A Vault of Sins (12 page)

“When would a politically correct rainbow like that ever happen in reality?”

“So what? Are you saying the way they chose who went into the Compass Rooms was fixed?”

Wes nods. “That’s why the inmates are separated by age. That’s why there is an even amount of criminals for each gender. If they could perfect the ‘evenness’ of the room by throwing one or two trans or queer people in the mix as well, they would. Subject control.”

A bad taste forms in the back of my throat. “Is that the reason you went rogue? Because you uncovered for yourself the real purpose of the Compass Rooms?”

He sighs, finger tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “You know, I wish. I wish I had enough courage to leave because of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was recruited by Reprise after successfully hacking into their system, as I was ordered to by my superiors at the Division of Judicial Technology. And then Reprise retaliated by recruiting me because they were impressed. That’s when I began putting my feelers out. I was an undercover Reprise operative still working as a CR engineer.”

I shrug. “Why make the switch?”

“Money,” he says. “Money is a great motivator. Wish I had taken initiative back then to figure it out for myself. I’d been working for the division since I was twenty. That’s when I graduated with my PhD. And I had no idea of the real truth. I didn’t even know the truth about you until I began to listen.”

“What about me?”

“That you were innocent.”

“I wasn’t innocent.”

He scoffs. “Not innocent but not liable for your involvement with the shooting. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Wait.” I take a deep breath in attempt to clear my mind, wishing for an extra shot of vodka in my orange juice. “They knew?”

He laughs at this. “They knew? Of course they knew! Your CR may have malfunctioned, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t people who uncovered exactly what was going through your head.” He leans back in his seat. “Gemma being one of them.”

“If Gemma knows that I didn’t conspire with Nick, then why does she want to take me down so badly?”

“You broke her Compass Room! You broke her Compass Room
after
you killed someone in it, and then when she tried to quiet you with a free pass, you took her to court. That’s why she wants to take you down. It has nothing to do with what happened during the shooting—whether you are innocent or guilty.”

“So placing us back in the CR . . .”

“Strictly revenge.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. All I’m thinking of is Valerie.

“Wes, we can’t fuck this up.”

He nods. “I know.”

***

For the rest of the day, Wes works, and Casey and I help Maliyah and Piper with chores around the house. Outside, the blizzard continues, and I think of the mysterious members of Reprise out there somewhere in the woods, working on their
project
. Neither Maliyah nor Piper seem concerned though, and I busy myself with dusting and helping Casey stack wood near the fireplace.

After dinner, Wes is ready. Casey and I argue over who’s going first, and in the end my persistence outweighs his chivalry. This was my idea, after all. I’ll be the guinea pig.

Wes sets up this contraption around the couch that kind of reminds me of being at a dentist’s office, except instead of a bright white light shining down on my teeth, an eerie blue light shines on my brain.

I sit completely still, the feed before me illuminating a three dimensional image of my brain. It creeps me the hell out, especially seeing the chip lodged within it, like a bullet sunken deep within my gray matter.

Piper snaps on her latex gloves as Wes carefully loads the pressurized syringe with the chip. It’s the same process as when I was being prepped for the Compass Room.

I stare at my brain on the wall, the hardware nestled inside my head. Soon, there will be two. Two chips impossible to remove.

“Are you ready?” Piper asks.

I grind my teeth together before saying, “Let’s do this.”

Casey’s paled considerably since I’ve sat down. He kneels before me, taking my hand. “You don’t have to do this. I can go in by myself.”

“
I
can go in by myself.”

He frowns.

“Together or not at all. That’s
your
motto, remember?”

“Drop your head forward, please,” Piper asks.

I squeeze Casey’s hand, and do as she says. She sweeps the hair from my neck, presses the device to my head, and with the sound of pressurized air, my skin splits.

“Oww. Fuck. It hurts worse the second time.”

“It’s because you know what to expect.”

“All done!” Piper removes her hands from my neck and I look up, watching on the screen as the chip begins to dig its way into my brain.

Wes picks up his tablet. “If my calculations are correct, then the chip should wind up about half a centimeter away from your other one.”

“
If?
And what if your calculations aren’t correct?”

Wes shrugs. “I fry your brain.”

“Not funny,” Casey says darkly.

“Don’t worry, lover boy.” Wes’s attention returns to his tablet, and he taps the screen a few times. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Will you be able to read it the same way as my inmate chip, uncovering all of the secrets within the head of Evalyn Ibarra?” I wink.

“Like everything she likes to masturbate to?” he replies without a beat of hesitance.

“Hilarious,” Casey drawls.

Luckily for me, he really does know what he’s doing. My brain doesn’t end up fried, and Casey’s injection goes just as smoothly.

When everything is cleaned up, I sit on the couch and Wes hands me the knife. “We’ll have to try it now.”

“Try
what
?”

“Controlling the nanotechnology.”

“Try
how
?”

He paces in front of me. “Normally, the kind of control takes an engineer months to learn.”

“And you think I can master it in a handful of weeks?”

“You’re the perfect candidate.”

“Oh, that’s why! Thanks for clarifying, jackass.”

Piper smirks. “Sarcastic little one, isn’t she?”

“What kind of creative tasks were you performing right before the shooting?” Wes asks me. “What are you working on, even here?”

“Painting?” I say dumbly.

“More than that—describe what painting is.”

It takes a few seconds before what he’s asking finally clicks. “Taking a reality and rendering it.”

“Changing it,” says Wes. “Right. Our engineers with more creative minds always grasped Compass Room control easiest. I think you’ll be able to as well.”

“What about me?” Casey asks.

“What about you, omelet boy?”

Omelet boy?
Casey mouths.

“Maybe food is as creative as painting.”

Casey frowns. “That isn’t reassuring.”

“How do we find out if you’re right?” I ask.

Wes shrugs. “Let’s see tomorrow, shall we?”

From RNC News Blog:

New witness evidence proves that the family and boyfriend of Evalyn Ibarra played no part in her disappearance.

Last night, investigators finally released evidence of feed lines between Ibarra and her mother, Clara Ibarra, proving that Evalyn had not contacted her mother in several days.

Clara released a statement earlier this week validating this evidence. “I do not know the whereabouts of my daughter,” she said. “But wherever she is, I hope she’s safe.”

Liam Calaway, Evalyn’s boyfriend, who played a key witness in her shooting trial last year, was at his office in Chicago during the time when police believe she disappeared.

While evidence draws attention to the fact that Hargrove and Ibarra disappeared within a few weeks of each other, there is no solid proof that they are together.

When Calaway was asked if he believed Hargrove kidnapped Ibarra and is holding her hostage, he responded, “Perhaps it is possible, but I don’t know Casey. I don’t know his intentions or what he’s capable of.”

Viewer and reader feedback indicate that the public is more likely to believe that Ibarra found the means of kidnapping Hargrove instead of the other way around. Casey’s mother, Stefanie Hargrove, has yet to comment.

I interrupt his teeth brushing.

I’m supposed to be in bed by now, or at least, I already had my time in the bathroom. The back of my neck still aches, a reminder that our little vacation up here in Reprise-land isn’t going to last forever. The storm will end and we will get to work again. We’ll risk our necks to save a friend, and when that time comes, we won’t be in the mood for flirting or teasing or patience.

He spits out the wad of toothpaste in his mouth and looks at me through the mirror.

“I’m done. I’m done playing this game with you.”

His eyebrows furrow.

“That little stint you and I had in the Compass Room, in the cottage before the flood. That’s not going to do it for me. I don’t want to wait anymore. I can’t play games like this, pretending this is our first time, pretending to be coy for the sake of being coy. You’re killing me.”

He turns to me, leaning back. His palms are pressed against the porcelain of the sink, and I make out the veins ribboning his forearms before my attention returns to his face and the dangerous glint in his eyes. This is the Casey I met, the Casey I taunted before he pinned me to the wall back in the lodge. The Casey who likes control. Is he still in control when I demand something like this? Can two people be in control at once?

I remember my conversation with Valerie, about Casey not being able to connect with girls before me, not being able to give himself up because he was screwed up. “Unless,” I begin, my mind reeling. “Unless you don’t want me that close. Unless that one night happened only because we were at the end of our rope and it really was just sex for the sake of sex.”

He pushes himself away from the sink faster than the words leave my mouth, grabbing my shoulders—his standard Casey move—and steering me toward the wall. My breath leaves me as my back collides with it. His mouth is so close to mine that I can taste his toothpaste. “Never. It was never just sex.”

“Why?”

He bares his teeth as he attempts to control himself. “Don’t.”

“You can’t tell me
don’t
, like I’m not going to get it. Like I’m not going to get
you
.”

He says my name with just enough loathing to send a shiver down my spine, but not enough to detract me. It’s like the gold flecks in his eyes have caught on fire. I’m on the brink of being burned.

“I know enough of the
why
.” I arch away from the wall until my breasts are pressed firmly against his chest. I lift my jaw until his lips barely brush mine. “I know you were worried about the demon you think is somewhere inside of you. And you isolated yourself from girls. Why was I different?”

“Why is it so important that you know?”

The corners of my mouth rise, and I work that wicked streak in me for all it’s worth, fingers grazing the band of his flannel pants, dipping beneath the elastic to find hot, smooth skin.

He doesn’t even blink.

“Because you’re a stubborn bastard, Casey. And I want you to get over it. I want to break you in and understand you like I don’t even understand myself. I want to feel you inside of me so many times that all I have to do is shut my eyes to remember exactly what it’s like to be beneath you. Let me in.
Let me have you
.”

I can’t comprehend the amount of time that passes between us before his hands leave my shoulders. The tips of his fingers trail over my collarbone, skimming my breasts before he drops them. “Lift your arms.” His words are both surrender and victory. I’m getting what
I
want, but as much as my last words were an order, they were also my melting point. Our weaknesses and strengths are colliding.

I lift my arms.

He grasps the bottom hem of my shirt and tugs it over my head, throwing it behind him. Shooing the staticky hair from my face, I’m half-distracted as he takes my right arm, straightens it, and pushes it up against the wall.

He’s reading.

He hasn’t seen my tattoo yet. Every time I’ve been in a tank top around him, it’s been dark.

He understands. He remembers. My someone for the end of the world is him. His eyes find mine again and they hold a million questions. Why would I run away and brand myself with something that is ours? Because I was never planning on leaving him forever. And no matter how my future unfolds, no matter what happens to
us
, our defining moment will be inked to me for the rest of my life.

He kisses my collarbone, tongue leaving a wet trail down my shoulder and to the permanent cursive words on my skin. Every nerve ending inside me sizzles. His hands find my ass and he hoists me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me out of the bathroom and down the hall.

“I’m topless!”

“Like you care,” he mumbles into my neck. Soon we’re in his room with the door shut, and he throws me onto the bed, crawling on top of me. He is fevered and primal, pinning my arms above my head and asking, “Is this what you want?”

“Every fucking night.”

“We were going to die.”

“What?” I gasp.

His arms relax, and the sparks between us begin to fizzle out. “We were going to die. That’s why you were the first one I let in.”

I frown. “Well that hurts.”

“I mean, if it weren’t for the circumstances, I would have taken it more slowly with you.” As he leans forward, his lips barely brush mine. “I didn’t trust myself.”

“What about now?”

“Now . . . now I know how you fly away. I know how quickly you get up and leave. And if I hurt you . . .”

His strength gives out, and he rolls off of me, his chest rising and falling as he stares at the ceiling.

“But you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The argument is rapid, and he fires back, “I pinned you against the wall in the Compass Room lodge without thinking twice. What the fuck are you talking about?”

I wind up straddling him. I can see just enough of him in the dark. “Evalyn, the terrorist. What about Evalyn, the girl? Tell me. Tell me to my face that you can see your father coming out in you, hurting me.”

“I’d kill myself first.”

I press my hands against his bare chest. “You put aside your father and I’ll put aside the pain I’ve already caused you.”

“I already forgive you,” he says.

“Never forgive me. Let me feel like I always have to make it up to you.”

There’s some fussing and scrambling. I knee him in the pelvis as he tries to get me on my back again.

“You have an addiction to piling fault after fault inside of you and letting them sit and sink in until you’re so heavy that you can’t move.” He’s angry. His eyes are so furious, the whites of them nearly glow in the dark. “Give it up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Make me.” It’s a challenge between two twisted, stubborn souls. Determination lingers in his features, and he begins to scoot himself backward until his face is level with my hips. He pulls down my sweatpants. “What is it going to take for you to finally accept that you’re not a villain?”

He pries my legs apart with his strong, warm hands, and bites me hard on the inside of my thigh. I’m
so
not expecting it. A cry escapes my throat.

“Give it up already.”

“No.”

Another bite. This time, pleasure surges through my stomach, and my cry is more of a moan. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

His hand slides up between my legs and he pushes aside my panties. “You’re acting like a child,” he says in an overtly serious, patronizing tone. I wonder if he means to come off as sexy as he does, but I don’t have time to ponder for long because I feel his tongue on me for the first time and I lose my mind.

He’s never done this before, and I feel like I should apologize for not coming on first contact. “You don’t have to,” I keep moaning over and over, like it’s an instinct to tell him or something. Like I need to express that it’s okay if he instead wants to experience pleasure alongside me.

He pulls away from me long enough to say, “Will you shut the fuck up already?”

He didn’t have to ask, because I can’t form words.Not like I’d want to. He doesn’t act like it’s his first time. He isn’t coy. He isn’t trying too hard. He moves his mouth like it’s as good for him as it is for me, sucking, biting, teasing. His hands grip my ass and keep me from writhing too much and I’m totally gone, totally helpless beneath him. My fingers weave through his hair when I get close, and I beg him not to stop, but he does—just to fuck with me.

“I hate you.”

He laughs. “How much?”

“So much. I hate you so damn much.”

He pushes two fingers into me and I cry out, digging my heels into his back.

“Still?”

“Yes,” I gasp. My eyes roll back as his fingers curl up. “I wish you were bad at this.”

“Why the hell would you wish that?”

So I wasn’t melting like butter beneath him because we are at war and I’m prideful. Emotions are easy to hide. Physical desire is another fickle bastard of a beast entirely.

My answer isn’t important. His tongue finds me again. This time, he doesn’t stop.

***

I’m exhausted, but I want more of him. I want him inside of me, I want him wrapped around me. I want to watch him come.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into the back of my neck. “Tomorrow and the day after that. I have you until the storm passes.”

“Nuh uh.” Against the pillow, my voice is muffled. “I have
you
until the storm passes.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

I roll over to him. He pushes the hair from my eyes, and I snuggle up against his chest. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You have to sleep. Even if it means that when you wake up, the storm will be gone.”

The storm will be gone tomorrow. But just because we’ll have to start focusing on freeing Valerie doesn’t mean that this has to end.

I will do anything to have him.

I will to anything to keep him safe.

***

Waking up is a heaven kind of perfect.

I’m naked. I don’t know how my shirt came off but it’s off, and I’m lying on my stomach in the middle of the bed. Natural light filters through the window. It’s snowing softly outside. The door is open, and downstairs smells like bacon and coffee.

Casey walks in with two plates of breakfast. He stalls, raising an eyebrow. “Awake yet, sleepyhead?”

“I . . . yes.”

“Good. Now get up and eat your damn food before it gets cold.”

I pull the sheet free and then roll around like a seal on the bed until it’s wrapped around me, which receives a laugh from Casey. When it’s tucked securely beneath my armpits, I join him for breakfast. He’s made eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits.

“It’s amazing how much fresh food they can actually sneak out here without anyone catching on,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.

“Do you like the eggs?”

“Ohmuhfugginggawd, they’re amazing.”

He grins. “Are you always this gross when you eat?”

I stab at my biscuit. “You tell me. You’ve seen me eat enough.”

He avoids the question flawlessly. “Just eat up. Wes wants to take us out snowshoeing today. Something about learning how to manipulate the nanotech in the CR.”

I frown. It looks cold enough outside to freeze my eyeballs in their sockets. “Ugh. Snowshoeing? For real?”

“You need to get back in shape anyway. When we’re in the CR, we’re going to want to hike to the wall fast.” I can tell he’s on the brink of laughter.

“Are you calling me fat?” I deadpan.

He rolls his eyes. “Give me a break.” He stands, still hunched over the table, and uses it to support himself as he leans over me. “Getting in shape doesn’t mean getting thin. Besides, I prefer this Evalyn to scrawny prison rat Evalyn any day.”

“Scrawny prison rat!?”

“I’m giving you a compliment.”

“You’re saying that you like me fat more than you like me scrawny. That’s hardly a compliment.” I crack a slight smile to let him know I’m kidding. “Isn’t there a happy medium?”

“Nope!”

“You sure do know how to win over a woman’s heart, Casey Hargrove.”

He grins and pats his lap. “Come here.”

I comply. When he pulls me onto him, his lips press against my bare shoulder and I bite back the urge to groan at such a simple gesture.

He breaks off a piece of his biscuit and dips it into a pile of strawberry jam.

“But this kind of breakfast every day
will
make me fat. Really.”

“Shame.” He lifts the pastry. “All of those curves for me to deal with.”

I open my mouth, tongue grazing his finger as he hand feeds me—strawberry bliss, Casey’s skin. Snow and forest and a clean sheet wrapped around me. This should be every morning.

This will be every morning, once we enter the Compass Room as a team and extract Valerie. Once we escape and have nothing to worry about beneath the protection of Reprise.

It will happen. It must.

***

Snowshoeing isn’t like walking, rather like taking awkward lunges through the soft snow in duck feet. Casey keeps muttering and cursing and falling over. When I attempt to help him up,
I
fall over. Maliyah, Wes, and Piper walk fluidly through the snow—uphill—like they do this every damn day of their lives. Casey and I desperately cling to each other as snow pelts us in the face, slipping and dragging each other down. Near the top of the hill, our snowshoes cross. He falls to his knees and I tumble over him, landing face-first in the powder. It hurts like a bitch and the snow is freezing, but I can’t help but laugh.

When I do, he joins me. I fall back into the snow and he leans over me, kissing me on the mouth. I swear he melts the ground beneath me.

When we’ve finally scrambled back to our feet, I look up to catch Piper staring back at us, grinning madly like a giddy schoolgirl. She spins around and flounces to catch up with Wes and Maliyah.

When we reach the top of the hill, Maliyah pulls from her jacket a piece of folded-up leather. She drops it on the snow and unwraps it, revealing a set of four knives. Piper slides her backpack from her shoulders and opens it, pulling out her tablet.

“The technology in these knives only works once it’s calibrated with the chip inside of your head.” Her words are muffled behind her scarf. “Give me a moment.” A few minutes later, she says, “Alright, Evalyn’s and Casey’s chips are registering. We should be good to go.”