The Line Book Two: Walled Read online

  Walled

  By Anne Tibbets

  Freedom means making brutal choices.

  Rebel lovers Naya and Ric have survived one year in hiding, raising Naya’s twins from infants to toddlers in the shadow of the brutal Auberge dictatorship. They’re alive, and they’re together, but the city is crumbling around them and the haunting memory of Naya’s dark days on The Line have never fully left them. Living in isolation won’t be an option forever.

  When a mysterious revolutionary seeks their help to infiltrate Auberge’s electronic heart and shut it down, it’s an opportunity—it’s risky, yes, but if it works they’ll get out of the city and taste freedom for the first time. Naya needs this. They need this.

  Beyond the broken walls of Auberge, Naya and Ric find the paradise they’ve always longed for. But with anarchy reigning and Naya’s children lost amidst the chaos, they’ll need to forfeit their post-apocalyptic Eden…or commit an unspeakable act.

  Book two of two

  71,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the December 2014 releases and happy summer! Okay, so some of you are going “what??” but these letters are often so seasonally directed that I think it’s only fair that our friends in the New Zealand and Australian parts of the world get one fit for them. Plus, I really miss summer so I’d rather talk about that than winter. Also, I’d much rather prefer to imagine I’m on a warm, sunny beach somewhere than in the cold. But whether you’re looking for a beach read or for a book to heat things up, our December releases can fit the bill.

  Michele Mannon wraps up her Worth the Fight trilogy with Out for the Count. Beautiful, all-American kick ass fighter Huntley Wittaker knows in order to win an MMA championship, she must perfect her punch. But when a ball-busting brute of a biker—undercover narcotics detective Bracken Kelly—answers her ad for a trainer, she finds them both drawn into a battle far greater than she’d imagined. Though all three books in the trilogy stand alone, go ahead and pick up the first two, Knock Out and Tap Out.

  Historical romance fans will be pleased to see Caroline Kimberly return with another standout historical romance. Love hurts…especially for Ethan Ashford, who’s been charged with making sure his beloved nemesis, the high-spirited Lady Kyra Deverill, makes it to the altar—to marry someone else—in An Inconvenient Wife. Don’t miss Caroline’s first book, An Inconvenient Kiss, described as Regency meets Romancing the Stone, which has gotten fantastic reviews.

  If you love the reunited lovers trope, Amylynn Bright’s contemporary romance is perfect for you. In Finish What We Started, no matter how many adorable animals he brings into her clinic, Dr. Candace Claesson doesn’t plan on forgiving her ex-boyfriend for the way he ended their relationship five years ago. But when Lee to proves to her that the passion between them is still there, Candace has to decide if she’s willing to trust him with her heart one more time.

  Geek girl Lexi Carmichael is back with another action adventure—and more romance. Now Lexi has to face her worst nightmare—going back to high school in order catch a group of exceptionally talented student hackers. Don’t miss No Test for the Wicked, or go back to the beginning of Julie Moffett’s entertaining series with No One Lives Twice.

  If you’ve been hoping for something different in the new adult category—no college, no contemporary, something that stands out, take a look at Anne Tibbets’ futuristic dystopian duology The Line: Carrier and The Line: Walled. Naya may be former sex slave but no one will stop her as she fights to conquer both the wall around her city and the one around her heart.

  Danube Adele also offers a unique look at the new adult market with her paranormal romance, Dreams of a Wild Heart. Kidnapped from Earth and taken to a planet millions of light-years away by a seemingly cold-hearted warrior with steamy aquamarine eyes, Dr. Cecilia Bradford desperately tries to find a way back to Earth before she loses her heart to the precious people in need and to a man who claims to need no one, but who won’t let her go.

  With A Grave Inheritance, Keri Edgren continues her foray into the new adult historical paranormal market. Gifted healer Selah has chosen love over duty and followed her husband to London, but can she keep her dangerous secret in her new home?

  Urban fantasy Firewall by Sonya Clark brings the Magic Born trilogy to a thrilling conclusion when reunited lovers risk everything to change the world. Check out the first two books in the trilogy, Trancehack and Witchlight (at least take a look at the gorgeous covers!).

  In the spirit of the holiday season, don’t forget to check out some of our backlist titles including our collections of contemporary holiday romance and male/male holiday romance. All of our seasonal titles can be found here: http://bit.ly/CPHolidays. We have a wonderful collection of holiday novellas to keep you company while you wait in those long shopping lines!

  Coming in January 2015: Marie Force’s romantic suspense Fatal Scandal, and Lisa Marie Rice is back with another Midnight installment. Releases in mystery, historical romance, paranormal romance, steampunk and more!

  Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  Dedication

  To Henrike.

  With every wall that falls, a new world is discovered.

  Acknowledgments

  From start to finish I owe this book to my incredibly supportive friends and family. To those of you who listened to me whine with stress and equal happiness, to those who excused missed lunch dates and forgotten events, to those who lifted me up when I was afraid—a thank-you from the bottom of my heart. I owe greatly to Bree, Rhonda, Daniel, my daughters, Henrike and the rocking NAAU FB Group. Much love, Anne

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter One

  My eyes shot open. It took a moment to adjust in the darkness.

  Stillness.

  All quiet. There was no hum from the swamp coolers. No grinding of the infrared scanners. No pounding of the guard’s boots. There was only me, gasping for air in the shadows.

  In my nightmares I returned to the Line. Whether a slave liked it or not, a part of her would forever be trapped there, even if she escaped—like me.

  In my hushed bedroom, I scanned the walls. Simple. Clean. Bare.

  It reminded me where I was, and where I wasn’t.

  Beside the bed, the curves of the twins’ bodies were huddled together in their crib. Sleeping with their bowed mouths slightly ajar, their soft, plump bodies pressed together for comfort.

  They looked so peaceful.

  Innocent.

  I wondered what that was like.

  My feet hit the floor. The aging carpet rubbed the soles of my feet and I stood, padding toward the
kitchen. It wasn’t much. But it was home, this beat-up apartment.

  I ran my fingertips down the peeling linoleum of the countertop on my way to the refrigerator, loving every crack and dent. I hadn’t really had a home since I was a young child. Was this how I was supposed to feel?

  As I crossed the kitchen, a shadow caught the edge of my eye. Ric stood in his bedroom doorway, on the other side of the apartment. He rubbed sleep from his eyes.

  “Nightmare again?” he asked. His shaggy hair was disheveled and he wore only faded pajama bottoms, no shirt. He looked striking as rays of moonlight filtered through the cracks of the bent blinds in the windows and striped the muscles of his back. The jagged scar from the bullet wound he’d gotten during our capture last year shone on his shoulder. I wanted to reach out and stroke the strong curve of his neck, just to remind myself that he was there, and mine. But my fingers wouldn’t leave the linoleum.

  I shook my head. If I confessed to a nightmare, he’d want to dissect every detail of my warped and dented subconscious. I was too tired for that.

  “No nightmare,” I lied. “The babies will be up soon.”

  Ric raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn’t press it. He was good like that.

  “Want an omelet?” I took out eggs and a half-empty jar of mushrooms.

  “Sure. If you’re offering.” He never turned down my cooking. He came around the corner and held the refrigerator open for me. I reached inside for the butter.

  On the top of the door, his hand brushed against mine. I felt a tinge of longing.

  Any other night I might have crawled into bed with him. Some nights I liked to lie there, curled into the contours of his body. He’d stroke my hair. Sometimes there was kissing—nothing more. But the thought of bodily contact didn’t sit well right now; the nightmare was still raw.

  He must have sensed my mood. He clasped my fingers. A small gasp escaped my lips as the warmth of his touch sent shock waves through me.

  I retracted my hand.

  He frowned but said nothing. I hadn’t withdrawn from his touch like that in a long time. He shuffled around the refrigerator door, and in the stark brightness of the light, leaned his forehead into the back of my head. He kept the rest of his body an inch away from touching mine, but I still felt his heat.

  He knew. Somehow, he always knew.

  “Not a nightmare, huh?” he scoffed and stepped back, disappearing into his room and leaving me in the cold.

  Away.

  From my frigid body.

  From my nightmares.

  From me.

  Before I could fully register my frustration, the babies cried.

  The omelets would have to wait. I put the butter back.

  The dead bolt on the front door clicked and unlocked. The shadow of a small woman entered. She sleepily stuffed her keys into the pocket of her tattered robe, turned and relocked the door behind her. Waddling through the foyer toward my bedroom, she failed to notice me in the kitchen.

  “Shirel?” I called.

  She lurched back but then smiled, exposing her missing front tooth. “Jesus, girl. You look like a ghost, standin’ there with the fridge open like that.”

  “Sorry.” I put the eggs back and closed the door.

  Shirel waved my apology away. “They’re up early.” She meant the twins.

  “I got up. They must have noticed.”

  “Don’cha just love how when one gets goin’, so does the other? It’s like surround sound. ‘Member that?” When I shook my head, she grumbled and continued. “I can hear them clear as day through the wall.”

  She ambled down the hall to my room and within a few moments, she had their diapers changed, and their crying stopped. She arrived in the kitchen with a fresh baby on each hip. They wore clean T-shirts pinned between their legs.

  In that time I was just able to start the coffee. Her efficiency put me to shame.

  I sat at the kitchen table to watch. Shirel placed the twins in their wooden high chairs, got their milk ready and boiled water for the oatmeal. She moved with ease among my pots and pans and cracked linoleum. I’d learned early on it was best to stay out of her way.

  In the beginning I’d tried to help, to learn, but I’d soon realized I was no good at the logistics of motherhood: the bottles, the diapers, the rashes and teething, the drooling and cleaning.

  Shirel thrived on that. I think it reminded her of her past life, when she was a nanny to a rich family in South sector. But that was before all hell had broken loose and we’d gone on the run.

  She handed me a bowl of oatmeal and a mashed melon and directed me to feed Clea.

  At ten months old, my little girl was more interested in feeding herself, but I managed to get a spoonful into her mouth before she took the spoon from me and chucked it to the floor. She gummed a mouthful of oatmeal and grinned. When the bowl was empty, Clea squealed, “Mama!”

  I felt a twinkling of excitement for a split second before I realized she’d reached across the room in Shirel’s direction. Then I felt hurt, but also proud of Clea for having such good taste in people.

  Smart girl.

  Shirel looked away from Adena, my other daughter, and frowned at the sight of Clea. The baby had oatmeal in the small patch of black hair that curled at the top of her head.

  Shirel moaned. “Now we’ll have to give her another bath.”

  “Mama!” Clea shrieked at her again.

  Her frown deepened. “Shir-el,” she said. “I’m Shir-el.”

  “Mama!” bellowed Adena.

  Shirel growled over her shoulder, “Traitor.” Then she pointed at me. “That’s your mama.”

  “Mama!” Clea cried, this time with a tinge of pain in her voice.

  Shirel had the same pained tone when she turned to me. “Sorry.”

  I shrugged. It stung, but only a little. I didn’t blame them for bonding with her. They’d come to depend upon her. I had too. Trying to appear nonchalant, I said, “What if they called you Nana?”

  Shirel’s heavily lined face twisted as she considered this. “What, like their grandmother?”

  “You’re the closest thing they have to one.”

  “But what about your mother?” She hastily added, “When you find her.”

  “They can call her Grandma. You be Nana. It’ll be easier for them.”

  Clea looked at Shirel, sticking out her lower lip.

  “Nana. I like it.” Shirel stood from her chair, snatched Clea’s bowl and got her more oatmeal. She set it down just as there was a knock at the door.

  For a moment we froze in position, uncertain if we’d heard it correctly.

  When another knock came, Shirel turned to me with alarm. “They found us.”

  I stood and instinctively picked up Clea. The baby was upset at having been taken from her new bowl of oatmeal. She whined and pulled away.

  I held her to me, and both our hearts quickened.

  We never had visitors. Not once in the sixteen months we’d lived in the apartment building, using assumed names. No one had ever knocked on our door. We didn’t have friends except each other. We kept to ourselves. It was as much for our protection as theirs.

  A fugitive’s life.

  I gawked at the door, fearing the worst. Given Shirel’s panicked face, she did, as well.

  They’ll take my babies.

  The knock came again, more aggressive this time.

  Shirel looked sickeningly white. She picked up Adena and stepped back toward Ric’s bedroom door. “Ric!” she whispered harshly. “Ric!”

  He flew out of the room, tossing a shirt over his shoulders, looking pale and determined. In his right hand, he held a shotgun. “Barricade yourselves in my bathroom. Go!”

  My feet didn’t move. I stood at the
table, Clea fighting my tightening grip. “We’ll be trapped!”

  “Down the fire escape,” Shirel suggested.

  Ric cocked the shotgun with a loud crack and shook his head. “If they’re at the front door, they’re already at the fire escape. This may be it. Get in my bathroom and don’t come out until I tell you.”

  The door banged again.

  “Ric, no!” I cried.

  Clea, scared at my tone, burst into wailing tears.

  “Hey, Doc?” a voice called from the hall.

  Ric held in position beside the front door. His hands shook and the shotgun rattled.

  Clea bawled louder.

  Shirel looked confused, but I almost cried with relief.

  “Doc?” the voice behind the door said again. “It’s me.”

  Ric took a moment to calm himself. Then, holding tight to the shotgun, he leaned forward, unlocked the dead bolt and slowly opened the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shrieked Shirel.

  A small, slim, dark-skinned woman stood in the hallway. She wore an Auberge uniform that looked about two sizes too big. “Hi, Doc!” Sonya beamed.

  Ric leaned against the open door and sighed heavily. “You gave us a heart attack.”

  A grin stretched across her lips. “Sorry about that. But it couldn’t be helped. You two are a hard pair to find.”

  “That was the idea,” he said, stepping back so she could enter.

  Sonya looked much the same as she always had, tiny, fierce, a row of hoops up each ear, one in her eyebrow, another in her nostril and, of course, bunny slippers. Apparently, she still hadn’t gotten over her aversion to shoes.

  She glanced around the apartment with interest and then watched Ric as he bolted the door behind her.

  I felt panic permeating off Shirel like hot fumes, so I reached over and touched her arm. “It’s okay. She’s one of us.”

  Shirel’s face relaxed only a fraction.

  Slipping the guard’s cap from her head, Sonya smiled at me sheepishly. “Hi, Naya.”

  I walked forward and embraced her.