Renegade (21 page)

After one moan he was silent.

“This is ridiculous! Surrender now, before one of you gets hurt! Riggs, what the hell are you doing? Call off your men!”

Peyton’s command rang out, but no one heeded his words. It all made sense now. Riggs hated me, and he was spurring on the attack. He wanted us to get hurt.

He owed me.

Harsh fingers tangled in my hair, yanked me away. I flew back, and a brawny arm curled around my neck. Without a second thought, I rocked back on my heels, then thrust all my weight over and down. He flipped over my head, pulling me with him. He landed back first on the hard ground, with me on the top, his arm slackening on impact. I flipped over, rose, and slammed my heel into his groin. Blanching, he curled into a fetal position.

I raced back to Hunter, who had squared off with the guy who’d stood next to Riggs. Hunter’s right eye was already starting to swell shut. The man reared back to deliver another blow.

I leaned to the side and lifted my leg high, striking the ball of my foot hard into his lower back.

Even through my shoe, I felt vertebrae yielding, the unnatural crack piercing the air. The guard crumpled like a puppet without strings.

I grabbed Hunter’s wrist. “Come on!”

The van, it was so close.

We closed in on the driver’s door, our legs pumping hard. Then, a flutter of motion, as another man exploded out of the back—with a gun, fully extended.

“Get in the van!” I yelled, shoving Hunter toward the driver’s door as I plowed straight ahead. Right for our attacker.

His eyes widened when I was still three steps away, narrowed at two. I saw his finger twitch on the trigger at one, heard the slight snick of the bullet releasing from the silenced chamber. I veered to the left, a blur just barely grazing my arm. Then I batted the gun away before diving headfirst into his chest.

He crashed backward and I somersaulted over him, regaining my feet and his gun, but now facing the wrong way.

“No guns! No guns!” Peyton shouted, but he’d lost all control of the situation. “Back off of him!”

Hunter
.

I whirled, already in stride. Hunter fumbled for the door handle with one hand and frantically urged me on with the other. He yanked open the door and stepped back, making room for me to dive in first.

“Mila!” he yelled.

A man grabbed him from behind and yanked him backward, wrapping one burly arm around Hunter’s throat.

“Hunter!” I screamed, desperately propelling myself toward him.

Just in time to watch Hunter’s eyes bulge, watch his hands claw at the arm to no avail. To watch the guard use his free hand to press something against Hunter’s neck.

Just in time to watch his mouth form one final “Mila?”—just in time to catch him as his body convulsed and his legs buckled beneath him.

“Noooooo!”

As my arms reached for him, I heard a loud zap, saw a bright crackle of light. And then a powerful electrical fire surged up my spine. Current blazed through my body: hot, hot, sizzling.

My thoughts jerked, jerked, disrupted by the same static that bristled through my ears.

Taser
was my final coherent thought, before I————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

A
familiar buzzing filled my head in short, disjointed bursts. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Followed by a head-smashing bump.

“Sorry about that,” I thought I heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice say. But it came from far, far away and was distorted, like the words had to travel through a long, narrow tunnel to reach me.

More buzzing. Then distorted images, flashing by in broken pieces. A horse’s hoof. A patch of green, green grass. Twirling on a beach. A white floor, marred by a swath of steel chains and the pungent scent of bleach. The inside of a car, with brightly colored candies in a tiny little cubby. Fans shrieking at a baseball game, as the Phillies batter smacked the ball. The acrid smell of smoke. A body. Collapsing.

Faded blue eyes . . .

Faded blue eyes . . .

Faded . . .

Hunter.

With a gasp like I’d been holding my breath underwater for far too long and I’d finally broken the surface, my own eyes flipped open, only to stare directly at a pair of spotless brown boots with three-inch stiletto heels and two, no, three silver buckles on the side encasing smallish feet. Long, long legs crossed at the knee, a navy blue skirt, with a high slit on the left side. A matching, fitted blazer, blanketed by a mass of auburn hair. An oval face with high, defined cheekbones, full lips, and thickly lashed blue eyes framed by delicately arched auburn brows.

The full lips curved into a welcoming smile and the body leaned toward me, encompassing me in some kind of spicy vanilla scent. “Hello, Mila.” Then, she shook her head, a soft laugh echoing through the room. “Wow, you probably have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to say that. I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

I blinked up at her upside-down face, my mind still a little cloudy. Here? Where was here? Sensations kicked in, and I realized the soft, squishy material beneath me was leather. I was stretched out on a brown leather couch, while the smiling woman lounged next to me in a matching chair.

With more effort than I should have needed, I jerked myself up into a sitting position.

Her forehead wrinkled, and she reached out to stabilize my arm, throwing her hands up in silent platitude when I leaned away from her touch.

“Easy,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You took in quite a bit of juice. That absolutely was not meant to happen.” A scowl tightened her lips.

Juice?

Voltage.
Taser.

It was all coming back.

“Anyway, you should relax for a bit. Let your body recover. Can I get you anything?”

She rested her elbows on her skirt and leaned closer as if concerned, engulfing me in another waft of vanilla.

“Who are you?” I tried to say, in lieu of a request. But my voice was somehow locked up. All that came out was a grunt-like sound.
“Hoo.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Oh. Right. Nice going, Quinn—in all the excitement, you forgot to introduce yourself. Quinn Taylor, founder of the Vita Obscura.”

Quinn . . . this woman was
the
Quinn? The founder of the V.O., the organization that had terrified my mom so much, and even had Holland crazy with anxiety? In all the time I’d tried to visualize who might be the mastermind of the faceless organization after us, I’d never once pictured someone like this. For one, she was so pretty. Petite. She looked more suited to a boardroom or a magazine cover than the leader of an underground criminal organization. I mean, I knew better than to underestimate people based on looks, but still.

For two, she seemed so . . .
sincere.

Something niggled at the back of my head. Something was wrong. The details of the fight in the driveway flew through my head, and my body went rigid with remembered dread.

“Where’s . . . Hunter?” I managed. This time, the words came out, but in that too low, too robotic voice from the garage. The one I hated more than anything.

Quinn frowned. “Has that happened before?”

I scowled. “Hunter?” I demanded, in the same robotic tone.

“Hmmm. It’s probably just a side effect of the Taser, or other electrical insults, like too much current. It should wear off in a few seconds. But if it ever persists, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do. I can tell that must be upsetting for you. As far as Hunter goes, he’s safe, with his parents.”

My relief over his safety was short-lived. Hunter’s parents. I’d forgotten, until just now. How was he coping, knowing that they’d used him? How was he coping in general? The choke hold . . .

I didn’t speak, but my eyes must have expressed my worries.

“He’s fine, I promise. You can even see him soon, if you like.”

I nodded, then bit my lip. Of course I wanted to see him, more than anything. I just wasn’t sure he’d say the same thing about me. He might have been willing to help me escape, but that had to be guilt guiding his actions.

He’d made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.

At the thought, a hollow formed in my heart.

I cleared my throat, hoping that my voice would work this time. “His parents,” I started carefully. Relief flowed through me when my voice once again sounded familiar. “They work for you?”

“Yes, though mainly his stepfather. They were instrumental in helping to locate you and bring you in, thanks to Hunter.”

I winced, and she sighed. “I swear, nothing is quite as bad as it might seem right now. I know you must think we’re the devil, but I hope to prove otherwise. Well, except for Riggs. But don’t worry. He’s being dealt with.” For a moment, her mouth hardened, and her voice lost its musical cadence. In that moment, I caught a glimmer of something menacing. “Do you mind . . . ?” she said, reaching out for me again.

I didn’t want to say yes, but I also didn’t want to piss her off. Not until I had some kind of idea what game she was playing at here. She seemed sincere, but all of Mom’s warnings flew through my head, telling me to exercise extreme caution.

I gave a brief, jerky nod, and she cradled my hand in her own. Warm. Her palms were warm. Her expression lit up, and I felt her body release a tiny sigh. “Amazing. Simply amazing.”

Now that she was closer, I could see that she wasn’t as young as I’d first thought. Tiny crow’s feet fanned from her skin. Her grip tightened; her eyes glowed with intensity. Suddenly uncomfortable, I yanked my hand away, then worried I’d offended her. I wasn’t exactly in a bargaining position at the moment.

To my surprise, she apologized. “There I go again, getting ahead of myself. I’m sure you must be incredibly confused about me and my group. Speaking of which, I’m being a terrible host.”

She rose, smoothing her skirt down her slim legs, and motioned me to follow her toward the door. “Let me show you around and introduce you to my crew, so you can settle in before we get down to business. I think you’re going to like it here.”

I stood slowly. Warily. The whole hostess act didn’t fit with anything I knew about the V.O. Not the men who’d tried to grab Mom and me back at the motel, or the fight that had broken out at Jensen’s house.

“I think what I’d like is to know where I am.”

My GPS wasn’t functioning yet, or else I would have figured it out for myself.

“You’ll know. When the time is right,” Quinn replied, her eyes soft, not elusive. “Trust me. It’s for your own protection that some things are a mystery right now. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

This made no sense.
She
made no sense. I should be plotting my escape, I knew that. But shell shock must have taken a toll, because all I could do for now was follow behind her, and wonder what the hell was going on. In my defense, the more information I had, the better. And it was clear that Quinn was full of information.

Besides, I consoled myself—I couldn’t do anything until I saw that Hunter was safe, with my own eyes.

She laughed suddenly, tapping herself lightly on the head with two pink-tipped fingers. “You must think I’m nutty. I should have apologized immediately for the way you were brought in. Way too chaotic, but it was partly because one of my tech guys had intercepted a message that Holland had a trace on you. We think he may have managed to disable your stealth mode, somehow. Probably when you were connecting to the internet.”

Three, at the bus stop. The weird wormhole sensation in my head. Suddenly, it was all making sense. It was possible that I’d led Holland and Three right to me.

An image of Three’s body melting to nothing under the semi flashed through my mind, accompanied by the scent of burning flesh and hair. I shivered and shoved the memory away.

Quinn paused in the doorway. “Mila, I know this is going to sound crazy, but we have a mutual enemy. General Holland.” Just like that, all traces of softness vanished again. Her stiff posture and jutting chin radiated aggression. Beneath that pretty, sunny exterior, I suspected something explosive lurked. Like dynamite disguised beneath a carefully applied layer of paint and glitter. “And I think it’s long past time we made him pay.”

Even if I doubted everything else, there was no doubting that Quinn despised General Holland. Possibly as much as I did. But why?

A quick shake of auburn hair, and she was walking again. “Enough of that for now. Let me introduce you to the rest of the group.”

I followed, slowly, mentally ticking through everything I knew about the V.O. And how none of it so far was tracking. I had to be missing something. Somewhere, along the way, a trap would surely be sprung. Maybe allaying my suspicions was all part of the plan, somehow.

And yet . . . as I watched Quinn’s hair swish while we walked, I realized I did believe one thing. Quinn was genuinely happy to have me here, whatever the reason. The first person who’d ever known what I truly was, and welcomed me anyway.

Still. That didn’t mean I trusted her.

From somewhere down near the end of the long hall, I could just make out noises. A clank. A spurt of laughter. A sudden shout, followed by muffled voices.

Quinn groaned. “Children, children,” she said, but her tone brimmed with amused tolerance. “You’ll find that we work hard here, but we play just as hard.”

I had to admit, my curiosity was piqued.

With her efficient, long strides, she led me down the corridor. White walls, synthetic fiber on the floor. The hallway curved slowly, until we approached a set of open doors. The sounds emitted from inside the room grew louder: voices, laughter, the staccato, rapid-fire
ping ping ping
of a recorded gun. Pool balls, clinking together.

Against my will, hope fluttered in my chest. Would I find Hunter in there? Part of me wanted to see him again, and part of me lived in terror, of how he would treat me now that he knew everything.

Now that he knew what I was.

Before we could enter the doorway, footsteps thudded down the hall, back from the way we came. We both turned, to see Jensen striding toward us.

I tensed, my stomach twisting at the sight of him. Here, in the V.O.’s hideout. There went any last sliver of hope that he wasn’t working with them again. As obvious as his involvement might have seemed back at his house, the fact that he’d disappeared before Quinn arrived left me with a tiny reservoir of doubt. But now that reservoir dried up, refilled instead with the certainty of his betrayal.

His gaze swept over me, from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he nodded at Quinn. “She okay?”

“She’s fine, which you can see for yourself.”

He grunted, and I gritted my teeth. “
She
is right here, and can even form sentences of her own.” I paused, then added, “She’s also wondering how you can live with yourself, knowing what a traitor you’ve been to Mom’s memory.”

The satisfaction I felt when he flinched was fleeting. “I’ll be in the gym if you need me.”

Quinn flashed her white teeth. “Working out some issues, Daniel?”

He stared her down for a moment, not saying a word. Then, with a scowl, he turned and strode away.

“Well. That was interesting, don’t you think?” Quinn mused.

I watched his retreat, and despite myself, couldn’t help but feel a knife twist in my chest.

Not your dad, I reminded myself. Sarah’s.

Raised voices preceded a door flying open on the other side of the hallway. And just like that, Hunter appeared.

My eyes greedily drank him in, checking for any injuries, any bruises. The knot I hadn’t even known was in my stomach loosened. He really was okay. Hunter was okay.

Our eyes met, and it was like all of the trauma of the past two days just fell away. Something crackled between us, making my breath catch. He swallowed, hard, while need tore through me, aching and pure, and I hoped against all logic that whatever he said would offer a sliver of a chance.

“We aren’t finished here—” Sophia’s face appeared in the doorway. When she saw us, her voice quieted, though her smile was forced. She nodded politely, then tugged on Hunter’s good arm. “Come on.”

With one last, searching look at me, Hunter turned and disappeared back inside. The click of the door signaled my heart to resume pumping.

I was aware of Quinn studying me, so I ducked my head to hide my face.

“Love sucks, doesn’t it?” is what she finally said, before guiding me toward the common room.

Was I really that obvious?

My scan kicked in, itemizing heights and weights and distinguishing characteristics, in less than two seconds. Quinn announced, “Look who’s here.”

All eleven people stopped what they were doing, and chatter cut off like a cord sliced with a knife. Silence reigned for an initial, uncomfortable moment, and I saw various emotions flit across faces. I braced myself for rejection.

Several people clumped around a worn pool table that had seen better days, while others were looking up from where they slumped on the couch, playing video games. Another group sat around an overturned box, playing a card game involving matches. I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised. I guess in the back of my head, I’d been expecting something sterile, like Holland’s compound. In comparison, this place was actually . . . homey.