“It’s very simple, Dr. Martinez,” said Hansey. “We want Max to… breed. To produce heirs. Who will govern the world after she dies.”
Dead silence for quite some time. We all stared at Dr. Hans, our jaws dropped to various levels. Our lives had reached a new low of inhumanity.
My face flushed. Part of me had assumed, hoped, that if Fang and I lived long enough, we would get married. Maybe have a little flock of our own. But I really hadn’t planned it all out. And he was gone now, anyway. How could I possibly ever find someone…
My eyes scanned Dylan’s face. I saw his discomfort.
“Oh, no,” I said in horror.
“Yes,” Angel confirmed. “Freaking unbelievable.”
“It makes sense, Max,” Dr. Hans continued as my mind spun. “You two were literally made for each other. You’re a perfect match. I’d like you and Dylan to come with me to Germany, where I have a nice home waiting for you. You can marry or not, as you wish, and in time produce children, heirs to your dynasty. To carry on your legacy, your leadership.”
“You have got to be kidding.” My mom’s voice was loud. “Over my dead body, Hans.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, relieved. “So it’s not just me.”
“That’s a crazy plan!” my mom said. She came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders. “Max is barely fifteen years old! It’s bad enough that you’ve saddled her with saving the world. Now you want her to do it with a baby on her hip? Are you insane?”
I love my mom.
“I’m not saying today or tomorrow,” Dr. Gunther-Hagen insisted. “But soon. We’re convinced it’s the only chance for the world’s continued survival.”
“Out of the question!” my mom said. “Jeb, this is crazy! How could you?! You’re going to drop this right now, or you’ll have to leave! I don’t want to hear another word about Max breeding with anyone!”
Dr. Hans looked like he wanted to say something else, but he stopped himself.
The worst part? When I cast a surreptitious glance at Dylan and saw the discomfort in his beautiful turquoise eyes morph into a flicker of hope.
9
HE WAS COMING. Fang’s first target.
Fang pressed his back against the brick wall, sinking deep into the shadows. For hours he’d been waiting for the gang to disperse, for his guy to head off alone. The group had been shooting hoops, playing dice, smoking and drinking. Fang had heard bottles break and angry disputes dissolve into laughter.
It was late, a bit past midnight. The air was cold. Fang crouched against the wall of the abandoned building, its windows broken and burned out. The deserted lot was full of stuff people probably didn’t know how to get rid of: a stripped car, its side still blotched with red Bondo; an old mattress; naked box springs; half a baby’s crib, smashed and spray painted.
Fang had been waiting here, still and silent, for most of the night. This was what he’d left the flock to do. This is what Max would not have understood.
He could hear footsteps approaching him. It was his guy, no doubt. An empty glass bottle struck the wall and shattered with a force that seemed unnaturally loud.
Three, two, one…
With precise timing, Fang sprang out from the darkness.
But there was no one there. What the?
Before Fang knew what was happening, the guy had shoved him against the wall, a knife at his throat.
“No one sneaks up on me, friend,” the hooded figure whispered into Fang’s ear. “Been looking for you”—his eyes flashed as he leaned in closer—“and f
rom what I hear, you’ve been looking for me too.”
Fang always kept cool, but he couldn’t help letting a smile come to his lips. This guy was good. He was quick and strong and scary. Fang was going to need someone with those qualities on his team. But he wouldn’t let himself be subdued so easily, and certainly not by a mere candidate. And his first one at that. Fang would be the leader, and he needed to let this guy know who was boss.
With an almost imperceptible flick of his arm, Fang grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it behind the guy’s back, pinning him. In the same instant Fang’s, other hand clapped over the guy’s mouth.
“Don’t say a word, Ratchet. Your friends can’t know I’m here.”