Page 11 of Silver Elite

I thought Cross was his surname.

It’s not. It’s his first name.

Last name Redden.

My throat burns with self-loathing as I replay this morning’s interaction in my mind. I let him whisper in my ear. I let my pulse race for him. I was attracted to him.

Was being the crucial word here, because the moment Lyddie’s revelation absorbs into my bloodstream, all the attraction is sucked out of me like a poison.

I was aware that Merrick Redden had children, but he’s always kept them out of sight. Every broadcast I’ve seen him give, he’s been alone. He doesn’t even have his wife at his side, and I know he’s married.

“Ah. Well, now it makes sense how someone so young climbed the ranks this fast.” I try to cover my shock with a sarcastic retort.

Lyddie shakes her head in earnest. “Oh no. From what I’ve heard, he’s earned every star.”

Was I ever this na?ve?

“His older brother is a colonel,” she adds.

“Right, and I’m sure he’s a Command super soldier who’s also earned every star.”

“Travis works in Intelligence.”

“Atten-tion,” Hadley shouts, and the entire room goes quiet so fast, it’s almost disorienting.

My muscles tense at the sound of Hadley’s voice. Every time I see his face or hear him speak, I think about Morlee and want to strangle him.

Cross strides to the front of the room and surveys the assembled recruits. “I’m Cross Redden, Silver Block’s captain of operations.” He nods toward the older captain standing a few feet away. “This is Deron Radek, our administrative captain.”

Radek nods in terse greeting.

“I won’t take up much of your time,” Cross says. “I want each of you to look at the person to your left, then the person to your right.”

I dutifully play along, glancing from Lyddie to Kaine.

“These are your fellows. And in here, you’re only as strong as your weakest fellow.”

I expect him to punctuate that with some saccharine horseshit about how this means we should all band together and raise one another up. The strong support the weak until the weak are strong enough to support themselves. Unity prevails!

Instead, he says, “Weakness doesn’t belong here. In Silver Block, we eat the weak. We cut them out like a cancer.”

Oh, maybe I’m the na?ve one. So much for team unity.

His eyes, that hypnotizing shade of blue, seem to bore into each recruit with a steely intensity, as if searching for any sign of weakness.

“For the next eight weeks, you’ll need to demonstrate how strong you are, because that’s the only way to make it to Silver Block.”

Despite his youth, there’s a gravity to his demeanor that belies his age, a sense of experience beyond his years that lends weight to his words. He speaks with authority that commands respect. It’s incredibly sexy.

General’s son, Wren.

I inwardly blanch. I fuel myself with the reminder. On the hierarchy of enemy, this man has now moved into the top three.

“For the next eight weeks, my word is the only word that matters in this facility. I’ll be monitoring your progress, as well as joining you on certain ops.”

“Yes, please,” Lyddie mumbles under her breath. I poke her in the ribs.

“Every single daily report is sent to me. If I decide that you need to be cut, then you will be cut. If I decide you merit a second chance, you’ll get a second chance.” His gaze sweeps the crowd. “I’m not a fan of those, however. And I use them sparingly, so I advise you to do well the first time. At Silver Block, we only accept the best.”

“How do you get into Elite?” someone calls out.

The look Cross levels him with is ice-cold. “Recruit 18…Did I say you could speak?”

He’s greeted with silence.

“Oh, now you’re shy? Answer the question. Did I give you permission to speak?”

The shamefaced boy ducks his head. “No, sir.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

It’s annoying how turned on I am, hearing him cut the guy down.

“And let me squash all your hopes right now,” Cross continues. “There’s no way to guarantee being shortlisted for Silver Elite. Getting the top score in all your classes means shit. Showing off, equally futile. Elite candidates are handpicked by me, and my selection process is none of your godfucking business.”

Beside me, Kaine gives a soft snicker.

“If you’re on the shortlist, you’ll find out at the end of the Program.”

At that, he tips his head at the other captain, who steps forward. Radek has the kind of voice that sounds like he regularly swallows handfuls of broken glass.

“We do not enforce the laws,” Radek says. “That is the responsibility of Tin Block. We do not patrol the streets—that is the responsibility of Copper and Gold. Our skills are better utilized for more critical duties. Our mission is to locate Faithful camps and disband them. To detect criminal enterprises within our cities and dismantle them. To rid our streets and our wards of silverbloods.”

It takes a supreme effort to mask my anger.

“But the Aberrant are not the only threat to the Continent and our way of life—”

He stops midsentence as the double doors across the room burst open, sending a blast of cool air through the gym.

The latecomer strolls inside, his arrival disrupting the assembly with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He looks younger than me, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. Tall, leanly muscled, with angular features and pronounced cheekbones. He looks familiar, but I’m certain I’ve never seen him before.

My gaze tracks his lazy, arrogant swagger. His blue shirt is untucked. Zipper undone. He tugs it up as he walks, unfazed by the disapproving glares directed his way.

When he notices Radek and Cross, he gives a magnanimous gesture of his hand. “Oh, please continue,” he cracks. “Don’t mind me.”

I swallow a laugh. Others aren’t as successful, as some titters go through the crowd.

Visibly irritated, Cross stalks toward the source of interruption, who holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“Calm down now, Captain.”

“Who is that?” I whisper to Lyddie.

“His brother,” she whispers back.

My brows fly up. “The colonel?”

“No. This is his half brother, Roe. He’s younger.” My new favorite Lyddie makes an appearance, the one whose voice thickens at the merest hint of scandal. “He’s the General’s bastard.”

I perk up. Excellent. Family skeletons mean more intelligence for my arsenal. Maybe I can find a way to use this against the captain, if the opportunity arises.

Cross reaches the younger man, and I watch their exchange with interest. The insolence flashing in Roe’s eyes. The hard set of Cross’s jaw. Cross is an inch or two taller, but they’re nearly at eye level. Tension hangs in the air between them, so thick I can feel it from where I stand. A mountain of unspoken issues looms between these two.

Cross leans in and mutters something none of us can hear. But his brother’s dark eyes flare. Then he slaps the younger guy’s shoulder—not good-naturedly, but in warning—and walks out of the room.

Jaw coiled tight, Roe stands there, fuming at whatever was muttered in his ear, until Xavier Ford steps forward and barks for him to join the group.

—

I spend most of the morning meal sneaking glances at the General’s bastard. He seems close with Anson, which is already cause for alarm. But even if he weren’t friendly with the creepiest guy in our cell, I would have clocked him as dangerous. The energy he gives off makes every hair on my body stand on end.

According to my source, our first class is a weapons assessment. We find ourselves in a dimly lit shooting range, where the metallic tang of gun oil hangs heavy in the air. Rows of targets line the far wall, and I can’t stop the twinge of anticipation in my gut.

Everyone shuffles into formation. I take my place among them, trying to blend in, trying not to stand out.

Ford is about to get us started when Cross enters the range. I hate how my gaze is instantly drawn to him. He joins his lieutenant, and together they make an undeniably imposing pair. Both tall and broad, their gazes shrewd, their body language promising everyone around them that they can and will kill in a heartbeat if necessary.

I notice Ivy watching Cross, too. Her gaze doesn’t convey blatant longing, but it follows his every action, however minute. Even the way he pushes a lock of hair away from his forehead earns Ivy’s intense scrutiny.

“Let’s go. Arm up,” Ford tells us, while Cross checks something on his tablet.

One by one, recruits step up, grabbing a rifle from the rack.

When it’s my turn, Cross lifts his head and glances at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “We’re in luck today, everyone,” he announces. “We have a crack shot in our midst.”

“Hardly,” I say.

I keep my expression neutral, but I hear his voice in my head, telling me he’d seen the shot that saved Rachel’s son. If my goal is to not draw attention to myself, then I can’t be making shots like that today.

“Darlington, why don’t you start us off?” Ford is clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I suppress a grimace and step forward.

“This should be fun,” drawls Roe. I notice that, like Ivy’s, his eyes never stray too far from Cross.

As the targets slide into place downrange, I raise the rifle to my shoulder, letting my fingers dance lightly over the familiar contours of the grip. I take aim, squinting down the sight. My finger hovers over the trigger, but instead of focusing on the bull’s-eye, I let my gaze wander, deliberately aiming slightly off center.

“Any day now,” Ford mocks.

The shot rings out, my bullet striking the edge of the target with a dull thud.

“I believe that’s what they call anticlimactic,” Roe says, drawing some chuckles.

Ford’s eyebrows lift in amusement. “Again.”

Whispers ripple through the class as I fire, intentionally missing my mark for a second time. I look over to see Kess and Ivy snickering.

Cross is watching me intently. This time it’s he who says, “Again.”

I fire again. Miss again.

The laughter of my “fellows” and Ford’s widening smirk grate, but I maintain the facade of incompetence. The bull’s-eye never once sees lead. With each shot, I aim wide, my bullets scattering across the target in a haphazard pattern. Sweat beads on my forehead as I fight my natural instincts.

Being bad at something is hard.

“Well, shit,” Ford remarks. “You’re pitiful, sweetling.”

Kess snorts. Loudly.

The corners of my mouth twitch with the urge to show them just how useless I am. But the entire point was to give a performance convincing enough to keep me off their radar, so I grit my teeth and swallow my pride.

Instead I say, “Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want,” he replies to the great delight of the other recruits. I see Roe grinning. Anson chuckles, a sound like gravel scraping against metal.

I shift my attention to Cross, peering at him with the utmost innocence. “Would you like me to keep shooting, Captain?”

A muscle in his jaw tics, but I can’t tell if he’s irritated or trying to hold back a smile. Then he writes something on his tablet and glances at his lieutenant. “Who’s next?”