“Maybe.”
She sighs irritably. “Leader Wolfshield.”
Well, shit. What business would a leader have with a rebel member? How did she know where to go? Why take Hunter,but not Taylor? While I want to know that information, I have a question that’s been pressing on me since my abduction.
“I’ve gone over the night of the ball in my head a million times in the past few weeks and I keep coming back to the same question because it doesn’t make any sense. Why did you dance with me?”
Taylor’s eyes look beyond me and grow wide with concern. “Get down.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and slide to the floor of the boat. Within seconds a bullet smashes through the window and punctures the foam headrest I was leaning on. Taylor retrieves a sniper rifle from within her bag, flipping levers until it makes a cocking noise.
“Stay down. Do not get off the floor until I say so.”
She pulls her hood back up over her head and crouches, walking out onto the open back of the boat.
Partially hidden by the edge of the boat, she flattens to her stomach and peers down her scope. I don’t know how she expects to hit an enemy; we’re bouncing on an unsteady boat, she could easily tumble off into the lake, and our enemies have laser sights. Thin red beams cross over the boat, searching for a shadow to hit. Because I’m an idiot with a death wish, I rise on shaky knees and peek out the shattered window. Three people stand on the open deck of their boat, guns trained on us. Taylor’s sniper rifle goes off with a moderately noisy but muffled bang, and one of them falls lifelessly into the water. Bullets fly past her. My stomach lurches. Each time her rifle pops, a light on their boat is smashed, until their searchlights are dark.
“Mason, lights off and get me in close.”
Mason masterfully maneuvers us to their left side, almost unseen. Taylor uses the confusion to jump over the whipping water and onto their boat. We veer off and Mason keeps their boat within eyesight but pretty far behind. Scrambling to myfeet, I glue myself to a window. The water is dark, only the shadow of the other boat breaking up the ripples. Powerlessness piggybacks on my fear, riding the current of my adrenaline as I fight off the desire to vomit. I have to trust she can handle herself.
Without warning their boat slows to a stop. Mason creeps closer to their vessel, flicking on our light and illuminating a pile of corpses on the deck. Blood drips off the side of the boat, as well as splashed over the scene of the struggle. It’s a ghost ship until Taylor finally staggers out of the cabin, arms full of weapons. Mason pulls up beside her and cuts the engine. Venturing into the cold, I wait on the other side for her.
Spattered in blood, she cheerfully drops looted weapons at my feet. “Free stuff.” I can’t respond, only gesture vaguely at the blood on her. She looks down. “Oh. Not mine.”
After a successful pillage, we take off into the nebulous black void between the water and sky. Taylor checks on Mason, then returns to her seat and buckles in. She looks at me. “Are you okay?”
My breathing is erratic, my heart is pounding, and I’m pretty sure my organs have rearranged, but I keep my voice steady. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but I will be.”
“Not your typical Saturday night, is it?”
I stare out the window. “You watched me, you would know. How much was I ever out of the mansion?”
“Not often,” she replies. “I estimated about fifteen percent of your total waking hours were spent outside the mansion.”
“My freedom existed solely in that fifteen percent. Any choice I ever made was in that fifteen percent. The remaining eighty-five percent I was locked inside, banned from going anywhereother than to my scheduled lessons or appointments. Everything I’ve done has been what my mother or father wanted me to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Something that matters.” Sighing, I drag my eyes over to her. “My choices were already pretty limited before you kidnapped me, and now they’re almost nonexistent. I just want choice. If what you want is to bring free will to the people, I could use some too.”
Taylor falls quiet. We’ve crossed into Thorne’s region and it’s as uneventful as Taylor said it would be. Those boats may have been ours—Papa’s—and, if so, there are no inter-region laws to demand he notify Thorne of encroaching enemies. And he wouldn’t, the spiteful bastard.
As the hum of the boat splashing over water becomes rhythmic, we slow to a leisurely coast. Out my shattered window the lights along the Detroit skyline shine at us. Only a few buildings remain, creating a depressing, gap-toothed cityscape. Mason cuts the engine and we drift to shore. Our gear and Taylor’s plunder scrape across a shimmering silver sliver of sand, which makes way for an expanse of dead grass. At the juncture of the grass and asphalt, a woman in a black trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat waits for us.
Taylor takes point and smiles as she approaches the mysterious woman. “Delilah.”
“Taylor,” the woman replies in a husky drawl similar to Taylor’s, but with years of maturity and seduction in it. Her head tilts up to reveal a slim, beautiful face with ruby-red lipstick on full lips, and a pair of glimmering brown eyes. “Why are you bloody?”
“We encountered Dusters on the lake,” Taylor says, and Delilah’s eyes widen in alarm. “They are dead and this is not my blood.”
Delilah flashes an affectionate smile. “Efficient as always. I’m so happy to see you again.”
“Likewise. Everything set?” Taylor’s question goes ignored as Delilah peers around her at me. Taylor follows her gaze and sighs. “Sorry. Miss Piccolo, this is Delilah De La Rosa. Delilah, this?—”