The Line Book Two: Walled Page 5

  “That’s not fair. They’ve been in jeopardy since the moment they were conceived. And besides, Shirel has them. They couldn’t be in better hands.”

  “This plan is dangerous. We might not live through it. Don’t you see that?”

  I grimaced. “I do. But with or without us, if we don’t try, the girls are prisoners. You honestly believe those two can live their entire lives hiding in that apartment? Never going outside? Never meeting anyone? Imagine them as children. It’s easy enough now. They’re just babies, they can’t even walk. What about the day they ask, ‘Why can’t we go outside and play?’ Or the day they see other children outside the window and wonder why they can’t join them. Are you going to tell them, ‘No, you can’t because you don’t exist’? Are you ready to have that conversation?”

  He had no answer to that. He sat on the bunk across from mine and grunted.

  “We should do it,” I said after a moment. “We have more to gain than to lose if we don’t.”

  He shook his head and put his hand to his chin. “Sonya has plans to get us in, but I’m not confident in the escape plan.”

  “Then we alter it until you’re comfortable.”

  His eyes seared into mine. They were wide with fear. “Nothing about this will ever make me comfortable.”

  * * *

  “This is a Percer 33,” Bubbs said, holding up a black handgun and showing it to me. It looked like a toy in his enormous hands. “Thirty-three rounds in the clip.”

  I nodded and glanced over at Ric. His frown left grooves in his face.

  Deep in the heart of the building in front of us, Bubbs had tacked a piece of cardboard to one of the old factory machines, then stacked cardboard boxes around and behind it. A large circle drawn with dry shoe polish was our target.

  Sonya had said we were going inside HQ armed, just like an actual Auberge guard. Ric had grown up using hunting rifles, but after the game had all disappeared, he hadn’t used one since. But I had no experience with guns at all, except when they’d been pointed at my face.

  “This here is the safety.” Bubbs showed me a small switch on the side. “For a proper stance, I recommend you use the Weaver.” He put the gun on the armory table and walked around me.

  He demonstrated the proper stance, and I copied him, feeling like an idiot. He kicked my toes out on my back foot, and then locked my right elbow. He then wrapped my hands around the handle of the Percer 33, and I marveled at the weight of it.

  It was solid, cold, but lighter than I thought it would be.

  “Wrap the left fingers over the right,” Bubbs said. “Don’t cup your hand like a saucer. Right, there you go. Now make sure you don’t push your thumbs into the slide.”

  “At what point do we actually get to shoot the gun?” Ric mused.

  Bubbs pursed his lips. “You want to look like an Auberge guard or not? Because, by all means, walk in there and don’t handle this the way the rest of ’em do, and you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Ric shook his head but said nothing.

  Bubbs reached up and pointed to a small knob at the tip of the gun’s barrel. “That’s your sight,” he said. “Center the front sight on where you aim, and make sure it’s centered with this rear notch.”

  “I’m never going to remember any of this,” I confessed.

  Bubbs shrugged his gargantuan shoulders. “Maybe not. But if you have to use it, you’ll be glad we did this.”

  I lifted my eyes to the front sight and focused on the cardboard target.

  “Don’t jerk your hand when you fire,” Bubbs added. “Sometimes people are worried about the recoil and try and push the gun forward with the heel of their hand. Don’t do that. Just pull the trigger back with your finger. If you’ve got the proper stance and grip, the recoil should be easy to control.”

  “Should be?”

  “Just pull the damned trigger before I get old,” Ric snapped.

  I checked my feet again, then adjusted my hands on the grip of the gun. Focusing on the target, I flexed my index finger back, and the gun snapped up and back. The bullet flew out and penetrated the cardboard target in the upper left corner.

  “Holy shit!” I shouted.

  Bubbs was grinning. “Not bad for a first try.”

  I squinted at the cardboard target and sighed. “I didn’t even make it inside the circle.”

  “No,” Bubbs agreed. “But you hit the cardboard, at least. Could have been worse. Want to try it again?”

  Ric coughed behind me.

  “In a minute,” I said. “Let Ric have a turn before he dies of impatience.”

  I handed the gun over to him, but as he approached, I noticed Bubbs pull a long metallic cylinder from his pocket. Taking the gun from Ric, he screwed the piece onto the end of the Percer then handed it back.

  Ric’s face paled. “What do I need this for?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s a silencer,” Bubbs said. “For taking out the guards on patrol on the top floor. Out of the two of you, I figured Doc would be up for it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ric balked. “You never said anything about shooting anybody.”

  “What do you think this is, a picnic? It’s a revolution, buddy.”

  Ric paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down nervously. “I-I...I thought we were just pretending to be guards.”

  Bubbs’s face pinched with strain. “Alright. Fine.” He turned to me. “The mainframe server room is patrolled by a pair of guards every twenty minutes,” he explained. “If you don’t ‘neutralize’ one of the pairs and take their place during the patrol, then this whole thing is shot. No pun intended. You understand? This entire plan falls apart. You must get inside that server room, and the only way inside is to get rid of two guards and take their place. You hear me?”

  The warehouse echoed with Bubbs’s words and I realized the room had gone quiet. Minnie was no longer typing on her laptop, and the noises from the kitchen had gone silent. Everyone had stilled to hear my response.

  I heard shuffles across the cement floor and knew Sonya and her bunny slippers were approaching.

  “You want me to do it?” I asked.

  Ric spoke before I did. “There has to be another way.”

  “There is no other way,” Bubbs insisted. “Believe me. If there was, we’d be doin’ it.”

  Ric held the Percer in his hands as if it was about to explode at any moment. “I mean, I’ve only ever shot birds before. Ducks and geese, and a squirrel once.”

  Bubbs seemed only mildly irritated. “Yeah, okay. How about it, Naya? Can you?”

  Ric stared at me. He seemed so shocked, so stricken with the very idea of shooting two Auberge guards dead. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had no problem with it at all.

  “Well...” I started to say.

  “What did you think you came here for?” Sonya snapped. She stood in the aisle behind us, her hands on her hips as if she were scolding a rebellious child.

  Ric’s face reddened. “We didn’t come here to become assassins. You said we were going to sneak into HQ, that’s it.”

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like for the greater good,” Sonya argued.

  “I understand that,” he said, handing the Percer back to Bubbs. “But this? I can’t. I’m sorry. Find another way.” He turned to walk away, but I didn’t follow.

  As much as I hated to disagree with him, I did. I saw their point. We had to consider the big picture, and the big picture was that saving my children from Auberge was worth a couple of dead Auberge guards. I’d fantasized plenty of times about killing a few of the nastier ones from my days on the Line.

  Ric hadn’t seen them shooting the girls as they ran from the burning Line, naked and emaciated, coughing violent
ly and blinded by smoke. We’d been sitting ducks, and the guards had mowed us down as if it was nothing. Without a moment’s hesitation they’d murdered slaves before they’d been able to get one breath of freedom. And that wasn’t even including the guards I’d known inside the Line, the ones who’d groped and teased, beaten and abused.

  I didn’t mind that one of those guards would be on the receiving end of my bullet, even if that made me just as much of a murderer as them. My soul was lost anyway.

  I reached out and took the gun from Bubbs. “I’ll do it.”

  Sonya nodded and pursed her lips.

  Ric looked at me as if he had no idea who I was.

  * * *

  Back in our room, Ric had given up pacing and now lay on his cot with a sunken expression. I sat on my bed, watching him. He felt a million miles away. I crossed my arms, pulling them into my chest, and wished I could say something to ease the weight from his face. But I doubted there was anything I could do.

  It was obvious, given how downcast and distant he’d become after I’d announced my willingness to kill the guards, where Ric stood. He didn’t understand.

  Given that his profession had been healing animals and people, I could see why he was having a hard time with it. But the fact that I was willing had hurt him on a level I couldn’t reach.

  There was nothing I could do about it.

  Watching him lie on his cot, I didn’t think he wanted to be there anymore. He probably regretted volunteering to come with me, but he was stuck now. He was too noble of a man to leave me, especially since I needed him. But he didn’t look happy or content with this. In fact, he looked depressed.

  “Ric?”

  He didn’t turn to look at me. “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to be okay with this?”

  He sighed and continued staring at the ceiling. I kicked off my boots and curled my knees up under me, waiting for him to lay into me, to yell—to show some sort of passionate response to my having gotten us into this mess. Something.

  The usual Ric blustering.

  But he barely moved, and this bothered me even more. His silence cut worse than his bellows. Where was the temper tantrum? Why wasn’t he yelling and tossing inanimate objects across the room? Instead, he looked deflated. Defeated.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  But I wasn’t, not really. I knew I was doing the right thing, and now I was dragging Ric along, whether he liked it or not. My apology felt empty, even to me.

  He sighed again. I didn’t think he believed me either.

  This brought tears to my eyes. I hated to cause him pain of any kind, even if I felt it was necessary. It still cut me in my soul.

  I stood and went to him, kneeling next to his cot. I placed my hands on his face and smoothed my fingers and palms over the creases of his frown. His face felt warm in my hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  It was my sincerest apology. Not just for this, but for everything. I could argue that I’d systematically ruined his life over the past year and a half. I was certainly sorry for that.

  His frown melted away under my hands and his face relaxed. I ran my fingers through his ruffled hair, and he turned, facing me. His eyes shone like brilliant emeralds.

  I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  The response I got was not what I had expected. As if a switch had been ignited, so was Ric. He swung his hands onto my shoulders, got to his feet, pulled me up to mine and kissed me back so forcefully I couldn’t breathe.

  I turned my mouth away, gasping for air, and he squeezed my body to his, his mouth trailing down my neck to my collarbone. Ripples of electricity shot across my skin, as his hands left my shoulders, slid down the contours of my arms and encircled my waist.

  He was desperate with desire, moving fast and reckless. His hand left my waist and smoothed down to my hips, cupped the round flesh of my ass, back up to my ribs, my belly and then his palm dove under my shirt, pushed back the elastic of my tank bra and grasped my breast.

  I inhaled sharply. He’d never done that before. I felt my body tremble with a peculiar mix of feelings, and he pinched my nipple, ever so slightly, while he sucked on my lower lip.

  The effect was palpable. Energy surged in my pelvis and in my trepidation, I tipped backward on my heels, away from him.

  Ric followed me back and gently laid us both on my cot, him on top of me, his hands searching, seeking to possess me.

  He peeled open my shirt, pulled up my bra and kissed and licked my body, my nipples, my ribs, navel—everywhere his hands roamed, so did his mouth.

  To my surprise, I moaned with pleasure. His touch was having a strange effect on me. I could hardly think straight. He was soft, gentle, hot and wet. He was painting me with his hands and it enveloped me whole.

  I’m not ready for this! But oh, my God! It feels so good.

  His mouth found mine again and as I writhed my hips against him with an involuntary urge, one of his hands left my breast and plunged into my pants.

  I gasped aloud. “Ric!”

  “Naya,” he groaned, impassioned, misunderstanding me. His fingers played with my flesh, and I felt a rush of wet warmth and undeniable fear.

  “Ric...”

  He didn’t hesitate. His other hand left my neck and he used both his palms, sliding my pants down and over my hips, past my knees. My pants disappeared and my belt buckle clattered against the concrete floor.

  “Ric,” I whispered, totally and completely lost in a sea of emotions. I wanted more. But I didn’t. I was scared of what he was doing. But it felt too good to stop. Pushing myself onward, I pinched my eyes closed to better feel the power of these new vibrations. They were taking control of me.

  This feeling, this stirring—his hands on my skin, the warmth and heat of my own body—it was intoxicating. It was like nothing I’d felt before in my life.

  It was desire.

  It was marvelous.

  It scared me to death.

  I felt a rush of cold against my skin and opened my eyes.

  Ric was kneeling over me, peeling off his shirt. He helped me remove mine. Then he kissed me again and pressed our chests together. The feel of his skin on my nipples made me writhe my hips against him, and I gasped again.

  What the hell is he doing to me?

  It was unreal. I didn’t realize it was possible for me to feel like this.

  I ran my hands up and down the muscles of his back, dug my fingers into his skin and then his hands found the warm edges of my bottom and he pulled me toward him.

  I could feel he was hard. He was rock solid. But he’d kept his pants on, and for this I was thankful. I wasn’t sure I was able to take this to the next level. But then he cupped my groin again and ran his thumb against it and my hips rotated toward him. I rubbed myself against the contours of his pelvis and it felt so amazing that I involuntarily moaned again.

  “God,” Ric breathed.

  I couldn’t stop myself. My hands left his straining shoulders and I plunged my hands into his pants, grasping the fullness of him in my palms.

  He lurched at my touch. Shocked and excited, he grew harder still.

  I wanted him.

  For the first time in my life I wanted someone so badly, it hurt.

  My fingers made quick work of his pants, and soon they were on the floor next to mine.

  He looked positively magnificent, naked and erect. He’d raised his body above mine and straddled me, on hands and knees—his eyes searched for mine and with a silent expression, he asked permission.

  I nodded. Instinctively I parted my legs and then he flexed his hips forward and with a rush of hot skin he was inside me.

  “Oh, my God.”

  For a split second I felt a rush of desi
re, of relief, of thrill—it ran up from where he’d entered me, flowed like a hot river of lava up my bloodstream and filled every cell of my body with a burst of heat and passion.

  It was glorious.

  And then Ric rocked back out and inside me again, and a rush of memories crashed into each other inside my brain, thundering around my skull like a hurricane. In an instant, I was reliving every rape I had ever endured.

  I started to cry.

  It was quiet weeping, at first.

  Slow, fat tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and trailed down my temple, into my hair.

  Ric had closed the gap between our bodies. His chest heaved and swayed against mine as he rocked himself in and out of me. His eyes were pinched closed as he passionately made love. The cot swayed from the thrusts from his hips.

  My hands dropped from his ribs and gripped the side of the cot. I clamped my lips together to stop from sobbing, but they broke free and I choked on my grief. My lips sputtered.

  Ric’s eyes shot open and he stopped moving. Still inside me, he froze in position, staring. His face twisted with anguish. He choked on my name. “Naya?”

  My hands flew to my face, covering it. I couldn’t look at the distress, the terror growing in Ric’s eyes. All I could feel was a cold horror flowing down from my brain and extinguishing any heat, passion or love that had coursed through me not seconds before.

  Keeping my face covered, my sobs became audible and I shook with emotional pain.

  The beauty of my passion had been crushed under the weight of my horrific past.

  He didn’t ask what was wrong.

  He had to have known.

  My nightmares had come alive, and it was my fault. I’d let them.

  I’d ruined everything.

  I felt Ric pull out of me. I felt him rise to his knees, then slide off the back of the bed. He said nothing.

  I didn’t know if this was good or bad.

  I curled into the fetal position and sobbed harder still, but I couldn’t open my eyes to watch him. I didn’t want to see the look on his face. I knew it would destroy me.

  I imagined disappointment.

  Hurt.

  So much hurt.