Sugar Skulls (24 page)

“Scrub her out,” Damon says, handing me off to a burly orderly almost twice my height and weight, like I’m nothing more than a packet of applejack trading hands. “Scrub
everything
out.”

The attendant pauses, holding my arms to my sides. “Her file doesn’t say anything about a mind-wipe. Just the reboot—”

“Mind your fucking business and do your job.”

The guy scuttles off, probably to retrieve some piece of equipment; this is the only chance I’ll get.

“Why don’t you take your jacket off, Damon? Roll your sleeves up and get comfortable. This is gonna take a while.”

His eyes cut straight over me, narrowing with sudden suspicion. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

This time, the memory gun is pointed at him, and I’m more than happy to pull the trigger. “It means I remember the house.”
Bang.
“I remember the gang initiation.”
Bang.
“I remember the
rapes
.”

One more bullet in the chamber.

“I remember you . . . waiting your turn.”

Forget shooting him; Damon looks like I slid a knife between his ribs and twisted. “That’s the trouble, Vee. Eventually you remember
what
happened, but you never remember the
why
.”

He doesn’t look surprised. Shouldn’t he look more surprised?

Damon shrugs out of his jacket, folds it carefully in half, and lays it across a chair. Removes both his cuff links and drops them with twin
plinks
on a side table. By the time he starts rolling up the first sleeve, the tears are burning my eyes; long before he’s done with the second, they’re coursing down my face. There they are: the skulls, the daggers, the roses, the gothic lettering I thought I’d imagined. I shake my head, trying to look away, unable to escape the hollow socket-stare of his tattoos.

“You always came back to the house,” he tells me. “Three months. Six. However long you’d last at the new foster home, you always circled back to that empty house. It was your parents’ rental. Probably the only place you ever thought of as home. Neighborhood really went to shit over the years, with the ’bangers moving in, and I was just the dumb asshole a few doors down who brought you food and blankets and whatever else you needed before CPS tossed you in a car and hauled you off again.”

Can’t swallow. Can’t
breathe.
As Damon talks, the kaleidoscope shifts, fragments tumbling so that I catch snippets of a yard, a rusting fence—

And him. A younger, happier version of him. A chance meeting in the twilight. A clumsy peanut butter sandwich in a plastic bag. A sleeping bag that had seen better days but smelled like his drugstore aftershave when I unzipped it.

“We were supposed to make a go of it in LA,” Damon says. “Your voice. Me getting you the gigs you needed. I just couldn’t figure out how to keep you out of the system. Keep you with me long enough to make it happen.” His eyes are too dark to read when he adds, “Joining the gang seemed like the best bet. Muscle to keep Child Services away, money to get us started.”

When he takes a step toward me, I stand my ground, refusing to back away from him. “And after that? When those guys were taking turns with me on the floor? That still feel like the best bet you could have made?”

There it is again: the look like I’ve stabbed him right in the heart. “I wanted to stop them, Vee. Swear to god, I tried. But it was that or them killing us both.”

I wanted to die. Maybe that was enough.
“How did I get to the hospital?”

“I carried you there.” His hand keeps opening and closing, like he can’t make up his mind if he should punch something. “Found you a gurney in the ER and bolted, because I was covered in your blood and new ink. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but they would’ve taken one look at me, called the cops, hauled me off to jail. By the time I got cleaned up and came back, they were transferring you to Cyrene’s medical facilities. So I made damn sure I was head of the line when the next batch of recruits got in.”

“So you could stalk me.”

“So I could
protect
you. So that I could make things right between us. So that I could take care of you the way I used to take care of you before everything went to shit. So that I could give you everything I couldn’t fucking give you
out there
.” Damon reaches forward and snags Micah’s chain with one smooth finger. “I’m going to decorate you with platinum,” he says, his sudden quiet tone ten times as frightening as his fury. “Diamonds.” One swift jerk, one flare of pain across the back of my neck, and he’s holding the broken gift in his hand. “We are going to start over
yet again
, and maybe this time you won’t fuck it up.”

My legs go out from under me as I cry out, “Give it back, Damon! God . . . just, please. Give it back—”

“No point, Vee. You’re not going to remember his name when you wake up, much less the fact that he gave you this two-cent piece of shit.” Damon’s hand clamps shut on the necklace. “Do you understand?”

Med techs flood into the room as I start to scream. “Give it back to me, goddamn it, Damon, or I swear I’ll kill you!” My threat rattles the windows in their panes. “Do
you
understand? Fucking! Kill! You!”

The immobilizers are already betraying me when the techs pin me to the table and shoot tranquilizers into my arm.

“Give it back!”

The dark reaches for me, but it’s Damon who smoothes my hair out of my face. Damon pressing a single kiss to my forehead as I shriek myself unconscious.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

M

I don’t even make it as close as the chain-link fence this time before I’m turned back by greyface patrols. The Carlisle is locked up tight, with fully geared and plainclothes guards maintaining a block-wide perimeter around the building. The message from Damon is loud and clear:
You know where she is, but you can’t do a damn thing about it.

Maybe not, but I can at least try to check on her.
I turn back and book it to the Clocktower, easily sneaking in and working my way up level by level until I’m inside the cavernous clockwork mechanism itself. Soon enough, I’m perched on one of the maintenance platforms, looking out over half the city. But only one building has my attention. One suite. One window.

The living room is empty this time, save for a few wandering guards assigned to remind Vee that the songbird is once again caged.

Suddenly, she cries out. I don’t know if there’s a skylight open somewhere, or the sheer sonic assault is rattling the glass in its frames, but the building practically vibrates as she shrieks, a piercing howl from deep within her that shakes me to my core. This isn’t a warning, or a defiant battle cry. This is fear given voice. This is terror. I don’t know what they’re doing to her, but I can imagine, and that’s even worse than knowing.

I put His Majesty through a table for less. Damon, you’re gonna suffer for every moment she suffers. I will fucking end you.

Fury surges within me like lava, threatening to erupt, and I clench my fists to keep it tamped down. I can’t get my hands on the suit, but there’s someone deserving of my rage that I
can
put my hands on.

Rete.

His Majesty was in no shape to follow us back to the warren, and after the debacle at the Dome, he wouldn’t dare call Damon. But he could have called Rete. Rete could’ve had Ludo trailing us at any point over the last few days, he was so paranoid about the Rivitocin. All he would have needed was a ballpark location, and Damon swept in like a hurricane.

I owe Rete a visit. I was gonna leave, let him take his chances with Corporate. But not now. Now he’s mine.

Vee’s screaming fades to silence, horrible silence, and it’s a punch in the heart.

Damon wouldn’t kill her, she’s still too valuable to him . . . But he could easily hurt her until she passed out.

They say there’s a certain point where your rage plateaus and you can’t get any angrier. Instead, everything inside goes cold and you feel very, very calm. I had no idea that was true until this very moment.

I give the Carlisle a last look, hoping for a glimpse of her, but there’s nothing, nothing at all.
I’m coming, Vee. As soon as I figure out a way in, I’m coming, even if I have to make your lyrics come true. Even if I have to burn this city to the ground.

Nobody hassles me on the way to the warehouse, lucky for them. My fury accompanies me all the way to Rete’s, and before Fire Plug even has the garage door up past his waist, I roll inside and tag him in the balls with my Brights. He collapses like a demolished hotel, and I’m on my feet in an instant.

Scrappy charges toward me, only to be cut short when I kick him hard in the knee, hobbling him. I follow it with a jab to the throat, and he seizes up from the shock before one good shove sends him to the floor with a thud.

I turn to Rete, who stares at me slack-jawed and abandons his search for something, anything to defend himself with.
Expected these two to handle security for him. Anyone else on the payroll must be out looking for me or making runs.

I stalk toward him. “You sold us out, you spineless sack of dogshit.”

“Whoa, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s quick to put some distance between us, weaseling between the wall and a stack of plastic-wrapped crates.

I shadow him, not letting him out of my sight for a second. “You saw the vid-alerts. You tried to take her and score some nice reward credits for yourself.”

Keeping his hands up, palms facing me, Rete’s cool façade finally falls to pieces. “Hey, you attacked a customer. You’re a liability. And I didn’t tell Adonis to grab her. That was his own thing. Everybody takes what they can get—”

“What we got was raided this morning,
and they took her
. So now, I’m taking it out on you.” I grab a chair and hurl it over the crates at him. He ducks, and it crashes against the wall.

Closing the distance between us in two steps, I grab his shirt and slam him against the wall, too. “I’m taking everything out on you.” Three shots, right to the eyes. “Peddling the shit that killed my friends.” Two jabs to the gut. “Calling in those fucks who took Vee.” Planting my forearm against his throat, I press down, watching his eyes bulge as he twitches.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fire Plug and Scrappy getting back to their feet.
Fuck. The charge must be going on my Brights.

Rete takes advantage of my distraction and shoves me with everything he’s got, making a break for it out the back door. I scramble over the smaller crates and give chase, following him out into the sunlight and down the alley.

Asshole is faster than he looks.
Rete dashes around the corner, hoping to lose me in the endless rows of storage garages, but he’s not getting away that easily. Down one alley, up another, we race like rats in a maze made of corrugated steel and concrete. Around another corner, I’m nearly decapitated by a piece of pipe sitting at neck height. I duck, and my feet slide out from under me as I skate across the asphalt.

Whoa, where the fuck did that come from?!
Down the next alley, there’s a pipe at shin height, perfect for tripping pursuers and breaking legs. Rete’s obviously been busy the last few days.
The bastard already had an escape plan.

Movement up ahead, and I race forward, my eyes peeled for any other nasty surprises. As I round the corner, Rete’s waiting in the shadow of a doorway, and he cracks me in the chest with something. A bat or a piece of metal, not sure. All I know is, it fucking hurts.

He hits me again, under the arm, and I feel my rib break in two with the blow. I cry out, hugging my chest as I fall to the ground. The wind goes right out of me, and I gasp for air. Rete doesn’t give me the chance, kicking me in the face and damn near breaking my nose.

“Fuckin’ making me run! Cocksucker!” I only now realize he’s sucking wind badly. I try to roll onto my good side, but he shakes the length of pipe in his hand at me as a warning. “I don’t know anything about your friends or you getting raided. Boo-fucking-hoo. One less fuckstick dealing on my turf? Looks like I did the place a favor.” He jabs me in the chest with the pipe to grab my attention. “I don’t know shit about you, ’cept Maggie was protecting you. Fat lot of good it did her. Hell, I didn’t even know about the Dome thing ’til yesterday.”

With my ribs screaming at me and my vision blurry, I find little comfort in his words, seeing as he’s a fucking liar. I try to get to my feet, but Rete’s ready and smashes me in the back of the leg with the pipe. Not hard enough to break anything, but plenty hard enough to drop me again.

Fire Plug and Scrappy soon arrive, and Rete gladly lets them get their licks in, too. “Payback time, loyal minions. Have at ’im!” And they do, with gusto.

V

The first thing I notice is how soft everything is: the sheets, the pillows, the light. Sunshine bathes my room, more delicate than anything achievable with glass and wiring and electricity.

I have the sense that everything should hurt, but it doesn’t. I’m floating. Free-falling. It’s only as my body’s systems come back online that I recognize muscle fatigue. IV lines dangle from the rack next to the bed. The thrum monitor spikes the second I move.

Back on the grid. They had to reboot my nanotech again.

My throat is stripped raw, like I’ve been crying in my sleep. My eyes are swollen and puffy. And reaching up, my fingers find two pinpoints of dull pain on the back of my neck.

Immobilizers? Someone said something about shooting me a dart?

I reach up again, this time seeking silver reassurance that’s no longer there.

Micah.

Every memory of the last few days slams into me like one of Damon’s black SUVs. Unable to breathe, I struggle to sit up. Someone slips an arm around my back. It takes precious seconds to realize it’s Jax.

“Shh, Princess. They’re right down the hall. Damon’s out there with half of Corporate.”

She presses a cup of water to my mouth, and I manage to get a few sips down without choking. I cling to her, unable to remember ever hugging her before, outside of promo shoots.

Always keeping everyone at arm’s length. Never sharing anything with anyone because there was nothing
to
share before now. Empty. I was empty before.

Jax’s somber expression and her uncharacteristic silence untie the knot inside me. The highlight reel version of
The Me and Micah Story
comes out in a hoarse whisper. By the time I’m done, her eyes are huge.

“Shit, Vee, that’s fucking insane. I’m impressed.”

Backed up against the headboard, I lean forward until my cheek presses against my knees. “Thanks, I think. If it wasn’t for Sasha—”

“You’re gonna have to cut the kid some slack,” Jax says. “Damon’s gone completely fucking rogue. He’s not telling Corporate half the shit he’s pulling now. Sasha and I have been on fucking lockdown and can’t get a message in or out. He had Little Miss Cherry Tart picked up and ‘indefinitely detained’ on some bullshit charge. He told Sasha to activate the tracker unless she wanted to start getting her girlfriend’s appendages delivered to her every hour on the hour.”

“Damon wouldn’t . . .” I trail off, uncertain as to what Damon would or would not do to get exactly what he wants, especially if he’s taken the Redheaded Mini hostage.

Jax abandons the bed to dump what’s left of the water down the sink, then pours me something stronger from a brilliant blue bottle sitting on the side table. Handing me the cup, she takes a pull straight from the source. “Sasha didn’t believe him, either. Took a gift-wrapped ring finger to change her mind. There’s some creepazoid who keeps pinging Damon’s phone. That’s the guy who did the slice-and-dice. He sounds like a sadistic motherfucker.”

My stomach twists into a knot again, and the thrum monitor rises in response, but Jax isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“He followed that pretty present up with a letter from her parents, asking why their bank account had been emptied out.” Another long pull from the bottle as she shoves her hair from her eyes. “The kid’s only human, Vee.” She looks me over with ill-concealed sympathy. “And love fucks everyone up, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”
But I shouldn’t know that. Shouldn’t remember that—

Damon’s voice cuts through whatever else I might have thought or said. “Call me when it’s done” drifts through the door, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Reaching into her pocket, Jax shoves a body-warm length of silver chain into my hand. “Hold onto that, Princess. You’re gonna need it.” The moment Damon opens the door, she bounces off him with a cackle of maniacal laughter. “You gotta try the blue shit. It’s unreal.” With hoots and giggles, she stumbles down the hall, leaving me to wonder how much of her usual antics have been for show.

Damon closes the door behind her, his steady gaze locking on to me. “I think you’ll be happy to hear they didn’t find anything unusual in your scans.”

Meaning I wasn’t pregnant.
I have to force back tears, to get a grip on the emotions threatening to spill out of me. Every second of our previous encounter burns through me like applejack, and the thrum monitor spikes with a loud whine.

“If you meant to clear out my brain, it didn’t go very well,” I finally say.

“Had a chat with Corporate, and we decided it wouldn’t be wise to subject you to any unnecessary procedures or further trauma.” He strolls across the room, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Unnecessary? But I thought . . . You let me believe . . . that I had to get mind-wiped every time they rebooted me.”

“It helps clear the slate, but no.” Damon pauses at the bank of medical equipment, eyeing the thrum monitor.

“Then why?” When he doesn’t answer, the questions snowball.
I know that I asked for the first one. Wanted to start fresh, if I pulled through. So why all the other mind-wipes?
As I go cold inside, I can see my thrum levels dropping, the tiny green line fading. “I started remembering, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

He hesitates before answering. “Five. Two solo careers and three bands, flushed down the toilet before I ever got you on a stage. There’s too much at stake this time to start over again.”

Which is why I’m still
this
Vee. With the memories.
All
the memories.

I pull my knees up and try not to think of Micah just yet. Not now. Not with Damon looming over me. Jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, he has nothing to hide anymore. “It was your tattoos, wasn’t it? They’d trigger me, and you’d have me wiped.”

“The first time, yeah. We’d just landed the Corporate contract. Went out to celebrate at the Chroma Room and then a suite upstairs.” He’s got his eyes closed, reliving some piece of my past that he’s stolen. “I pulled out all the stops: over-the-Wall champagne, room service, silk sheets. Blindfolded you and we made love for
hours
. It was like every dream we had was finally coming true.” Then I get the full force of his gaze on me. “You were mine.”

Except that wasn’t me. That was some other girl. Some other Vee who’s as dead as Bryn is.
“I guess the only problem was that you couldn’t keep me blindfolded forever.”