Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“She’s being helped right now, getting treatment. A shame she got infected, though.” Clicking his tongue, Roman turned on his heel and motored on, as if there were no need for further discussion.
“Let’s go,” Miller growled, clamping my wrist and tugging.
Still I resisted, knocking on the glass until an angry voice bellowed, “No touching.”
Mykal never looked up.
Thoughts hit me with the force of punches as Miller dragged me away. Forget chain of command. I’d go straight to the top. Surely Cyrus could do something. When Mykal was freed, and she would be, I’d tell her about Soal, and she would listen, then eat my piece of the Rock. What she wouldn’t do? Turn me in at a critical point in the war with CURED. A time when the lives of my loved ones hung in the balance.
Unless she did.
In my worried daze, I almost overlooked the person imprisoned in a cell near hers. The second my mind caught up with my eyes, I ground to a halt. John Victors, the formidable glower who’d allowed himself to be captured to help me see a truth I’d denied my entire life. Now, he lay motionless on his back, his eyes swollen shut, his wrists cuffed to metal rails, his skin pallid, and his body hooked to multiple machines. Tubes protruded here, there, everywhere. A thin blanket draped his lower half.
A ragged cry lodged in my throat, releasing a bitter burn.
Miller pulled me along the hallway, and I let him do it without resistance. Forget going straight to the top. At the first opportunity, I would sneak back to this area. I had royal clearance. I could bypass security. I’d be careful. Wouldn’t alert Mr. Vyle. Wouldn’t even tell Cyrus, allowing him to maintain genuine deniability. But one way or another, I had to act. My friends were being tortured.
Heta concluded the tour and ushered us from the basement of nightmares back to class. I searched for Cyrus but didn’t see him. Nor did I pay attention in class. Or eat lunch. Or converse with anyone. I even lost sight of Miller, who remained at my side, chatting about nothing during every break, unconcerned by my silence.
My mind remained trapped in a loop. Mykal. Victors. Mykal. Victors. The horrors they must have endured—must be enduring. The danger of my plan. I’d have to leave the base for good. There’d be no coming back from this.
“Hey!” Miller tapped my cheek. “Get your head in the game, Roosa.”
I focused to find his scowling face inches from me. We occupied the gym with the whole team and a trio of barons barking orders at us. Self-defense class, I realized. I’d missed most of the day.
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Apologies,” I muttered. “What are we doing?” Whatever it was, I could do it. For a couple of hours, I would set my worries aside and pretend I wasn’t planning to betray all of CURED.
“We’re learning to move together, what else?” He wiggled his brows. “Though if we’re gonna improve, we should probably do extra credit after hours, like Roman and Merlot.”
I recoiled and shuddered. “Not happening. Not ever.” Not even if he tattooed Cyrus’s face over his.
Miller shrugged, unabashed. “I didn’t say we had to be naked.”
I punched the bag he pushed at me.
“Better,” he said, as if he’d purposely incited my wrath.
For the next however long, we acted as if a pair of punching bags were feeders determined to kill us. Too often Miller angled into my personal space, hindering my motions as well as his own. Or maybe I angled into his. Whoever was at fault, it sucked, and both our tempers sharpened to razor points.
The only bright side was the slight vibration dinging on the inside of me, alerting me to the presence of my fellow Soalian. But who was it? Who?
“Roosa. Bosworth. Get over your dislike of each other and get in sync,” a baron snapped. “Stay aware. Notice the other’s slightest fluctuations.”
Miller and I exchanged fresh scowls and geared up to go again. An ear-shattering scream tore through the gym, and everyone stilled. Either someone had just broken with Madness, or this was a hologram-type pop quiz meant to prepare us for the mean streets of Theirland.
We waited, collectively on edge. When aggression electrified the air, zapping my nerve endings, I knew. This was no simulation. Someone had indeed broken.
I reached for a dagger only to realize I had no weapons. Other screams rang out, blending with grunts of pain, hard thumps and thuds, and pounding footsteps. The infected person headed this way.
So I was unarmed. So what. My determination strengthened until it produced a heartbeat of its own. Stop the maddened before anyone gets hurt.
“Open our chains,” someone shouted.
“Formation,” a baron called. The chains remained fastened.
Miller and I rushed to join the defensive line forming behind our instructors, almost tripping over each other. Not exactly a boost to my confidence. The other trainees were without weapons as well. Well, other than our fists, feet, and skills.