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I put my knife away, inserted the key, turned it, and pushed open the door.
My sister wouldn’t willingly leave with me because she didn’t trust me. And why should she?
“Francesca.” She stood on the other side of the room, stance wide, arms at her side, fingers curled into fists. She was never a fighter and yet she excelled at it.
She was an open book with her emotions, ones that they’d never been able to break her of. No matter what they’d done to her, Chess remained compassionate, but it was now with an edge.
She laughed, but the sound didn’t match her hard, sapphire eyes that had once been soft and gentle. “Dearest brother. Are you here to finally lead me to my death? Did Helena send you to do the honors?”
She called our mother by name, refusing the association.
Chess should be dead already. Being the daughter of one of the board members, she’d been given the privilege of remaining alive after her attempt to escape. They caught her. Shot her in the leg then tortured her before she was to be executed. But I reasoned with Mother that execution was a poor example for others. Chess deserved to suffer for the disloyalty she’d shown Vault and Mother. Death was too simple and kind. Too permanent.
I remember Chess glaring at me, her hatred blazing because she wanted to die. But I’d needed her to hate me, so Mother would believe me. It was always about Mother believing me. I realized that I’d never forgotten our connection and even with it numbed and in the far reaches of my mind, the instinct was still there to protect her.
It was the same look she had now as we faced one another. Her hand went to her back pocket and before she had a chance to pull whatever weapon she had, I threw my knife and it sliced through the arm of her T-shirt and embedded in the wall behind her.
I ducked and rolled at the last second as her makeshift wooden spike skimmed my shoulder. It hit the stone mantel and fell to the floor. But she didn’t stop as she threw another. I reached into my boot and dove behind the bed as I threw my dagger, my aim off to the right like I wanted. She’d know I’d purposely missed. Everyone knew I never missed my mark.
She stopped, the tension easing from her face. “Kai?”
“It’s time, Chess.”
I kept my eyes on her. Despite her circumstance, she still had this magnetic quality about her, with her soft features and eyes that sucked you into her warmth when she wasn’t pissed at you. Her hair was jagged, shoulder-length black strands, which contradicted her facial appearance. She had broad hips and even wearing pants I could tell she’d been working out with her muscled thighs. I suspected it was to strengthen her bad leg.
She walked to the far side of the room where there was a shelf holding a wall of books. My sister had always been a voracious reader. Fictional romance fairy tales and perhaps the reason she was foolish enough to try to escape Vault, thinking it was possible to do the impossible. Although, we were changing that fallacy.
I remained at the door, listening for any footsteps coming down the corridor, but when I checked the security cameras on Mother’s computer, one goon was at the front door and the other was in the garden prowling the grounds. There was also a cook and two maids, but it was highly unlikely they would come down here.
Her head dropped forward and her shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand.”
“Mother’s dead, Chess. I killed her ten minutes ago.”
Her head shot up and she spun around, her mouth gaping. “What?”
“It’s time,” I repeated. She knew exactly what I meant.
As kids at the farm, time had no meaning. There were no clocks, and often we were kept in rooms with no windows so we never saw the sun or moon. Hours, minutes, days, they blended together in the blackness.
After my father was executed, we were taken to the farm and immediately separated. When I did see her, we were unable to speak as the handlers always watched us. They didn’t want us forming any sort of friendships, so separating a brother and sister was essential.
But one day, I was left in a hallway while my farm handler took a piss. She was coming out of a classroom with a boy around her age and it looked like she was talking to him quietly, which was breaking the rules. They didn’t have a handler with them, probably because they were compliant, unlike me who fought them for years.
At first I hadn’t recognized her. She appeared stronger, the baby softness gone from her cheeks, and much taller. She looked to be seven or eight years old then. It was her eyes that were the same, a sweetness lingering within the depths as she spoke to the boy beside her.
