Forget Me Not (14 page)

Jax shuffles from one foot to the other beside me, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. Is he anxious, or just cold? Cold, he has to be cold.

“Here he is,” Jax says, walking toward the large fountain.

A man, built solidly like Sam, only shorter, sits on the ledge that rings the small pool. His cargos, similar to Jax’s, are snugly fitted to his thick toned thighs. Water sprays up from the top of the ornate urnlike fountain and gushes down the sides, splashing in the pool below. Garrett looks up. His appearance—dark eyes, short-cropped almost-black hair, and olive skin—is ruggedly handsome. He’s younger than I expected at maybe twenty. He springs to his feet, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Jax extends a hand and Garrett shakes it, then pulls him in for a one-armed, back-clapping hug.

“Good to see you, mate.” Garrett’s voice takes me by surprise, the hint of an accent licking at his words.

Jax shoves his fists in his pockets. Orange streaks line the sky behind him, lighting the clouds from below. The soft light bathes his face in a warm glow, making him look soft and warm and inviting. I shake the thought off. I really need to focus on the moment.

“Thanks for coming.” Jax steps back to my side. “This is Mae.”

Garrett holds his hand out again, and his grip is so firm it squishes my knuckles together. “Hi.”

“Mae’s our latest recruit.”

“Not recruit. I…
ahh….” Why am I suddenly nervous? “I need to be wiped off the Collective radar. They… agents….”

“What she’s trying to say,” Jax speaks over me, “is that she used tech, and drew Collective attention. We stepped in, but it didn’t quiet smooth things over. Al brought her to the farm.” He glances toward me and sighs. “They’re not content to assimilate into resistance life
—”

Garret’s smile slowly falters. “And you want me to…
.”

“I want you to tell me how I can wipe myself off Collective radar,” I finish. “They’ve done something to my Dad too. He thinks I’m dead when clearly I’m not.”

Garrett glances at Jax. “I don’t know what Jax told you.” His head moves so slightly it may be a shake. “But I’m sorry, I can’t help.”

“Man, surely there’s something. What about…
.” Jax’s voice is laced with irritation. He fists his hands into his pockets and almost kicks the ground as he shuffles his weight. “I don’t know. You’re the expert. If she doesn’t use her tech—”

“Why didn’t you take this to Beau?” Garrett’s expression is so expressionless I wonder if that’s where Jax learned it.

“Forget it.” I spin on my heel. There’s no point. This guy either doesn’t want to, or can’t, help us. I guess I’ll just have to assimilate.

“Garrett.” Jax’s tone is tight now, but I don’t stop to listen. With tears pressing into the back of my eyes, I can’t get away quick enough. Down the paved path and out of the park, along the road, and I find a clear plastic bus shelter. I slump onto the cold metal bench, my chest tight. This situation is hopeless. My hands won’t still. They twist, my fingers snaking around each other until finally I thrust them into my pockets to still them.

Maybe I’ll go home, fight this stupid Collective on my own. Either that or let them have me. It’s all stupid. Just so stupid. There has to be a way.

My gaze darts around the surroundings. The shelter’s lined with ads, stuck like ugly, mismatched wallpaper. Concerts, yard sales, roommates wanted. Cigarette butts litter the ground, probably the source of the disgusting ashtray smell. My gaze flits to the glass walls of the studio, deep orange and yellow streaks of sunrise reflected in them. The crowd’s bigger now, and people wave cardboard signs. My fingers play with the rough edges of the brooch.

A sign flips as its bearer swivels. I love Tyler. Huh, that’s it, sweetheart? Jump in front of a live television broadcast with a placard and tell the nation something silly like your latest crush.

It’s one of those light bulb moments, the thought flashes into my mind, and I’m running across the street before the idea’s even fully formed.

The fluorescent yellow sign calls me. The bouncy girl holding it gives me a strange look when I tap her shoulder. I point to the sharpie protruding from her back pocket. “Can I borrow the back of your sign?”

Her face scrunches in a clear ‘you’re-insane’ twist. “Umm, no.”

“Come on,” I plead, fishing in my pocket for some coins. My fingers only catch the brooch.

“Excuse me, love.” An older woman holds out a bright orange sign. “You can have mine. I’m leaving now, anyway.”

I glance at the girl, who huffs and slides the sharpie out of her pocket. She raises an impatient brow.

“Thanks,” I say to them both, flipping the cardboard over and uncapping the lid. In thick, bold lettering I print:

FICTION is FACT. Know the Truth.

I think I hear a muffled, Mae. But when I spin I can’t see a familiar face amongst the crowd.

I hand the sharpie back to Tyler’s girl, smug smile plastered on, and I push my way to the front of the crowd.

Huge television screens hang from the ceiling facing the hosts. I can see the picture clearly from where I stand pressed up against the glass. A newsreader on the screen gives the morning report. When she’s done, the camera cuts back to the hosts, and people wave their bright signs in the background. The camera zooms in on just one host until there are only a few messages still on screen, but the audience behind him is clear. The two people on the screen appear large enough that I can read the signs and make out their excited expressions.

Perfect.

This will work.

The hosts chat while the camera angle bounces back and forward between them like it’s recording a tennis match. Finally, it rests on the handsome male host with the people behind him on the other side of the window in focus. It’s the same on our side, people pushing up against me vying for the best position. Everyone wants to wave hello to their mother on national television.

The shot cuts again, this time to the gorgeous female host, and my face is on the screen. I hold up my sign and wave it around.

The camera angle shifts back to the man. I lower the sign. People point at me through the glass windows, and they wave their hands around as they talk to each other with animated expressions. Some shrug their shoulders, and one lady scratches her head. This is perfect.

It’s working.

“Mae! What the frig are you doing?”

I flinch, drawn by the sound of Jax’s voice.

The boom of my heart reverberates in my chest all the way through me. This is it.

Jax grabs my shoulder, but I shrug him off.

The camera angle switches, and again I hold my sign up, shaking it crazily above my head. I need to get as much attention as possible.

It works.

The camera moves away. When I lower the sign there are even more people on our side of the building, drawn around by curiosity. The angle switches back. I hold the sign up for a quick second and shout, “It’s real.” In quick succession I press the yellow centers on the brooch and the pendant, flashing out of sight.

Gasps and yells erupt around me.

I’m invisible for thirty seconds.

I flash back in.

People point, and a loud murmur runs through the crowd like wildfire.

“Shit, Mae,” Jax curses, peering into the crowd like a wolf on the hunt, alert, searching.

Once more I flash out and back in, this time much faster. When I look around, they’re racing through the crowd. Men dressed all in black, the same as the agents at my house. My heart contracts like someone tied a knot around it, aching with each pounding beat. I grab for Jax to port right out but my hand catches only air.

He’s gone.

Damn, damn, damn. Where
did he go? I peer around, frantic, searching each section of the crowd. I squeeze my eyes shut and gulp down a huge breath. “Jax,” I call.

A glimpse of black leather catches my eye. He’s there.

He holds off a third agent almost within reach of where I stand. If I can just reach out and touch him, we can port out to safety.

I extend my arm outwards, but the crowd bears in on me. I’m stuck on the spot and can’t move forward.

People shout at me, “How did you do that?”

“Was it magic?”

“What do you mean ‘the truth’?” The voices close in.

The weight of the people push against me. I’m going to get crushed. My heart thunders in my chest, and I try to shove through the throng to reach him, but I can’t make it. Their force is too strong. My heart bangs against my ribs. Every ounce of my being screams, ‘Danger. Run.’ I search the crowd with a sweeping gaze, but I can’t see the other agents.

“She’s real.”

Hands. All over me, touching my arms, my back, and even my face, like leeches searching for the best place to latch on.

“Get off me.” I drop to the ground, trying to escape them. My hands and knees support me while my breaths come short and sharp. I can’t stay still. I need to get to Jax. I push my way forward, crawling through the tangle of legs. It’s not as crowded, and moving is easier. My breathing slows just a little.

Jax’s black boots dance back and forth only a short distance away.

I scurry toward them, thrusting wayward legs out of my way. I stretch my arm out and can almost reach him. Just a little farther. I have to get us out, safe.

A rough hand closes around my shoulder. I’m yanked upward, through the suffocating crowd, and onto my feet. Fingers cut into my bones.

“There you are.” Triumph flavors the masculine voice.

Narrow eyes and slender snarling lips greet me.

“Wait till I get you back to Councilor Manvyke, little troublemaker,” he growls.

My heart thuds. Cold heat prickles my skin, and I break into a sweat. The agent’s cold, hard face curls into a smile. I squirm, trying to break free of his grasp, but can’t. Pulling my leg back, I let it fly, kicking him hard in the shin.

“You little bitch.”

His grip tightens around my arm like a vice. Sharp points of pain throb where his fingers press into soft muscle. My arm grows heavier, like a dead weight. He makes a grab for my other arm, but I twist down toward the ground, saving it from his cruel, pinching grip. He’s forced to crouch to keep his hold on my arm.

A dark shape slurs through the corner of my vision. Jax? Yes. His blade is out, and he swings it with force at the other agent. “Jax!”

He spins, eyes wide. The agent brings his weapon down, and a long gash erupts on Jax’s arm. His eyes squeeze closed, but he doesn’t cry out.

That was my fault.

My captor slaps my face; it smarts like the sting of a thousand bees. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I choke out a noise of pain and bring my knee up, kicking him with as much force as I can muster. Right in the crotch.

He crumples into a protective ball, his hand falling off my arm and darting to his injured groin.

A rush of adrenaline courses through me. Invigorated, I scramble free and across the ground toward Jax’s feet. I lunge for his leg. My hand closes around it, the fingers on my other hand curling back.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

We fall. There are no longer people around us, just darkness, vast darkness, expanding in every direction. Pleasant darkness. Jax’s leg is right in front of me. I crane my neck, looking up. Bright blood trickles down the arm clutching his blade. Blood shed because of me. We’re suspended in space, floating. Suddenly, we drop. My stomach quivers and shoots into my throat again with a sharp gasp.

I’m dumped on the basement floor in the same position as I ported out of the street. Pain slams through me like a full-body punch.

Jax stands steady on his feet, but his blade falls to the floor. He winces, and his other arm moves to cradle the wounded one. My breath catches, and I scramble to my feet, reach out, and ease my hand under it, raising the arm to see. Blood covers his entire upper arm like something out of a slasher movie. Deep red flesh is open underneath the sticky mess.

“It’s nothing,” he says through gritted teeth. The wound is small, but it looks deep.

“I’m so sorry. I…
and then I distracted you.” My voice waivers like it’s going to crack.

“It doesn’t matter.” He looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since we ported back. The jade seems to grow wider. “Mae, your face.”

“I’m okay.” Better than you. My cheek burns where the agent hit me. My face aches all down one side and my lip stings. A tender probe with my tongue causes a sharp bite. It’s split. I’m okay. He’s the one who’s hurt.

Jax reaches out slowly, and my whole body tenses. I think, maybe, I might actually stop breathing.

His fingers trace the swelling on my cheek and across my lip, to linger on my chin. It feels as light as a feather’s touch. My eyes slide closed, and a tremor settles in my chest. I ease them open to his soft and mournful green-eyed gaze. He slinks his good arm around my waist and pulls me into him, holding me in a tight embrace. He smells of sweat and blood and, underneath, a pleasant, musky boy scent.