Day's End (21 page)

I swore I knew that name, somehow.

I had no idea what I’d do with the information, just that I had it. Acting on Lorne’s family situation would mean getting free of Connor, which would require both not feeling completely numb and remembering that I needed to get away. Those things rarely happened, and hardly ever at the same time. It was easier to forget about him when he wasn’t there, and he seemed to be avoiding me, mostly, and when he did see me, it was like he tried to stay as far away from me as possible.

Either he really hated me, or he was afraid. I’d take it, either way.

So I was surprised when he finally came for me, and told me to suit up in my StrikeForce uniform.

I did, thinking of warm brown eyes the entire time. Was he taking me to Caine again? Was he hoping I’d kill him this time?

I remembered almost nothing about Caine, other than the way I’d felt seeing him. That feeling, that warmth, that heart-pounding, stomach-fluttering feeling, just seemed to stay with me, one of the very few things that did. All of this ran through my head as I suited up, then pulled my mask on.

I headed down to Connor’s room, and he looked me over silently.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll see if you can do something right, eh?” He held his hand out toward me, and I looked at it, then glanced back up at his face. The mask was on now, and I was grateful not to have to see those cold blue eyes watching my every move.

How did I get into this mess? I got the same tense, sick feeling every time I looked at him, that sense of wrongness. I didn’t understand it. He’d shown me evidence. Proof that StrikeForce and those involved with them were corrupt and dangerous. He’d provided a place when I had none, given me the kind of life I’d once only dreamed of, at least, according to him. It was like there was something inside, a hint of muffled screams, warnings against the giant that stood in front of me, and I couldn’t shake them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Not after the way he’d talked to me. Not after he’d touched me as if he had every right to. Not after his rage when I hadn’t accepted him.

And there was so much more. The feeling I’d had when faced with Caine.

My inability to kill him.

I didn’t understand it, the way my body had warmed, the way my heart had started hammering away in my chest. I didn’t understand the way my breath had left me when I’d seen his eyes.

Why hadn’t I been able to kill him? A man who was apparently responsible for my mother’s death, along with the rest of StrikeForce? It was one more reason not to trust him, or any of them. I’d lost entire periods of time, memories, due to the things they’d apparently done to me. Who knew what else had happened in that time?

Unless Connor is lying
, a voice whispered through my mind.

Definitely lying
. I wasn’t sure if that was the same voice, or a different one, or…

I grimaced.

“Jo? Are you even paying attention?”

“I am. Sorry.”

“I said, are you ready to do this? You owe me after the way you botched that last mission.”

I nodded. “Ready.”

“Good girl. Let’s go.” He held out his hand again, and this time, I took it, and there was that inner scream, as if by doing so, I’d somehow managed to sell my soul to the devil or something.

“Can we do something about whatever StrikeForce did to me? I’m all screwed up,” I muttered.

“Screwed up, how?” Connor asked, pulling me toward the med room. I glanced at my watch. Time for another shot.

“Just messed up. Confused.”

Connor snorted. “More reason you should just fuckin’ listen to me when I order you to do something. You’re confused, and you think you’re capable of making decisions out in the field? So goddamn stupid.”

Lorne was coming toward me, a syringe in his hand. I knocked Connor’s hand away from me. And then I got in his face, rage flowing through me. It felt good. Real. It was the first real thing I’d felt in a long time, maybe.

“Do not ever fucking call me stupid again,” I hissed. “I will rip your balls off and make you swallow them. Do you understand me?”

He laughed. “Such a smart mouth. Remember, little girl, that you are what I’ve made you. Nothing more. It’s all you’ll ever be, and it would be a good idea for you to remember it.” Lorne inserted the needle after quickly finding the vein in my arm, pumping the chemicals that apparently were keeping me alive and sane (what a joke) into my body.

“I’m myself. Fuck what you think you made me,” I said.

He shook his head. “I should have made you a little more respectful, maybe.”

“Proof that you don’t know everything, huh?”

I turned to look at Lorne and tell him thanks for the shot. Connor grabbed my upper arm, turning me back toward him, and in the next instant, he backhanded me across the face so hard my neck wrenched to the side, sending a trail of agony down that side of my body, in addition to the explosive pain across my cheek and right eye. He moved to do it again, but the little burst of power he’d managed for the first hit seemed to fizzle out. His grip on me weakened, and he slowed considerably, enough for me to launch myself at him, mildly distracted by the blood gushing from my nose from the hit he’d landed. I knew I was stronger than him, and in that moment all I wanted to do was get to him. Hurt him back. He kicked out at me, missed, and I grabbed for him. He struck out one more time, and this time, he hit me in the stomach, hard, sending me flying across the lab.

“I am your boss, your commanding officer, you dumb bitch,” he roared. Lorne was saying something, trying to calm him down, it seemed. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I saved you from them. Gave you a home and a purpose, and that’s how you fuckin’ repay me?”

I stood up and grabbed a handful of tissues from the counter nearby. I pressed them to my nose. Anyone else, I would have killed. I would have ended them for even trying to touch me, no matter how fast or how strong they were. But just like that annoying internal scream I kept feeling, there was something in me that wouldn’t let me end him.

“Are we going to work, or what?” I asked, squeezing my nose. I’d have black eyes after this. I wanted to hit him. Make him bleed. Destroy him, completely. I hated him, I realized, as if through a fog, and as quickly as the thought came, it seemed to disappear.

“Apologize to me. Now,” Connor said, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry.” The words came, as if he’d pulled them from me, as if I’d never really had any choice in saying them in the first place.

“You need to start using your head, Jo. Think before you open your goddamn mouth.”

I didn’t answer, grabbing a few fresh tissues.

“And now I feel like an asshole,” he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I’ve kicked the ass of every guy on this team. I shouldn’t feel like shit for hitting you. Don’t do that again.”

Rage bubbled up in me, quickly disappeared. That was frustrating more than anything else, that inability to hold onto things. Was he seriously blaming me for the fact that he just hit me?

And was I seriously letting him walk away with his head still attached to his body? What the fuck was wrong with me?

I looked at Lorne, who quickly looked away.

“If your face hurts later, come find me. I can give you something for the pain,” he said.

“Come on, Jo. Time to work. You say you’re messed up? You want me to fix what those StrikeForce assholes did to you? Let’s do it. Now,” Connor commanded. He held his hand out again, and this time I took it without any hesitation, fresh blood trickling from my nose, the front of my mask quickly becoming sticky with it.

Something fix me. Please. Or just let me freaking die next time I come up against someone
, I thought as I felt the familiar buzzing, pulling, scattering sensation that came with teleporting.

The next moment, we were standing in front of a neat little brick ranch. It was night here as well, a clear sky overhead practically seeming to burst with starlight. The air was warm, and I could hear an owl hooting somewhere in the distance.

“What are we doing here? Is one of the StrikeForce people here?”

Connor didn’t answer, stalking up the front walk and breaking the front security door down. I heard screams from inside the house. I glanced around. Something seemed to tug at my memory, and I growled in frustration and followed Connor inside.

In the living room, an older couple, maybe in their early sixties, stood against a wall, the woman peeking out from behind the man. The man was tall, with a bald head, dark brown skin. He was shouting at Connor. The woman peeking out from behind him had lighter skin and stood about a foot shorter than the man. She looked at me.

“Daystar! Don’t let him do this,” she begged. “Please.”

Connor laughed. “I’m not gonna do it. She is.” The woman started crying, and I looked at Connor.

“What is this?”

“You want to get back at StrikeForce for what they did to you? Hurt them. Hurt them in ways they’ll never fuckin’ recover from. You want to get over whatever Caine did to mess with your mind? Hurt the only people he actually gives a fuck about, the cold-hearted bastard.”

I looked back at the older couple.

“Daystar, please,” the woman begged. Something in her voice seemed familiar. “Daystar, you’re better than this.”

“She is. End them. Now,” Connor ordered. I took a step toward them, automatically, and the man shouted.

“Jolene, stop this,” he demanded, and I stopped, shocked.

“He told them your name!” Connor shouted. “Do you see what he’ll stoop to? Outing you. Why not? He’d already let your Mama die,” he finished, and rage rolled through me.

“He lies! He lies. You are so much more than this, Daystar. Jolene,” the woman continued. “You’re not yourself now. Come on, girl. Snap out of this. Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face.

“Do it, Jo,” Connor demanded. “One punch each, and they’re gone and you make Caine hurt. Make him hurt the way you’re hurting. I love you. Now do it.”

I took another step forward.

“You’re a damned liar,” the man shouted at Connor.

“Please stop this. Please,” the woman wailed. “Ryan loves you, Jolene. Stop this.”

I froze.

“Who?”

“Ryan,” the woman sobbed.

Jolene
.

Ryan
.

My name, then his, always. As if one was the answer to the other
.

Warm brown eyes.

Hands on my body.

Lips on mine.

You know I want you forever
.

Hospital room.

Beignets and madelines.

Flying.

Fighting.

It all came back, slamming into my psyche with the power of a freight train.

“Kill them, Jolene!” Killjoy shouted, and I turned to him.

I remembered.

I remembered everything, at least for a moment, and I wanted to scream, because just as I remembered it, I felt it starting to slip away.

No. I held onto it.
Remember. Remember. Remember.

Remember, you forgetful bitch
, one of the voices said.

Loving Ryan.

Laughing with Jenson.

Being a hero.

And more.

Murder.

Death. Too many.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” I screeched. I flew at him, grabbing him before he had a chance to run away. The force behind me sent us through the living room wall, out into the backyard together.

I hit him in the face, felt bone crush under my fist. And then I hit him again.

“You won’t kill them? I will,” he snarled. He disappeared from beneath me, teleporting, and I did the same, going back into the house. He had them cornered, shouting at them, his hand raised in a gesture I now recognized as the one his teammate Render had so often used when he was about to slash someone. Render had done the same thing to Ryan, and I’d nearly lost him.

“Get the fuck away from them, Killjoy,” I sneered.

He laughed. “Your memory’s gotten good all of a sudden, huh? What, did she say the magic word or something? I have magic words too, sweetheart.”

Before he could say or do anything else, I hit out at him with as much of my power as possible, so much that I felt my nose start gushing again, my ears popping with the strain. He crashed through a window, and I flew, chasing him out.

He was still, unconscious on the ground. I bent down and felt for pulse. Still there.

I wished it wasn’t.

One more death, at this point, would hardly matter. And his would maybe make up for some of the harm I’d done.

I felt dizzy. Faint.

The deaths I’d caused…

I turned back to the house, where Ryan’s grandparents were standing, arms around one another, watching me.

“I am so sorry,” I said, feeling a sob bubble up in my throat. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

“We know it wasn’t you. Ryan knows it isn’t you. Everyone knows, Jolene,” Ryan’s grandma, Tina, said kindly. “Welcome back, sugar.”

“Oh god. The things I did—”

“It wasn’t you,” Ryan’s grandfather said. “You saved us, girl. You fought back. I swear I could see you fighting. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, openly weeping now, everything playing out in my memories. Everything.

“I need to go. I need to make sure he pays,” I said. “I need to make sure I pay.”

“Jolene,” Tina called after me. I shook my head, grabbed Killjoy, and focused. I had to get there before he came to. Before he had the chance to mess with me again.

Before he made me do anything else to hate myself for.

I had to do it all before this moment of clarity slipped away from me, like trying to hold water in a sieve.

My first step was to get Killjoy to StrikeForce. He had to be locked up. I focused, and, remembering, rematerialized there as if it was as natural as breathing. I stayed invisible, but dropped him right in front of the two guards at the front door. Their frantic shouts filled the still night air, and, once I saw that they had him collared and in custody, I teleported away again, this time to an abandoned house on Detroit’s East Side.

I went through my business there methodically. Coldly. Dispatched all three of Killjoy’s men and made my way to the room where Lorne’s wife and daughters were being held.