Rebel Obsession (43 page)
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“Nothing of consequence.”
“Good, then with nothing further, the punishments I handed down earlier will commence immediately. Tristan, you are to return home and remain there under house arrest for one month. Severin, you are suspended for one week without pay. And Traceon….” The King stood. “You will serve fifteen days in confinement and be suspended indefinitely without pay, pending review in three months.”
Micah stood and shouted, “He’s still suspended? What about—?”
King Bain raised his hand, cutting Micah off, and gave the guards a vicious glare to keep them back. Obviously, he remembered what had happened earlier when his guards had manhandled Micah, and he didn’t want to provoke Trace into a repeat performance.
“Micah, my decision is final. I will take his assistance into consideration in three months when we consider his reinstatement to AKM, but for now, that is my ruling.”
“What about me?” Micah said, jutting out his chin. “I was involved with helping Io and Miriam, too, but you haven’t punished me?”
“You weren’t involved in giving the order, or party to the mental manipulation of my guards, Micah,” King Bain said patiently.
“But I helped deceive you.”
What the hell was Micah doing? Did he
want
to be punished?
“Very well, Micah.” Bain sounded tired, as if he was suddenly weary and wanted only to rest. “I sentence you to one day suspension, without pay, to be enforced immediately. And then you will take over the team in Tristan’s absence.” The king gave Micah a long, hard look as both he and Tristan gaped. “And you will become the leader you were always meant to become. Is that understood?”
Cordray slowly stood and looked from Bain to Micah. This was an unexpected turn of events.
Bain ambled slowly around the table and stopped in front of Micah. “I am ready to see you fulfill the role you were meant to fulfill, Micah. The role my father and I had always intended for you to fill before….” Bain pressed his lips together and shook his head once. “Before Katarina’s death.”
“What role is that?” Micah stared at him suspiciously.
“In time, Micah.” The king rested a hand on Micah’s shoulder, smiled tightly, then turned and began to walk away. “For now, just know that I have grown weary of waiting. Now that you have Sam, and you seem to be back on track, I have my eye on you. Don’t disappoint me, Micah. Now, everyone, leave me.”
Cordray watched her brother trudge away as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He had a lot to think about. And when her gaze met Trace’s as the guards pulled him away, she realized that she did, too.
Bishop stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the window of his new residence in a wooded, rolling area of northern Indiana. He had carefully selected the location from a dozen choices, choosing it because it was the crossroads between east and west. It was only a day or two’s drive to all the major cities surrounding it. New York, Chicago, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, Indianapolis. Even Florida could be reached in less than twenty-four hours if he drove straight through. He would be able to run a more efficient operation here, shipping subjects into his lab and back out to the streets in a fraction of the time he’d been able to from Arizona.
The place was still a mess, and it aggravated him no end that he’d had to move before he’d been ready, but it was what it was, and he could either be a sourpuss about it or look at the bright side. He chose the latter, even if the bright side was as dim as a twenty-five watt light bulb.
He had only been able to bring a handful of his test subjects, so he would have to begin an immediate re-stock. Luckily, this new facility had twice the number of cells as the one in Arizona, and the lab was bigger and better equipped.
Okay, so make that a forty-five watt light bulb.
After taking out one of his brown cigarettes, he closed his lips around the gold filter and flicked up a flame on his etched, gold lighter. With a deep inhale, he turned and waved away the assistant who was arranging the last scorpion aquarium on the shelf in his new den.
The assistant scuttled away, and Bishop lifted the lid of one aquarium and beckoned his pet onto his hand.
Apostle’s voice shot out from the corner of his new office. “It wasn’t my fault!”
Time to christen the home.
With a sigh, Bishop walked toward him and knelt down. “I know, dear brother. But Jessup….” Bishop feigned remorse and shrugged one shoulder. “Well, he’s dead already, and someone needs to be punished for this failure.”
“I didn’t fail!” Apostle pulled on the chain that bound him to the reinforced wall, his eyes full of terror. “You’re the one who ordered her to be taken. If you had just stuck to
my
plan, none of this would have happened!”
“I know, brother. I know.” Bishop lowered his hand and the scorpion scurried onto Apostle’s leg, which jerked and twitched.
But Apostle’s ankles were shackled to bolts in the floor, so he couldn’t get away.
Bishop slowly stood and took a leisurely draw on his Sobranie. “From now on, you will convey to those who work for me what will happen if they fail, Apostle.”
“But you’re the one who failed!”
Apostle’s terrorized screams cut him off and touched Bishop’s ears like a symphony. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to listen.
“I will make a strong leader out of you yet, my brother. Now, sing for me. Sing for me some more.”
What do you know? Apostle followed his order to the letter this time.
Trace had been locked up for over two days. No one had been allowed to see him, and hardly a sound reached him this far back in the king’s holding cells. He was completely alone, and with the rampant thoughts running amok through his mind, Trace wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the isolation and sensory deprivation.
His greatest fear had always been that he would humiliate himself by losing hold of his power and going mutant. Now, he feared learning the truth of where his father had been all this time would tip the scale.
The last memory he had of his father had been tainted with pain and blame, and Trace had thought his father had been killed long ago, along with his brother.
Life without his brother had been hard in and of itself. Brak had been Trace’s proverbial lightning rod. The one person Trace had been able to count on to keep him grounded. Losing Brak had been devastating, but thinking he had lost his father had left Trace feeling even emptier.
But now his father was back. Maddox was alive. It made him wonder if Brak was still out there somewhere. Unlikely, but hope bubbled in his heart nonetheless.
How long had his father been held in that lab? Where had he been? Was he okay? Had he finally accepted what had happened to Trace’s mother?
Sitting with bent legs on the small bed in his cell, Trace bowed his head and settled his forehead on his folded arms, which rested on his knees.
He didn’t know how long he sat that way before he became aware he was being watched. Snapping his head up, he saw Cordray standing outside his cell. Her long hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail that draped over her shoulder and down the front of her body.
Trace lowered his feet to the floor and frowned, bristling. “You sure enjoy breaking the king’s rules, honey.” He wondered how she had been permitted to see him when the king had clearly stated he wasn’t allowed to have visitors.
“Don’t you worry about me,” she said, eyeing him.
Trace chuffed. “Don’t compliment yourself.”
“Fuck you, Trace.”
He flipped her off without meeting her gaze. “Will that be all?”
Cordray’s face remained placid. “I thought I could help.”
Trace scoffed. “I don’t need your help, honey.”
“I could have told Bain what you did to Deacon, but I didn’t.”
Trace pushed up off the tiny bed and stalked to the front of his cell. “Don’t go doing me any favors. You’re the reason I’m in here to begin with.”
“No,
you’re
the reason you’re in here, Traceon.” Cordray arched a slender eyebrow at him, her brilliant blue eyes locking onto his.
“Whatever.” Trace turned and marched away. “Fuck off, okay. How about you just fuck off and leave me alone?”
Not to be deterred, Cordray pushed onward. “You had a choice, Traceon. You knew the law and you chose to break it. Actions lead to consequences. If you can’t take—”
Trace spun around. “Spare me your philosophical ruminations, bitch. I don’t need your bullshit right now.”
She shot needles at him from her eyes. “Fuck off. I’m not the one locked behind bars, and I’ll do and say whatever I want.” She tilted her head to the side. “And I’ll
go
wherever I want, too. If you don’t like it, you can suck my ass, because I don’t give two shits about you or whether you live or die. You got that?”
“Then why are you here? Afraid I’ll die without saying goodbye?”
A flash of emotion crossed her face—one Trace couldn’t identify, but which reminded him of dismay or surprise.
“You’d better get used to me, Traceon,” she said, composing herself as quickly as she had faltered, taking a step back and placing her hands behind her as if she was at military at ease.
Wearing a black, sequined tank top with the image of a black widow on the front, along with black cargo pants and studded platform boots with three-inch heels, she looked like more like the military fashion police than a soldier. Especially with all that ink and metal decorating her body.
“Why’s that? You moving in to the cell next to mine?” Oh joy, what a ride that would be.
“No, dickhead. Because when you’re out of here, I’ll be your boss.”
A haughty laugh punched out of Trace’s throat. “As if! You couldn’t boss my dick, bitch.”
The corners of Cordray’s mouth turned up almost wickedly, her eyes narrowing with self-satisfaction.
Trace stopped laughing. “You’re serious?”
“Oh yeah, big guy. Dead serious. You’ll be serving your community service at my shelter. If you ever want to work at AKM again, you’ll do as I tell you.” Her eyes dropped to his crotch. “And what was that you were saying about bossing your dick?” Her bright eyes lifted to his, one brow arching. And then she spun on her heel and sashayed away, head held high. Self-righteous little huss.
Trace looked down.
What the fuck? His pecker had sprouted to full attention, making a healthy tent in the scratchy canvas pants he’d been forced to put on before going into lockup. The bulge left nothing to the imagination.
“That’s quite a package…
Traceon
,” Cordray called back, sniggering quietly.
“Fuck off…
Cordray
.” He really hated that bitch. Damn her. But she had him by the short and curlies, and didn’t that just suck a donkey’s dick?
At least fighting with her gave him an outlet for his power. But if he wasn’t careful, he could get addicted to verbally sparring with her, and that was something he really didn’t want to see happen.
He’d just as soon knock Cordray out the first opportunity he got. Someone needed to put her in her place, and Trace hoped the task would fall to him. Soon.
Io’s ringing cell phone awoke him, and he rolled into Miriam’s warmth, trying to ignore it.
“That’s the third time it’s rung in the last fifteen minutes,” Miriam said, stroking her fingers across his cheek and kissing his forehead.
“I know, but I don’t want to answer it.” He had a feeling he knew who it was, or at least what the incessant phone calls were about.
Honestly, he was shocked the king’s guards hadn’t come busting down his door to retrieve Miriam by now. Having King Bain’s men interrupt his time with Miriam was becoming the status quo—a fucked up déjà vu he lived over and over. He and Miriam hadn’t made any efforts to flee or hide, choosing to stay in his home and steal as much time as they had together before being ripped apart, but here they were, four days later, and still no one had come to arrest him and take her back home.
The call went to voicemail and he nuzzled his face against Miriam’s neck. She smelled of him. His scent was all over her, and hers was all over him. Not surprising since they had spent the past four days without an inch between them. His
calling
hadn’t cared that a child already grew within Miriam’s belly. It had continued to demand he make regular deposits of his fertile offering, a command Io was more than happy to comply with.
“How do you feel?” he said, snuggling closer.
“Good.”
He grinned at the sound of the lazy smile in her voice.
“No withdrawal?” He had faithfully been preparing doses of elixir for her every six hours, but the last dose had been over seven hours ago.
“No.” She relaxed more fully against him and kissed the top of his head. “You’ve taken excellent care of me, Io.”
His eyes remained closed, and he grinned as they shifted so that he spooned her. “You’re getting better already.” He opened his eyes and brushed her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck.
“I know. I can feel it.”
The phone started ringing again.
“Fuck.” Io sighed heavily.
“You should answer it. Get it over with.” Miriam dropped her face into the pillow, obviously not liking the disruption to the peaceful existence they had created during the past four days.
Miriam was right, of course. He was only putting off the inevitable.
With another sigh, he rolled back and snagged his phone from the nightstand.
It was Micah. Not exactly who he had expected, but close enough.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Io. I know you’re busy and all….” Micah cleared his throat. “You’ve been summoned to appear before King Bain for your sentencing to be carried out.”
And there was the hammer falling. Io’s heart dropped.
“When?”