Page 15 of Silver Elite

By the time I was six years old, I was an expert in survival.

Jim taught me how to build a fire and keep it burning. How to mend my clothes. How to stitch my own wounds.

He taught me to recognize the dangerous plants in the Blacklands and utilize their poisons to eliminate the prey that crept into our clearing when the sun left us.

He taught me to hide when we heard the infrequent roar of a fighter jet powering through the sky, because he wasn’t sure if the gap in the mist was large enough to make us visible from above.

He taught me to defend myself using only my fists, my legs, my teeth. He showed me that any part of my body could be used as a weapon.

He taught me how to stay alive.

All this is to say—I can kick Lyddie De Velde’s delicate ass without breaking a sweat.

And yet I’m currently lying flat on my back, pretending to gasp for air.

Each time she’s come at me, her movements hesitant and clumsy, I’ve let her gain the upper hand. Most of our fellows are busy with their own sparring matches, but a handful gather around us. I suspect they’re all hoping to see me get annihilated on the mat.

It’s been days since we served our collective punishment for my individual infraction, and most of my fellows still haven’t forgiven me for making them run endless laps. Three recruits got cut that night, including the ever-timid Pera. Although with her it was only a matter of time. She was never going to find her footing here. The teenager joined the Program directly out of upper school, which I think was a mistake. At least two-thirds of the other recruits completed a year or more at a job assignment before coming here.

Kess is especially keen to remind me that she hates my guts. But at least she loathes me out loud, whereas Ivy likes to whisper about it in the mess hall with Bryce. Ivy’s always fucking whispering.

Both she and Kess are watching my sparring match this morning. Their laughter grates, but I ignore it, scissoring my legs to disrupt Lyddie’s footing. I use hardly any force, so I expect her to hold her stance.

Instead she goes tumbling to the mat.

Shit!

Would it kill this woman to be better at this?

It isn’t until I intentionally allow her to pin me, her legs straddling my chest, her elbow digging into my windpipe, that Ford allows me to tap out.

“Hell, Darlington, you’re embarrassing yourself,” he sighs as I step off the mats.

“It’s almost as if I don’t belong here,” I say with a pointed stare.

We finish out the day in the shooting range, where our weapons instructor Ivan shows us a new sniper rifle the General is putting into circulation. When it’s my turn to test out the weapon, I chide myself for the excitement simmering in my gut.

There’s only one corporation on the Continent that manufactures firearms: Tecmel. I have a Tecmel rifle at home. Former home, that is. The home that Cross Redden and his despotic father handed to strangers. But this rifle bears a manufacturing stamp I don’t recognize. REMM-4.

“What’s REMM?” I ask Ivan. Nothing displeases me more than conveying genuine interest in this program, but curiosity gets the better of me.

“Defense manufacturer,” the older man replies. He’s got a head of curly gray hair and the steadiest grip I’ve ever seen. “The General just awarded REMM a massive contract to develop a line of weapons for low-light conditions. We’ll be testing this one in the field during your training ops.”

He shows me the clip-on night sight. It’s lightweight. Adjustable. Perfection.

I almost shiver in pleasure. I feel genuine disappointment when I must relinquish the weapon to Ivan.

Kaine pokes me in the ribs. “You look like you want to go to bed with that rifle.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously. You’re panting.” He grins. “For someone who loves firearms this much, you would think you’d be a better shot.”

I offer a sweet smile. “You don’t have to be good at the things you love, Sutler. Sort of like how I imagine you love sex, but are terrible at it.”

That summons a laugh. “Why don’t you find out?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re missing out.”

“I really don’t think I am.”

Lyddie giggles. Everyone in Black Cell has naturally grouped off, and the three of us have formed an unlikely trio. I’m wary of everyone else, especially the Psycho Brigade, which consists of Anson, Roe, and Kess. Interestingly, I notice Ivy standing with their group today. She spends most of her time with Bryce and a male recruit named Jones, so it raises my hackles to see her with those three. They’re huddled around like a pack of white coyotes.

“Your grip is all wrong,” Ivan chastises me when it’s my turn to shoot again. He’s already demonstrated the proper two-handed grip half a dozen times, but silly me, I can’t quite perfect it.

“I’m trying,” I say, feigning helplessness.

“Sutler,” he orders. “Go work with Darlington.”

Well, that backfired.

A grinning Kaine joins me. He looks good today. He always looks good. The problem is, he knows it.

“So, we need to perfect your grip, huh?”

I sigh at his cheeky smile.

“Here, cowgirl. Let me show you.” His hands lightly brush my shoulders as he moves to stand behind me.

“There’s no reason for you to stand so close,” I grumble. “Just show off your grip and be on your way.”

“Nah. I think this requires some intensive hands-on training. Ivan agrees.” Kaine calls over his shoulder, “Right, Ivan?”

The middle-aged man is busy with Lyddie. I don’t think he heard a word Kaine said when he calls back, “Affirmative.”

“See?”

I sigh again.

Kaine wraps both arms around me from behind. I instantly stiffen.

“It’s just a demonstration, Darlington. Relax.”

Easier said than done. My heart beats a little faster at his proximity. Kaine’s hands slide down my arms, guiding them into position. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, sending a shiver dancing along my spine.

“Make sure your dominant hand is high up on the grip.” His hand covers mine, adjusting my positioning. “Like this. Feel that?”

“Yeah,” I manage to say.

His other hand comes around, settling over my left hand. “With your support hand, you want to wrap your fingers around your dominant hand. Keep your thumbs aligned. See?”

I nod, but my mind is more focused on the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his arms enveloping me. It’s…distracting.

“Fix your stance. Wider.”

I play dumb, spreading my feet farther apart. “Like this?”

“Perfect. There you go. Now, finger on the trigger. Focus on your target. And…squeeze.”

I squeeze the trigger, and the recoil pushes me backward into Kaine’s chest. Neither of us pays attention to where my bullet went. I’m far too fascinated by the way his fingertips graze my shoulder.

I twist my head up and find myself peering into a pair of heavy-lidded green eyes. His heated expression brings a tingle between my legs.

“See? Not so hard,” he whispers, his lips dangerously close to my ear. “You’re a natural.”

“Kaine,” I whisper back.

He licks his lips. “Mmm?”

“Stop fucking flirting with me.” I shove him away, summoning a laugh from him.

“You’re no fun at all, cowgirl,” he accuses, still laughing as he saunters back to his own station.

—

Later, we file into the mess hall for dinner. I sit with Lyddie and Kaine at a table in the corner of the room, and we’re welcomed by two new faces. One is Lash, or the Observer, as Lyddie secretly refers to him, based on his unnerving habit of watching everyone and rarely contributing to conversations. He sits across from me, silent, and I catch him glancing at me several times. When I raise a brow, he shrugs and looks down at his rations. We’re also joined by Betima, who, as it turns out, is hilarious. She spends most of the meal regaling us with stories about the ghastly job assignment she’d received after upper school.

As I eat, I start to notice the whispers.

They’re coming from Kess’s table, which is unusual because those asswits aren’t typically concerned about the volume of their voices. Ivy and Bryce sit with them tonight, once again triggering an alarm inside me.

The whispering continues throughout dinner, and I can’t shake the suspicion it’s about me, even though I don’t appear to be attracting glares or sneers. It’s just a gut feeling. A bad feeling.

I wait to shower closer to lights-out, because most of the other women shower before dinner and this offers me more privacy. Tonight, Lyddie joins me. She steps into the stall next to mine, and we chat over the partition as steam fills the fluorescent-lit room.

“Kaine is so on for you,” she tells me, her eyes dancing.

“I think he’s locked on anything with a pulse.”

“No. He likes you. I can tell.”

“Maybe.”

She tips her head in challenge, causing water droplets to slide down her delicate throat. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t like him, too. He’s the best-looking guy in the Program.”

“He’s also the cockiest,” I counter.

“What’s wrong with cocky?” Lyddie shuts off the water and reaches for her towel. “Cocky can be fun.”

She has a point. Kaine is certainly fun. I enjoy flirting with him, and the idea of falling into bed with him is tempting—if I didn’t have to be on constant alert here. Sex is a distraction I’m not sure I can afford right now. Not when I’m in enemy territory.

I wrap myself in a towel and follow Lyddie to the wall of sinks. The terry cloth hangs to my knees, concealing the burn scars on my thigh, but when I lean forward to wipe steam off the mirror, my towel rides up and I hear Lyddie’s breath hitch.

I give her a knowing look. “You can ask about it if you want.”

She wrests her gaze away. Then glances back, sheepish. “Sorry. It’s rude to stare.”

“It’s fine.”

Biting her lip, she runs a hairbrush through her damp hair. I know she wants to ask, but it takes her forever to rustle up the courage.

“So, um, what happened?”

I shrug. “Accidentally dropped a pot of boiling water on myself when I was a kid.”

“Whoa.” She grimaces. “That must have been painful.”

Excruciating. I still smell the burning flesh in my nostrils sometimes, that’s how visceral the memory is. It’s as clear to me as my reflection in the mirror. Running through the clearing, arms stretched out as I pretended to fly with the bluebirds flapping around my head. Then I blinked and Uncle Jim was grabbing me. He was frantic, ignoring my confusion, my protests, as he gripped my waist and pushed the waistband of my shorts down a couple of inches. He’d seen something when my arms were thrown in the air, when the hem of my shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of bronzed skin.

“When did this happen?” he demanded, and I remember peering down at the birthmark. A perfect circle right below my hip bone. About two inches in diameter.

Blood red.

“I dunno,” I whimpered, because I truly didn’t.

But he didn’t like that answer. He grew agitated, displaying anger. Dread. “When did this mark appear, Wren?”

“I dunno,” I insisted, and I watched as he drew a breath.

“Wren.” He cleared his throat, softening the gravel from his voice. “I love you very much.”

I frowned. This was so unlike him—emotion. He didn’t show emotion, and he certainly didn’t voice it. “Can I go back to the birds now?” I whined.

“No. Come stand beside me. Stand still. Don’t move a muscle.”

With one hand, he drew my shirt up to my navel, then dragged my shorts below my hip. And before I could grasp his intentions, his other hand was circling the handle of the steaming pot on the fire, and I shrieked as the scalding water poured over my exposed flesh. A high, bone-chilling sound that caused every bird in the clearing to take flight, flee in haste. He threw the empty pot aside and tried to reach for me. He said my name and I screamed for him not to touch me. Batted at his outstretched arm and scurried backward, my anguished sobs piercing the air.

“I’m sorry, little bird. I had to,” he said roughly, as the skin of my thigh puckered and bubbled, charred and reddened. A piece of fabric from my shirt had melted into my burnt flesh.

I hated him that day. The kind of hatred that makes your hands shake and your breaths shallow.

My adult brain understands why he did it. He’d acted in my best interests. The bloodmark needed to be destroyed, plain and simple.

But I bear a different mark now. A badge of ugliness that brings pity to Lyddie’s eyes before she shifts them back to her own reflection.

—

The whispers continue into the following morning. I notice Ivy frowning at me in the mirror before she leaves the lavatories. I catch Kess’s smirk. Anson’s dead stare. Roe’s shrewd one. I’ve yet to decipher the captain’s younger brother. He carries himself with an air of entitlement, treats our instructors with insolence and apathy. I sense a destructive petulance in him that makes me uneasy, but at the same time, I get the feeling he’s far more intelligent than he lets on.

Pretending to look for my source, I linger in the barracks so I don’t have to walk to the mess hall with them. Only after they shuffle out and I hear their footsteps retreat do I step into the corridor.

The clinking of utensils against plates fills the vast mess hall when I enter a few minutes later. I grab a tray, get in line, and dutifully accept my plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Not synthetic bacon, either. I suppose the one upside to being held prisoner by the Command is that these jerks get to eat real meat.

I scan the room until I spot Kaine’s blond head. He’s with Lash, Lyddie, and Betima, but not at the corner table we occupied yesterday. Half a dozen Red Cell members beat us to it this morning.

Mess hall is the only time we see the recruits from Red Cell. They tend to stick to one side of the room and keep to themselves. It’s interesting how we’ve naturally broken off into two opposing forces, mistrustful of each other despite us never competing, never even interacting.

I notice I’m drawing a lot of stares. The clatter of trays and hum of conversation remain constant, but I feel too many pairs of eyes on me, and I don’t like it. Whispers tickle my wake, and by the time I reach my table, I’m annoyed.

“Any reason why everyone is talking about me?”

“Oh?” Lyddie’s tone is suspiciously neutral. “I don’t think they are.”

“No, they are,” Kaine corrects, and Betima snickers under her breath.

“What’s going on?”

Silence falls. Even Kaine, who’s never met a situation he can’t find humor in, keeps his mouth shut.

“What’s going on?” I repeat.

“Well. Um.” Lyddie’s doing that thing she does, where she tries too hard to be tactful instead of just stating what needs to be said.

“Spit it out, Lydia.”

She pushes her eggs around her plate. “Some people are saying…that, uh, your uncle was Aberrant.” She won’t meet my eyes anymore. “And he was executed for concealment.”

I slam my fork down on my tray.

“That struck a nerve,” murmurs Kaine.

As bitterness whips through me, I grind my teeth so hard, I’m surprised nobody can hear my molars crunching.

Finally, I find my voice. Low and even. “My uncle wasn’t Aberrant.”

“Was he executed?” Lyddie asks. Beside her, Lash’s gaze is unsettling in its intensity.

I nod in defeat. “He faced the firing squad. But what they’re saying about him isn’t true.”

Even as the lie slips out, I feel the weight of the truth pressing down on me, amplified by the sidelong glances directed my way. Every single one of these people would happily see me dead if they knew what I was. They’ve been taught from birth that there’s something wrong with me. I’m an aberration. I’m defective. I don’t belong in society among the likes of them. We are not peers. They are better than me.

Except they’re not. They’re no better and no worse. We all live on this godforsaken Continent together, and we’re all equally fucked.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I continue, “but they charged him with desertion and concealment. The desertion part, fine, I guess I believe it. They showed me his file and it confirms he was in the Command. I don’t know why he left, but what I do know for certain is he wasn’t Aberrant. I lived with him for twelve years. There’s no way he could’ve been one of them all along without me suspecting.”

Relief flickers through Lyddie’s eyes. “I can’t imagine how he’d even pull it off. Especially because of their veins. It’s not like they can hide it forever.”

“Exactly. It’s impossible for anyone to maintain their cover for that long. I would’ve known.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t sharing a house with a ’fect.”

My acting abilities impress even me. It almost makes me sick how easily I can spew this nonsense.

“At least it makes sense now, why you’re here,” Lash says with a rare contribution to the conversation. “Given that you don’t seem to enjoy it much.”

I give him a wary look.

“They’re making you prove your loyalty, right?” He shrugs. “I’ve heard of them doing that before. Drafting family members of criminals as a loyalty test.”

He’s just provided me a great cover story, and I have no problem taking full advantage. “Pretty much, yeah. The Command probably wouldn’t have been my first choice of life path. I miss the ranch. But if serving the General shows him that I can be trusted, then I’m happy to do it.”

Lyddie nods her approval.

“How did everyone find out about my uncle, anyway?” I shove my tray aside. My appetite is completely gone.

Kaine fields that question. “Eversea.”

It takes me a second to connect the surname with its owner. “Ivy?”

Irritation tickles my throat as I seek her out. She’s sitting with Bryce and a few others. When her gaze meets mine, she gives a hint of a sneer. I remember her saying that one of her Copper Block fellows was in South Plaza for Uncle Jim’s execution, but I wonder how she connected Jim to me.

Did Cross Redden tell her?

It annoys me that he might have.

Another silence settles over the table. From the corner of my eye, I sense movement. I swivel my head in time to see Kess sauntering toward us, and my fists clench involuntarily.

Ignoring her, I focus on my barely touched meal, hoping she’ll take the hint and move on.

She doesn’t. She stands directly behind me, breathing down the back of my neck. “Settle a wager for us, Darlington.”

I don’t turn around. “I’d rather not.”

“Oh, but I think it will be fun.”

“I think,” I say, slowly shifting in my chair, “you and I probably have different ideas about what’s fun.” I lock my gaze to hers. “So maybe you should go back to your table now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself. You can stand there like an asswit and watch me enjoy my breakfast.” I hold eye contact as I lift my coffee cup to my lips. I take a long sip.

Kess’s black hair ripples around her chin as she glances back at her friends. They’re all watching in interest. Roe is leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled out in front of him, but his sharp expression belies the casual pose.

Knowing she can’t be seen backing down, Kess kicks the leg of my chair, and my cup jolts in my hand. I manage not to spill a drop.

“Stop staring at me, bitch.”

I can’t help a laugh. “You’re the one looming over me like a creep. You’re free to walk away anytime.”

Kaine chuckles into his coffee.

“Not until you settle something for me.” She smirks, relishing the confrontation. “Did you know he was a ’fect?”

Don’t you dare engage.

“Who?” I put on a bored voice.

“Your traitor uncle. The one who went down in a spray of bullets.”

I can feel the eyes of the entire mess hall on us now, eager to see how I’ll react. I breathe through my nose. Suppress the anger.

“What do you want from me, Kess?” I snap, my patience wearing thin.

“Like I said, our curiosity needs satisfying. Did his veins turn silver when he was banging you? I heard that happens to them in the bedroom.”

My blood boils as the accusations echo in my ears.

I push myself to my feet.

“Darlington,” Kaine cautions.

I ignore him. “You really don’t want to piss me off this early in the morning,” I tell Kess.

“Or what? You’ll snitch on me?” She nods toward the instructors’ table.

I know without a doubt that Hadley and Struck are aware of the storm brewing across the room, but they remain seated. Watching us over the rims of their coffee cups.

“Do it,” she urges. “Go tell them your fellows are hurting your precious feelings. Saying mean things about your Aberrant uncle.”

She’s really not worth my energy. I start to turn away, but she’s still running her mouth.

“Heard the ’fect adopted you when you were six or something. Seems a bit young…But I suppose the silverbloods aren’t known for their morality, are they? And maybe you liked it when his hands were all over you—”

I spin around and strike, my fist connecting with Kess’s jaw. She stumbles backward, caught off guard by the sudden attack. But she recovers quickly, launching herself at me with a snarl of rage.

“Wren!” I hear Lyddie shout, but I’m beyond listening. To Lyddie. To Kess. To anyone.

Screw these people. These smug Primes who think they own the world.

The mess hall erupts into chaos. Cheers and catcalls break out, and chairs scrape the floor as recruits scramble to their feet. I pay them no mind as I unleash all my pent-up grief and anger on Kess, defending Jim’s honor with every blow.

My next punch sends her crashing into the neighboring table, but she pulls me with her. We collide into the chairs then go hurtling to the ground.

“ Bitch, ” she growls.

Blood pulses in my ears. Each strike of my fists is fueled by the burning desire to shut this woman’s obnoxious mouth. I roll on top of her and slam my knuckles into her jaw, sending her head thumping against the floor. She hisses with fury and uses her right forearm to block, while her left fist swings upward and connects with my mouth. My lip catches on a tooth, and I feel moisture dripping down my chin. Before Kess can hit me again, I knock her hand away and drive my elbow into her face.

There’s no more satisfying sound than the crunch of her nose as it breaks. No more satisfying sight than the two red streams that pour out of her nostrils.

Suddenly I’m hauled to my feet. Strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me away from Kess. I thrash against my captor, my vision blurred with rage as I watch Kess being helped up by Roe and Anson.

“Easy, cowgirl.” Kaine’s voice. A warning in my ear.

“Let me go,” I snarl.

“No.” His arm is an iron band. My chest is heaving. I taste blood in my mouth.

Hadley and Struck run over, thrusting themselves between our two groups.

“Enough!” Hadley’s voice roars over the din. “Break it up, both of you!”

Kess tries to lunge again. Hadley shoves her back with a firm hand.

“Save it for a pit night,” he snaps.

As the adrenaline ebbs, I find myself panting for breath, my knuckles bruised and bloodied from the fight.

“Goddamn it, Darlington,” Struck mutters, prying me out of Kaine’s restraining arms. “Get over here.”

She drags me away from the crowd, her face red with frustration. I hear Hadley addressing someone behind me. “Take her to Medical,” he says, and I realize he’s talking about Kess. Good. As I’m being led off, a sense of grim satisfaction settles over me. Fuck that bitch.