Page 37

Rosabelle

Chapter 37

I pull the sheet with me as I roll off the table and into a tumble, tripping only slightly as I rip the coat off its hook, whipping it around my body before swiping the vial from the counter, dropping it in my pocket. Warner and Kenji pull guns on me immediately, and I dive out of the way, shots ringing off steel surfaces. Chaos explodes: someone pulls an alarm, an automated voice screeching a security alert through speakers, James shouting my name. The unidentified woman screams, then drops to the floor, body crawling toward the exit. Kenji shouts angrily at James to get Warner out of the room, and I manage to duck behind a counter to catch my breath, buttoning my open coat as I strain to hear Warner’s response, but his quiet words are buried in the blare of sirens. Whatever he says only makes Kenji angrier.

“If anyone is going to die tonight, it’s not going to be you,” he’s shouting. “That kid is not going to grow up without a father. James, I swear to God, if you don’t get him out of here I will shoot you in the face myself—”

I dart past a supply cart, swiping an armful of tools as another gunshot whizzes past my head. The door swings open before slamming shut, and suddenly it’s me and Kenji, and my heart is beating in my throat. I have no idea what I’m up against. He, like the other rebels, might have some unstoppable preternatural power.

Still, somehow, my hands are calm.

“The building is shut down, Rosabelle,” says Kenji casually.

I hear his footsteps, circling.

“Why don’t you come out with your hands up so I can get a straight shot at your heart? Make sure you stay dead this time.”

I dive behind another counter, throwing a brain knife at Kenji before launching myself behind a nearby cabinet. I hear his explosive, muttered curse when the knife makes contact, but there’s no time to experience relief.

My small victory only infuriates him.

He shoots at me more aggressively, the ricocheting sounds of metal all but shattering my eardrums as I run, barefoot, whipping a chisel at his chest as I go. He grabs a steel tray at the last second, using it as a shield to deflect the blow, and the ringing reverberation hasn’t even stopped before he’s unloading rounds at my head again. I duck, forced to take cover farther from the exit. Even with his injury Kenji is blocking the door with his body, refusing to give up his position.

I dart out from behind the cabinet, throwing the hammer as hard as I can, but this time—I don’t see him. In the seconds the hammer hurtles toward the empty doorway, time seems to expand and slow down. I scan the area as if in slow motion, and when I can’t catch a glimpse of him, I decide to make a run for the exit—but he suddenly materializes, like magic, whipping the tray in his hands like a baseball bat. Steel connects with steel, the deafening sound ringing in my teeth. The hammer launches back in my direction and it hits me in the ribs so hard I see sparks, the pain forcing me to cry out.

Grasping my side, I dive for cover.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says. Then: “What’s in the vial, Rosabelle?”

My breaths are coming in harsher, the agony in my abdomen blooming. Kenji, apparently, can disappear.

This is bad.

If I don’t dispatch him soon, he’ll be able to come up on me from an angle I can’t anticipate. The only leverage I have right now is his unwillingness to leave the exit uncovered. That means he’s unlikely to go far.

Still, there’s no way to be certain.

I take inventory of my three remaining weapons: a saw; a skull key; an empty syringe. A gun would be much better.

I take another beat to regroup, then risk a glance at Kenji from behind a steel rack. He shoots at me and I fall back just as a bullet whispers past my head.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, speaking through audible discomfort, “how many people are going to be pissed off when they find out you put a knife in my leg? How am I going to walk to The Waffle’s Waffles in the morning, Rosabelle?” He shoots at me again. “How am I supposed to feed the ducks at the fucking park, Rosabelle?” He fires at me again.

I listen to him shifting in the proceeding silence.

He’s taking a moment to reload his gun, swapping out the magazine with a series of satisfying clicks, and I waste no time bolting behind a counter closer to the exit, whipping the skull key at his shooting arm. The chisel head of the instrument pierces his flesh with a satisfying thwack , and the gun clatters to the floor, spinning away from him.

“Son of a bitch,” he cries.

I dive for the weapon, skidding sideways as I swipe it, then jump to my feet with difficulty, pivoting toward him. I’m breathing so hard my throat is dry, sticking as I swallow. I raise the gun to his face and he doesn’t even flinch. He just looks at me. Looks at me and shakes his head, disappointed.

Another disappointment.

My every instinct screams at me to take him out: head, throat, heart. But the image of Agatha’s face surges before me, reminding me—

I did everything The Reestablishment asked me to do.

I did what I thought I had to do, and in the end my sacrifices were worthless. My life, worthless. Darkness breeding darkness breeding darkness, all this blood on my hands giving birth to more bloodshed, the mutilation of my soul leading to the mutilation of others, my life gone up in flames only to set fire to the world.

I blame myself.

I thought it was smart to choose the lesser of two perceived evils. I thought I’d be rewarded for aligning myself with the obvious victor; I was naive enough to assume I might one day be offered immunity by a tyrannical regime. I took shelter in the arms of an open enemy, doing their bidding even as they starved and tortured my family—even as they slowly stripped their own people of humanity in the name of security. Cruelty rebranded as freedom, torture rebranded as justice, horrors exported to perpetuate horrors all in the interest of absolute control. An oblivious populace living in the palm of an all-powerful hand, easily crushed.

For all my efforts, Clara will never be safe.

I failed my sister. I failed myself. There’s only one path left to set this right, and in order to fix things I need to be able to walk out of here alive. I need to get back home as soon as possible. That means I need to kill Kenji.

But I don’t want to be this person anymore.

I don’t want to live in fear of my hands, my head, the collapsed star that is my soul. I don’t want to live every day only for the promise of death.

The problem is, I don’t know how to stop being this person.

“I don’t want to kill you,” I say to him. “I just want to get out of here. I don’t need your help to escape. I don’t need anything from you. I just want you to let me leave. Let me leave so I don’t have to kill you.”

Kenji closes his eyes and sighs.

“All right, fine,” he says. “You can come out now.”

“What?” I hear the click before I understand, and my heart sinks as the cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of my head.

“Drop the weapon,” James says quietly.

I let it slip from my fingers, and it falls to the floor with a resounding clatter. Kenji limps over to it, scoops it up with his good arm, and hauls himself over to me. Suddenly, I’ve got two guns to my head. Front and back.

“You got the manacles?” Kenji says to James.

I can feel him shake his head. “I’ve only got zip ties.”

“That’ll work for now.”

I stand there, staring into the distance as James ties my hands behind my back, trying not to think about the feel of his skin or the warm, electric graze of his fingers against my wrists, so gentle with me even now. Of all the ways I dared to wonder what it might be like to touch him, I never thought it would happen like this.

Kenji pulls the glass cylinder from my pocket, holding it before my face with a knowing look.

“What’s in the vial, Rosabelle?” he says. “Planning a massacre?”

My eyes close, horrors upon horrors crashing down around me. Images of Clara crowd my head. Reminders of a night still unprocessed, threats still unresolved.

No matter what I do, I lose.

“Warner is prepping a cell for her at supermax,” says Kenji. “Can you handle getting her there? She’s a flight risk. You’re going to have to take the tunnels.”

Supermax.

Maximum-security prison.

“Yes,” James says darkly. “I can handle it.”

The molten fury of his voice whispers across my skin, sending chills coursing through me. I still haven’t seen his face. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“I’m calling for backup just to be safe,” Kenji says.

“I don’t need backup.”

Kenji laughs, like this is absurd. “I’ll make sure Samuel meets you underground. He’ll bring the manacles.”

James takes a tight breath. I can practically feel his irritation, even as he agrees. Then he says, “You going to be okay?” and for one delirious moment I think he’s talking to me.

“I’ll be fine,” says Kenji. “Don’t worry about me.”

Kenji and James appear to be exchanging glances, communicating silently.

“All right, then, get her out of here,” Kenji says, nudging my forehead with his gun as he steps back. I stumble slightly, and James slides a hand up to my waist, steadying me.

This brief contact nearly takes my breath away.

James draws the gun away from my head, the cool metal kissing my nape as he presses the barrel to my neck. He leans into my ear.

“I warned you,” he says softly, and I stiffen, my heart stopping. “I told you if you hurt my family you’d meet a very different version of me. Try anything with me tonight, and I will take you apart, Rosabelle . Do you understand? I will fucking destroy you. I don’t care who you report to back home. Right now, you take orders from me.”

His hand is still on my waist, his mouth so close to my skin. I don’t even know what’s happening to me anymore. I’ve been craving this kind of closeness with him for so long I can’t tell the difference between pleasure and fear. My skin is hot, my head is hot. I can’t catch my breath.

“Are we clear?” he asks, his whisper grazing my cheek.

I close my eyes, exhaling the word: “Yes.”