Page 14 of Silver Elite

This is my chance.

Unless it’s a trap.

It has to be a trap, right?

Why else was the delivery gate left inexplicably ajar? Why is there a motorcycle here?

Either fate herself is extending a hand to me, or Cross Redden set a trap for me. A test. Will Recruit 56 stay put like a good little soldier or will she try to run?

I stop walking.

“You okay?” Kaine says.

Drawing a steadying breath, I glance at the motorcycle, then at Kaine. He’s watching me with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“What’s going on, Darlington?”

“You should go back to the barracks,” I tell him.

My gaze shifts to the bike again, then conducts a scan of our surroundings, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. About fifty yards away, the nearest guard tower looms ominously, its searchlight sweeping the grounds.

Timing is everything.

“Darlington…” It’s a warning. “Whatever you’re thinking right now…”

“Just go back to the barracks, Sutler. I’ll see you later.”

“Wren,” he growls, but I’m already darting forward, adrenaline sizzling through my veins.

I reach the motorcycle, my fingers trembling as I grasp the handlebars. A thumb pad is required to start the engine, but whoever the bike belongs to didn’t lock it. I swing my leg over, straddling the machine, and, with a rueful glance at Kaine, start the engine.

It roars to life. Without a second of hesitation, I twist the throttle and the bike surges forward, the sudden speed throwing me back. The open gate is right there. I lean into the handlebars, urging the motorcycle faster, and the world blurs around me, only the narrow path ahead in focus.

I speed through the gate, the cool night air whipping against my face. It’s an exhilarating feeling—freedom. A wild, intoxicating sensation that seizes my chest as I race down a long, paved road. Behind me, the Command base recedes into the darkness, the oppressive weight of its walls lifting from my shoulders. Ahead of me, the open road stretches out like an invitation to the unknown.

It takes a moment to gather my bearings when the road comes to an abrupt end. I need to turn. But do I turn left or right…Sanctum Point is east of here. It’ll be impossible to stay hidden in the city. Too many patrols. Drones.

I go left. E Ward borders the Point, and all those boring geography classes I suffered through in lower school taught me that E is basically one massive forest. If I could reach the forest, I could disappear.

I give the bike more gas, but it’s still not moving fast enough for me. I’d kill for a speed bike right about now. I’ve never ridden one, but Tana has. She said when that chemical thrust kicks in, it feels like a rocket ship launching into outer space.

The wind hisses and screeches past my ears, stinging my face, but I can’t slow down. This was either the best decision I’ve ever made in my life, or the dumbest, and I’m rapidly leaning toward the latter. I can’t shake the rising tension in my body, the fear that someone will come after me. I push the bike harder, and the engine’s growl is like a defiant roar in the night.

The landscape blurs past in streaks of black and gray, illuminated only by the thin beam of the motorcycle’s headlight. I’ve just glimpsed what look like treetops in the distance when I hear it.

A second engine.

“Hellfuck!” I shout into the wind.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and see the other motorcycle bearing down on me, growing larger with each passing second. It’s moving fast. Speed bike, for certain.

Panic grips me, and I work the throttle harder, my engine screaming in protest as I try to outrun my pursuer. But he only keeps gaining on me. I see his headlight dancing in the corners of my vision. My pulse pounds in my ears, every muscle in my body coiled as I push the bike to its limits.

I look behind me again and stifle a scream of frustration.

Cross.

His face is barely visible in the shadows, but that smug smirk is unmistakable. He’s enjoying this. The thrill of the hunt.

My fingers tighten around the handlebars, knuckles white with tension. There must be a way out, a path that doesn’t end with my recapture. But the barren road stretches endlessly ahead. Where the hell is the forest?

“Darlington! Pull over.”

His voice is muffled by the wind. He’s closed the gap between us, riding alongside me now.

I clench my jaw and refuse to look at him. “Go away!” I shout back. “I’m busy!”

“You’re really going to want to pull over,” is his barely audible reply.

And then, in the distance, I see it. The faint, eerie glow of a force field.

My heart sinks. If I keep going, I’ll crash into it at full speed and be electrocuted, fried to a crisp before I even have a chance to taste freedom.

But I can’t stop, damn it.

“Stop, damn it,” Cross growls.

The force field grows closer, its shimmering aura hanging like a curtain of tiny stars across the night sky. Maybe I could—

What? challenges my incredulous inner voice. Kill myself via a deadly electric current?

I realize Cross isn’t beside me anymore. He decelerated. I guess he doesn’t have a death wish.

The force field is less than twenty feet away now. Defeat and anger bubble up inside me, a fierce, helpless rage. With a desperate tug, I yank the handlebars, trying to stop. The tires screech in protest, the bike fishtails wildly, and I lose control, the ground rushing up to meet me as I’m thrown from the seat.

I hit the ground hard. A sharp pain slices through my cheek as it scrapes against the rough surface. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I groan, pushing myself up on trembling arms, as my ears ring and my chest heaves for breath. The motorcycle lies a few feet away, its engine still rumbling softly before sputtering to a stop.

Cross’s footsteps don’t even make a sound as he approaches me.

“Really? A force field?” I mutter at him. “Seems like a colossal waste of resources to install a field out here.”

“Actually, it’s been a great investment. You’d be surprised how many deserters this thing has caught.”

He reaches out to help me up. I slap his hand away, glaring at him.

“I don’t need your help,” I snarl, wiping the blood from my face with the back of my hand. “And I’m not a deserter.”

That earns me a low chuckle. “No? Then what do you call this thrilling chase we just embarked on?”

I shrug, finally managing to rise to my feet. “I wanted to feel the wind on my face.”

Cross steps closer. His dark hair is windblown, and he runs his fingers through it, drawing my attention to his inked arm. He has the kind of tattoos you need to study in detail. From far away, they appear like meaningless swirls and spirals, but standing this close to him, I realize I’m looking at wings and flames, with tiny lines of text weaving through the designs. I resent the curiosity they evoke.

This is General Redden’s son.

I shouldn’t care what his ink means.

I shouldn’t notice how dangerous it makes him look.

I shouldn’t find that danger embarrassingly sexy.

“So this was…what? A joyride?” His arched brow tells me he doesn’t buy the horseshit I’m selling.

“Yep.”

I wipe both palms on the front of my pants, then wince when I realize tiny pieces of gravel are embedded in my flesh. That skid across the road is going to leave more than a few cuts and bruises.

“But,” I continue, dropping my hands to my sides, “for argument’s sake, if I did try to escape, would you really blame me? I told you I didn’t want to join the Program. I don’t want to be here.”

His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away. “You want out that badly? Fine. You win. I’ll release you from the Program.”

“You will?” I nearly keel over with relief. “You’ll send me back to Z?”

“No.”

I nod at that, resignation settling. “A labor camp, then?”

“No. If you leave the Program, the only place you’re going is back to the stockade.”

“For how long?” I demand.

“For as long as I want to keep you there.”

Cross walks over to my fallen motorcycle. I watch the strong lines of his body as he bends to right the bike. I can’t escape the constant flutter of desire whenever I’m near that stupid body.

“Get on,” he orders.

I stay rooted in place. The stockade? God. No. I can’t go back there. Back to that small room with its tiny window and suffocating walls. He could keep me locked up in there for months, years even, out of pure spite. The prospect of losing what little freedom I have is terrifying. My mind races in search of an alternative.

“Please. Let me return to my ward.” I almost cringe at the desperation I hear in my voice.

He hears it, too, because when he walks toward me, his expression softens just a fraction, a hint of something almost like sympathy flickering in his gaze.

Then he says, “No.”

I gulp hard, the reality of my situation sinking in. “There has to be a way for us to reach some sort of agreement.” I study him for a long moment. “There must be something I can do to convince you to send me home.”

I don’t miss the way his eyes flare with heat. At least I think it’s heat. Could also be irritation. Revulsion.

But if that was heat…

I swallow again, this time to bring moisture to my suddenly dry mouth. I could do it. There’s no reason why I can’t. In fact, it would be easy to let myself become infected by the twisted morality that governs our world, where the ends always justify the means, no matter the cost.

I erase the distance between us. Neither of us says a word as we face off in the darkness. He’s so much bigger than I am. Taller, broader, more muscular. I feel small and vulnerable standing here with him, in the middle of the empty road. I run my trembling hands through my hair, tucking the tousled strands behind my ears. Cross’s gaze tracks my movements.

“Are you offering to fuck me, Dove?”

His visible humor has me tightening my lips. “If that’s what it takes to strike a deal, then sure, I suppose that’s what I’m offering.”

That dimple grooves his cheek, but his smile is more taunt than agreement. “Really? You’re willing to do anything to strike a deal?”

“Yes.”

His gaze rakes down my body, lingering on the dust coating my clothes, the blood caked onto the skin of my left arm, the arm that dragged along the gravel after I was thrown from the bike. This time, there’s no mistaking the desire in his eyes.

“All right.” His voice is thick, rough. “Come here.”

I can’t will my legs to move. I stand motionless, my pulse speeding up as I watch Cross bring both his hands to his waistband. I can scarcely breathe. In one deft motion, he pops open the button of his dark pants and then slides the zipper down.

He gives me an expectant look. “I don’t have all night.”

I’m finally able to suck in a breath, but it only succeeds in making me lightheaded. I’m ashamed to feel my lower lip begin to quiver, and I slam my teeth down on it to stop the traitorous response. He’s not allowed to see how shaken I am.

“I…” I inhale again, then wrest my gaze away from his smirking face. “I withdraw the offer.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The asshole is laughing at me as he zips up his pants. He knew from the start I’d never do it. He was just toying with me.

I jolt when I suddenly feel him beside me. His hip jostles mine, our arms brushing, as his mouth hovers right above my ear.

“You’d make a terrible whore, Dove.”

Indignation shoots through me. I shove him away from me, breathing through the anger. “Screw you.”

“Yes, I’m already aware of how much you want that.”

The arrogance dripping from his words grates on my nerves. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His perfect face creases with amusement. “You’re usually a better liar than this. I see the way you look at me.”

A rush of shame floods my belly. The unwanted sensation combines with the fury twisting my insides. I hate that he’s right. There’s an awareness here. Of the sexual variety.

I…might be attracted to him.

So maybe it’s myself that I hate. I’ve slept with soldiers before, but an attraction to Cross is a betrayal like none other. It’s like spitting in the face of every Mod on the Continent.

His last name is Redden. There’s no justification for falling into bed with him. I’d never be able to explain it to Tana, or Wolf, or all the other innocents who have suffered because of the Redden family.

Cross’s lips curl at my silence. “My suggestion? Get that idea out of your head, Darlington. I’m your CO. I don’t screw recruits.” He stalks toward the bike. “Now move your ass. It’s time to go.”

“I’ll stay in the Program.” It takes some effort to grind out the words.

He stops, glancing over at me. “Is that so?”

“Yes. If my choice is between the Program or the stockade, I choose the Program.”

“How magnanimous of you. Now get on the fucking bike.”

—

I wake several hours later to the blinding glare of fluorescent lights. A chorus of groans echoes through the barracks as we all blink against the harsh brightness. I instinctively reach for a rifle that isn’t there.

“Everyone up! Now!” barks Xavier Ford. His voice is a gravelly snarl, slicing through the fog of sleep.

I scramble out of bed, joining my fellows as we stand to attention at the foot of our bunks. My body is still sore from the fall I took earlier, the road burn on my arm stinging when I accidentally run my hand over it.

Ford isn’t alone. Cross strides inside and stops beside his lieutenant. Both men wear black from head to toe. My stomach churns with dread as Cross’s eyes scan the room, finally settling on me with a look that could melt steel.

“Sorry to interrupt everyone’s beauty sleep,” he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. “You can all thank Darlington here for this wake-up call.”

I feel every head in the room swivel toward me. I clench my fists, wishing I could disappear.

“Darlington decided she wanted to feel the wind on her face tonight,” Cross continues. “Stole a Command vehicle and went for a little joyride.”

I don’t need empath powers to sense what everyone is feeling. Their expressions vary from shock to fury and disgust.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I hear Kess mutter.

“So now you’re all going to feel the wind on your faces,” Cross finishes. “Get your gear. You’re running laps until sunrise.”

A collective groan reverberates through the air. Waves of outrage are directed at me, but there’s nothing I can say to make it better. I grab my boots and quickly lace them up.

“Joyride, huh?” murmurs Kaine from the bed next to mine. “Looked like a lot more than that to me.”

“It wasn’t,” I mutter back, avoiding his prying eyes. “I just…I needed to get out.”

From the bunk across from us, Bryce Granger overhears my statement. “Well, now we’re all paying for it,” she snaps. “Thanks a lot.”

“Enough chatter,” Ford says. “Move it.”

As we file out of the barracks, the cold night air hits me like a slap in the face. The base is quiet save for the sound of our boots on the pavement. Ford and Cross lead us to the track that winds around the perimeter of the compound. An open-top truck waits there. Ford slides behind the wheel while Cross settles in the passenger side. Ford lights a joint, looking bored.

“All right, start running,” Cross drawls. “And keep running. You stop, you’re cut from the Program.”

The smirk he aims my way tells me I’m exempt from that threat. If I stop, I go to the stockade.

We take off, a groggy, disorganized mass at first, but eventually we fall into a rhythm. The air is sharp, each breath burning my lungs. I can hear the ragged breathing of the others around me, can feel their resentment like a physical weight.

“Why would you do that, Wren?” Lyddie pants, her voice muffled by the sound of our feet hitting the ground.

Unlike the others, she seems more disappointed than mad. Ugh. I hate it when people are disappointed in me. That’s so much worse.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I just…needed to feel alive.” It’s the best lie I can come up with, and it sounds hollow to my ears.

“Well, congratulations,” I hear Ivy say from behind us. “We’re all feeling real alive right now.”

In front of us, Kess, who’s running alongside Roe and Anson, twists to sneer at me. “Selfish quat,” she hisses. “You’re fucking dead.”

Ford’s voice wafts out of the truck that follows the group at a lazy speed. “Pick up the pace, assholes! You’re moving like snails!”

My legs are screaming, my body pleading for rest, but I push on. The memory of the wind in my hair as I rode away from the base earlier seems so distant now.

“Hey, Darlington,” Betima says with an irritated breath. “Next time you want to feel alive, try not to drag us all down with you, keen?”

Whenever the truck gets close, I resist the urge to look at Cross. Each time we pass an exit gate, I force myself not to cast a longing look toward it. I slip up only once, my gaze lingering on the gates that lead to South Plaza, and I can almost hear Cross’s voice inside my head. Go ahead, try to escape again. I dare you.

No. I won’t be attempting another escape. There’s no room for reckless Wren anymore. I need to be more restrained going forward. If I run, it can’t be a spur-of-the-moment decision like tonight’s haphazard move. It needs to be planned. Methodical.

It’s time to play it smart.