowering urge to rush toward her. “Are you surprised to see me?”

“I saw you arrive in a police car,” she murmurs. “I was in the activities room.”

“You saw me in a police car, and you burst into tears, Ellie,” I say, struggling not to cry. It keeps coming in waves: no, tsunamis. “Why would that be? Why would you see me in a cop car and start crying, unless you knew Damien was out to get me?”

“Eh-Ellie…” She drops into her seat, crumpling like the life is draining out of her.

I walk up behind her, reach out… then stop myself. Instead, I sit on the chair next to her, but keep my hands in my lap. “What happened?” I snap.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“You’re going to need to do better than that.”

She stares at me with a heartbreaking expression. “All I know is, Graham told me I had to do what Damien said. I had to. He said he’d thought of everything. He claimed to have rehearsed every scenario a thousand times in his mind.”

“Batshit crazy,” I mutter, not sure what else to say.

“But he was right. He said if you came to me, I had to get your phone. I had to block Luke’s number and change the contact to his number. He said if I didn’t, he would hurt me, and he would hurt Graham. Damien didn’t give us any choice.”

“So before, when I visited, you were playing up your condition, pretending it was worse than it is so you could get my defenses down. You were playing me,” I nearly screech.

“I’m so sorry.”

“He tried to kill me,” I yell, jumping to my feet. “Ellie, I loved you. How could you do this? I’d die before I did something like this to you. Do you understand?”

“That’s enough.”

I turn at the sound of Graham’s voice. He stands at the door… and of course, he’s got tears in his eyes too. It seems the pair of them believe that having the tiniest shred of remorse makes this all A-freaking-okay.

“So, it’s fine for your shit to almost get me killed, but I can’t be mad about it?”

“I told you I could handle this alone,” Ellie says to Graham.

He sighs, his hands on his hips. His lips tremble as he tries not to cry. It’s making me want to weep with them, like some warped version of the life we should live, all in this together, handling this mess as a cohesive unit instead of them conspiring against me.

“We needed the money,” he whispers.

“I know. Damien got a payout. He has the funds to help Ellie. Our department is the ass of TechGuard. They don’t give us the benefits we deserve. I get all that. But how could you do this to me?”

“How was I supposed to know that you were going to get involved with Luke Cross?” Graham snaps. “How could I possibly see that happening? Seriously. Explain that to me. Make it make sense. Was I supposed to know that he’d be waiting to fix your laptop? That you’d end up dating?”

“You sent Damien after me before I met Luke,” I hiss. “He was the one who spilled coffee all over the laptop. Why, Graham? Was there something on there you didn’t want me to see?”

“He said he wouldn’t hurt you, and he didn’t,” Graham mutters.

“But after ? You must’ve known he was going to do something rash when I dug deeper.”

Graham buries his face in his hands and sobs violently. Ellie cries too. I storm past Graham, completely sick of them.

“Sera, wait?—”

But I ignore him. I’m tired of it. Waiting. I’ve done enough. I waited for Mom and Dad to prioritize me over their addiction, waited for Graham and Ellie to be the role models they seemed to be when we first met. Waited for life to stop being so chaotic.

The cops give me a ride home once I exit the medical center. I rush upstairs, full of manic energy, pacing around, not sure what to do. I end up cleaning the apartment. Seriously, it’s the only way to keep myself busy, mindlessly scrubbing and vacuuming, losing myself in the simplicity of it.

Hours pass with me in this trance. My phone goes off several times: Graham first calling, then texting me.

Graham: We’re so sorry. Let’s talk about this.

There’s nothing to talk about. Perhaps he had a good reason, wanting to care for Ellie. Maybe that was enough of a reason to sabotage Luke’s keynote speech, considering nobody would get hurt. But the rest of it? Switching the numbers? Helping Damien set up a trap for me?

He calls me several more times. I ignore my phone, but then it becomes too much. I can’t stand the noise of the ringtone. Reaching for my phone, I answered without looking at the screen.

“Don’t you get it?” I yell. “I don’t want anything to do with you. I never have – got it?” I’m ranting, saying things I don’t mean, but it comes tumbling out in a flurry of pure hated and betrayal. “You took pity on me, good for you. Should I be grateful? Should I spend the rest of my life on my knees, singing your praises? You’re nothing to me.”

I hang up the phone, then toss it onto the couch. Screw them. I don’t want anything to do with them. Ever. I don’t need anybody…

Except Luke.