Page 45

The grass is green, a vibrant colour like nothing I have seen in years, with flowers of all colours dotted here and there.

Picnic tables are laid out in one corner, with a stone well in the other, a brown wooden bucket sitting on the rim.

What looks like white stone, smooth and polished, encloses the garden on either side, reaching into the sky.

The opposite end of the garden is covered in windows like the one I am looking out of.

It looks like something frozen in time, unaffected by the devastation in the world.

No worries, no cares, hell not even any dust or sand.

But how can this be? And what does my father have to do with it all?

I step closer, my nose almost pressed to the glass and look up.

The sun is streaming down through an open area of the ceiling, letting the grass grow and flourish.

What looks like electricity runs the length of the opening in a net formation.

For protection, or to act as a cage? The thought turns the scene before me sour.

“Tazzy?” comes my father’s hesitant voice. I turn to see him waiting at the end of the hallway. When he looks from me to the window, he smiles and walks to my side, joining me in watching the children play.

“What the hell is this place?” I ask, my eyes drawn back to the garden. The innocence on their faces makes me feel like I am covered in blood and death, like an outsider.

“Paradise, Tazanna. It’s Paradise.”

The idea of Paradise is alluring, but I am not someone who belongs in a place like this. My soul is too tainted, my heart too cold. Paradise was always a rumour, a fantasy to keep hope alive, but for Paradise to exist, so must hell.

We both watch the women for a while before he goes to touch me.

I jump away, my knife already palmed. Blinking, he stares at me sadly, his face turning heartbroken.

The move was automatic, I’m still not used to people reaching for me or touching me.

Ignoring him, I slide the blade away before straightening.

“What happened to you, Tazanna?” he whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Surely he knows the horror of the outside world, how could he expect me not to be tainted by it?

To not be changed or have grown differently to survive out there?

Anger flashes through me at the pity in his eyes.

How dare he! He knows nothing of my life, nothing of the fight I’d had every damn day just to survive.

Here he hides in this…bunker! This paradise and he has the audacity to pity me?

No, I pity him. Because this won't last. Paradise will fall, and when it does nothing but death and rubble will remain, and he will have to adapt or die.

He can pity me all he wants, but I am exactly the person I need to be, not only to survive in this world but thrive.

“The name’s Worth,” I say coldly, my mask sliding back into place.

It takes longer than normal, so used to not hiding anything from my men, but when it does, I see him flinch.

I look back at the women and children for a moment.

What a nice life it must be with no worries, even if it is a lie.

Shaking my head, I look at my father again, my eyes as cold as my heart for him.

“Take me to my friends. Then you owe me an explanation.”

We walk in silence for a while, him lost to his thoughts probably wondering what happened to the little girl he lost. Me?

I'm checking this place out for weaknesses and escape routes, something so hardwired into me I hardly realise I’m doing it.

The silence is uncomfortable, and I see him open his mouth more than once, only to close it again.

A part of me feels sad that this is how we have turned out, but the other part is still angry with him.

The floor turns into tiles, and the walls remain white, which is stupid if you ask me.

It will show blood way too easily, and definitely be stained by, well, everything.

I catch the light of another camera. There is a camera, with the blinking red light, in the corner of every hallway.

It creeps me out knowing someone is watching me, tracking my every move.

Back before everything went to shit, cameras, phones, hell technology, had taken over.

People were always glued to the devices in their hands, ones which could track them, spy on them, and even be used to hurt them.

The concept is so foreign to me now. How is that freedom?

How do you know your privacy isn't being invaded, that people aren't listening or watching you?

I guess the Wastes are good for one thing, you know when you are being spied on.

“Was that light that flared when we were fighting you?” I ask casually, my eyes constantly scanning everything as we walk.

Two men walk past, their strides confident and stiff.

They look like soldiers and I spot weapons strapped to each of their legs.

Their eyes focus on me before flicking away, scanning everything like I am.

I watch them turn the corner behind me. Are they patrolling? Why would you need patrols inside?

“Not me personally, it was a patrol who found you. They used floodlights and gas. They waited for the gas to clear then took all of you as you passed out. When you were brought back, you were put in quarantine like everyone else we encounter. I happened to be overseeing selection that day, and I saw you and well…”

“All?” I ask quickly, freezing on the spot. Surely he can’t mean the Berserkers as well?

“Yes, why?” He throws me a confused look before skirting around another soldier.

“Even the Berserkers?”

“Berserkers?” He sounds it out slowly, rolling it over his tongue.

“Never mind, we can talk about that after,” I mutter, but I stand up straighter, and my eyes scan everything faster, just in case.

I don’t imagine he would just let them walk around, and I am betting they are as confused as I am, but I can’t be too careful.

He nods, but he throws me weird looks as we walk.

“You must be what, twenty-two now?” he asks, as if trying to start a conversation.

“Twenty-three,” I correct, uncomfortable with the small talk.

“Oh. So, erm are any of these men your...boyfriend?” He says the word like it's dirty and I wonder what his face would be like if I told him they all were. He would probably have a heart attack. I snort, but don’t bother to answer.

“Tazanna, I am trying here,” he says softly. Spinning, I stop in front of him and poke his chest, my face cold.

“We are strangers. I haven’t seen you since I was thirteen.

Ten years. Just because we share the same blood does not mean I have to give you respect or my life story.

You have to earn that. My life went to hell, and I thought I had lost everyone.

So excuse me if I'm not all smiles and laughter at seeing my father back from the fucking grave. We can talk after I check on my friends. But you should ask yourself, what sort of person does not come for their daughter? Who doesn't fight for her and lets her think he’s dead for most of her life?” My chest heaves as I finish my rant and I realise that my anger is covering my heartbreak.

How could he just walk away from me, leave me?

Was is it that easy for him to give me up?

I swallow down my tears, biting my tongue to stop them from falling when all I want is to demand he tell me why.

The fact is, it would hurt me more to find out he didn't care enough to come after me, that is what stops me.

We face each other, my walls built up and blocking him out. How could he abandon me to that monster and be okay with that? I wish he had suffered like I did, and could understand the pain I went through. I don’t know how I will ever forgive him.

“If you don't let me out of this fucking room, boy, I will slit your throat and wear you like a skin coat,” comes a familiar voice, muffled, but still clear, and I’ve never been so happy to hear a threat in my life.

It makes me smile, I spin to the door down the corridor where I heard it come from and jog to it, uncaring about my father any longer.

My family is with these men. I bang on the door until someone slides it open on the other side.

A small man stands there looking like I flung a turd in his face, his thin lips twisted in disgust as he takes me in from head to toe, his beady brown eyes flicking over me before returning to my face.

His hair is receding and sporadic on his head, obviously pushed over to try and hide it.

His ears are too small for his head, and his head is tiny in comparison to his chubby body.

“Miss, this is a restricted area. Please leave,” he says it politely, his nasally voice filled with a sneer, but his face is telling me to fuck off. Would it be considered bad manners to punch him right in his ugly face?

“You have three seconds to move,” Thorn’s voice comes from somewhere behind him.

Done with being nice and waiting around, I try to move him gently.

He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he sneers at me.

Fuck this. I punch him in the face automatically.

It moves him at least, as he howls and falls into the wall, his fat digits cupping his face.

I slip past him, and see Maxen and Thorn facing off with two more men in black shirts.

I must make a noise because both of their heads snap to me at the same time.

Thorn’s face breaks out into a wide grin and Maxen looks relieved. I find myself returning their smiles, wanting to cry and hit them at the same time. I thought I’d lost them all, and now that they are in front of me I can’t think about anything else but being in their arms.

“Mi Alma,” Maxen says tenderly, his eyes filled with love.

Uncaring what anyone thinks, I rush around the two men and fling myself in Maxen’s arms. He catches me, his arms winding around me protectively.

“I am here, Mi Alma. Fuck, I was so worried about you. They wouldn't let us see you.” He growls out the last, throwing a glare over my shoulder. I dart in to kiss him quickly before dropping down and looking at the men he was facing. They look like they have pissed their pants. I don’t blame them.

Thorn and Maxen are double their size and height, and you only need to look at them to know they are dangerous.

Maxen growls again and they jump. I hide my smile by biting my lip.

I smack his chest gently as he peers at me, a soft smile on his face before I move over to Thorn.

He opens his arms, that smile I love so much aimed at me, and I rush into them.

I bury my head in his chest and breathe him in, so scared I was never going to see him again when I saw him fall.

I know my father told me they were okay, but I didn't believe him until I saw them for myself. My chest loosens as his arms offer me his comfort. I breathe in Thorn’s scent and shiver, my eyes watering.

I rub them on his chest, and he runs his hands up and down my back in comfort.

“My father’s here,” I whisper. His head drops to mine, his face burying in my hair.

“I know, babygirl. We will face it together.”

I nod before taking a breath, moving out of his arms before I break down fully and never leave the safety of them.

“Where're Jax and Drax?” I ask them both, unwilling to move any further away from them. Maxen crosses his arms, his glare still trained on the men behind me. He’s shirtless like always, but it’s clear he has cleaned up a bit.

My eyes drop to his muscled chest and I clench my thighs together.

He looks over at me and throws me a wink before his eyes turn deadly again as he faces the threat in the room.

I feel Thorn tugging on the dress and I grimace.

“In another room, they wouldn't let us see them,” Thorn rumbles, thankfully not commenting on my outfit.

I spin with a scowl on my face, letting my eyes go cold and deadly as I face the men.

Compared to Maxen and Thorn, I must look stupid.

A girl in a torn red dress glaring at them, but they must sense something because they step back.

“Take me to my friends,” I grit out, debating punching them as well. Hey, it could be worse. I could stab them. The two men look at each other, seeming to hesitate. I watch as the taller one on the left swallows .

“I would listen to her if I were you. She tends to stab people who piss her off,” Thorn says casually, making me grin.

If the paling of the one on the left’s face is anything to go by, it's a scary smile. My dress is lifted a bit at the back, Thorn obviously playing with it again, but I don’t drag my eyes away.

“Now,” I say slowly, making sure they understand. My father comes in at that moment, the man I punched next to him, holding his nose as he gestures wildly at me.

“Tazanna, did you hit this man?” he asks, looking at me. His eyes flicker to the guys before landing back to me.

“Yes, he's lucky I didn't gut him. Stupid prick should have moved,” I snarl, done with playing nice.

My father balks, looking at me like I’m a stranger, which is ironic because I am. I don't know who or what he expected, but I'm not the same little girl who used to chase after animals and love the colour pink.

“Now, I suggest you take us to the rest of my family. I am losing my patience and me hitting some twat will be the least of your worries then.”

The two men in front of me both reach for the batons at their hips. I flash them my knife as I smile mockingly at them, daring them to make a move. “If you draw them, I will slice your throats before you can get near me.”

They look back at my father in indecision, clearly not willing to risk my threat.

“Tazanna, stop this!” he shouts, as he props his hands on his hips.

I lose all humanity, letting him see the monster I am.

“No. You stop. First of all, you kidnapped us. Now, you have separated us and will not let us see our family. You need to think very carefully about your next actions. Do not ever order me again. You will not like my answer.” My voice is cold and deadly, and the man at his side stumbles back and out the door as the two men bracket my father, clearly protecting him from me.

There is a clear division in the room, and I watch as he realises how serious I am.

“Follow me,” he says, his voice stern.

He spins on his heel and marches from the room. I follow after him, blowing the two men with their batons still out kisses as I pass. Sands below, this is one fucked up day.