“Do you think we can really do this?”
“No, but I’ll die trying.” Then he walked out.I HATED COMING here.It was as if I was stripped down and forced to walk naked into a place where they had magnifying glasses and were looking at every part of me. And no one was even here. The real fucked-up part was that if they didn’t like something, they had every right to do something about it. And that something always sucked.
Immunity didn’t exist even for the son of one of Vault’s board. Shit, Mom killed my father after having him beaten until he vomited blood. She made my sister and me watch—we were five and seven. Then she walked up to him, hanging by his wrists in the middle of the room where the members of the board stood around and watched. And she drove her knife up under his ribcage and killed him.
A few years ago, my sister was brought to France where she was tortured publicly for days. She had attempted to escape Vault. I warned her not to do it.
They found her. Now she sat in some filthy cell in their dungeon of horrors in France. Death was too quick. Too easy. No, they’d make an example of her. She’d rot to death and then they’d show us all what happened if we tried to leave.
Nothing was simple here. Death came with a price. Death was a privilege. I learned early on to block out the faces, the screams, and the smell of blood, piss and vomit.
And I survived because I was good at it.
Until her.
The girl.
London.
It was the first time in my life I felt.
I pressed the security code and strode through the massive house from room to room until I came to the oil painting. I hated it. So ironic, two lovers embraced together, the sun beaming down between them. Fuckin’ sick bastards.
I shifted it to the right then pressed in a code on an alarm pad. I heard a click and the door opened beside the painting. I strode through it and it slid closed behind me. It was like sealing myself in hell.
I rarely came here except once a month for a meeting with Brice or when Mommy dearest was in town and wanted to see me. The woman could read a lie before you even spoke it. I practiced for years as a kid in front of the mirror, being careful of my gestures, of my muscle movement, keeping my eyes dead. Breathing was paramount, steady and even. I’d lied to her about the girl London.
Told her I hadn’t seen her when she ran away. Of course, that was a lie.
Lies were everywhere. The art was whether you could make them into truths.
My dress shoes clicked down the cement floors to the basement. I wore my suit and tie like I always did when I came here. It would be disrespectful to look anything but your best.
I stopped at the grey steel door. “Glen,” I addressed the guard.
“Wasn’t expecting you.”
I smirked. “Better you don’t expect anything. That way you won’t ever be disappointed.” I lowered my voice and lost my grin. “Open the door.”
Glen did and I strode into hell. The dark corridor was one I’d never get used to. No doubt, they designed this place so if any of us had to walk down the corridor, we’d be reminded of what would happen to us if we made a mistake.
The cells of torture. Five of them and each had its purpose. We were lucky if we came here instead of France, though.
I put my finger on the scanner. It beeped then went green and a door clicked open. I walked in and went directly to the computer. They’d know I was here and I had to have a good excuse as to why. I was hoping one would come to me—eventually.
It took only a few minutes to get into the emails. The trick was making certain any trace of it ever being sent was cleaned up, and I spent forty minutes tracing backwards until I was sure Tanner’s message was deleted from all possible links. Well, I was betting some hacker could find it, but unless they were suspicious then they wouldn’t be looking.
I shut off the computer, got up and walked out.
It had been easier than I thought. Explaining Tanner’s death, I’d have to go to France and face my mother, but they wouldn’t be upset at his loss. Besides, telling them I killed him because of his relationship with Georgie would only strengthen their trust in me. That had been a little shaky ever since London.
I shut the door and started walking back.
Then I heard her.
It was faint, but I’d never forget the slight lilt to her voice. Fuck. I closed my eyes and forced myself to keep walking. With each step, my heart thudded louder. My mind expanded into a fit of rage and agony.