Page 193 of The Vigilante's Lover

“I don’t think we should wait,” I say to Jax. His screen is now at Ridley Prison, going through his activities there. It’s slowed down, as if it thinks this is where the data no longer matches.

It gets to his escape and the red “FUGITIVE” blinks like it did when I met him.

We hurry to the opposite door. I don’t even need the pass key because this one clicks on its own.

Inside is what appears to be a data center, a dozen men and women manning the big glass screens with information splashing across their surface.

“Pass through,” Jax says. “Keep your gun on me, as that makes the computer think I’m under your control.”

The people in the room still as we walk by. On a far screen, I see Sam and Colette’s images. I hurry toward it.

“They’re detained,” Jax says. “Drag on the door on the map below them and it will unlock it.”

But the boy by the screen turns with a fierce expression.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says.

I don’t think twice, but shoot a dart into his arm. “What was that you said?” I ask Jax.

The boy crumples to the floor as the others gasp. I hear murmurs.

“What do we do with her?”

“She’s a special.”

Jax clears the door on the map and shoves the body of the boy aside as he types a few commands on the screen. Colette and Sam’s images blink out. “They won’t be followed for a while,” Jax says.

The screens throughout the room begin to change. Jax’s image takes over them all. “Fugitive. Kill order. Execution failed. No body cremated.”

It’s figured it out.

A couple of Vigilantes move toward me like they’re going to do something, but I point at everyone who approaches. “Snuff dart,” I say, knowing I’m lying but also knowing that the boy at my feet looks close enough for it to count. Only we know that he’ll wake up in two hours.

Nobody comes toward us.

“Back door,” Jax says.

We hurry past the screens and out the opposite door.

We enter a small lobby with only an open elevator car. “Going to have to risk the elevator now,” Jax says. “I don’t think they’ll gas us. They’re not touching you. And as long as the computer thinks you have me, we’ll be fine.”

We step in. “Fuck, I hate elevators,” he says.

The doors close. There are no buttons inside.

“How does it know where we want to go?” I ask.

“It takes us where it wants us to go.” Jax’s eyes dart around the corners.

Then he says, “Shit.”

“What?” I ask.

“I was wrong. They’re gassing us.”

I’m about to sharply inhale with shock, but Jax kisses me. His mouth is hot and roving and doesn’t let up. I can’t breathe, wanting to cry, not sure why he’s doing this, as we’re not fooling the computers anymore. But maybe it’s a good-bye kiss. He knows the gas, and we’re done for, and he doesn’t want to say it.

It goes on and on and my lungs feel like they will burst. I become aware that he’s pulled out the pass key and placed it on the door. There’s an explosive burst of light, and a funnel of smoke curls around us.