Page 30 of Silver Elite

They have us jogging early in the mornings now. Hadley got it into his head that some of his Red Cell recruits aren’t in the shape that he expects them to be. And somehow that means Black Cell must suffer the same consequences, which means the two cells now have the pleasure of jogging at dawn.

“It’s too early for this,” I hear Kess mutter.

For once, I’m in agreement with her.

The sun is just beginning to rise over the base, casting a golden hue across the horizon. We jog in formation, trainers hitting the pavement, footsteps thudding in unison. It’s a cool morning, and my breath emerges in a wisp of steam as I exhale with irritation. Who invented jogging? Is this not something we could have left behind in the Old Era?

I glance at Kaine. Beads of sweat glisten on his brow, but he’s otherwise unbothered. The guy takes everything in stride, no pun intended.

Lyddie, on the other hand…Poor thing barely made it half a mile before she was gasping. When I poked her in the side to speed her up, she glared at me and said, “I’m here for Intelligence, not to join some sadistic running unit.” The words were spoken on a wheeze, making me laugh.

A few others are like Lyddie, set on joining Intelligence, but I know a lot of them are like myself, eager to make it into a fieldwork unit, particularly Elite. The high-adrenaline, high-clearance ops. I only wish I knew what the criteria are for making it into Silver Elite. None of the instructors are too forthcoming with that information.

Only twenty of us remain in Black Cell. I think Red Cell is down to eighteen members. Of the thirty-eight recruits left, I have no idea how many will be selected for Elite. All I can do is work my ass off to make up for the first three weeks that I bungled.

We round a bend in the road, and now the base stretches out before us, a sprawling expanse of buildings and training grounds bathed in the soft light of morning. Alongside us, Hadley barks orders to move faster, to stay in formation. He’s the worst.

By the time we return to the training center, the base is showing signs of life. Soldiers going about their morning routines. Vehicles rumbling to life in the distance.

Awareness floods my body when I notice Cross at the entrance. Dressed in fatigues, he’s speaking to Struck, Ford, and a man with dark skin and a lot of muscles.

My traitorous eyes sweep over Cross, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me.

I can’t get it out of my head. That kiss. His touch. His scent. The way his lips felt against mine. I swallow hard as every part of my body remembers him. My fingers tingle at the memory of how soft his hair felt sliding between them. My breasts remember the sensation of being crushed against his chest, the fast hammering of his heartbeat.

I shouldn’t have kissed him.

Stupid fucking move.

As if sensing my presence, Cross’s head swivels in my direction. His gaze meets mine, and my obnoxious heart flutters like a trapped butterfly in my chest.

Stupid fucking heart.

Our gazes hold for longer than appropriate. I glimpse a hint of his dimple before he breaks eye contact and turns back to his subordinates.

Hadley orders us to wait, then goes to join the small group.

“Wren?”

I glance over at the sound of my name.

Jordan.

It’s been little more than a month, yet it feels like a lifetime ago when I was in bed with this man.

He strides up to me, clad in his uniform. It bears the Copper Block emblem along with two bronze stars—I remember him saying the night at the inn that he hoped to earn a third. He was planning to start officer school in the fall.

Kaine grins at me as I move away from the group to speak to Jordan, whose eyes fill with relief. He moves like he’s about to hug me, but stops just short, arms dropping to his sides. His gaze flickers toward the Silver Block officers.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Jordan says, keeping his voice low. “Are you all right? I was worried.”

“About me?”

“I tried to find you after they executed your guardian. All I was told was that you’d been detained.” He notes my workout uniform. “I didn’t realize you were recruited.”

“I wasn’t at first. They held me for a couple of days, but after Lieutenant Colonel Valence confirmed that I didn’t know what my uncle was, they allowed me to join the Program.”

“I told them you were innocent,” Jordan says, and I have no idea what I did to earn the conviction ringing in his voice. I’m not that good in bed.

“You spoke to them about me?”

“Yeah. After I found out you were caught in South Plaza. I told them there’s no way you knew your guardian was a ’fect and that you were loyal to the Company.”

Poor misguided Jordan with his poor misplaced faith.

He sneaks another glance at the officers, then raises his hand to my face. A quick brush of fingers on my cheek. I feel Cross’s eyes burning into my back. Sure enough, the sharp tenor of his voice whips toward us.

“Darlington. Quit fraternizing. Rejoin your cell.”

“Sorry,” I tell Jordan. “I have to go.”

“I’ll track you down later, now that I know you’re on the base.”

I hesitate. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

A slight frown mars his lips.

“I feel like it would make things worse for me,” I clarify, giving a discreet nod toward the captain.

Jordan gets the message. “Right. I’ll contact you on your comm first.”

“Darlington,” Cross snaps.

I edge away from Jordan and return to the group, where Kaine raises an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t even ask,” I say with a sigh.

Finally, the officers decide to acknowledge our existence. Ford does the talking. “Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. We’re starting UCOs this week.”

Undercover operations. Yes. I’ve been looking forward to this section.

“Obviously we can’t just send you into the wild without supervision, so you’ll each have a handler in the field with you. We’re doing this in stages. Five of you are up tonight. Schedule’s been uploaded to your sources.”

We’re wearing our wrist sources for the run, so I check mine and brighten when I discover I’m in tonight’s group.

“My name’s not on this schedule.” The accusation comes from Roe, who’s openly glaring at his older brother.

Cross’s expression remains composed. “As I told the General last night, we don’t have a solid cover in place for you yet.”

“That’s bullshit, brother.”

“It is what it is, brother, ” Cross says and dismisses him from his gaze.

—

When I return to the barracks, a dossier has been loaded into my source. It’s a detailed biography of my undercover identity, and I’ve been given two hours to memorize it. That’s not a lot of time, but I’m not too worried. Excitement tickles my stomach as I read my backstory.

Later, Tyler Struck comes to the barracks to collect the women who are on op tonight. Which is just me and Bryce. We drive to the building that houses Silver Block and follow her through a series of rooms until we reach the one she refers to as “Wardrobe.” Inside, we find racks of clothing.

Bryce stares at a rack of dresses before turning toward the instructor. “Soldier Struck? I’m not entirely comfortable with my cover.”

Struck laughs. That’s her entire response. Laughter.

It sparks a flash of indignation in Bryce’s eyes, and I resist the urge to say, Aww, you couldn’t have called Daddy to get you out of this section?

If I had a Lux credit for every time I’ve heard My father is in Command Intelligence, I’d be able to buy out the commissary.

“How often does Silver Block go undercover?” I ask Struck.

She shrugs. “Depends on what’s brewing in the wards.”

“Is something brewing now?”

Another shrug.

Got it. I’m on a need-to-know basis.

“Pick whatever clothes you want,” she tells us. “But keep your cover in mind and dress accordingly.”

Despite appearing incredibly unhappy, Bryce selects one of the skimpiest dresses I’ve ever seen, which has me wondering about her undercover identity. Maybe her complaints are warranted.

“Will we have our weapons?” she asks, examining the silky fabric. “I won’t be able to carry a gun in this.”

“You’ll get a small knife. Should be able to secure a garter sheath under there.”

“A small knife? That’s it?” Bryce is growing increasingly upset. “How do we defend ourselves?”

“What do you think we’ve been trying to teach you for the last month? You’ll have a knife and your fists. That’s it. Now are you done griping about every godfucking thing or do I need to hold your hand some more?”

Bryce flattens her lips. It’s painfully obvious that Struck doesn’t like her.

“Are you supervising both of us?” I ask as I flip through hangers.

Struck shakes her head. “You’ve been assigned to Hadley.”

Ugh. Great. I turn my head so she can’t see me making a face.

While I’m sifting through the racks trying to find a suitable outfit, she gets an alert on her comm and steps out of the room to check it. When she returns, her eyes gleam with amusement.

“I spoke too soon,” she tells me. “You’ve been reassigned.”

“To who?” I ask suspiciously.

“Who do you think?”

—

I’m alone in the back of a sleek black car, being driven to an unknown destination. As the lights of the city streak past the window, my wariness mounts. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing. The only certainty at the moment is the backstory I memorized earlier.

“Broken Dove, copy?”

Ford’s voice fills my ear, courtesy of Lieutenant Hirai’s prized earpiece.

“Fuck off,” I growl. “I want a different call sign.”

He chuckles. “Take that up with the captain.”

“All right, and where is he, exactly? Because I was told he’s my handler, yet I’m sitting alone in this car with no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“He’ll be in the field with you, but I’m the one running the op. So would you like to hear your objective, or do you want to keep whining?”

What does he mean, Cross will be in the field with me? The lack of details is making my skin itch.

When the car comes to an abrupt stop, I jump in my seat. I peer out the tinted window. We seem to be in an alley.

“Your op site is called Haven. Owned by a woman named Shenise Nelson. It’s an illegal brothel masking itself as city lodgings with a pub downstairs.”

“If you know it’s a brothel, why haven’t you shut it down?”

“Sometimes it’s more advantageous to leave the criminals be. Nelson’s a low-level threat and good for intel when we need it.”

“So I’m hitting her up for intel? What do I need to find out?”

“Have you not been listening in class all week? Information gathering is a delicate matter. You ingratiate yourself. You mine out tiny little nuggets until eventually you find that one shiny stone you need. Your objective is to make contact and ask about a job. You’re there because you don’t want to apply for Human Services—it’s too heavily regulated and there’s no credits to be made there.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’m going in alone?”

I’m surprised Cross trusts me to carry this out. To get out of the car and just walk down the street unaccompanied. What if I run? What if I manage to escape?

“You’re never alone, sweetling. You should know that by now.”

Ford isn’t bluffing. I exit the vehicle to the sensation of a dozen pairs of eyes on me. I’m definitely being watched.

The street is busy for this time of night—it’s past ten, which is nearing the city’s midnight curfew. I’ve never been to Sanctum Point after dark, and I’m fascinated by the glow of neon lights and the blur of pedestrians. I’m in the heart of the Point’s entertainment district. I scan the storefronts until I locate my target. Haven.

I’m halfway down the pristine sidewalk toward it when I hear a low hum from above me. Catching a flash of movement, I glance up and gulp. An automated drone buzzes overhead, its mechanical eyes scanning the street for any signs of unrest or deviation from the norm. It moves on but leaves me feeling unsettled.

I stop in front of Haven, a brick building with a facade adorned with polished brass fittings and frosted-glass windows on the ground floor. A wave of noise washes over me when I walk in. The main room is alive with the buzz of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Round tables are scattered throughout the bar, occupied almost exclusively by men.

I make a show of glancing around uncertainly. Rub my arms in a self-conscious gesture. Drawing a few stares that I pretend not to see. The dress I chose for tonight’s op is short but not too short—the hem hovers above my knees. It’s sexy but not too sexy—the V neckline shows only a hint of cleavage. I’ve decided my alter ego is a blend of racy and modest, and this sleeveless dove-gray dress hugs my figure in all the right places without revealing too much.

I walk up to the bar carrying my evening bag. A slinky black thing containing the comm Hirai gave me on the base when I signed out my earpiece. I slide onto a stool, shifting awkwardly as I cross my legs.

The bartender wanders over. A woman with short hair and tattoos. “What do you need?” she asks in a husky voice.

“How many credits for something that isn’t synthetic?”

“Probably a lot more than you can afford, darling.”

“Oh. Okay. Synth whiskey then.”

When she notices my disappointed expression, hers softens.

I pull my comm out of my bag and hold it out so she can scan it, removing five credits from my Lux account.

To my shock, when she turns toward the bar, she grabs a bottle of the pure stuff. Not the kind that’s created in a lab somewhere in the capital.

She winks at me. “Our secret?” she says, and my chest squeezes, because those two teasing words bring to mind Morlee Hadley and the sweets she used to sneak into my hand when Jim wasn’t looking.

I give her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Celebrating something in particular?”

“It’s my birthday.” I shrug. “Thought it would be nice to see how the elites live for a night.”

“Well, happy birthday, darling.” She slides the glass toward me.

“Thank you.”

At my first sip, I almost moan out loud. Holy hellfuck. The taste of pure whiskey is a goddamn revelation. The rich flavor dances across my tongue with a fiery intensity and goes down so smoothly compared with the synthetic stuff I’ve only ever consumed.

“Good, right?” The bartender is grinning at my response.

“I believe that’s an understatement.”

I swirl the glass. Even the color of it is more…vibrant. The golden liquid gleams at me, its amber hues shimmering like captured sunlight.

The woman goes to serve another patron, and I swivel on my stool and watch the room. I spot more than a few Command soldiers, though I suppose that makes sense. Soldiers like to get drunk and laid.

From the corner of my vision, I see the bartender return. I turn around, hesitating before asking, “Do you know where I can find Shenise?”

She frowns.

“Someone told me I should talk to her,” I add.

“What about?” She’s very careful with her tone. It’s evident she doesn’t trust anyone. As she shouldn’t.

“Job opportunities.”

“All job assignments are provided by the Company,” she says, as if reciting from a handbook.

“Well aware of that,” I reply, donning a droll expression. “I already have an assignment. I’m looking for something off the books.” I bite my lip. “Very off the books.”

“Is it really your birthday?”

I nod.

“Funny thing to be doing on your birthday. Hunting for side gigs.”

“Not really. What else am I going to do? I don’t have any family. Don’t have enough friends to justify applying for a gathering permit. I had a boyfriend, but he broke up with me last week, so…here I am.” I take another sip of the most delicious liquid known to humanity.

She continues to study me. Her expression might as well be a concrete wall, that’s how little it tells me.

“It’s fine. Forget it.” With the slight sag of my shoulders, I face the room again.

I sense her walking away. Hear her throaty voice addressing another customer.

Nursing my whiskey, I pretend to be lost in thought. Time passes. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. My earpiece is recording everything, but Ford doesn’t check in. Cross is nowhere to be found.

I’m debating whether I should just give up and return to the drop-off zone when another woman walks behind the bar. She has long hair and pouty lips, and is wearing denim that hugs her backside and a small top that barely covers her breasts. I can’t quite gauge her age. Late twenties maybe, but she moves with an air of authority that makes her appear older.

The bartender whispers to her, nodding toward me.

My pulse speeds up when the newcomer walks around the bar to stand beside me. Suspicious brown eyes probe my face.

“Heard you were looking for me.”

I fidget with the thin strap of my purse. “Are you Shenise?”

She nods. “What’s your name?”

“Gilly.”

“Do you live in the Point, Gilly?”

“I do. I was transferred from G about a month ago. I work in Administration.”

“Pasha says you’re looking for work.” She purses her lips. “Why did you come to Haven for that? What gave you the idea we might accept workers who aren’t assigned to us by the Company?”

“A friend of mine told me to find you if I needed anything.”

Shenise doesn’t let up. “What friend?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, conveying reluctance. “I, um…I don’t want to betray her confidence.”

“Then I’m afraid we don’t have anything to say to each other, Gilly. Perhaps you should look elsewhere for—” She stops midsentence, focusing on the door.

I follow her gaze, and my breath lodges in my throat.

Cross just walked in.