Page 27 of Silver Elite

In the morning, I pull Kaine aside on our way to the mess hall. “Hey, today in Tech, can you create some sort of distraction?”

Although his eyes sparkle with intrigue and his mouth lifts in a grin, he doesn’t make it easy for me. “Sorry, cowgirl,” he says in an overly stern tone, “but I don’t do anything without knowing why.”

Sighing, I lean in close and tell him. His smile widens.

“Your wish is my command.”

It’s a challenge to keep from laughing when I watch Kaine in action later. While we all gather around a table listening to Lieutenant Hirai prattle on about the intricacies of a voice-operated surveillance drone, Kaine winks at me, then deliberately bumps into Anson.

Excellent choice. Anson has the shortest fuse of anyone I’ve ever met. I think the guy just waits for an opportunity to blow up and hurt somebody.

“Sorry,” Kaine tells Anson. “I tripped trying to get a better look at the drone.” He claps the guy on the shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Anson snarls. He shoves Kaine, because violence is coded into his DNA, sending Kaine stumbling backward.

The scuffle succeeds in diverting attention from the unlocked supply cage behind Hirai. I begin inching my way toward it.

Kaine feigns bewilderment. “Whoa, calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just my way of saying sorry.”

He good-naturedly smacks Anson’s arm, but since there’s nothing good about Anson’s nature, he gets directly in Kaine’s face.

“I said don’t touch me.”

Kaine squares his shoulders, baiting Anson even further. “You’ve got some real anger issues, brother.”

Hissing out a breath, Anson gives him another hard shove.

“Enough!” Hirai rounds the table and firmly plants himself between the two young men, and I take the opportunity to slip into the cage unnoticed.

I know exactly what I’m looking for, and it takes all of three seconds to retrieve it. With deft hands, I slip it into my pocket, then duck out of the cage and hurry over to pull Kaine away from Anson.

“Stop being such a troublemaker,” I chastise him.

I can see him trying not to laugh.

That night, I wait until everyone is asleep before sliding out of bed, fully dressed in my black uniform. I activate the signal jammer and clip it to my belt. It’ll stop the cameras from recording while I sneak out of the training facility. The moment it’s out of range, they’ll start recording again, but unless someone’s paying extra-close attention, my bunk will look occupied at a glance, my pillow creating a humanlike lump beneath the blanket.

Outside, the summer air is warm. Somewhere on the base, someone is smoking euca, because the minty scent floats in the breeze. The sentries must be bored on their graveyard watch.

With the jammer on my person, cameras won’t catch me, and alarms won’t trip. But the guards themselves aren’t transmitting any signals that can be circumvented. I’ll need to avoid their detection. I wait until the guard at the first tower turns his head before rushing forward.

With cautious steps, I make my way to the south end of the base, where the officers’ quarters are located. Far from prying eyes. The soldier barracks are by the training facility, but the officers have their privacy.

A few minutes later, I reach the two-story building, eyeing the gray exterior and flat roof. According to the map Declan projected for me, my target is on the second floor.

I place all my trust in the device on my belt and enter the building, praying I’m invisible to the cameras mounted on the ceiling. So far, nobody has come running. No alarms blaring. I want to take this jammer back to the bunks and hide it in my locker, but I know that’s not an option. It’ll be confiscated from me soon enough.

One flight of stairs, and I’m stopping in front of Cross’s door. I push on the handle with the lightest touch. Locked. A thumbprint scan is required to open it. It’s fine. I expected that.

I freeze at the murmur of voices beyond the door.

Is he not alone?

I wait, letting a few seconds tick by, but there’s only one voice now. Maybe he’s talking into his comm.

I take the stairs up to the roof, where I peer over the edge to study the balcony below. The fire escape ladder from the roof doesn’t reach all the way down.

Stifling a groan, I descend the ladder as far as I’m able to, then solo it the rest of the way. Scaling the wall like one of those monkeys in the Blacklands. God, I hated those things. They were so cute. Their little pink faces. Then they opened their mouths and revealed three rows of razor-sharp teeth that could rip your throat out.

There really is nothing left to fear after you’ve lived in that nightmare.

My boots barely make a sound as they connect with the balcony. The door’s been left open to let in the night breeze. He’s not worried about intruders, because he knows he’ll be alerted by the alarms hardwired all over this building. Or maybe even earlier, the second a shadow crosses one of his precious cameras. The soldiers staffing the security center probably wake him if a recruit so much as sneezes. Which means I can waltz right in without a care in the world. This is what happens when people get complacent.

I pull out my knife, the same one he gave back to me. I enjoy the irony.

A soft moan echoes through the apartment.

Female.

My shoulders snap straight. So he’s not alone.

Something sharp and unpleasant clenches in my chest, but I ignore it. Doesn’t matter. It’s probably better this way.

His quarters are spacious but not elaborate. A nice living area, tidy kitchen. I move like a ghost. I don’t exist. He thinks I lack covert abilities? Watch this, asshole.

I follow the corridor off the kitchen, passing two closed doors toward one at the end that stands ajar. My heart beats faster as I peer inside.

They’re on the bed.

“Wanted this for so long.”

I don’t recognize her voice. I’m grateful for that. I still don’t like how hot my blood feels. I shouldn’t care who he’s with.

I creep closer, angling my body to get a better vantage point.

She’s sitting astride him. They’re both still clothed, but his long-sleeved shirt is unbuttoned, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his chest. He has one hand thrust in her long black hair. Strands of it fall into his face when she bends to kiss him. His other hand cups her ass as she starts to grind on him.

He releases a low, gravelly groan from the back of his throat, and I feel it everywhere.

I take a breath. I wait.

“Please,” she begs. “I need you.”

He rolls her over, pinning her beneath his strong body. Her arms loop around his neck.

I exhale. I wait.

When he rises on his knees and starts undoing his pants, I act.

Cross senses it at the very last second, growling in anger, but it’s too late. The blade digs into his throat as I hold the knife against it.

His companion screeches and scrambles up the bed to the headboard. She presses her palms to her chest as if she’s trying to cover herself, even though she’s fully dressed.

I recognize her now. The shiny hair. She was at the pit a few weeks ago. Clinging to him. Batting her eyelashes. Doing everything in her power to capture his attention.

Guess she succeeded.

“What the hellfuck!” she cries out.

Cross remains on his knees while I crouch behind him, keeping the knife directly over his jugular.

Unfazed, he slowly twists his head. The blade digs into the tendons of his throat, and a line of red blossoms on his skin. His lips curl mockingly.

“Are you here to join or to watch?”

“You know why I’m here.”

He turns back to the bed, and I lift the knife a hair so it doesn’t cut him again.

“You need to leave,” he tells his companion.

Her fearful gaze darts toward me.

“Relax, I’m not going to stab him,” I say.

In a show of good faith, I lower the knife from his throat. I wipe the faint trickles of blood off the blade using my pant leg and tuck it into the sheath.

Shiny Hair glances between us, her eyes darkening with mistrust each time they rest on me. “You seriously want me to go?” she asks Cross.

“Yes.”

I swallow my smile. I don’t know why that satisfies me so much, the fact that he couldn’t care less about keeping her around.

His lack of interest clearly grates on her. She slides off the bed, her short skirt flouncing around her firm thighs. She stops to snatch a pair of sandals off the floor and stomps away on bare feet.

“She really didn’t have to leave,” I say sweetly. “We could have talked while she was here.”

“No point in letting her stay if you don’t want to join us.”

“I’d rather die.”

Cross glances at my knife. “Am I going to need to confiscate that?”

“You had your chance. Now you have to fight me for it.”

He sighs. Raking a hand through his hair, he slides off the bed and gets to his feet.

I avert my gaze when I realize his pants are undone. He zips them up, but rather than button his shirt, he peels it off his shoulders and tosses it on the tousled bedsheets.

I want to spend the next hour examining his tattoos and running my hands all over them. Ask him what they mean. If they mean anything. Maybe he just likes intricate wings and flames with cryptic lines of text snaking through them.

“Why are you in my bedroom, Dove?”

“Because you’re sabotaging my chances of passing the Program.”

To my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You’ve been sabotaging your own chances since the beginning.”

“And now I’m doing better.” I jut out my chin.

“Yes. Why is that?”

I knew he’d be suspicious. That’s fine. I’m prepared for this.

“I have nothing to go back to.”

The grim confession, spoken in my flat, discouraged tone, hangs in the air between us.

Cross eyes me for a moment before leaving the room and striding toward the kitchen. I trail after him, watching as he opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Another cupboard produces two glasses. He sets one down, then gestures to the other one with a questioning look.

I nod, even though I know it’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t be sharing a drink with him.

He pours. The dark liquid sloshes against the brim as he slides the glass across the counter toward me.

I pick it up, and he watches my lips as I take a tentative sip.

“You gave away my ranch.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to let me return to Z.”

“No.”

“What happens if you send me to the Tribunal instead of the stockade?”

He considers the question. “There’s not much evidence you were in collusion with your guardian, so they’d likely give you a labor sentence. Best case, a factory assignment.”

“Not interested.” I shake my head and take another sip. The alcohol burns my throat on its way down.

“You weren’t interested in joining the Command, either.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stubborn.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

I fall silent for a moment, studying his flawless features, the strong lines of his throat as he tips his head back to drink his whiskey. I’m trying very hard not to stare at his bare chest, and I’m grateful for the counter acting as a barrier between us.

Every time I’m in this guy’s presence, I forget that I’m not allowed to be attracted to him. I keep waiting for it to go away. For me to be in the same room as Cross and not feel this magnetic pull toward him.

The fact that it seems to be entirely one-sided makes it all the more aggravating. I can’t use his behavior at pit night as evidence of desire for me, because I’m not convinced it was. He was drunk. Men say ludicrous things when they’re drunk, and any random person might seem attractive to them when alcohol’s fueling their libido.

“I’m not like you. I can’t just ‘accept my fate,’?” I say, quoting his own words back to him. “I have to think about it first.”

“Really. You think before you act now? Is that why you’re in my quarters?”

“I thought very hard about how to get into your quarters.”

The dimple appears. “Went to a lot of effort to get me alone.”

“Less effort than you think.” I can’t stop a smug smile from surfacing. “I’m better than all the other recruits here. You think Lyddie could have lifted a jammer right out from under Hirai’s nose?”

I unclip it from my belt and set the small black device on the counter. Slide it toward him.

He catches it before it falls off the edge.

“I hope you know you just earned Hirai a reprimand,” Cross says.

“Good. He deserves it. If someone is that unobservant, they should be punished accordingly. In fact, every single guard whom I waltzed right past tonight should be reprimanded. Whoever came up with the sentry schedule, too, because it’s predictable as hell. A couple of nights of recon and anyone can figure out their routines. When Soldier 4615 is going to smoke his euca joint. When Soldier 380 will take a leak in the tunnel behind South Plaza.”

Cross narrows his eyes.

“I wasn’t trying before,” I tell him.

“Clearly.”

“But I’m willing to try now.”

“You let Farren crush your wrist to get cut.”

“That may have been a little…extreme.”

“A little,” he echoes in amusement.

“In my defense, I’d just witnessed your brother kill one of my fellows.” My jaw tightens. “I don’t give a shit what he says. I don’t believe Betima was Aberrant. And I don’t believe my uncle was, either. But if you insist he was, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

I pick up my glass and swig nearly half of it before putting it down.

“You were right, okay? I can’t go back. Jim is dead. And whatever he was, I’m choosing to remember him as the man who saved me as a child. I know you think I’m lying to you, but I promise you, I didn’t know what he was doing. If he was an Uprising operative, I didn’t know. If he was running missions for them, I—”

“We don’t believe he was,” Cross interjects. “He went into hiding after he deserted. Dormant for fifteen years.”

“Why did he desert in the first place? I tried finding answers on Nexus—”

“I know. Your searches are flagged and sent directly to me.” He cocks a brow. “You searched my name, too.”

No point denying it. “You don’t exist in the Command system. And on Nexus you’re nothing other than the General’s son.”

He shrugs. “That’s all I’ve ever been. The General’s son.”

I suspect he’s right. The moment I found out who his father was, I stopped viewing him as anything but the offspring of Merrick Redden. Maybe that’s a miscalculation on my part. If I’m to destroy this place from within, maybe I need to better understand its players.

His long fingers wrap around the whiskey glass. His hands are mesmerizing. Large. Radiating strength. I watch his throat dip as he swallows. And his chest is taunting me. Why does he have so many muscles?

“Cross.”

We both hear the chord of desperation.

“Are you going to make me beg?”

I don’t miss the flicker of heat in his eyes. “Sounds like something I’d enjoy.”

I grit my teeth. “You win. Please. I want another shot.”

“Do you now.”

“You said you don’t hand out second chances, but I’m still asking you for one. You said not to squander the opportunity you’re giving me, and I’m promising you I won’t. Not anymore.”

Glass in hand, he rounds the counter toward me. My pulse quickens, but he doesn’t linger. Instead, he walks toward the living space and leans against the side of the sofa, sipping his drink.

His gaze locks with mine, but he breaks the eye contact first, running a hand through his tousled hair. I try not to think about the reason his hair is messy. Or why I care.

I swallow my frustration and make another attempt to sway him. It’s impossible to know what this man is thinking or if anything I’m saying even resonates with him.

“Cross,” I say again.

Something flickers through his expression. I can’t quite decode it, but it happens every time I say his name.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I think you’re right. Maybe it’s time I let go of the past and look toward the future. Stop fighting against the current of fate and start swimming with it.”

He licks a drop of whiskey from the corner of his mouth. “That’s very poetic of you.”

“I’m not a poet. I’m a pragmatist. I know what will happen to me if I fail the Program, and I refuse to let that happen. I want a post in Silver Block. And these bullshit low scores are starting to piss me off.”

“Poor thing.”

I glare at him. “Score me correctly or I’ll file a complaint with Captain Radek.”

“You think reporting me to the admin captain is a threat?” He chuckles. “I’m the General’s son, remember? I can do no wrong.”

“You’re wrong to not evaluate me based on merit. Please. Let me prove I deserve it.”

He’s quiet for so long, I think he’s going to shoot me down. He strides back to the kitchen to refill his glass, and I try not to notice the way his biceps flex as he pours.

Finally, he shrugs and says, “All right.”

Relief floods my body. “Thank you.”

“ If you raise your written scores. Fieldwork and exceptional marksmanship alone aren’t enough to get you into Silver Block.”

“Exceptional, huh?” I can’t contain the burst of pleasure I receive from hearing that.

His eyes find mine, and this time he doesn’t look away. That magnet is back, trying to lure me toward him, but his next question jolts me out of it.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

Pain pierces my heart. “My uncle taught me. He started me off with a pistol, just slapped it in my hand when I was—” I catch myself before the real age slips out. Five. “I don’t know, nine? Ten?” I play it casual, hoping he believes my abrupt pause was me trying to remember how old I was. “He used to set up targets all over the ranch—”

All over our little clearing in the Blacklands.

“And we’d stay out there for hours.”

Until the light left us.

“He wanted me to be able to protect myself from the white coyotes, the wolves—”

The predators that roamed the darkness.

“—not to mention the Faithfuls that snuck onto the property and tried to steal our cattle. I took to it really well. He told me I have good instincts.”

“You do.” Cross clears his throat. “But I mean it. Start passing your source tests.”

“I’ll try.” The words come out grudgingly, like a rotten tooth being forced out with pliers. But inside, I’m celebrating.

I wait until I leave his quarters—through the front door—before letting my smile surface.