Unforgettable (Talented Saga #6) (2 page)

Pint checked the clip of her
tranquilizer gun. Fully loaded. Ten darts with enough sedative to
knock out an elephant for days. She hoped it was enough to bring
down even one of the Chromes they would face. The Created, as the
American news outlets were calling this new breed, were like
nothing Pint had ever come across. They were stronger and faster,
superior in every way to the natural born Chromes that Pint dealt
with every day in Europe.

Learning from experience was crucial
when encountering an unknown enemy, and all of the Created her team
had captured thus far shared a flaw that could be exploited. They
were fearless. Only fools were too stupid to know fear, in Pint’s
opinion. That was why so many of the new mutants had lost their
lives.

“
Alright, then. Artie,
you’re with me, we’ll go in the front. Benson and Hugh, you two go
round through the emergency exit at the back. Lilliana, Jaylen, and
Tuck, you three will serve as backup. If they manage to get by us,
it’s up to you.” Pint holstered her tranq gun as she doled out
orders, grabbing a second weapon for good measure.

Never can be too armed when
dealing with this lot,
she thought
wryly.

“
What about me? What would
you have me do, oh great leader?” Libby asked, her tone oozing
sarcasm thick as petrol.

Pint rolled her dark eyes, a gesture
that revealed her age. At only twenty-four, Pint Dunkin was a
senior officer among the Poachers. Rightfully so, in her
not-so-humble opinion. She was a member of the founding family,
after all. Although the Dunkins were treated like the bastard
children that no one wanted to acknowledge, Pint planned to change
that. And this was her chance. Spearheading this acquisition for
the upcoming auction would go a long way in returning her branch of
the family to favor. The Created were the rarest merchandise the
world had seen in seventy-five years. And Pint was plucking them up
like eggs from a chicken coop. Soon Libby Monroe would be curtsying
before her.

“
Stay here, that’s what
you’ll do. The Duke will be brassed off if you’re injured, and I
won’t incur his wrath for the likes of you. You’ve done your job.
Now sit back and paint your nails or whatever it is you do in your
free time,” Pint ordered.

“
What about Jaylen?” Libby
whined. “Daddy won’t be happy if he’s hurt either.”

Libby knew she had a point, defiantly
crossing her thin arms. Her smug smile and pointed glare made the
blonde’s cool beauty downright icy.

“
Unlike you, Jaylen can be
replaced. The Duke won’t be put out if he takes a bullet or two.”
Pint held up a small hand to halt further protests the moment
Libby’s lips parted. “Enough. We need to move on this. If we know
about this lot, you better believe UNITED does, too.”

With that, Pint stalked to the back
doors of the surveillance van and threw them open. Behind her,
Jaylen Monroe was whispering platitudes to his sister, attempting
to calm the snobby twit before her temper ruined the entire
operation.

The targets were located on the top
level of a five-story walkup in an area known as Spanish Harlem,
though it had been eons since immigrants had dominated the
community. According to Pint’s intel, the area was mostly used for
dodgy business and squatting holes. It reminded her of the Slums in
London.

Bloody hell, my first trip
to the Big Apple and I’m stuck in this rubbish,
Pint thought as she jogged across the street. She’d read
about New York’s posh neighborhoods, the ones where the movie stars
and sports legends lived. Secretly, Pint had wondered if she might
do a bit of sightseeing. America’s wealthy lived so very
differently than England’s. No drafty castles and ancient
traditions. They were modern and chic.

Modern, that is what I’ll
make the Poachers when my time comes,
Pint
thought.

“
All clear round back.
We’re going in,” Benson’s voice sputtered over Pint’s comm
unit.

Pint shook her head of short, black
hair and pushed her thoughts of everything but the Created from her
mind. She needed to get it together, live in the here and now, or
she wouldn’t live to make her dream of heading the Poachers a
reality.

A quick sweep of the street told her
that not a soul was in sight. The burnt out streetlights provided a
convenient veil for her team’s approach. Even if one of the targets
was looking out the window, they would have a hell of a time seeing
the Poachers.

“
Affirmative. Clear out
front, too. Everyone in position?” Pint asked her team.

Five voices responded in the
affirmative.

The front door of the walkup was ajar.
Pint’s stomach twisted uneasily and she hesitated.

Are these Created really
that daft?
she wondered. Did they not have
a shred of self-preservation?

Apparently Artie had the same thought.
As Pint began to push the door inward, he surged forward and
grabbed her arm.

“
Let me go first, ducks.
Don’t like the feel of the place.”

Artie wasn’t much older than Pint,
just four years her senior, but was fiercely protective of her. His
family had been in league with the Poachers for decades, serving as
foot soldiers in the war to contain the Chromes. Faithful as a
lapdog, just as his ancestors before him, Artie was perfectly
willing to lay down his life for Pint and other members of the
family.

Pint nodded to Artie, giving him the
go ahead. With one gloved hand, he eased the door open, tranq gun
poised and ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. Given her
small stature, Pint had difficulty seeing around him into the
vestibule. But the smell of decay told her enough. The door hadn’t
been locked because nobody had lived there in a while. It probably
hadn’t worked properly in ages. Their targets were likely the only
residents the place had known in years.

“
Where are you?” Benson
asked in her ear. “We’re on the third floor landing. Place seems
deserted other than our friends on five. Stinks like the sewers,
though.”

“
Appropriate place for rats
then, isn’t it,” Pint replied. “We’re on our way up now. Don’t go
in without us.”

“
Wouldn’t dream of it,”
Benson said.

“
Careful on the stairs,
Artie. Floorboards are likely rotten,” Pint called in voice just
above a whisper.

Like Benson, Pint was fairly sure the
building was empty, save the five Chromes. Still, she didn’t want
any witnesses to the raid. On the other side of the pond, witnesses
could be bribed and law enforcement bought if needed. Few people in
Europe, even fewer in England, would dare to cross the
Poachers.

But America, the land of Chrome
freedom, was a different story. Pint knew what a risk it was to be
here. She’d made the team wear masks to obscure their faces. Masks,
for bloody’s sake. It was absurd. They weren’t the bad
guys.

“
We’re at the door to the
flat. I can hear ‘em inside,” Benson’s voice was low and predatory
in her ear.

“
Be there in a minute,”
Pint replied softly.

As expected, the stairs were rotted
and littered with rubbish—aluminum cans, old newspapers, and
discarded clothing. It was like the former residents had left in a
hurry, forgoing suitcases in favor of carrying only what they could
hold in their hands, then dropping half the contents on the way out
the door.

By the time Pint and Artie reached the
fourth floor, Pint was thankful they only had one more raid after
this one before heading home. Nearly every one of their targets had
been found living in squalor similar to this building and she was
tired of wading through shite.

Lost in her own thoughts, Pint didn’t
hear the soft creak of a door opening on the first level. Nor would
she have, since her senses were those of a normal human.

Benson and Hugh were stationed outside
a door in the back corner of the fifth floor. In the darkness,
their silhouettes were all Pint could see. Even still, the vibe
wafting off of her teammates told her that they were ready, eager
even, to get the show on the road, as the Americans liked to
say.

“
How’s it looking outside?”
Pint asked into her comm unit.

“
Brills. All clear,”
Lilliana answered.

“
Then we’re going in,” Pint
said, giving a nod to Benson and Hugh.

It occurred to Pint in that moment
that Lilliana’s voice was thin and tense. Given the danger any raid
posed, it wasn’t all that unusual. Except, Lilliana was normally
like Benson and Hugh—she loved the excitement of the hunt. It also
occurred to Pint that the getaway driver, Linus, hadn’t spoken in
some time. But Pint was just as addicted to the thrill as her
teammates, just as susceptible to being overcome by the thrall
capturing the Chromes offered. So instead of trusting her gut, Pint
ignored the bubble of doubt about to burst in her
stomach.

The loud crunch of Benson’s foot
crashing through the door to the flat marked 516 covered the sound
of feet pounding the rotted floorboards five stories down. The
Poachers stormed into the flat.

Benson entered first, Hugh only a step
behind. Three of the five targets were in what Pint guessed had
once been a living room, but was now covered in dirty blankets and
pillows.

“
Down on the ground!” Artie
shouted, levelling his gun.

“
Where’s the rest of your
lot?” Benson snarled. “Should be two more of yous.”

Without answering, two of the Chromes
dropped to their knees immediately, hands raised protectively in
front of their faces. As if that would stop the Poachers from
shooting them. The third, a boy of seventeen, remained standing, a
mug of baked beans in one hand and a comically shocked expression
on his gaunt face.

“
I said, on the ground!”
Artie barked, waving his tranq gun at the boy with the
beans.

Paralyzed by fear, the boy didn’t as
much as blink.

A churning in Pint’s belly served as
an early warning system that something was about to happen. Sure
enough, flames erupted from the corner of the room. With her weapon
still trained on the foe with the beans, Pint whipped around as the
burst of light caught her attention. Without a second thought, she
squeezed the trigger and fired off a round.

The dart went wide, missing the mark
by several inches.

The two kneeling Chromes leapt to
their feet. One dove for Benson, catching him low around the knees.
Surprised, the Poacher fell backwards, inadvertently pulling the
trigger on his own tranq gun in the process. The dart missed
Benson’s attacker, sailing harmlessly over the girl’s head and into
a wall.

The other Chrome, a scrawny boy no
older than twelve or thirteen, went for Hugh, but made the mistake
of reaching for Hugh’s gun. Pint took aim, firing three darts in
rapid succession into the boy’s side. Artie followed suit, pumping
two more doses of sedative into the Chrome before the kid knew what
had hit him. Add to that the dart Hugh shot directly into the boy’s
open palm, and the child crashed to the ground with a thud. His
scream of fright and pain was cut off before it ever had the chance
to exit his lips.

Pint turned her attention to Benson
and the female Chrome he was grappling with. They were now fighting
for dominance amidst the rumpled blankets and flat pillows that had
been serving as beds. The older boy, the one who’d refused to
submit, charged Artie. In an instant he was doing a number on her
teammate’s face. Hugh tried to insert himself into the fight
without any luck.

Thick, black smoke began to fill the
flat. Pint held her breath, determined not to breathe in any of the
fumes. Heat seeped through the mask covering her face. She
desperately wanted to take it off, but knew better. If this fight
didn’t go their way, she couldn’t risk one of the Chromes
identifying her.

“
Bugger it all,” Pint
muttered, and fired at the tangle of limbs that belonged to Benson
and the female Chrome. Eyes watering and vision obscured, the tiny
Poacher prayed the darts wouldn’t hit her teammate. Normally Pint
wouldn’t have cared, the sedative was only temporary, after all.
But the situation was getting out of hand quickly. She needed all
of her troops fully functional to get out of the apartment
alive.

The first shot missed both Benson and
the Chrome. Her second dart hit the female in the leg. Before Pint
could pull the trigger a third time, the tranq gun was yanked from
between her gloved hands. Like a frightened cat, Pint whirled to
locate her assailant. Between the smoke and the tears, she was
unable to see anyone or anything. It was all a ghostly
haze.

“
Pint!” Artie screeched
from somewhere nearby.

“
I’m here. I’m here,” she
called back, reaching for the backup gun on her belt.

No sooner had she spoken then her feet
flew out from beneath her, as if a nonexistent rug had been pulled
away. The air whooshed from Pint’s lungs when her back slammed
against the ground, and she began to wheeze. The smoke she’d been
desperately trying to avoid inhaling filled her mouth and
nose.