Surrender (17 page)

But my dad loved me. He’d always protected me. Maybe this time hadn’t been any different. Even though my dad was Thane, he still could’ve used his control to help me.

I fell asleep with tears on my cheeks, thinking that no matter how I spun it, my dad wasn’t quite the hero I needed him to be.

When I woke up, darkness drenched the room in shadows. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-thirteen,” the walls answered.

“
A.M.
or
P.M.
?”

“
P.M.
”

“What day?”

“June fourteenth.”

“Where’s Jag Barque?”

“Hallway eight, room four.”

I had no idea where that was, or how big this facility was. I didn’t even know if I could open the door without forty Mechs whizzing down the hall, alarms blaring.

Just shut them down,
I told myself, thinking of the Mech I’d disabled at Jag’s house. I slipped out of bed and pulled on my sneakers. No sirens sounded when the door opened, nobody came down the hall when I stepped out, no Mechs intercepted me as I made my way back to the lobby with the silver desk.

I couldn’t see another hallway. “Where’s hallway eight?” I asked, turning in a circle.

The walls shifted and moved, revealing another corridor. Glancing behind me, I hurried toward it.

“Show me room four,” I said. A yellow light pulsed around the second door on my right.

Jag’s room had the same blue rugs and drapes on the windows as mine. But his bed was at least twice as big and covered in fuzzy blue blankets.

He sat propped up by a mass of comfy pillows, reading (of course).

“Jag,” I whispered as the door closed behind me. “You still need me to get your cuffs off?” I asked, hoping he could still decipher Vi-talk.

He looked up and ditched the book. “Vi, I’m sorry too.” Then he ran to me, the same way Sloan had launched herself at him a few days ago. He held me tight, swinging me around in a circle until my feet came off the ground and I laughed out loud.

He put me down, and he looked
fine
. He wore dark jeans with a white tank top, which contrasted nicely with his skin. He climbed back into bed and picked up his book. I sat on the other side, staying on top of the blankets. Something felt wrong about being on his bed with him. But I was bad now, so maybe it was right.

“Tell me what you know,” I said.

He remained silent for a while, his gaze lingering first on me, then on his book, then the bedspread. Just when I thought I couldn’t wait one more second, he spoke.

“The Association wants me to make their transmissions. They have for a while now. I can . . . sorta make people do whatever I say.”

Talk about a lot to digest. I think I did a pretty good
job, because my voice sounded normal when I said, “What about me?”

“They need you for the mind control. What you want, you get. You can bend the will of the people to your own. You can Direct.”

I couldn’t answer. Because I didn’t want to Direct.

“You don’t really have a choice, Vi,” Jag said, cutting into my thoughts. I looked at him, wondering how he could see inside my head.

“I can sense feelings in others. Yours especially. I think because we’re both free. Maybe our birthdays . . . I don’t know.” He paused. “But we may not have a choice. Help Them or die.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “That’s exactly what makes us different. We do have choices. It’s everyone else who doesn’t.” Something about Jag’s parents clicked in my mind. “Your mom and dad. They had choices too, didn’t they? They knew what we know.”

He stiffened. “Yes, they knew. They tried to tell others, but Thane was too strong and he countered them with louder transmissions and harsher rules. The people allowed themselves to be told. Changed.”

Everyone knows about the change. We’re taught the sequence of events in school until we want to puke. You see,
the first change started out subtly. The Thinkers recruited and controlled those They wanted on their side. At first, people resisted having their minds taken over, but They became too powerful. Wars between races and religions started, and people grouped together behind the Thinker they believed in.

War spread through the world, Thinker against Thinker, brainwashed army against brainwashed army. The fires marked the beginning of the Great Episode, and it killed almost everyone. That’s when the General Director organized the people into cities to establish peace and rebuild the human population. He set up the Association of Directors, a governing council to oversee regions. Regional Directors governed ten cities. Each city had a Director who reported to the Association. We were told that the General Director was our savior—the only reason humans survived the thick smoke and years of darkness during the Great Episode.

Receivers were implanted in our ears. Transmissions were recorded about loyalty and trust and how wicked awesome the Director was. Another reason I stopped listening—I don’t think Director Greenwood is all that great. Because I pretty much hate all Thinkers.

And now I am one.

“Wait a second,” I said. “Thane made the rules? Didn’t your parents live in the Badlands?”

Jag held up the book. “According to Lyle Schoenfeld, the good and bad used to be united. Thane split us up twenty-five years ago. My parents were the leaders of a movement against your dad that triggered the separation.”

“So . . . who’s Lyle Schoenfeld?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I think Thane stole his identity to go into hiding.”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to order my thoughts. “Hiding? Thane’s clearly not hiding, Jag. He runs everything.”

“Now, babe. He runs everything now. He’s from the Association, and they have so many identities no one can keep them straight.”

“How do you know?”

His face closed off. “Let’s just say I know,” he said, meaning it had something to do with either his brother Blaze or the Resistance (or both), but I couldn’t push it because, technically, I didn’t know about either.

“We need to stay together,” Jag continued. “I can feel your fear about controlling others. Alone, we can be influenced by the Thinkers with more training and experience. But together, we can remind each other of the injustices that have happened. Maybe we can finally be strong enough to do something about them.”

I touched his cheek. My fingertips traced over his eyebrow
and down his jaw. “I don’t want to be like Them.” I couldn’t mask the terror in my voice, but I didn’t feel embarrassed. “Promise me we’ll stay together.”

“I would never leave you, Vi.” His voice sounded forced. He leaned back against the headboard, and I couldn’t search his face.

“I can’t control anyone,” I said, settling my cheek against his chest so I could hear his heartbeat. “I just can’t do that.”

He finally tilted his head down to look at me. “I don’t want to use my voice to brainwash people to live a specific way, with a thousand stupid rules.” The muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Me neither.”

“Then we won’t do it. I’ll never control anyone, not even you.”

“Deal.”

The edges of his mouth softened. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Before I processed the L-word, Jag’s mouth caught mine. He moved with precision, slipping his hands around to the small of my back. His touch felt dangerous.

He kissed my jaw up to my ear and murmured, “Violet.”

It didn’t bother me; if anything, I loved my whole name when he spoke it in his velvety voice. I forgot everything except that he was here with me, and we would always be together. I shivered at the thought.

“You cold?” he whispered, his lips brushing mine.

“A little,” I said, but the shaking came more from nerves. I’d never thought beyond kissing. Good girls don’t even go
that far. Stealing and trespassing tops the list of Bad Stuff I’ve Done.

His blanket lay thickly between us, a barrier I couldn’t cross. His hair slid through my fingers like silk.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured, and that raised the embarrassment factor.

“How do you know?” I trailed my fingers along his jaw.

“I can hear your heart racing,” he said.

He could hear my heart? Like superhearing to go with his supervoice?

I pushed him away. “What does that mean?”

His hands rested on my waist. “I can hear your heart beating, that’s what it means.”

“Nobody can hear a heart beating,” I said. “I can’t hear yours.”

“I can feel your feelings too.”

“Do you have high-class smell as well?”

He laughed, and I curled into his chest to feel the reverberations from that wonderful sound.

“I’m not a superhero.”

He was to me. It felt safe to lie in his arms, his hand massaging my shoulder. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of his skin. He smelled musky and clean. Very
guy
. He hummed a soft melody, sending sound waves from his chest into my cheek.

“I love you, Vi,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I really do.”

Knowing I loved him too, I wanted to tell him, but my voice didn’t work the way his did. Those three tiny words choked in my throat, and I couldn’t get them out. I pulled away so I could see him better.

“Jag, I—”

“I know. Lie back down. That was nice.”

Jag fell asleep. I lay next to him, thinking about what we needed to do next. I wondered what business the Director and my dad needed to finish, afraid it might have something to do with me. My dad could’ve invented who knows what over the past seven years—and I knew from firsthand experience that his tech-inventions aren’t always pleasant. But they do require extensive testing. Could that be why he hadn’t immediately teleported here?

After a half hour of listening to Jag’s steady breathing, I took his book with me into the bathroom. With the tub full of steaming water, I settled in to read what Lyle Schoenfeld—whoever he was—had to say.

I plowed through a mind-numbing chapter analyzing the effectiveness of tech in the daily life of an average person. Boring.

I flipped to the second section, which detailed how to break tech. Teleporters can be damaged so nothing can be
received or sent. Silencers can be reversed, amplifying sounds. Walls can be reprogrammed to keep secrets and reveal incorrect information.

Tags can be removed.

As I read and reread that chapter, I decided that Lyle Schoenfeld was not my dad. A book like this was dangerous, and no one in the Goodgrounds would allow it to be published. No, Lyle had to be part of Jag’s Resistance, a Baddie, someone who wanted Goodies to question their Thinkers. Thane could’ve assumed his identity during the separation, but he and Lyle were two very different men.

I thought about the farmhouse where Jag had stolen the book. How did that farmer get it? Was he a Free Thinker too? Or someone like Zenn—an Insider?

I wanted to ask Zenn—or my dad. There were so many things I needed to ask them. So many uncertainties swirled inside my mind. Zenn loved me. I knew he did. I’d heard it hiding between his words, seen it in the careful way he’d acted around me.

My dad loved me too, even if he watched me with more interest now. Even if he was a Director.

I shook my head to erase the questions that kept piling up. I’d see them both soon enough, and I’d get my answers
one way or another. I focused on the book, on how to remove my tag.

The procedure required a special tool—also a feat of tech—a pair of shock scissors. I wondered if I could get my hands on something like that here. Of course I would need some surgery skin to eat away my flesh, and then some kind of regenerator to grow it back, but—

“Vi?” Jag’s soft voice called from the other room. I’d been soaking so long, the water in the tub was cold. I stepped out, careful not to get the book wet, and wrapped a towel around myself.

“In here,” I whispered. He had switched the lamp on and was rubbing his eyes when I came into the bedroom.

“Hey.”

I slipped the book back onto the table next to his bed. “I didn’t get it wet.”

“Not. That.” His eyes raked over my only-towel-covered body with a hungry expression.

“Knock it off.” I pulled the towel tighter and returned to the bathroom. He followed me, putting his hand on the door before I could close it. I looked anywhere but at him. Lying fully clothed in bed with him was bad enough.

I couldn’t help it when I drank him in, starting at his
feet and slowly creeping up to his neck, past his chin, lips, and nose to his eyes. When I finally reached them, my heart clutched almost painfully. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, playing with the end of my towel.

“Vi, babe—”

“Don’t talk like that,” I said.

He smiled his Jag-winner. I took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. “Don’t smile like that either. It’s not fair.”

“Okay, then. Let’s talk about being fair.” He carefully wove his fingers through mine. The way he studied the ground was adorable. He took a few slow steps back into the bedroom, pulling me with him.

“Jag—”

He suddenly stopped, his fingers fumbling along mine. He looked up. “You’re still wearing it?” Anguish drowned out the shock in his voice.

Zenn’s ring glinted in the lamplight.

Things have a way of working themselves out. Ty always said so. Nothing has ever worked itself out for me—at least not in the way I wanted. A month ago I would’ve died to get a kiss and a ring from Zenn. Now I probably
would
die—literally.

Jag dropped my hand like it was on fire. “Well?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I just forgot, that’s all.” I wanted to rip the ring off and throw it down the drain, but I didn’t trust the towel to stay up.

Jag folded his arms and glared. “Take it off.”

After adjusting the towel so it was tucked tightly under my arms, I twisted and pulled on the ring. It seemed welded to my skin.

“Jag, I can’t get it. Help me.”

He stepped out of my reach. “No way. If it’s a sticker, I don’t want it to touch me.”

“It already has,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Damn you,” he said, his voice laced with danger.

“That’s nice, Jag. It’s not like I knew this thing was a sticker.”