Page 16 of Silver Elite

Captain of operations.

For the second time in a week, I’m escorted to that dreaded door.

The sound of my boots on the polished floor seems louder than usual, each step bringing me closer to impending confrontation. This time, I won’t let his chiseled face have an effect on me. Now that I know who his father is, now that he sold me out to my cell and made us run laps in the middle of the night, the attraction is gone anyway. There’s nothing appealing about—

A bare chest assaults my vision when I step into the cavernous office.

He’s in the process of taking off his long-sleeved shirt. The black fabric falls away to reveal a sculpted chest adorned with scars and weapons. Taut muscles. The faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

My cheeks flush as a wave of heat washes over me. There’s sand in my mouth. I swallow, but it just scrapes its way down my throat. His chest is magnificent.

He eyes me without a word. Biceps flex as he tosses the shirt on the conference table.

It’s still there. The undeniable attraction that bubbles beneath the surface. The attraction he mocked me about the night of my failed escape. I want to drown it out of existence.

Redden, I remind myself. Cross Redden.

His father is a monster, and by extension, so is he.

I watch silently as he reaches for the sheaths strapped to his body and begins to remove his weapons. Three handguns. Just as many knives. Each blade gleams in the dim light of the room. One by one, he sets them aside on the table with practiced precision.

I despise the way my pulse races at the sight of his chest. I resent the way my gaze travels over his broad shoulders and defined muscles. He grabs another shirt and glances at me as he pulls it over his head. It’s his navy-blue uniform shirt, and I wonder where he came from, armed to the teeth, sweaty, and dressed all in black, this early in the morning. Maybe he never went to bed.

“Twice in one week,” he says. “This is a record.”

His eyes sweep me up and down, then focus on the corner of my mouth.

I run my tongue over it and feel the caked blood there. “I told you I was going to be a problem.”

“So this is going to become a habit?”

“Honestly, it seems likely.”

He nearly smiles. I know it because that dimple throbs just slightly before smoothing out. He walks to his desk and picks up his tablet. A second later, he starts to read out loud.

“?‘Lack of coordination. Insolent attitude. No upper body strength or combat instincts. Borderline useless.’?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Captain. I’m sure you possess some redeeming qualities.”

“That’s Ford’s opinion of your fighting skills.”

I’m all innocence. “I faced some formidable opponents yesterday. Didn’t stand a chance.”

Cross studies me again, pensive. “And yet Kess Farren is one of our most promising recruits, and you just sent her to Medical.”

“She didn’t seem very promising when her face was under my fist.”

His stride is pure arrogance as he walks toward me. I hold my ground despite my accelerating heartbeat, but then he touches my lips, and my heart stops in my chest.

“This mouth,” he warns, his thumb scraping the seam of my lips until it reaches the cut in the corner, “is going to get you in trouble, Dove.”

It’s hard to draw a breath. When I finally do, my chest rises, and his gaze lowers to it.

Redden. Cross Redden.

Very slowly, I inch forward. He blinks in surprise. Our bodies are almost flush as I advance, walking him backward toward his desk. Until his ass hits the solid wood and he has nowhere else to go. I lick the corner of my mouth, and a coppery flavor coats my tongue.

“Cross,” I say.

He blinks again, as if surprised to hear his name leaving my lips.

“I don’t know how the General raised you, but where I come from, you don’t touch a woman without her consent.”

I rub the cut, scraping my nails over it so it spills open. Coating the pads of my fingers with blood. Then I reach out and drag those fingertips over the Silver Block emblem on his shirt. I smile as the silver coloring is stained red.

His nostrils flare.

“In other words,” I finish, my voice cold, “don’t touch me again without my permission.”

Cross’s gaze never leaves my face. “Or what?”

I frown at him.

“What are you going to do, Darlington? Hit me? Go ahead. Do it.”

My hands curl into fists. I press them to my sides and take a backward step. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Do it,” he repeats, baring his teeth in a dark smile. “I could use the excitement.”

“You didn’t get enough of it last night? Because those were a lot of weapons I saw you unsheathing just now.” I slant my head in challenge.

Rather than shed light on that, he says, “Why did you attack Farren?”

My voice tightens. “Because she insinuated my uncle sexually assaulted me when I was a child. Among other things.”

His eyebrows flick up. “You need to develop a tougher skin.”

“Are we done here, or are you going to cut me for attacking your favorite recruit? Because I’m happy to accept that punishment.”

“You’ve reconsidered the stockade, then?”

I clench my teeth.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Cross sidesteps me, his strides lazy but measured as he begins to circle me. “In regard to your punishment…”

He pauses. Pensive. But something else glints in his eyes. Something very unsettling.

“A slap on the wrist?” I suggest.

“You attacked one of your fellows. That can’t go unpunished. Neither can your insubordination. You seem to forget the hierarchy of power in this room, Dove. You’re not in charge. I am. Speak to me accordingly.”

“Or…” I smile at him. “You can fuck right off.”

He ignores that. “Insubordination has consequences. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you a chance to avoid punishment.”

He opens his office door, then walks to his desk and leans against it, nodding toward the gaping doorway.

“Get to the door. If you can get through me, you’re free to go. If not, every member of Black Cell is running laps again tonight from dusk till dawn.”

My gaze slides from him to the door. We’re equal distance from it. If I catch him off guard and break into a run…

He pushes off the desk and takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between us. “Let’s see how uncoordinated and borderline useless you really are—”

I lunge at him, aiming a punch at his midsection. He deflects it effortlessly, his hand catching my wrist and twisting it behind my back. I wince but pivot my body, using the momentum to break free.

Cross smirks, but he’s clearly impressed by my maneuver. “Nice try.”

I spin around and aim a kick at his side, then hurtle toward the doorway again. But he catches my ankle and pulls me off-balance, sending me sprawling to the concrete floor. Before I can recover, he’s on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. His face is inches away, eyes gleaming.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Dove.”

I grit my teeth and buck my hips, trying to throw him off, but he holds firm, his grip like iron. I can feel every inch of his body against mine, and it…is…maddening. I twist, managing to free one arm, and swing at his jaw. He catches my fist, his lips curling into a smile.

“The door is over there. And you’re down here. Doesn’t seem like you’re making much progress.”

I glare at him. My breath escapes in short, ragged gasps. With a deep inhalation, I gather my strength, using my free hand to push against his chest. He’s solid muscle, and for a moment, I’m distracted by the feel of him. He takes advantage of my hesitation, flipping me onto my stomach and locking my wrists behind my back.

“Looks like you’re not reaching that door.” His voice is a low rumble.

I thrash beneath him, my frustration mounting. “This isn’t fair. You’re like a hundred pounds heavier than I am.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Life isn’t fair, Darlington,” he says coldly. “And neither am I.”

Anger sizzles through me. With a sudden burst of energy, I wrench my body to the side, succeeding in releasing one leg and kicking him hard in the abdomen. He grunts, loosening his grip just enough for me to slip out from under him. I scramble to my feet, panting.

“Nice move,” he remarks, rubbing his side.

I don’t waste time with a response. I dart toward the door, but Cross is faster. He grabs me around the waist and hauls me backward, slamming me against the wall. Pain radiates through my body, which is already sore and bruised from Kess’s blows.

I look up at him, my chest heaving. “You’re such a prick.”

“Just making sure you understand the consequences of defying me.”

His words send an odd thrill through me, and I hate that he has the ability to affect me this way. I shove against his chest, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge.

“Stubborn,” he mutters.

And that’s how Xavier Ford finds us. The lieutenant enters the office with quick strides, then halts when his gaze collides with me and Cross locked in a showdown.

“Captain?” It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Cross glances over. “Black Cell is running tonight. Make sure the recruits know who to thank again.”

Ford’s dark eyes shift toward me. “Got it.”

“And next time Darlington attacks one of my recruits, reward her with two nights in Stock C.”

“Yessir.”

Cross releases me and returns to his desk. “You’re dismissed, Darlington.”

—

At the end of the week, our scores for the first section are uploaded to our sources. I have to pretend to care like everybody else. Like Lyddie, who cares too much. During our afternoon break, when Hadley announces the scores are available, all my fellows become rabid wolves, pouncing on their sources.

My score is 49 percent.

I hide a smile. Perfect.

On the outside, I paste on a dejected face. Lyddie doesn’t miss it. “Can I see?” she asks.

I angle the source toward her. She winces as if my score makes her physically ill. Or maybe she thinks it’s contagious.

Lyddie grimaces. “I’m sorry.” She’s about to say more, but then hesitates.

“What?”

“Can I be blunt?”

“It would annoy me if you weren’t.”

She smiles faintly. “You don’t apply yourself.”

No kidding.

I offer another shrug. “I already told you, I’m not good at the classroom stuff. It’s too hard.”

It’s actually very easy when you’re not trying.

“You need to put in the work,” she says with a serious face. “Even Kaine studies the maps after we’re dismissed for the day.”

I did notice that. He was poring over his source all night yesterday, reading up on the various outposts and installations throughout the Continent.

Lyddie takes my silence as offense. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Oh no. I don’t. You’re right. I should study harder.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it. “I’ll help you,” she says firmly. “An hour of studying before lights-out every night.”

Her expression is so earnest it triggers a pang of guilt. Now I feel like a jerk.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. You’re…” Her cheeks turn a little pink. “I know I’m being presumptuous. We don’t know each other well yet, and you probably don’t even view me as a friend—”

“I do,” I assure her, and it’s not entirely a lie. In here, I would certainly call her my closest ally.

“I consider you a friend, too. You’re funny. And you’re smarter than you think. You’re a fast learner—look how much better your marksmanship is getting.”

Sure, because it’s difficult to be incompetent. There’s a fine line between looking bad at something and looking like you’re deliberately sabotaging.

“I don’t want you to get cut. That means we need to get you studying, girl. One hour, every night. Keen?”

“Keen,” I say, and her whole face lights up. At the notion of helping me. God, I wish I could dislike her, but I really don’t.

Kaine and Lash join us, setting down their trays. From the Psycho Brigade table, I feel Kess’s murderous eyes boring into the side of my head.

It brings me great pleasure that the bruising on her face still hasn’t faded. Her skin was black and purple the day after I attacked her. When the medics set her nose and sent her back to the bunks, I expected retaliation that night. She would try to smother me in my sleep. Drag me out of bed and hold me down while Anson did all the revolting things he imagines doing to me in his head.

But nothing happened. I don’t know if the instructors warned her against it or if she’s simply biding her time, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that Kess is going to let this slide.

“Well?” Kaine asks us.

“Eighty-eight,” Lyddie says, then blushes when he answers, “Nice job, Lyds.”

“I’m failing,” I tell the guys and bite into a piece of bread.

Kaine grins. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get cut on purpose.”

I freeze. “Of course not. Why would I ever do that?”

“Oh, I know you’re not. You need to prove yourself to the higher-ups. But damn, cowgirl, you can’t pass a test to save your life.”

“Lyddie’s going to help me study,” I say, affecting a defensive tone.

Lash sits in silence as always. He rarely involves himself in our conversations unless they’re about politics, and I try to avoid those at all costs. But he does have strong opinions when you get him going.

Betima joins us next, settling in the chair next to Kaine’s. “What are you doing with your leisure pass this weekend?” she asks everyone.

Kaine shrugs. “Don’t know yet. Maybe drink myself stupid to make up for this week.”

He’s not the only recruit who’s been grumbling about the base’s imposed limits on alcohol intake. We can use our credits to buy booze at the commissary, but we’re only allowed to drink in the common room, and only on the weekends.

Me, I don’t care about getting drunk, and this is the first I’m hearing about a leisure pass.

“We get a leisure pass?” I say, unable to fight a twinge of hope. This could be it. My shot to escape. They’ll have a hard time tracking me once I leave the base.

“It’s a Sunday pass. Came in on our source.” Lyddie wrinkles her brow. “I had to scan my thumb to activate it. You didn’t get one?”

Suspicion tightens my throat. I grab my source. “Where was it?”

“In the comm folder.”

I open the folder and…there’s nothing.

“My folder is empty.”

She takes the source from me to investigate. The groove in her forehead deepens. “That’s odd. You didn’t receive one.”

I glance at the others. “Did you all get a leisure pass?”

They nod.

What the hell. Why are they allowed to leave the base on Sunday when—

Cross.

Of fucking course. There’s no way he’s letting me step foot outside this facility.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, scraping back my chair.

I find Hadley and Struck at a table in the corner. They’re not talking, each focused on their tablets, but their heads snap up at my approach.

“Why don’t I have a leisure pass for Sunday?” I demand.

Hadley spares me a look before lowering his gaze to his screen. “You haven’t been approved.”

“Everyone else is approved.”

Struck sounds amused. “Everyone else isn’t you, Darlington.”

I swear I’m going to splinter my enamel with the way I’m grinding my teeth. “I want to talk to the captain.”

“No,” Hadley says without lifting his head.

I turn to Struck. “Can you please take me to see the captain?”

“He’s a busy man, Darlington. He doesn’t have time to address every petty complaint from recruits.”

“He makes time for me whenever I break your little rules.” I glower at her unaffected expression. “Is that what it takes? Fine. Here you go.”

I snatch Hadley’s tray off the table and hurl it against the wall over Struck’s head.

Chunks of beef stew splatter the wall and drip down it like thick globs of mud. A few peas fall into the instructor’s dark hair.

The entire mess hall goes silent. She stares at me in disbelief.

Then a chuckle breaches the silence. Cross’s half brother.

I smile at her, all teeth. “May I see the captain now?”

She peels the peas off and flicks them onto the floor. “No.”

—

I’m still fuming later in bed. I find no solace in the sounds of the dormitory, the even breathing, the snores coming from Glin Cotter’s bunk. We’re all starting to resent the poor guy. A few more days of those guttural honks and I fear Anson will slit his throat in his sleep.

I lie on my bunk, staring at the ceiling. Glin’s arrhythmic snores fill the room, but my mind is restless. I twist my head toward Kaine’s bed. The gray blanket is pulled up to his neck and cocooned around his body. He sleeps like a mummy.

It’s late, so when I reach out to Wolf, I’m surprised that he links with me. Wolf tends to be early to sleep, early to rise.

“Why are you awake?”

“Stress.”

“Stress,” I echo, teasing.

“Yeah. I had a shit week. And then last night…” He doesn’t continue.

“Last night what?”

“Nightmare. That’s all.”

“The drowning one?”

Laughter rumbles inside my head.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, but the sound is so comforting. I’ve heard that laugh nearly my entire life. It’s a reminder that while Jim is gone, I’m not entirely alone.

“Something just occurred to me,” Wolf says.

“And what’s that?”

I hear a rustling noise and glance over. Kaine shifts in slumber. His face is still turned in my direction, but his eyelids remain shut. He has no idea I’m carrying on an entire conversation beside him.

“That we know both everything about each other and nothing at all. I don’t know your job assignment. Your family life. Hell, I don’t even know your ward.”

“I don’t know yours, either.” Although I can guess he’s probably in the south since he talks about the ocean so often.

But he’s right. We don’t know the kind of information that’s normally free flowing between close friends. Uncle Jim instilled in me the need for secrecy, and as much as I enjoy Wolf, I would never risk my safety or my uncle’s safety on a stranger in my head. I omitted a lot of pertinent details over the years. The ranch. Jim. My real name.

“We don’t know basic facts, yet you’re an expert about my recurring nightmares.” This makes him laugh again.

“Basic facts don’t matter. It’s the important things that matter.”

His fears. His insecurities. That his favorite sound is rain hitting pavement, and the physical feature he likes best about himself is his hands. That he lost his virginity at sixteen, and the only woman he’s ever given flowers to is his mother. What does his mother do for a living? I couldn’t tell you. But it makes no difference at all to me.

“Did you wake up before the water filled your lungs?” I know sometimes he’s jolted awake just as he’s going under.

“No.”

I shiver to myself. I’ve never drowned in a nightmare before. It happens to Wolf often. He described it to me once, and it sounded like pure torture.

“Don’t want to think about it. Why can’t you sleep?”

“Stress,” I mimic.

He chuckles. “Feel free to elaborate.”

“I feel…stuck.” I’m careful with the details. Under no circumstances can I tell him I’m training for the Command. We trust each other, yes, but Mods get spooked about this stuff. “I’m not where I’m supposed to be, and it’s suffocating. I hate feeling trapped.”

“Then escape the trap.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Bullshit. Every trap can be escaped. It’s just a matter of what lengths you’re willing to go to.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm-hmm.” His voice is a soft rumble in my head. I roll over and let it warm me like a blanket, turning away from Kaine. “Think about it. Animals get caught in traps all the time, keen? But the smart ones, the ones who refuse to be caged, they find a way out. White coyotes, for example. Unless you’re right on their ass when they’re captured, they’re usually gone by the time you check your traps.”

“Because they’re known to chew off a limb to escape!”

“Like I said, it’s a matter of lengths. The white coyote would rather sacrifice a leg than remain in a trap. What are you willing to give up?”

“Not my leg.”

“All right. Then let the trap win. Or…I suppose you could always go the route of the horned bear.”

I shiver again, because of all the predators roaming the Continent, the horned bear is my least favorite. They’re rare, and certainly beautiful, but if you see one in the flesh, you’re not likely to survive the encounter. They’re angry creatures. Maybe because they came into existence because of a mutation. Victims of radiation. Like me, I guess. But the horned bear is far more vicious than I am. They’re known to maul or gore without provocation. Uncle Jim killed one in the Blacklands when I was seven, but not before one of those lethal horns pierced his side, slicing off a chunk of flesh. We feasted that night, but I had nightmares about those horns for weeks.

“You know what a horned bear does in a trap, right? He could gnaw off a limb like the white coyote, but he doesn’t. He stays alive for as long as he can, even if he’s weak, even if he’s on the brink of death. He hangs on, and then, when his captor comes for his body, he slices their throat with his horns. The white coyote escapes, but the bear stays just to kill the person who trapped him. He’s taking his enemy with him.”

I bite my lip. “I think I’d rather live than die for revenge. Wouldn’t you?”

He’s quiet.

“Wolf?”

“Revenge is overrated. Chew that leg off. Good night, Daisy.”

I roll onto my other side, still restless. Glin snort-snores from his bunk, and I swallow a groan and sit up. Chew that leg off. No. I’m not quite there yet. But I have to do something. With Wolf’s words echoing in my mind, I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb the others. I pull my uniform trousers over my sleep shorts and shove my bare feet into my boots.

For all I know, the doors are wired with alarms. Soldiers might swarm the hallway and tackle me to the ground. But I’m not trying to escape. Not tonight, anyway. If I’m caught wandering, I can say I felt like taking a walk. It’s not entirely a lie. I need fresh air right now. I can’t think in this stifling room with twenty strangers breathing the same air as me.

I reach the exit of the training facility and hesitate for only a moment before pushing the doors open. No alarms. Only silence. The cool night air rushes in to greet me. I glance behind me. All is quiet.

I slip out into the darkness.