The Last Twilight (31 page)

He held down Broker’s pale straining throat. He began choking him.

Broker smiled. A terrible grimace, the crack of a rattling laugh. A hand touched Amiri’s shoulder. He looked up. It was Rikki, tears in her eyes. And just behind her was Max. His face torn, beaten. But good to see.

“I need that man’s mind,” said his friend. “Don’t kill him yet.”

“It hardly matters,” Amiri replied, but he eased off Broker and leaned back, letting the man push away from him, hands clutching his throat, wheezing. Wheezing and still laughing.

Amiri could not bear to look at him. He stood, wrapping Rikki in his arms, breathing in her scent with such desperation that part of him thought she might be the only reason he still wanted to be alive. He saw his father gathering the children off the bed, pushing them into the massive arms of an extraordinary creature—another shape-shifter, with feathers and muscle and golden piercing eyes. The man picked the children up and took them into the corner.

Moochie crouched in the hall, one hand pressed against Francis’s wounded side. His other held the radio. He was talking fast. Tears ran down his face. Rictor sprawled nearby in a spreading pool of blood.

The smoke from the grenade was beginning to clear. Any moment they would have more company. Nothing was going according to plan.

Amiri looked again at his father. Met that inscrutable, cold, gaze. But the old man glanced past him, at Broker, and the hate that twisted his face was so shocking, so visceral, Amiri turned Rikki away, shielding her.

“Where is it?” Aitan growled. “Where have you hidden the device?”

“No taste for watching your daughter die?” Cold words. Everyone stopped, staring. Broker smiled. “You didn’t tell them? About the chip in your child’s brain? The detonator? What I did to her
mother?”

Amiri felt sick. He watched Aitan begin to shake with fury. Pure rage.
“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Broker said, calmly. “And should I… fall out of circulation for a certain length of time, I have left instructions for the device to be used. Not just on your daughter, but others. So. Let me go, let me take Doctor Kinn and your son, and I will tell you where it is.”

“Max,” Amiri said.

His friend closed his eyes, dark hair falling over his face. “He’s closed up tight.”

Aitan flowed forward. “I could give you to Jaaved. Imagine his delight when you do not die from his torture? When you heal before his eyes? I doubt anyone would see him again, for all the time he will spend lavishing his love upon you.”

“Then your daughter would die. Nor would she be alone. Kamau Shah would follow her. And Rikki Kinn.”

Amiri’s heart lurched. Rikki stared. “You’re lying.”

“Touch the base of your skull. You’ll feel a hard bump.”

Amiri could taste her reluctance, her fear, but she did as Broker said, and when her fingers rubbed the back of her neck, words were unnecessary. Her face paled. Behind her, the avian shape-shifter also examined his neck, and a snarl of rage passed over his face. The children, huddled in his arms, winced.

“Fail-safe. If I cannot have you, no one can.” Broker stood. “Do we have a deal?”

“What of the others?” Amiri asked, struggling with himself. “Those we leave behind?”

“Jaaved’s men rule this facility now. They are on their own.”

“Then take me,” he said. “Leave the woman out of this.”

“I need her more than I want to kill you.”

“Then
me.
Only me,” Rikki said. She pulled herself out of his arms, but Amiri stayed close, grappling with her hand. Refusing to let go. Fighting for options. But he could not think; his thoughts were crazed, random— focused only on Rikki and death and the little family he had never known existed.

Broker’s gaze traveled over them all, proprietary, almost triumphant. Amiri heard a commotion out in the hall. Men. Moochie shouted, but no guns fired—even though, somewhere distant, Amiri heard the renewed spark of a firefight.

“Both of you,” Broker said. “We go now. The rest of you will not follow. If you do, I will give the order to kill the child. And if that still does not dissuade you, then the eagle and the doctor will die as well.”

He walked past them. Arrogant. Giving Aitan a long look that had the old man drawing blood from his palms. The sweet spot of his spine gleamed like a row of jewels. Amiri wanted to sink his teeth deep there.

Max grabbed his arm, shaking his head. “Stall him,” he mouthed.

Right. Friends were coming. Ten minutes or twenty-four hours. Amiri wanted to laugh. And then, perhaps, go a little mad.

Rikki grabbed his hand, pulling him after Broker. He shared his own look with his father—again inscrutable, showing nothing of his heart—and Amiri wondered how it was possible he could hate and love one person so much, both at the same time. He heard a voice inside his head, a whispered,
Forgive me, I am with you,
and his father chose that moment to nod. As though it
was
him, in his son’s thoughts, speaking softly.

Amiri frowned, but there was no time. Out in the hall stood men: four mercenaries and Moochie, his hands covered in blood. He tried to draw his gun on Broker, but was stopped instantly. He fought the hands that restrained him, shouting obscenities, grief making his voice raw, hoarse.

“Stick him in the room with the others,” Broker said. “Lock the door. And take the doctor’s gun, if you will.”

Amiri had not noticed Rikki was armed. She had a small gun in her jacket pocket, which she handed over with a grimace. Behind them, the door was locked. Moochie’s shouts were instantly cut off. On the floor was Rictor. And Francis, breathing shallowly, bleeding out. Rikki made a sound low in her throat, and Amiri pulled her close against him. His heart felt numb. No grief. He could not feel grief. Not now.

He looked away. Hands nudged him. They started walking down the hall. Two mercenaries were in the lead, two bringing up the rear. A convoluted path, down halls that smelled of disinfectant and orchids and fear.

Straight into the arms of another enemy.

And here, more rebels. More of Jaaved’s men. Dressed in olive uniforms and thick black boots, weapons held with grim pride. Broker’s small group was vastly outnumbered. Rikki felt like a sardine about to be stabbed with a hundred different forks. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Broker had led them into the main hall, the only way to the helicopters. Such bad planning. Broker was obviously not paranoid enough for secret exits and entrances.

Which was terrible. Because his foes had found him. Eight men. Two to one, when it came to firepower. Rikki supposed it was inevitable. Forget Shit Creek; she was going over Shit Niagara Falls.

A man pushed through the gathered soldiers. Dusky skin, long dark hair. Strong features and a compact muscular body. Hairy knuckles. His jaw flexed, and she heard a loud metallic clicking sound. She remembered, with painful clarity, the sight of a man being stabbed by a pen.

“Broker,” said Jaaved. “Attempting to escape?”

A cold smile touched Broker’s mouth. “It crossed my mind.”

“I secured the helicopters. Your security center. No one was able to call out for help. You are alone here. You are mine.”

“How titillating.” Broker replied. “And if I offered you a deal? Perhaps the lives of your family?”

Jaaved narrowed his eyes. “They are safe. I had them moved.”

“You had your children moved.” Broker tilted his head. “Not your parents. Or your sister. Or your brother and his children. Quite shortsighted, if you ask me. I took precautions last night.”

“You lie.”

“Did I lie about your wife?” Broker snapped his fingers. One of his men reached slowly inside his vest and withdrew a small envelope. He tossed it at Jaaved’s feet. “More for the photo album. Feel free to send them around for any holiday you celebrate next.”

Whatever was in those pictures made the blood drain from Jaaved’s face. His hands shook. And he only looked at the photo on top; the rest he shoved back into the envelope. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I am going to kill you,” Jaaved said.

“Of course you will,” Broker replied. “But if you do kill me, you will never see any of those people again. Ever. Can you live with that?”

Rikki was seeing all kinds of hate today, and most of it was directed at Broker. Jaaved had a particular twitch, though, a flutter in his eyelid that kept perfect time to the precise clicking of his jaw.

“What do you want?”

“Free passage.”

“I require the woman.”

Amiri tensed. Broker said, “I suppose you think you could take her from me.”

“It crossed my mind,” Jaaved replied, with a cold smile.

Broker also smiled. “There is a device implanted at the base of her skull. If you take her, I will order her death. If you kill me, eventually the same will occur. And no … do
not
accuse me of lying.”

“Even if you are…” Jaaved looked at Rikki. “You could make this easy on us all. Tell me what you know, and I will let you go. Give me the location of the Ebola reservoir.”

“Sure,” Rikki said. “It’s up your ass.”

Jaaved’s jaw clicked, and somewhere behind them, in another part of the building, men began to scream.

Rikki flinched. It was a distant, blood-curdling sound, wet and dripping with terror, and it had been years, years since she had heard anything so horrible—like men were having their souls ripped from their flesh.

Jaaved tensed, and glanced at the men beside him. “You four, go check it out.”

They looked at him like he was insane, but they went—more afraid of their boss than the unknown, she supposed. The mercenaries in front of Broker shifted, just slightly, fingers tightening around their guns. The screaming continued, getting closer, broken by the chatter of gunfire. She thought she heard a familiar voice mixed with all that shouting. Moochie.

Hope flared. She glanced at Amiri. Noticed Broker watching her, in turn.

“Enough,” Jaaved muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked at his remaining men. “Kill the guards.”

Rikki had no time react. Amiri grabbed her around the waist, slinging her into his arms. Guns thundered. From the corner of her eye, she saw the mercenaries fling themselves to the ground, rolling, firing back on the rebels. Both sides caught bullets, blood spraying.

And there was Broker, his body jerking as Jaaved pumped him full of lead, making his choice.

Amiri ran, carrying her, but only as far as the fountain. Too many bullets were flying. He threw them both into the water, dragging her up hard against the stone. Shielding her body, pressing against her so tight she could hardly breathe. The firefight seemed to intensify. Rikki heard more shouting.

Amiri grunted. It was a terrible sound, terrifying. A scream built in her throat. Rikki wished she could see. He made another low groan, and then, quite suddenly, was pulled from her.

Jaaved was above her. His eyes were wild and he was covered in blood. He held a gun in his hand…but when he pulled the trigger, it made a clicking sound.

Amiri snarled, swaying. He bled freely from a hole in his back, and blood flecked his mouth. He lunged at the man and they both went down in the water so hard that a koi was knocked free of the pool. It flopped wildly on the floor, suffocating. Rikki knew exactly how it felt.

Jaaved pulled a hidden knife from the small of his back and slashed at Amiri…who moved too slowly. The blade cut deep. Amiri staggered, and golden light rose from his skin. Shining like the sun. Jaaved blinked, taking a step back. Raising a hand to his eyes.

Amiri lost his human body. He melted, he transformed, he flowed like liquid gold into a skin that was spotted and lean and hungry. Cheetah. Eyes blazing, body bleeding. He lunged. Jaaved stumbled, horror in his eyes—too shocked to defend himself. Amiri snapped his jaws around the man’s throat and ripped it out.

Rikki stared, breathless. All around them the gunfight was dying down, and then it stopped completely. She hardly noticed. All she could see was Amiri. She rose to go to him. Amiri turned to meet her gaze. Blood covered his mouth.

One more gunshot split the air. Amiri jerked, blood spraying from his shoulder. Rikki gasped, lunging toward him, and saw Broker, resurrected, gun in hand. Finally going for the kill.

Rikki no longer had her gun. She did not think, she did not look. She ran, throwing herself directly in front of the danger, shielding Amiri’s body. Broker had already begun to pull the trigger again; she saw it on his face as time slowed down.

The gun went off. It nicked Rikki in the side and pain crushed through her. She kept running, though. She could not stop, and Broker let her come—he did not want to kill her. That was his mistake. She threw herself at him in a long sweet dive, and slammed him so hard into the floor she heard his skull crack. She wrestled for his gun, nearly passing out from the pain, but she remembered knives and laughter and Amiri, and pried the weapon from his fingers, jamming it under his chin.

She hesitated. Broker looked her in the eyes and very gravely said, “Until we meet again, Doctor Kinn.”

Rikki pulled the trigger. His brains splattered. She kept pulling the trigger until the clip was empty. Numb, horrified, unable to stop. His head was pulp, almost gone.
Murderer.
She was a murderer, for a second time. Cold-blooded.

Then, suddenly, she was not alone. A man fell beside her. A man with strong shadowy hands that reached into that bloody mess, pulling and twisting until Broker’s head was all the way gone. She heard a thud as the remains of his skull landed somewhere near. She wanted to vomit, but held it together. Peered up. Looked into a familiar impossible face. Rictor. Living and breathing. Green eyes staring back with something that could have been grim pleasure.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“I guess I didn’t lose everything,” he rumbled, and helped Rikki sit up. She could hardly move. Her side hurt like hell, and her head pounded. Dazed, almost delirious. She looked for Amiri. Found a lump of spotted fur crumpled on the tile floor. A sob tore from her throat.

“Rictor,” she breathed, choking. He said nothing. Simply picked her up. She hardly saw the rest of the room, but she was dimly aware of the silence, the incongruous sight of men in olive uniforms bleeding to death and staring with pure horror, in their final moments, at a man with the head of a cheetah, his upright body covered in sleek spotted fur. And at his side was a golden chiseled giant, talons sprouting from his fingers, his arms rippling with long shining feathers. Gods and monsters. She was living inside a legend.

She glimpsed Moochie, who was covering those men with his gun, eyes hard as stone. But that was all she saw, because Rictor set her down beside Amiri, and she curled her body around his, pressing her cheek into his fur. Clutching his paw. She could not feel him breathing. She could not hear his heart beat.

Rikki closed her eyes and died.

Just a little.