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“No wonder you tied me up. If I got even one hit in, you’d fucking fold.”
He hits me again. Again. And again. Between each punch, he rolls his shoulders and his face reddens, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. He’s mumbling almost frantically, and I can’t make out the words—I’m too focused on his position. Another hit. He gets close … closer …
I kick my legs out, wrap them around his knees, and yank him toward me. Slamming my head forward, I break his nose, and he shouts. His blood drips onto my face, and he tries to wriggle free, but I lock my legs around his waist. His arms flail, and one final pull has him falling on me.
I bite down on his cheek.
He screeches, trying to pull back, but I hold firm. Thick, soft skin splits between my teeth, and blood pours into my mouth as he screams and slaps at me, eventually sticking his finger back into the knife wound. I release him and he falls back, trying to cradle his cheek.
I spit his own blood at him, red saliva landing on his sweater. “And that’s me restrained. Imagine what I’m gonna do to you when I get out of here.”
His eyes bulge as he stares at his palm slick with his own blood. “You might be strong, Z, but I don’t need to physically hurt you to destroy you. I can just tell Silence the truth.”
My chest seizes, and despite the agony I’m in, my skin chills. I stare at him, my lips parted, the taste of iron clinging to my tongue.
There’s no way he knows that.
He can’t.
“You hid it well. But no secret stays buried.” He drags himself to his feet, body trembling. “And I have a feeling that when I tell Silence what happened, she’ll hate you forever.”
He presses a button on the tape player, screeching sound effects booming from the old device. He stumbles back up the stairs, leaving me tortured by the music and my lies.
Chapter 30
Silence
My heart is no longer in my chest. It’s somewhere lost, still beating, but just barely.
Hearing Zayden like that … in so much pain, telling us to leave him …
My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. My skin is clammy, chilled, and whenever I replay my husband’s pained shouts, I cover my face with my hands. Fear for myself is commonplace, but this is torture.
Yale is beside me, holding my hand, and Xavier is pacing, running over different plans. Strategies, escape routes, firearms … words floating in the air that don’t land or take root.
“X,” Yale says quietly, but Xavier keeps tracking the room, listing off names I’ve never heard. “X.” But his brother keeps moving, until Yale raises his voice. “Xavier!” Xavier stops. “Ryker had the number to burner phones we bought nearly two years ago. He has been planning this a long fucking time, and we cannot make the mistake of going in guns blazing. We need to think about leaving.”
“No,” I sob. “No, we—we can’t.”
“Not forever. Just to regroup,” he adds. “We have days, if he’s being generous, to plan this. That isn’t enough.”
The clawing panic in my chest expands. “What do you even mean? Give him the Agency!”
“You know we can’t,” he says gently.
I stand, tossing the phone aside. “Because he’ll get too much power? He already has it!”
Xavier shakes his head. “We can’t give in so easily when so much is on the line.”
I look to Yale, hoping he’ll convince Xavier that we can’t leave Zayden behind. But even him, the guy with the biggest heart, the man who would do anything to save his family, seems resigned to the choice that Xavier has made.
Maybe they’re right. What do I know about this world? But something in my heart tells me we shouldn’t do this. Zayden’s life is more important than the risk of giving the Agency away.
But I have to follow their lead.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep my voice low, not even attempting to hide the defeat in my tone. “Then what’s the plan?”
Xavier locks his eyes on me, a determination in his gaze that I’ve never seen in him before. He looks so much like Zayden right now, more than in just appearance. Before, he was an echo of a leader that Zayden had to be, not that I blame him. But now, he’s stepping into the light, and I’m grateful he is, because we can’t do this without a leader.
