Sugar Skulls Read online

  Rete takes the pipe and leans close, lifting my chin with it, locking eyes with me. “Say hi to Maggie for me,” he whispers. He pulls the pipe away, and my head slumps back down. All I can see is the concrete floor, covered with a rusty stain. Must’ve kept it hidden with deliveries the last few times I was here.

  Not rust. Blood. Stained with blood. Way too much to be mine.

  I wonder what he did with her body.

  I hear Rete hand over the pipe to someone who slaps it against his palm. “Go ahead and finish him off.”

  There’s a pause. I can picture him winding up to smash my skull in.

  I’m sorry, Vee.

  I feel the shock wave before I hear the explosion, as the garage door is torn from its tracks and hurled across the room. Mohawk and Chompers abandon me for Rete, and I hang there in the air for a second before collapsing to the ground.

  “Everybody freeze!”

  My head bounces off the cement and everything blurs again, but I can see black-suited security pouring through the door, rounding people up and firing off the occasional tranq dart.

  A Facilitator kneels in front of me, the barrel of his dart gun aimed straight at my chest, and through his visor, I see him staring at me. He turns and shouts over his shoulder, “He’s alive. Bring him in!”

  I have one last thought before I’m hoisted up and the pain finally takes me:

  How did they find me again?

  V

  Not-Micah. I’m cornered by the blue-eyed, blond-haired Micah doppelganger from the night of the VIP party. Well-dressed, charming, and very, very interested in hearing every detail of my perilous week spent at the mercy of the fugitive drug runner.

  “That must have been very hard on you.” He hands me an unidentifiable cocktail, his fingers tracing my bare, perfumed wrist. “I know everyone is so relieved Damon tracked you down.” Not content with simply lingering, his hand slowly slides up my arm.

  I can smell his cologne, along with ten other kinds of product he must have bathed in before coming here, and close my eyes for a split second.

  Be charming, Vee. Make nice with the other kids on the playground and maybe, just maybe, it will help Micah out.

  But every second I’m forced to spend in this guy’s company is another needle under the fingernails. He can’t know that he’s turning my stomach, the poor bastard.

  Damon does, though. Standing two, maybe three feet away, he’s the picture of studied nonchalance. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. Enjoying himself more than a little at my expense. No doubt he figures I owe him this much. Maybe more.

  Quite a lot more.

  “Parts of it were absolutely terrifying.” True. Escaping the Dome. Seeing our ID photos on the vidscreens. Remembering that I was gang-raped and left for dead … “But I’m here now. Safe and sound—”

  Damon cuts in, smooth as cream. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but our songbird is due for another pick-me-up. Excuse us a moment, please?”

  Not-Micah doesn’t look happy with this turn of events, but he can hardly say so. “Of course.” He kisses my hand like he’s folding over a page in a book he wants to read later. “But don’t stay away from the party too long.”

  Damon replies for me. “No, of course not.” One predator snarling at another, but this one’s bigger, and he marked his territory a long time ago. “Quick as we can.”

  In short order, we’re in my bathroom and Damon’s administering a vitapep shot just behind my ear. That’s the first punch. The second comes when he says, “We’ve got Micah in custody, along with all his drug-running buddies.”

  I take a step back, my ass bumping against the marble counter. “He wasn’t running the applejack, Damon, he was trying—”

  “Do you think I give two shits what he was trying to do? I don’t need to pin anything on him, Vee. Thanks to your timely contribution, we grabbed most of the outfit in one fell swoop, and Corporate can do whatever they want with them. All I care about is the credit.” He sets the injector down on the counter and leans into me, so I don’t miss a word. “They broke your little toy good before we got there. Do you want to see the pictures that just came in?”

  “No.” My voice goes flat. “No, I don’t.”

  “Makes for very interesting viewing, I promise.” Damon dangles his phone in front of me. “You’re going to keep up the charming routine tonight, or I’ll have your bedroom wallpapered with these, is that clear?”

  “Yes.” It helps to imagine sticking my thumbs into his eye sockets as deep as they will go.

  “We’re going to get him cleaned up,” Damon continues. “Just enough to see if we can suss out why he’s not the vegetable Corporate anticipated. I would have liked the pleasure of cracking him open myself, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  Cold all over. I haven’t been this cold since the night of the Dome concert. I already told you that I’ll kill you, Damon, and that was over a necklace. Do you understand what I’ll do to you if you hurt him?

  “Just in case you were thinking about doing something stupid, let me assure you that something very fucking unpleasant will happen to him every time you don’t cooperate.” He runs his hands up my arms, letting them come to rest on either side of his necklace. “That little punk threatened my career and put his hands all over what’s mine. I want you to remember that every time you consider using that beautiful mouth of yours to say anything other than ‘Yes, Damon.’ Take a guess. One little guess what I’ll do.” He shifts one hand over to trace my upper lip with his thumb. “And then multiply that by a hundred.” He leans in to kiss me, his mouth still moving against mine when he adds, “And if you really piss me off, I’ll have him scrubbed so he won’t even remember your name.”

  I hold very, very still, afraid if I so much as blink that I’ll fly into him, shred him into nothing.

  “Ready to go back downstairs?” he asks, the first question on the test.

  “Yes, Damon.”

  “Perfect.” One more kiss and he tucks my hand under his arm. “Keep it up.”

  M

  I hit the gurney and jolt back to full consciousness. The low thunder of rolling wheels vibrates up the metal frame. We’re moving.

  The fog lifts, pain bringing unexpected clarity. Keep your eyes shut. Reveal nothing. Assess the situation.

  My ribs throb angrily, demanding my attention. Instinctively, I want to reach for them, but I clamp down on that thought before moving a muscle. My left wrist is sore as hell, like something’s pressing on it. The weight on my ankles confirms my suspicions. Restraints. Lovely.

  There’s something else, a hint of cold metal in my forearm. An IV? Can’t tell if it’s fluids, antibiotics, or tranquilizers.

  There’s a bump as we hit a set of double doors and push past them. Flashes of white light cross my eyelids as fixtures pass overhead. I crack one eye open and peer around, spotting at least four lab coats moving in tandem with the gurney, one of them already jotting notes on a datapad.

  “Subject awake and responsive to stimuli, probably regained consciousness several minutes before apparent ocular movement.”

  So much for the element of surprise.

  With my cover blown, I try to open the other eye and look around, but it’s swollen shut. On my good side, I can see white walls, pristine almost to the point of nonexistence. The only lab coat paying me any attention is Datapad, a thirtysomething, eager-to-please tall drink of nothing.

  I meet his gaze. “So, this way to the dissection room?”

  He nervously snorts with laughter, then looks around ashamedly. “Oh, I’m not at liberty to say where you’re headed, si—” He cuts himself off before calling me sir.

  My lip, now fat from Fire Plug’s attention, protests every time I speak. “Are you at liberty to answer questions?”

  “That would depend greatly on the question, I should think.”

  That’s an answer. Good start. “I heard screaming coming from the Carlisle. Is Vee
okay? What did they do to her?”

  He looks confused and starts stammering, “I have no—Oh, I mean, I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Fuck. Maybe whoever he’s taking me to will be able to answer that. This is a glorified delivery boy. Takes one to know one.

  I clam up for the rest of the ride, down various halls bleached within an inch of their lives. Finally, two big double doors and a soft beep later, I’m there. Wherever there is.

  Datapad pulls an injector from his pocket and tags me in the neck. Tranquilizer, same double dose they hit me with the night Vee and I crossed paths at Hellcat Maggie’s. Not much of a learning curve there, fellas.

  Things get a little fuzzy around the edges, but I’m still lucid for the transfer to the exam table. They’re not taking any chances, so the entire top of the gurney comes off and sits on the table, then they remove the side slats one at a time, slipping the magnetic restraints into designated slots on the table itself. They slide the gurney top out from under me and leave me on the slab, ready to be sliced up like a birthday cake.

  The other three lab coats hightail it out of there, and Datapad follows after making a few final notes on his namesake and leaving it on the lab table. As he walks toward the double doors, I start fighting, my arms jerking and legs kicking, ignoring the pain in my ribs as I slam my body against the table, but the restraints don’t budge.

  “Hey, hey! You can’t leave me here! Not like this!”

  He continues through the doors without breaking his silence. I yell for help as long as the doors are open, and for a while after, but no one comes. Taking a shallow breath, I stop thrashing long enough to look around, hoping for something, anything that’ll get me out of these restraints. But there’s nothing within reach. Cabinets are against the wall and locked up tight. Except for the datapad, the table nearest me is spotless.

  Then I hear footsteps from behind me. Someone’s been standing there the whole time. Silently. Watching. There’s a gentle click of plastic on metal as whoever it is picks up the datapad and stylus. “Hello, Micah.”

  The speaker steps into view, but despite the sharpness of the light, my eye refuses to focus on him. I’m only vaguely aware of the lab coat, the close-cropped hair, the slow, measured walk. Instead, I keep seeing a tank top and track pants, hair shaggy on one side and shaved on the other, always in motion. Like my mind can’t reconcile the two.

  This is insane. This is impossible.

  I finally find my voice. “Trav?”

  V

  With platinum and diamonds a constant reminder of what’s at stake, I manage to keep my rage at a slow simmer for the rest of the evening. Damon’s uncharacteristically jovial, taking celebratory shots of Pennyroyale with a group of Corporate execs. It’s obvious they’re congratulating him on a job well done, and watching them fawn all over that psychopath slowly but surely unravels what’s left of my composure.

  Guests start to wander off after midnight, headed out to the after-party. Of course, Damon’s booked it at the Chroma Room. Not-Micah has had his arm around me for the last hour or so, convinced he’s going to get a romp in the funhouse when everyone else is gone. The joke’s on him when I peel him off like a coat and maneuver him into the foyer.

  “Going down, are we?” Half a dozen drinks have made him bolder, and his hand is sliding south as fast as he can manage. “Your room might be more comfortable.”

  Nothing about him reminds me of Micah anymore. Not a goddamn thing. I’m not sure how I ever could have mistaken one for the other in the first place. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Not ever. He’s lucky to get a coy wave of farewell instead of a knee to the balls.

  The moment the elevator doors close on him, Damon steps into the space left at my side.

  “Disgusting little shit,” he observes. Despite all the drinking he’s done, the only telltale sign is the faintest whiff of alcohol on his breath.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “You handled it well enough.” His hand finds the small of my back when he adds, “I’ll have the car brought around. We need to put in an appearance.”

  I slant a look at him, but all I say is, “Yes, Damon.”

  He stifles a sigh, pressing a fist against his leg until his knuckles crack. “I was pissed, Vee. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  You shouldn’t have said a lot of things. I might have burned the city to the ground, but you took out all the bridges on your own. “No apologies necessary.” Because it’s a total waste of oxygen.

  “Good to hear.” His arm snakes around my waist, and he pulls me close.

  “Corporate tell you anything that I should know?” Somehow, I keep my tone light, my body relaxed. “You all looked awfully cozy tonight.”

  “Picked up on that, did you?” He reaches up and loosens his tie. Undoes the top button on his shirt.

  Like he’s fucking home. Suddenly, I’m made of ice. The small breath I’m able to draw is laced with the starch from his shirt, the light application of cologne he never forgets after shaving. I feel like I am choking on them.

  “They agree that it’s better for everyone if we’re together.” Damon doesn’t mention Micah, but I can tell the exact second that he thinks of his competition. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunch up as he dips lower to put his face in front of mine. His hands are in my hair—

  Don’t scream, Vee. Keep your shit together.

  —and his forehead meets mine. “This is how it was meant to be.”

  The old Vee, the one before Micah, would scream. She would claw and screech and savage him to pieces. Instead, I get very, very calm. “I’m tired of fighting you, Damon.”

  “That’ll make it easier when I move in.” He smiles. Another test. He’s waiting to see what I’m going to do, what I’m going to say.

  “The sooner, the better, I think. I vote we skip the after-party so you can go get your suits. I’ll clear out a spot in my closet.”

  He backs off enough to laugh. “I already sent out a couple guys for that stuff. There are a few things in my office I need to retrieve myself.” Another pause, another assessing look. “I need an hour, maybe two.”

  I cross to the couch, picking up a glass along the way. Fresh off the nanotech reboot and full of fucking vitamins, I’ve been setting drinks down on passing trays all night. Now I only pretend to take a sip from the cup, barely letting the liquor touch my lips.

  Need to keep my head clear.

  I take a seat and curl my legs under me, red silk on black leather. “I’ll be here.”

  “Of course you will. With two squads of security, so don’t get any ideas, all right?”

  Putting an arm over my head, I slide down into the sofa just a bit, giving him a really good view of what he’s locking up. “I’m going to have another drink.”

  “Seriously, Vee, behave yourself.”

  “Not my specialty,” I tell him, “but we’ll see what I can manage by the time you get back.”

  Also not a lie.

  He turns on one heel and marches out, barking, “Lock it down!” into his phone.

  As soon as the elevator doors slam shut, I head down the hall toward Jax’s room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  M

  Trav studies me, as if he can’t believe I’m here.

  I know the feeling. “Trav, oh my god. What happened? What are you doing here? Where have you been? What’s going on?”

  He ignores every question, locking my head in place with more magnetic restraints. I’m so stunned, it takes a few minutes before the million-dollar question occurs to me. If he somehow survived …

  “Trav, what about Bryn? And Rina, and Zane! Did they make it too?” For the first time since waking up on the gurney, hope blossoms in my chest.

  The heat radiates off his skin as he leans close. “All dead. It’s just you and me.”

  He has the same determination, the same will and drive that I remember. But now there’s a coldness in his eyes. “Trav, wh-what happened t
o you? I mean, after.”

  He casts a long look my way as he replies. “A full neural reconstruction. Or damn close. The first they’d ever performed. Everything they would’ve done to you, if you hadn’t been in worse shape than me.” Every syllable is dispassionate and professional as he gives me the once-over. “Or so they said.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “That you faked brain damage and a coma just to screw me over? No, I don’t think that.” He pulls back for a moment, still physically close but miles apart in every other possible way. “You lucked out. I got the exploratory brain surgery, the poking and prodding to see how I managed to survive. They zapped me with so many microamp pulses, I wasn’t sure if they were gauging my responses or trying to make me dance.”

  Not an ounce of humor in his voice, just the cold recitation of the words.

  How badly did the applejack burn him out? If it got too deep into his nervous system, he might not be able to show more emotion than that …

  “But I’m glad. They did what they had to. To bring me back, to rebuild motor functions. I couldn’t even talk at first.” He pauses, as if he’s out of practice speaking aloud. I would know, I suffered from the same affliction until recently. “You know when people do things that hurt you, and they tell you it’s for your own good? This time, it actually was.”

  Trav hooks me up to all kinds of monitoring equipment and taps away on his datapad, syncing it up to the monitors. Suddenly he changes tack, his hands going still. “You’ve been off-grid for a while now.”

  “Ever since the coma, yeah.”

  “They had to map my neural pathways to chart how much damage the applejack had done before they could reintroduce my nanotech. So for a week, I had physical therapy outside during my recovery, and I heard this … white noise all around me. Only when I was outside, or working with a window open.”

  The hum. “Yes, I hear it too! Always. Ever since I came back to Cyrene.” I thought I was the only person in the whole damn city who heard it.

  He nods slowly, eyes glazed slightly as he reminisces. “It stopped when I went back on the grid, after they repaired the worst of the scarring. My doctors said the …” He searches for the right word.