Being Emerald (2 page)

Surrounded by the prison of slick granite counters and monstrous stainless steel appliances, his temper rose. He hated this fucking house. He detested his life and loathed the man he’d become since he’d been forced out of the Amber Zone.

“God dammit!” He flung the glass at the far wall. A satisfying crack, then exploding shards sprayed the kitchen, tinkling as they hit the floor. Rock clutched the edge of the counter, trying to rein in his fury. His bare feet against the tumbled marble tile filled his vision as he forced himself to regain his composure. During his year in the Emerald Zone, he’d only been inside the city walls for a handful of weeks, but even that was too much. Every second since he’d been condemned to this home had been miserable. He’d never even bothered to walk upstairs, preferring to sleep on the couch in the living room whenever forced to be inside his lavish prison.

Rock sat on a high stool at the island and stuck his earbud in his ear. “Call Dad.” He thanked God his dad didn’t give a flying fuck their conversations broke the law banning communication with Amber citizens. “Let them listen. Let them try to do something,” his father had shouted through his earbud when the new injunction had been put in place. “They all can kiss my ass.”

“The dream again?” his father asked in a rough, sleepy voice.

“Yeah.”

“It’s been a while since the last one. I thought maybe you were done with them.”

“Me too. I got my next assignment today. Go date is July fourth.”

“Jesus,” his father hissed. “That fucker is messing with you.”

“He’s good at the game. My job is different too. I’ll bodyguard the woman who runs the Fine Arts and Artifacts Program. I’ve got a couple of months to train her before we go to DC.”

“The new assignment explains the dream coming back after so many months.”

“You think?”

“Being responsible for a woman. The anniversary of Emily’s death as the go date. Hell yeah, he’s stirring things up, fucking with your head.”

“So, same shit different day.”

“Yeah, son, same fucking shit. Have you met the woman yet?”

“Yeah, briefly.”

“I saw a video highlighting the mission the other day. It’s been on steady rotation in the feeds. She was in it.”

“Laila?”

“Yes.”

Rock could practically hear his father rolling his eyes. It bothered his dad that he left women relatively unnoticed since Emily’s death.

“In the interview,” his dad said, “she seemed certain she knows where the Declaration of Independence and Constitution are being stored.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“She’s pretty.”

The words grated. “Subtlety still escapes you, Dad. Always has, for both of us.”

“Huh.”

Rock knew that sound. Knew it wasn’t good. “What?”

“He’s putting you in a position to have to protect another woman. He has to know it would crush you if you failed.”

“You think Morgan’s going to try to kill her?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d be completely absolved of any wrongdoing if the mission just never returned. Plus, I think having the people’s focus on the freedoms this country was built on is the exact opposite of what he wants. You have to wonder why he’d bring so much attention to the retrieval of documents that will so blatantly undermine his rule in New Atlanta.”

Rock hadn’t considered that. “You think he’s counting on us not to come back?”

“Well, in your case, isn’t he always?”

He weighed his father’s words. “Maybe this time he’ll plant someone to make sure of it.”

Normally, being killed outside of New Atlanta wasn’t a worry because he trusted his team, but his usual team wouldn’t be with him this time. “Shit.”

“Some people think this Washington trip is a suicide mission.”

“Every mission is a suicide mission, but I get what you’re saying. I have to find out more about the program and the woman running it before I get a good sense of what fucked up scenario he’s throwing me into. Whatever it is, I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t doubt it, son.”

“I’m getting tired of this bullshit. I’m done, Dad. I can’t anymore.” Months ago, his plan to leave New Atlanta permanently had come to him like a lightning bolt of divine inspiration. The Onyx Zone recovery missions had given him a sense of freedom that, over time, had grown to an almost uncontainable need. He was more alive in the dilapidated and overgrown places he’d traveled than he ever was in New Atlanta. Often, he walked off by himself and enjoyed the absence of restrictions, and the relative safety of being away from the Gov’s eyes and long-armed reach. Ironic. When he’d first started working in Onyx, Rock had hoped to die in there. His general aversion to being alive had diminished over the last year, but not his aversion to life inside Emerald Zone walls.

“All right, son. I suppose I knew it was coming.”

Rock ran his fingers through his hair again and stopped the motion, gripping a fistful of it on top of his head. “You need to visit with Xander.” His mention of the Amber Resistance leader’s name caused several seconds of dead air. His father didn’t know it yet, but Xander held a letter for him. It outlined the plan. They would meet at the drop house and disappear together.

“All right.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.” He disconnected the call. The man was his lifeline. He’d been waiting for the right way to break the news he was leaving. Now that the tunnel from Amber to outside the walls was completed, his father could leave with him. They would be together under one roof again soon. Most days, that knowledge was the only thing that kept him going and kept him sane.

It had been almost a year since he lost the woman he loved and the companionship of his father, friends—every important relationship in his life. A year since the devastating removal of the physical touch he needed. For twenty-seven years he’d been wrapped in the soft comfort of another’s bare skin brushing his countless times a day.

Then it was gone. He’d never get used to the deprivation of it, the hollow feeling in his belly that seemed like a permanent part of him now.

He was dead inside. He still drew breath. He still had thoughts, though he tried as hard as he could to eradicate those causing him to feel anything, but he wasn’t the same man who’d lived and loved in the Amber Zone. He’d constructed layers of protection around himself. That shell, like the bark of a tree, shielded the ever-hemorrhaging wound with a rough, dark barrier. He rarely allowed himself to acknowledge his raging anger and desperate need for human contact. If he allowed himself to feel all the emotions that crowded him every day, he’d have probably killed himself, or somebody else, by now. Every waking minute held potential for Rock to totally lose it, to explode in a dangerous fit of pent-up fury. He was like a diamond created under immense pressure, becoming something hard and cold.

This next mission would be his last. He was going to walk away. He couldn’t wait.

Laila Lewis stood in the hallway, just outside the door of the conference room. This initial briefing marked the beginning of the final two months of training and preparation before the mission. The Fine Arts and Artifacts Recovery Program was her baby. The trip to DC was the culmination of thousands of hours of specialized education, apprenticeships and the ultimate goal of her life’s work.

For years, the anticipation had been practically overwhelming. But today, facing the sea of Black Guard uniforms, her excitement was muted by fear. She had no interest in engaging in polite conversation with any of the people here. Rock was the exception. No uniform, but still in black. He was a goliath, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Two hundred pounds of badass, standing there with bulging arms crossed over his chest. Armed men in camouflage stood at attention against the white walls, no expression, no movement, like pieces of furniture. Nobody sat at the massive conference table yet.

A high-level crowd attended, and her heartbeat jumped when she spotted General Morgan. His scar bit into his upper lip, making him appear as if he sneered whenever he spoke. “Fucking hell,” she said under her breath. She had a difficult time staying in the same room with the man for too long. His evil overwhelmed her.

Laila took a deep breath and locked her defenses into place. She strode into the room and sat in one of the rolling, black leather chairs surrounding the dark-wood conference table.

Someone called for everyone to take their seats.

She was not the only woman present. Sydney Parr, an Amazon—tall, leggy and muscular—would be riding in the other truck with Garret during the mission. She was a legend in her own right because of her rank and reputation in one of the Onyx Zone Recovery Teams. Recently, she’d received the distinction of being the first woman accepted into Morgan’s National Guard.

She sat across the table from Laila, next to Rock. She was close to him. Laila scrutinized them, the distance between them, the general air of formality. They didn’t seem to have any kind of relationship. She was relieved. The first time she’d met Sydney, the woman had spared her a disinterested glance before returning to converse with someone else. She seemed like a bitch, and Laila had steered clear of her since.

General Conrad Morgan rounded the table and sat on Laila’s right.

She tensed, and her anxiety spiked.

He nodded. “Miss Lewis.”

She returned his nod with a well-practiced smile. “General.”

They focused on Garret, National Guardsman, mission head, and navigator in charge of getting the four of them to Washington DC. He was tall, like Rock, but his coloring was Sapphire all the way, with sandy hair and green eyes. He had a clean-cut boy-next-door kind of look. He appeared to be the polar opposite of tall, dark and hostile directly across from her.

While Garret ran down the list of significant dangers they would face during the trip, General Morgan slid his finger over Laila’s thigh. Her stomach twisted. She steeled her expression, hiding the cringe she so much wanted to be there, and shored up her barriers.

Morgan’s energy, slimy and demented, slithered like a snake over her skin.

Adrenaline raced through her veins. She moved only her eyes and looked at his profile. His good side. During meetings, he’d always seated her to his left so his disfigurement was hidden.

Morgan glanced across the table.

Rock’s singular gaze zeroed in on the spot Morgan touched her.

Putting on a show, the general made sure Rock saw what seemed like casual affection.

Rock scowled fiercely at General Morgan. Her new bodyguard took his life into his hands with open hostility pointed at the general. Rock’s gaze rested on her face before leisurely sliding down her body.

When he turned his attention back to Garret’s description of the route they’d take north, Laila could not do the same. Seemingly of its own accord, her interest lingered on the hulking, intimidating man across the table. This mountain’s job was to keep her alive. He was an Emerald, like her.

She rubbed the newly tattooed emerald green band around her wrist. Garret had revealed Rock grew up in Amber, like she had. Rock didn’t look like the type of person raised in the accepting Amber environment. But, what a person presented to the world was not necessarily what lay beneath the surface.

When Laila tuned into a person’s energy, she was able to get a sense of the person and their feelings. She closed her eyes and blocked out the drone of Garret’s voice. Relaxing, she exhaled, reached out with her senses and collided with an impervious barrier. He was totally closed off.

Opening herself a little more, she tried to sense the man behind the leave-me-alone-façade. At first, she got nothing. With some concentrated effort, her energy brushed past his defenses and mingled with his.

Her empathic gift was sensitive, and with so many people in the small room, the likelihood she’d feel only him if she opened herself up more was iffy at best. In a room full of people, there was never a guarantee she sensed the person she thought she was. She pretended to read the compad on the table in front of her, took in another deep breath, and opened herself a bit more.

An initial sensation of being under immense pressure morphed into a storm of torment and anger. His hell felt deep and tragic. It overwhelmed her.

She opened her eyes, and their gazes clashed. His eyes blazed as if he’d sensed her attempt to feel him. But that was impossible.

She tried to break the connection, but couldn’t fend off the unbearable tsunami of his pent-up emotions. They pelted her, embedded in her soul like buckshot in soft flesh.

Despite repeatedly trying to push the emotions away, they only disappeared when he returned his attention to Garret’s presentation.

By the time she’d rid herself of his feelings completely, she was shaken and nauseated. The connection had been less than a minute, but the vast, nuclear bomb-like intensity of what lay inside him had her heartbeat racing and adrenaline pumping. It was the first time her empathic connection had been so intense she’d had trouble breaking it.

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she excused herself. She hurried down the main corridor, into the mercifully unoccupied ladies room.

Breathing hard and assessing whether she was going to vomit, she steadied herself with a hand on the wall next to the sink. Her hands shook as she cupped them under the faucet. She gulped in several mouthfuls of water before cutting it off.

“Are you okay?”

Laila jumped and swung around.

Rock stood behind her in the doorway.

Not wanting anyone to see her like this, especially him, she turned away quickly. She took a couple more hitching breaths and lifted her gaze to his reflection in the mirror, nodded. “Yeah. I’m…good.”

Gazes locked, they stood in silence, forming a personal connection. For the next few months, they were a duo in a team of four. She was sure those seconds were an allowance of time and attention Rock didn’t give just anyone.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll be prepared to defend yourself if you need to.” The tone of his deep voice was gentler than she’d heard him use with other people, making it easier to school her expression into some semblance of composure.