Breaking Through (17 page)

Heat trickles off
Riley’s skin, making it hard to concentrate. Plus, his bare chest is right up against me, and I can’t breathe. I have no idea why I came down here when I could have used an axe or something to break down Kray’s door. Though, even then, I’m not sure he would have woken up. My best friend could sleep through the apocalypse. Still, spilling my guts to Kray doesn’t feel dangerous.

I’m plastered to the doorjamb now. He’s so close, I shiver from his nearness, needing more of him. Needing him pressed against me in ways I can’t even imagine without pipes breaking or storm clouds rolling in. Damn, this man has me going crazy.

“Cara has more experience than I do,” I say, working to keep the conversation on track. “Her power is like mine: tied to her emotional core. And she can control hers. I can’t control mine.”

Riley’s mouth dips down to my own. “Then we need to double our efforts. Control can be learned.”

I take a shaky breath, knowing I need get out of this trance he put me in, but loving it too much to move.

Oh God, I can’t think!

“More training?” I murmur, though once the words are out, they sound like I’m begging for mercy. I swallow. “Like, with waterspouts?”

“That’ll be part of it,” Riley says, his voice low and husky.

My eyes fall closed, the sound from his lips stirring flutters in my stomach. I squirm as I reach behind to grab onto whatever I can. Cold metal presses into my palms, giving me a moment of clarity. Had I done what I wanted, I’d be pulling him into the weight room and closing the door behind us. And then Cara wouldn’t have to worry about this mission anymore, because we’d all be at the bottom of the ocean.

“See you tomorrow?” I quip, opening my eyes. “Up on deck?”

Ugh. I hate myself already.

Riley’s eyes roam over my face. Smoldering hazel taking in each feature. Slowly, he backs up, but not enough to let go of me. Air flows over my face as he exhales faster than normal. I don’t dare to look lower than his eyes. I can already feel against my belly how this conversation has affected him. That knowledge alone has me on the verge of succumbing; the visual would totally send me overboard.

“After dinner,” he confirms, giving me a full-body onceover.

“Riley,” I whisper, the weight of his gaze melting me like I’m ice. Drop by precious drop.

He leans in again, gripping the back of my head. Golden irises sweep over my face. Lips hover millimeters from mine, warm breath tickling my skin. Just one small move from me, and I’d have what I want.

Kiss me.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Because you don’t trust me?”

“No,” I breathe out. “Because I don’t trust
me
.”

Normally, Riley dismisses the five Navy commanders after morning laps. But not today. Today, all of us are lined up on deck: Specials on the right, commanders on the left, and Captain Barton in front of us. He walks back and forth, examining the line in silence.

Then he stops, dead center. “TorpMissionTwo was assembled by Admiral Melene for one objective: to collect a sample of hydroplexasma from the weapons facility in Wonsan in order to test its chemical composition and replicate it, so that we can create a system to detect the invisible torpedoes and dispose of them before they cause damage. This mission is the answer to the failed TorpMissionOne, originally created by Admiral Frank two years ago.”

Haskal’s gaze wanders to me, burning hot. I glance in his direction two people down from me. I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday, but he clearly knows I showed Riley what I found. His expression is unreadable, though whatever he’s thinking, Kray is hearing. Kray’s eyes flick to me too, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Later,” I mouth to both of them, then turn my attention back to Riley. Even so, I immediately feel Kray in my head.

Impatient much?
I think.

“Most of this you were told upon agreeing to join,” Riley continues. “Upon further research, I have concluded that TorpMissionOne failed not because the crew and Specials messed up, but because the mission was supposed to fail. North Korea was one step ahead, placing a bug in the midst of the operation. This bug killed Admiral Frank, then took charge. I have reason to believe this same bug has orchestrated events so that this mission too will fail.”

Riley holds up a manila folder. “You will find all necessary information regarding TM1 in this packet. Read it carefully. We are not only dealing with Yun Ji-jin’s elite, but also with a very powerful trainer from Brighton Academy. A pyro. After lunch, we will reassemble in Training Room C, where I’ll answer any questions and go over the new plan.” He hands out a packet to each Navy officer. “Commanders, you are dismissed.”

Riley waits until they’ve left the deck before addressing us. When he does, he drops his captain persona, relaxing, and becomes one of us. He leans back against the railing; his legs stretch out in front of him and cross at the ankles.

“At Brighton, I didn’t interact much with Cara Prior. Many of you, though, have. I’m going to be straight with you: Cara Prior won’t go down without a fight. She’s one of the most powerful trainers Brighton has ever seen, not only because she can create and wield fire, but also because of her position in the school. She has access to all student files and letters of recruitment, plus any counseling files a student may have while under her care. Bottom line: she knows everything about each of us and what we’re capable of. She also knows our weaknesses.”

“Wait,” Britta pipes up. “Cara Prior is the mole?”

Riley nods.

“Do we know this for sure? I mean, Brighton trainers are tested in their skill level, psychological level, and patriotism. Why would Cara sell us out?” Britta asks.

“For a shit-ton of cash,” Haskal answers, surprising me. My gaze, along with everyone else’s, turns to him. He pushes a hand through his hair. “Fuck it. Cara came to me the day you recruited us. Asked if I’d like to earn myself five million and get off the government recruitment list. The five mil sounded sweet, but to be off the government’s radar? To be free of this curse?” He jets his hand out, and a wrench flies through the air and into his palm. “I asked what I had to do.”

“And that was…?” I prompt, already realizing the answer.

Haskal grins. “Keep tabs on Miss Nautia Olson—aquator extraordinaire. Piss her off if I can. Cara guaranteed my safety through this.” Haskal turns his leg to the side. Just above his ankle is a jagged, red scar. “It was a tracking device.”

“Was?”

Haskal nods his chin at me. “Yeah.
Was
. I cut it out the first night you almost killed us.”

“Killed you,” I clarify.

“Wow. What changed your mind?” Kray asks, inching toward me.

“What good is five million when you don’t have a life to live? Fuck the tracker. Had Nautia succeeded, I would have been dead long before Cara found me. Nautia is crazy powerful. More than Cara, which is why she’s threatened by you. You have the juice to beat her, and she doesn’t like competition.”

“Did she tell you her plans? Why she wanted you to spy on Nautia?” Riley asks.

“No, and I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t ask?” I choke out. “Because spying on me and pissing me off is a completely normal thing for a trainer to request?”

“How many times do I have to say ‘five million dollars and a ticket out’? Besides, it was Cara. Like Britta, who strangely had something intelligent to add, said, Brighton trainers are trustworthy. I assumed she was protecting you.”

Britta glares at him, then flips him off. He blows her a kiss.

“Yeah, well if that’s true, she’s got a strange way of going about it,” I mutter.

“How do we know Haskal is telling the truth?” Gibson asks. “Where’s the tracking device now?”

“Kray?” Riley says.

“Seems to be,” Kray answers cautiously, eyes digging into the accused. “The tracking device is at the bottom of the ocean, a good five hundred miles back.”

“Not far enough,” I say.

“You didn’t catch anything suspicious from him before?” Gibson asks.

“Dude, I try really hard to stay out of Haskal’s head. You have no idea the shit rolling around in there. It’s enough to make a sailor blush—no offense,” he adds, nodding toward Riley.

Gibson huffs. “So we just have to trust he’s on our side?”

“He’s as good as dead if he isn’t,” Riley says. “And if we don’t work together, we’ll all be dead. Cara leaves no survivors. I’m sorry to say, Haskal, your five million and name erased isn’t going to happen either way.”

“Yeah, I wondered if I’d be sideswiped. Like Cara, I needed leverage. Why do you think I gave Nautia the information I stole from Cara?”

Riley looks at Kray, who gives a nod back. “I’m not a lie detector, but that seems legit.”

A few moments of silence tick by as Riley studies Haskal. “I’ll be watching you very closely, Smith.”

“Aren’t you already?”

Riley’s gaze lands on me for a second before he spans out to the group. “We technically have six weeks left out here for training. Cara expects an attack around September third, but we’re not going to give that to her. We’ll strike on August eighteenth—two weeks early.”

“Element of surprise. I like it. But that only gives us four more weeks to train. Will that be enough time?” Gibson asks.

“It’ll have to be. If Cara has her North Korean contacts in the know, and we have to assume she does, they’ll be unprepared. We need to be prepared.”

Britta straightens, turning to Kray. “We’ll work until sunset every night.”

“We’ll all work until sunset every night,” Riley confirms. “Hone your skills, personally and as a group. Any downtime should be spent in the shooting range. Starting today, early training is over. Today, you’ll take what you’ve learned and apply it. Today, we’re starting simulations.”

“I can’t feel my arms,”
Britta says, curling and uncurling her fingers into fists. “This vest is so heavy. Why do I even have to wear it?”

Gibson readjusts the straps at her waist and has her turn around to check the fit. “Because it’s bulletproof.”

She points to her forehead. “Then what about this? Do I get to wear bulletproof ski mask too?”

“Free advice, sweetheart: if you see a red laser pointing at your head, duck,” Haskal says, holstering his simulation gun. “You coming in too, Captain?”

“I’m part of the team,” I reply.

“But won’t you know what’s coming since you designed the simulation?” Gibson asks.

I recheck Britta’s gear. Hand her a gun that’s a replica of the ones we’ll be using in the field. “No. I programmed the computer to think on its own. Throw out over a thousand different scenarios based on our actions and reactions in the previous one. I’ll be in the dark about what’s coming next too.”

I’m about to explain how the computer can choose multiple scenarios at the same time and in different locations, when Kray and Nautia walk in. They’re dressed like the rest of us: black pants, long-sleeved black shirts, and black military-issued Kevlar vests. But Nautia has her hair over one shoulder in a ponytail, just like last night, and she looks stunning. Dark clothing with her blue-green eyes—my mouth goes dry.

She catches me staring, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she saunters over and turns to so that her hip pops out. “Is this on right? It feels loose.”

I move to her back and check the latch of her holster. “You missed a loop,” I say as I unclasp the buckle. She twists and throws a glance over her shoulder to watch what I’m doing.

This isn’t the time or place for the throb I feel in my pants, so I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on what I’m doing—and on the sliver of bronzed skin that peeks out over her waistband. Gently, I let the tips of my fingers slip over the exposed flesh as I slide the belt out of position and back into the missed loop. She stiffens at my touch.

“Sorry,” I mutter, even though I’m not. In fact, I’d like to get more of my hands on her. I tighten the buckle, her body jerking a little as I do. “Tight enough?”

“Yeah. It’s good,” she replies, still studying me.

I clear my throat to wipe the image of her naked body from my mind and finally meet her gaze. Pink lips taunt me as she bites into them. “Good. Your equipment needs to stay secure.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

I nod toward the table Kray’s at. “Pick two weapons. A gun and a knife.”

After everyone is loaded and ready, I explain the parameters. The logistics of using their abilities. And what happens if they die while inside. But nothing I say can mentally prepare them for what they’ll experience.

“You said the computer knows when we get shot and will erase us. How?” Kray asks when I finish.

“Before the simulation begins, each of us will provide a drop of blood into the input panel. The computer then reads your DNA and tailors the situation to you personally.”

“Wow. Military technology,” he says.

“I don’t expect the first try to be perfect, but I do expect everyone to stick to the plan. Speak into your earpieces and communicate with each other as if this is North Korean territory. And even though this is a simulation, it won’t
feel
like a simulation.”

A quick glance at Nautia tells me she’s uneasy about this new revelation; she has a sudden interest in the floor.

“It’s only temporary, though,” I add for her benefit. “The effects wear off as soon as the simulation ends.”

She peers up at me, her expression unreadable. I want to tell her she’ll be okay. That I’ll take care of her. My stare hangs on her too long, until the sound of Kray clearing his throat rips my attention to him.

“What are these bracelets?” he says, holding up his wrist.

From my peripheral vision, I notice Nautia looking up at me now, curious as well.

“Those are your Digis. They track body temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, and location,” I explain.

“A fancy tracking device?” Haskal groans. “Because the government needs more information on our whereabouts.”

“Actually, that information will only been seen by other members of this team. All the Digis are linked, and the signals are transmitted to Britta and Kray’s computer. Along with translation and lookout duties, they will be in charge of monitoring the team.”

“Heart rate. Body temperature,” Kray reasons out loud. “We’re in charge of monitoring who’s still alive and who’s not.”

“Yes,” I answer simply.

I allow the weight of that to hang in the air for a moment, because it should. This isn’t a game, and the sooner they understand that, the more serious they’ll take the simulations. I will always,
always
work my ass off to bring home every person on my team. But the reality is, everyone may not return to
USS Triton
.

“All right. The best way to learn is by doing, so let’s get in there. Keep your eyes open, chatter with each other, and don’t stray from the plan unless otherwise told. Understood?”

Nerves, I’m guessing, keeps everyone’s mouths closed as they all bob their heads slightly. Haskal cracks his knuckles. Britta restlessly plays with a strand of her hair, and Nautia’s eyes lock onto mine. A small swell of water laps over her pupils, thin white lines stretching across the blue. That, combined with a lip curled between her teeth makes her as sexy as hell.

When I said I didn’t expect perfection on the first attempt, I’d extended that to myself as well. This plan will only work if each of us succeeds at our tasks and doesn’t try to play the hero. I’ll have to fight my urges to jump in and save Nautia when she’s in trouble. Within the simulation, I’ll have to watch her die. On the field, though? Her life comes before mine.

I lead my team to the input panel on the south wall. It’s voice activated. Once unlocked, it does a retina scan to give me complete access. I go first as an example.

“Captain. Riley. Barton. ID number 964. 311. 5662.”

A moment later, a glass tube emerges, and I place my index finger inside. A small light tells me the laser is finished drawing the necessary one drop of blood. I remove my finger and wait.

“DNA approved and registered,” the computer says, and I move aside.

Gibson is my second-in-command inside the simulations. He’s next, repeating what I just did.

“DNA approved and registered.”

Haskal, Kray, and Britta follow suit. Nautia is last.

“Special. Officer. Nautia. Olson. ID number 234. 441. 9006.”

She places her finger into the channel. A full minute passes, and the computer doesn’t respond. Nautia’s eyes snap to me, a concerned glint passing over her features. Finally, the light comes on, and Nautia whips her hand back. She examines the pad of her finger, which is bright red. Probably from several drops of blood removed.

“DNA registered,” the computer confirms.

“Wait. It’s registered, but not approved?” Kray asks, coming forward to look over Nautia’s shoulder at the screen. “What does that mean?”

I slide in between Nautia and the computer. Enter password after password to get into the system. I find Nautia’s newly created file. Inside is a 3D image of her DNA. The strand spins slowly, showing me all of the details and protein bonds. But then it changes. Mixes up, and I feel my eyes widen at what I see. How the hell?

I keep the anomaly to myself, needing time to process it first. Right now, I say, “She’s approved.”

“Why wasn’t she earlier?” Kray insists.

“A small piece of her DNA wasn’t detected by the system, so I had to manually override it,” I half-lie, making sure to block the whole truth from Kray’s nosy brain search. It should be up to Nautia whether or not she tells him. Or it should at least come from
her
head when he sniffs out the details.

“All right. Everyone inside the red line,” I command.

They shuffle inside and stand as a group at the center of the room. Silence drops in around us.

I straighten and project my voice out. “Simulation begin: TorpMissionTwo 034411.”