CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
With Cassandra’s limp body in his arms, Michael reappeared outside the cavern wall of Sunrise City—barely able to breathe and certain he didn’t want to if Cassandra did not. Desperate to get her to safety, he stepped to the exact, invisible spot where a scanner tracked his body, identified him. The cavern split in two, dividing into an equally invisible entrance. In an instant, Michael was inside the massive warehouse that served as an entry pod to Sunrise City, the doors automatically closing behind him.
He set Cassandra’s dripping wet body down, feeling like a vise was clamping down on his chest as he stared at her pale face and realized his worst fear—indeed, she wasn’t breathing.
“No!” he screamed in his mind, even as he scrambled to save her, ripping away her body armor to the waist and beginning CPR. She had to live. Had to live. Wildness charged through him, defiance, pain, anger. He pressed his lips to hers. His mind raced with punishing thoughts as he worked to save her. Blame rushed over him. He’d done this to her. He had done this.
Reason tried to save him from the crushing blow—had he lifebonded with her, he couldn’t have been apart from her, he couldn’t have saved the other women inside Zodius, would never have known about Red Dart, would never have gotten the body armor. But had he lifebonded with her, he could have given her his full protection. She would not be dying. Or dead. He reared back and yelled at the top of his lungs. She was dead. She was dead. And so was he. Because losing her was the one thing he could not bear, the one punishment this life had given him that he could not endure.
A loud shout spiraling through the darkness consumed Cassandra, and speckles of white touched the black and gray in front of her eyes. She gasped awake, sucked in air, and sat up, head spinning, stomach twisting. But there was only one thing that mattered. The realization that Michael was shouting. Not just shouting. Roaring deep from inside his chest, pain etched across his face. For her. He was shouting for her. She knew it in every ounce of her being.
“Michael,” she whispered, reaching for her voice, grabbing him. “Michael. I’m okay. I’m okay.”
He looked down at her, instant relief pouring over his features. He grabbed her and held her, then framed her face with his hands. “Cassandra. God. I thought—”
She pressed her lips to his, needing that warm comfort that on some level she knew had brought her back to life. Those lips. This man. A memory—of those guns pointed at them, of being certain she was going to die—washed over her. One minute there were guns, the next…“We wind-walked.”
“Yes,” he said, pulling back. “I had no choice. They were going to—”
“Kill us,” she said. “I know.”
He studied her a moment, tenderness fanning his features. “We need to get you down to medical,” he said, already pulling her into his arms when an alarm sounded. Her heart jackhammered in reaction, and instantly, Michael’s gaze jerked to the cavern wall. Cassandra’s own gaze followed the wall as it parted, and Caleb and Sterling appeared in a gust of wind, shadowy figures in black fatigues that faded into the darkness outside the door. Sterling took one step forward and collapsed, blood pooling beside his body. The wind carried three more men to the door, two of whom were hunched over in pain, injured as well.
Cassandra’s face riveted to Michael’s, and she could see the conflicted emotion spreading across his face. “Go!” she yelled, pushing out of his arms. “I’m okay! Please. Go. Help them.”
He hesitated only a moment before he was running toward the injured soldiers. Cassandra struggled unsteadily to her feet, though she was gaining strength quickly. She watched in horror as Caleb threw Sterling over his shoulder and started moving toward the back of the warehouse in the direction of a row of elevators. Blood trailed in his wake. A lot of blood. Leaving no question about the seriousness of Sterling’s injuries.
Guilt overtook Cassandra as Michael grabbed another injured man, whose name she remotely remembered as Damion. She’d liked Damion, just as she’d liked Sterling. These men had been hurt protecting her.
“Please,” she said softly, her gaze lifting upward, calling on faith she’d perhaps forgotten too much lately. “Don’t let them die.”
Even as she said that little prayer, she charged toward the elevators, determined not to be left in the warehouse alone, determined to help anyway she could. She ended up in the back of one of the two, standing behind Michael and Caleb, the injured soldiers hanging across their backs. She looked from one pair of broad shoulders to the other, feeling a silent, yet kindred spirit between the two Renegades in a way she’d noticed back at Area 51. Renegades. They were both, and had always been, Renegades. How had she ever believed Michael would really follow Adam rather than Caleb?
The underground elevator moved slowly. Too slowly. A lifetime for these men, she feared, the silence thick with that implication.
“What happened out there?” Michael asked, his voice rigid and low.
“Damion was down, and I was going after him. But Sterling was gone before I could stop him. Wind-walking right into the middle of the fucking gunfire and took those Green Hornets meant for Damion. Damn fool. Damn idiotic fool. He knows the Zodius won’t kill me. He knows my brother forbids it.”
Michael glanced at Caleb. “They might not intentionally kill you, but that doesn’t mean you might not have died out there,” Michael said. “Your life is too valuable to risk losing. You have to lead us the hell out of this mess. Correction. You’re destined to lead us the hell out of this.”
“Spare me the talk about the grandness of my life while Sterling is bleeding to death over my shoulder, Michael,” Caleb hissed. “My life is no more valuable than—”
“Like hell it’s not,” Michael countered, “and Sterling knows it even if you don’t.”
Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut. Shaken. Feeling guiltier. A lot guiltier. Could she have prevented any of this by seeing her father for what he was back when Project Zodius began? Wasn’t she here because of him? Weren’t they all here because of him?
“This isn’t your fault, Cassandra,” Caleb said, shocking her with the certainty that he had read her mind. Though nothing should shock her about the GTECHs any longer.
“No,” Michael added roughly. “It’s mine.” Cassandra’s heart leaped wildly. “It’s mine.” Was Michael talking about being the one to bring her here tonight? She regretted that. God, how she regretted coming here, allowing these men to be hurt.
Or maybe for Michael, this was about her father. About allowing him to live. He regretted that, she knew it. That was between them, a wall bigger than any other he’d ever drawn between them, and there were plenty of those.
The elevator doors slid open. Sterling and Damion were quickly placed on the rolling beds that awaited them in a long, narrow stone-covered foyer. Cassandra followed the men and saw other soldiers exiting the elevators on either side of her; all were being attended to or helping others in need.
A whirlwind of activity followed, and Cassandra chased the gurneys down a long hallway that led to the medical facilities. She saw what resembled a large emergency room with a center desk and curtained-off rooms.
Cassandra found herself sandwiched between Michael and Caleb in front of a large window outside a surgical room. And Kelly was inside with Sterling, operating.
She hadn’t even known Kelly was with the Renegades. She’d selfishly shut out everything when she’d fled Groom Lake. Shut out a war that wasn’t going away. Refused to fight while Adam became more dangerous. And right now, watching Kelly in there fighting for Sterling’s life, as Sterling had fought for all of them—Damion, Caleb, and yes, her—she hated herself for that. She vowed she would make it up. She would find Red Dart. She would destroy it. She’d help get those bullets, too. She wouldn’t allow Adam to get more of them. If confronting her father would make a difference, she’d be out in that canyon right now; she’d be charging back to demand he make this all right. But it wasn’t that easy, and she knew it. God. If only it were that easy.
She glanced up at Michael, at the hard set of his jaw, the stiff posture. Waves of turbulent emotion rolled off him and crashed over her. Whatever was behind his words in that elevator seemed to be eating him alive. The walls between them had crumbled while he’d worried for her and had rebuilt in seconds as he worried for his friend.
She yearned to strip those walls away, to touch him, to comfort him, but for the first time since she’d met him, she felt she should not. They stood shoulder to shoulder, but it seemed as if he were on the other side of the world, lost with no way home.
“He’s crashing!” someone yelled, a moment before a warning buzzer pierced Cassandra’s mind.
A harsh breath of air ripped through Cassandra’s lungs, and her hands flattened on the glass. She watched as the medical personnel prepared to shock Sterling. And deep in her core, Cassandra knew that this gut-wrenching minute would change this war. Because this moment spilled blood and cut deep in the hearts of those on the front lines. They were not, nor was she, going to sit by and let it be for nothing. These men had saved her life. She owed it to them to fight by their side, to make their sacrifices matter. She stared through that window and willed Sterling to survive, so she could tell him so herself.
Michael stood by the surgery window, watching as Kelly worked on Sterling, holding his breath. The instant the monitor by his bed began a steady, stable rhythm, his shoulders relaxed, relief filling him. Those bullets, those Taylor Industry manufactured green bullets had not stolen a good man’s life. Nor would he let them. Beside him, he could hear the sighs of relief from both Cassandra and Caleb, the tension in the small enclave of the waiting area immediately easing.
“Caleb.” The male voice came from behind.
Michael turned to find Dr. Walker, one of the half-dozen doctors who’d followed Caleb from Groom Lake. A tall, human male with short, dark hair, he was casting Michael a suspicious look. Caleb didn’t miss the look. “He’s one of us. He’s always been one of us.”
Michael wanted to bare his teeth and watch the man jump, damn him. Like he didn’t feel like crap enough right now without being made to feel he didn’t belong here. But then, maybe he did not.
“Do you have something to tell us?” Michael barked irritably, barely keeping the growl out of his voice.
Dr. Walker cleared his throat nervously. “Noah, Cooper, and Jacob have avoided major organ hits. I’m about to take Damion into surgery to remove a bullet near his heart, but I don’t anticipate any complications. It wasn’t a direct hit, so he should be fine. His body will heal quickly.”
Caleb gave a sharp nod, but apparently wanted a few minutes alone with the man, motioning him down the hall as he followed for a little one-on-one private time. And Michael had no doubt that it was about him, which only served to make him more damn agitated.
His gaze settled on Cassandra’s mud-smudged pale face, and he motioned to a nurse. “We need medical attention.”
Cassandra shook her head, motioning the woman away. “Let them deal with the men who are in life-threatening situations. I’m not.”
“No,” he said in instant rejection, thinking of those moments when he’d held her lifeless body in his arms. “You stopped breathing. You need to be checked.” He raised his hand again and motioned to the nurse who was staring at him as if he were Freddy Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street. He scowled. “Holy hell, woman. I’m not a Zodius. I’m a Renegade. And we bloody well need medical attention.”
“Easy, Michael,” Cassandra said, shaking her head at the woman. “I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“Like hell you don’t,” he grumbled.
“I’m okay, Michael. Thanks to you.” Her hand wrapped around his arm, gentle, calming. He couldn’t afford gentle. He couldn’t afford calm. Not when people were damn near dying. The wrong people. Cassandra. Sterling. Not Powell and Adam.
“Don’t thank me, Cassandra,” he hissed vehemently, anger forming within him like a swiftly thrown blade. He didn’t want her thanks. He wanted…Well. He didn’t know what he wanted right now, besides Adam’s and Powell’s blood, and her beneath him, pressed close, and moaning his name. Giving him a little piece of heaven, an escape.
But she couldn’t be that escape any longer. Not without the consequences of lifebonding for her—to a man who wasn’t even a man. He told himself to pull his arm away, to break that connection between them, so he wouldn’t forget that. Again. He always forgot with her.
But he didn’t pull away, and neither did she. Instead, she stared up at him with those beautiful green eyes—eyes that he wanted to remain beautiful and green. Not black. Not spiraling into the depths of obsidian hell with him as they would be if he claimed her fully.
“I cannot imagine what it must be like to be treated like the enemy,” Cassandra said softly. “As hard as it was for you to be gone those two years, I want you to know how proud I am of you for everything you did.”
His chest tightened with her words, and he cut his gaze to the window. “If you knew what I had to become inside that place, you would not say such things.” He’d played his role of Adam’s personal bodyguard, of tyrant and terrorist, all too well. All too easily. Sometimes he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t that person. But he had prevailed. He’d stayed on his path, reminded himself he did those things, walked those lines because he was capable of doing so, and so that Caleb would not have to. So Caleb could remain a leader of honor, untainted by the likes of his brother and those around him. Someone had to be that person.
“It doesn’t matter what you did,” she said. “It only matters why.”
He cut his gaze to hers. She pretended to understand, but she did not. And he didn’t want her to understand. He didn’t want this world for her. He wanted to get her the hell away from all of this. Safe. Happy. And so, he pushed. Pushed hard. Pushed to make her run. “Is that what you would have said if I had killed your father?”
She sucked in a breath, her hand jerking from his arm. “Killing him wouldn’t have solved anything. Adam would still be out there, trying to take over the world.”
“Without the lure of Red Dart to aid his efforts,” he said.
“So, had you killed him at Groom Lake, the world would be a happy place right now?” she challenged. She held up a hand. “Don’t answer. Just don’t.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Are you trying to upset me?”
“I’m simply trying to prepare you.”
She looked stricken, even paler than moments before. She wet her dry lips. “For when you kill him?”
“For whatever the future may hold,” he said. “This is war, and I am a soldier.”
She choked on that. “Oh, I am fully aware that you are a soldier, Michael.” She swallowed hard, shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you’ll kill him. I know you know that isn’t the answer.”
“You know less about me than you think you do, Cassandra,” he promised.
Caleb’s footsteps sounded behind them, and Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut. No matter what her father had done, he was her father. She couldn’t wish him dead. Nor could she bear the idea of Michael killing him. It would destroy her. She would lose everything in one fatal swoop. But she didn’t say that, not now, not with Caleb joining them.
One look at Caleb’s face, and Cassandra backed away, giving the two men space to talk. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Cassandra rushed down the hall as Caleb said, “The Zodius have retreated for now…” The rest was lost as she turned the corner, seeking her much needed escape.
Once inside the tiny one-stall restroom, she pressed her palms against the cool ceramic sink, letting her head fall between her shoulders. She didn’t need to hear more of Caleb’s report. “Retreated for now” translated too easily to “more bloodshed to come.”
She wanted the bloodshed to end. She wanted to turn back time and do a hundred things differently—to have connected the dots about her father’s motives and taken action. But she could only go forward, however daunting it seemed. Inhaling, Cassandra lifted her head, cringing at the raccoon eyes staring back at her in the mirror, the mud slashes streaking a line down her cheeks. She was still sick, feeling pretty crappy to be honest. But worrying about her stomach churning seemed selfish when people were fighting for their lives.
What rattled her in that moment was not the disheveled image or her personal discomfort, but what was underneath it all. For years, perhaps all her life, her identity had been tied to her father’s in ways that reached beyond biology.
“You can make this right,” she whispered. “You will make this right.”
Pulling herself together, Cassandra cleaned up a little and rejoined the men, finding them side-by-side outside the surgery-viewing window. The sight of Michael standing there—legs braced in a V, arms crossed in front of his chest, an unapproachable air rolling off him like thunder—made her stomach clench because she was the cause of his mood.
In a matter of days they’d gone from enemies to lovers, and right now, she wasn’t sure what they were. Truth be told, Cassandra wasn’t sure Michael completely separated her from her father, no matter how hard he might try or how much he might say otherwise.
She lurked behind the men, leaning against a wall, attention traveling beyond the glass as Kelly dropped one green-spiked bullet after another into a glass container. The tension in the waiting area was palpable; the worry that Sterling wouldn’t make it was on everyone’s mind. Michael stood like steel, watching every move the doctor made. Caleb, in turn, fell into pacing. He paced to the point of darn near wearing a hole in the solid concrete floor by the time the doctor finally rounded the corner to give them an update. All three of them rushed to greet her.
“He’s stable,” Kelly announced, eyeing Cassandra with a silent, understanding welcome. Her good news felt like a soft breeze on a hot day. Oh so needed. Kelly continued, “He’s not out of trouble yet. He’s lost a lot of blood. And he’s endured tremendous damage to his body. Whatever those bullets are made of, they do more than penetrate the armor. They shred muscle and tissue. He’s in for a long night of healing, and I’m worried about the healing sickness, considering the extent of his injuries. Though untested, I’m of the opinion that C deficiency is creating the healing illness, so I’ve started a supplement intravenously. That and the fact that he’s shown no healing illness in the past make me hopeful.”
“When will we know he’s out of trouble?” Cassandra asked, before either of the men could inquire.
“A few more hours.” Kelly looked them all over. “You should all go clean up and get some rest.” She motioned to Cassandra. “Not you. I need to examine you before you get away from me. I just need a few minutes to check on the other patients.” She started to turn and stopped. “Oh.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a clear, sealed baggy full of bullets. “Thought you might want these.” She dropped them into Caleb’s hand and left.
Caleb let them rest in his palm and stared at them. They all did. As if they were the devil in design. And after seeing the other men bleeding to death because of them, perhaps they were.
Abruptly, Caleb did something Cassandra had never seen him do. He lost it. Totally, completely lost it. He blasted out a curse and then flattened one fist against the cavern wall beside the glass, his big body tense, thundering frustration rushing off him.
Cassandra cringed as blood oozed from his knuckles and quickly backed away, hugging herself, unsure of what to do. Not sure there was anything she could do. Caleb had lives in his hands, perhaps the world’s future. The pressure had to be immense.
“Adam has soldiers on our perimeters,” Caleb growled. “Waiting to unload those damn bullets in every one of my men. And what do we have to beat them back? Nothing. Not a damn thing.”
“We can fix that,” Michael offered. “Let’s go get Powell’s stock of Green Hornets now, tonight.”
Caleb ran his uninjured hand over the back of his neck, tense, but seemed to calm. “The location is on that encrypted hard drive, and I’m not trusting anyone but Sterling to read it. Finding the bullets without that information would be like finding a needle in a haystack.” Caleb leveled him in a stare. “Can you get them from Taylor?”
A muscle jumped in Michael’s jaw. “I assume Sterling told you my mother is providing Powell with Green Hornets and that I believe she is helping him with Red Dart. If I’m right, and I show up and do what I have to do to get those bullets, then we’ve alerted her and Powell with her that we know what they are up to.”
“I’m pretty sure we’ve done that already,” Caleb muttered foully. “We need those bullets.”
Long, tense moments passed. Michael’s expression was unemotional, indecipherable. But Cassandra could feel the emotion rolling off him, the tension eating away at him from the inside out. He did not relish seeing his mother. In fact, he dreaded it.
But he was that soldier he’d reminded her he was—he was going to do it. She knew that even before he finally said, “I’ll need a team at the Taylor Facility ready to go the minute I give the coordinates. If they leave with me now, I can get them out of the canyon under the cover of wind.” Caleb gave a short nod of approval, and Michael’s gaze shifted to Cassandra. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
A futile desperation rose inside her. She wanted to yell at him to stay. This night needed to end. The war had already cut too deeply, taken too much from them. But she could do nothing but nod. “Be careful.”
His eyes darkened, a flicker of emotion in their depths so fleeting she almost thought she’d imagined it before he turned and started walking. And she realized she feared he was never coming back. That every time he walked away, she would always fear he wasn’t coming back. But not because he was a soldier. Not because they were in a silent war. Because he was Michael.