Sugar Skulls Page 24

  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. Freefalling. 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 n
ot 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.”

  A muscle in Damon’s jaw flexes when he grits his teeth. “The second you got a look at my arms, you freaked. Full-blown panic attack. The screaming brought security guards, but I got you sedated and back to the medcenter without having to answer too many questions. After that, I was careful to keep them covered, but it’s not like you were trying to get my clothes off.”

  So much bitterness in his voice; some other person might muster some sympathy for him. But not me. “If they were such a liability, why not have them removed? You had mine lasered off.”

  That provokes another flash of anger. “Cleaning up your arms was Cyrene’s call, not mine. Part of the reconstructive surgery after the attack. Fucking Corporate erasing me from your life.” He rubs one hand over his arm. “I couldn’t take mine off, Vee. They were all I had from outside. The only remnant of us. And I hoped that one of these days you’d remember who I was and everything I did for us and be happy. Be grateful. But every fucking time, the answer was no. Your mind, your body just kept right on rejecting me, even if the meltdown was triggered by some other guy’s ink.” He pauses, looking down at his arms. “But the good news is that we won’t have to worry about shit like that ever again.”

  “We won’t?” And I know I’m not going to like the answer even before he smiles.

  “No. Because we’re back at ‘once upon a time.’” Pulling a long velvet box from his pocket, Damon opens it to reveal platinum and diamonds. The kind of jewelry that should say “I love you” but instead screams “You belong to me.” Damon holds the necklace out, one eyebrow up. “As promised.”

  I have to find the strength to smile. Have to play along. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Put it on.” Not a request.

  Somehow I manage to tuck Micah’s chain under my pillow, freeing up my hands to obey. I barely feel the links against my skin, but they sit there all the same, like hands spanning my neck. It’s delicate, for a collar. Time to manufacture a new Vee, one who’ll say all the things that he wants to hear.

  “Thank you, Damon. For the gift. For understanding. For … forgiving me. I’m not sure I deserve any of it.”

  “You don’t. Not yet, anyway.” He disappears into my closet for a few minutes and emerges with a red silk dress. “Go take a shower. Put that on and make up your face. Your benefactors are down the hall, each expecting a personal thank-you for your glorious rescue.” Striding back to the door, he pauses at the threshold. “Leave the necklace on.”

  “Of course.” My tone is already brighter, my chin tilting up. I know all the lyrics to this song. “It’s the very least I can do.”

  M

  Rete supervises as his boys dismantle me piece by piece, opting to observe rather than involve himself or his rib-cracking equalizer any further.

  Fire Plug sticks to the upper body, cheapshotting my cradled ribs and muttering about Vee as he pounds my face in. “Little fuckin’ bitch,” he spits.

  “Takes one to know one,” I reply, not regretting it for a moment, even when he steps on my wrist and I hear a sickening pop.

  Scrappy prefers the all-over approach. Whatever company made his shoes will have free advertising on my skin for a while to come. Eventually, I lose myself in the pain, my thoughts drifting back to the raid on the warren.

  If it wasn’t Rete, and it wasn’t His Majesty, how did they find us?

  Rete mumbles something I can’t make out, and I realize the beating has stopped, but my eyes refuse to focus, leaving me squinting at colored blobs on a blue backdrop. My mind immediately shifts to Vee.

  Is she all right? Those screams … God, Vee, please be okay.

  I hear footsteps approach, and several hands jerk me to my feet. Everything goes white with pain for a moment. My legs can hardly support my weight, and it feels like I’m being stabbed in the side with every breath. “What’s … what’s happening?” I suck air as best I can, but my busted rib makes it hard.

  Rete, chipper as ever, replies from somewhere behind me. “Can’t let them beat you to death in the street, pigeon. Got a few questio
ns for you that require some privacy.”

  By the time we’re back inside the warehouse, my vision clears enough for me to look around. I don’t recognize the guys on either side of me—one squat with a bright-red Mohawk, the other lanky and chewing something that reeks—but they must be Rete’s newest recruits. Ludo waits in one corner, so damn smug. After the shrill rattle of the door slamming shut, Scrappy limps into view, cracking his knuckles and smiling at me. He slugs me in the gut before I can ask how his knee is.

  I gasp and slump forward, the new arrivals barely keeping me vertical.

  “How many are in your crew?” Rete’s voice echoes off the cinder block walls. Even with four guys between us, he keeps his distance.

  “I don’t have a crew. Just me.” Scrappy looks off to one side for confirmation, then hits me again, and I double over. Ludo jumps excitedly with every shot, like he can’t wait for his whack at the piñata.

  “Oh, Micah, play ball, will ya? At least cough up Maggie’s other source for ’tocin. There must be one. No way you could’ve kept yourself going with what you’ve taken in the last week or so. Come on, chum, no need for the hero routine. Give me a name, and we can start making nice-nice.”

  He waits for me to reply, but I don’t waste the breath. If shit-for-brains wants to waste time chasing shadows, he’s welcome to it.

  Scrappy reluctantly steps away, and Fire Plug takes his place, now holding the metal pipe. Rete finally slips into view, and he looks up and down the length of pipe before turning to me. “I guess it really doesn’t matter if you’re running your own crew or not. After that stunt with one of our best customers yesterday, I need to make an example of you. Anyone on your payroll will either quit or fall in line. Such a pity your little punk rock paramour will have to wonder what happened to her fair-haired kidnapper.”

  He nods and Fire Plug cracks me in the thigh, obviously still enjoying himself. Joke’s on him, though. The pain in my ribs is so bad, I barely feel it.