Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (14 page)

“It’s
me,” Dylan whispers into my ear.  I stop moving instantly and turn to face him,
but he stops me and holds my face away from him by my jaw.  It actually hurts a
little, which stuns me.  He’d never hurt a fly (if they even existed anymore). 
“You can’t look at me.  Just listen.”

Titus
says something I can’t make out just out of my line of sight, when the elevator
opens and another voice chimes in, Nathan.  “Titus.  What brings you?”

“Just
came from Cori’s room, sir.”

“And?”
Nathan asks.  I’m not sure what he’s wanting to hear, but maybe Titus knows.

“I
think she’s still shaken up.  I spoke with her nurse to make sure they keep her
well fed.  She’ll return to us tomorrow.  I’m sure she’ll give you a hundred
percent if she’s got it.”

“Thorough,
soldier.  I was on the way to speak with the medical team myself, but you’ve
saved me the trouble.  Shall we?” Nathan says, cavalier as ever.

“Sir,”
Titus responds and it sounds like the two of them step back onto the elevator
and the doors close and the motor carries them to another floor.  Was he
protecting me?

I’d
forgotten for a moment that Dylan is still holding me.  My back is pressed
against him, while his arm is still around my waist.  The hand that covered my
mouth holds my chin softly.  He’s tucking me tight, I assume, because we’re
barely in the shadow of the corner we’re in.  I glance at the camera above us. 
He’s bent over me and leaning his head against mine, his breath heavy on my
ear. 

“I
found out more about your implant.  It’s from a new series of chips,” he says,
quietly.  “They store video footage of whatever you see.  They’re working on a
universal device to upload the data your chip collects so they can monitor it. 
They’re going to upgrade everyone.”

What
he’s saying doesn’t make sense.  It’s pure insanity.  Chip placement is minor
surgery.  It’s barely beneath the skin.  At least that’s what I think until I
remember the headaches after my surgery.  Could they have connected the chip to
my optical nerve?

“Can
they hear us?” I ask, worried this conversation will be recorded, too.

“No,”
he says.  “Only images, for now.” 

“Wait,
how do you know all this?  How did you get down here?”

“I
don’t work in chemistry.  I requested a transfer to technology after a few
days, and they moved me over.  I can deactivate my chip and tamper with its
data.”

“Cameras? 
Security?” I ask, concerned for his safety.

“I’m
in technology, I have easy access to security systems.”    

“Nathan
will kill you if he catches you sneaking to see me.”

“No,
he won’t,” he says, his voice turning more grave than I’ve ever heard it.  “I’m
his oldest child.”

“What?” 
Ten tons of concrete slam into my gut and I double over.  I try to face him,
but he guides my face away from his again.  I tug his hand off my face and pull
away from his body.

He
wraps both hands around my shoulders.  “Listen to me.  Things are getting
worse.  Nathan is losing control, and now that Cornelius is gone, there’s no
one to keep him in check.  I don’t know what he told you in there, but you
can’t trust him.  He’s using you.  The next time they take you outside the
border, wait till you pass the force perimeter, and you run.  Do you understand
me?  You run.” 

It takes a moment for me to realize I’ve
balled both fists and they’re aching to slam into something--or someone.  How
am I supposed to process what he’s saying when he dropped a bomb on me a moment
before? 

How
is it that all I can ask is, “Nathan mates with the mothers?”  My skin burns
beneath his touch, and despite all the things that should be vying for my
attention, all I want is for him to let me go.  But he won’t.

He
holds my shoulders firmly, not allowing me to put space between us.  “Of course
he does.  Many of the men mate with them, especially the ones Nathan favors.” 

My
eyes sting, and my cheeks are warm with fresh tears.  I clench my fists so
tight, my fingernails cut into the skin on my palms.  I try to jerk away from
him one more time, but he doesn’t let me go. 

I
have no idea how to process this.  The epitome of scum, the pinnacle of my
hatred, is the father of the best friend I ever had.  The dull ache in my chest
is renewed and grows stronger by the minute.  My whole body trembles, and Dylan’s
arms tighten around me, but they don’t feel restricting.  He presses his cheek
hard against mine smearing my tears on both our faces.

“I’m
sorry I never told you,” he whispers, allowing his lips to linger against my
ear.  I jerk my head the other direction, squeezing my eyes shut.

“I...” 
I come up short, my body trembling more violently.  I don’t know what to say, I
can’t even form a rational thought. 

His
arms loosen and he places both hands on my shoulders, probably sensing that his
rough touch isn’t helping the stress of this conversation.  “Please say
something,” he pleads with me.

“He’s
your father,” I mutter.  Are they close?  Has Nathan gotten information from
him?  Could Dylan betray me?

“He’s
not my father,” he insists, with a hard edge to his voice.  “He impregnated my
mother, but he is not my father.  I hate him as much as you do.”  He swallows
hard.  “Just get out, Cori.”

“Let
go of me.”  I wiggle out of his arms and step forward a little, finally feeling
like I can breathe.  I need more space.  I need fresh air and no more
boundaries, no more fences or walls.  I miss Dylan so much, but I can’t deal
with what he’s telling me.

I
shuffle back to my room and a nurse catches me at the door.  Her eyes soak in
the elevated heart rate registering on my monitor.

“Need
something?” she asks, with no trace of emotion.

“Water.” 
She nods and I retreat to my tiny room, which feels like a cage.  I hope Dylan
gets back to where he came from safely.  I can’t have him getting hurt because
of me.  Even if he is Nathan’s son, I’m certain Nathan, of all people, would
have no problem making an example of Dylan.  He’s the king of detachment.

When
the nurse brings me water, I sip it slowly.  My body still quivers and my heart
rate has been beeping red for far too long.  The nurse checks the monitor for
my temperature after testing my forehead with her hand.  She asks a few
questions about how I feel, and at some point in her rambling--which I barely
listen to--she decides to put in an IV. 

I
lay shaking in bed, covered in layers of sheets and blankets, listening to the
sound of my IV beeping for an hour or so before my system calms and my body
stops trembling.

It’s
early morning in the training room and I look around at all the boys, who look
as tired as I feel.  The last week brought more running, more target practice,
more classes.  Titus taught us to march in perfect synchronization.  He barked
orders, which we obeyed.  He taught us to fight with knives, incorporating fake
ones into our combat classes. 

We’re
all covered in bruises and cuts.  We’re beat up, but getting stronger.  We’re
becoming soldiers
. 
We are a unit, but we are not the same. 
Not since Twig. 

Titus
arrives after a few minutes.  I’m careful to ignore the feeling that Titus is a
friend, yet I can’t help but trust him.  I wish I didn’t.  And though Titus
stands before me for some task or another every day, it’s Dylan I dream of each
night. 

The
night he found me in Medical, I dreamed of Dylan and Nathan side-by-side,
laughing at me as I lie bloodied at the feet of Sean.  Another night, I dreamed
of him in my jail cell, threatening me like Nathan did.  One night he snuck in
and strangled me in the shower, then transformed into Nathan, and back into
himself.  Last night, he haunted my dream again, but didn’t hurt me.  He just
watched me while I slept.  It was the first night in a week I managed to rest.

Titus
has us all lined up in a row, each with our own giant punching bag.  Titus
marches up and down the row watching us as he barks commands.  Kick.  Knee. 
Jab.  Elbow.  Cross.  And every other thing we can throw or slam into a heavy
sack.  Eventually he stops commanding us and allows us to come up with our own
strikes and patterns.  I focus on punches, trying to figure out different ways
to incorporate my elbows into combinations.

Titus
stops beside me more than once to watch. 

“Back
up from the bag,” he says as the others continue fighting imaginary enemies in
the form of canvas and sand.

I
give Titus a puzzled look.

“Seriously.” 
He leads me to the open space away from the punching bags.  Titus doesn’t let
on that anything is different between us, but it is somehow.  I still want to
ask him about Cornelius, but I haven’t found the right time.

“Was
I doing something wrong?”  I replay the strikes I made trying to figure out
which drew his attention.

“No.” 
He puts up his hands, and I follow suit.  He looks me in the eye.  “You fight
like you’re small, and you’re not.”  He throws a lazy punch, and I block it. 
He’s right, I’m not short, we’re almost eye-to-eye, but, then again, he’s not
as tall as the other guys either.

“Okay.” 
I don’t know what he wants me to do, so I just bounce on the balls of my feet
until he gives an order.

“Jab...Cross...Jab...Hook.”
 He absorbs the light strikes into his open palms.  “Breathe.”  I keep my hands
up, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.  He calls out the
pattern again and I repeat it, not sure if I’m supposed to be hitting hard or
not.  I don’t even know what the point of this is, but I don’t question it.  I
just do as he says.

Over
his shoulder I see Captain Marsiana doing a similar exercise with Jayce.  The
others still hammer away.

I
repeat the punch pattern another dozen times, before the orders change. 

“You
have long legs, and legs are stronger than arms.  Kicks and knees are your best
tools.  Use your height to your advantage.”  He extends his hands toward my
foot.  I turn and balance on my left leg while I extend the right toward his
hands.  He grabs my ankle and directs my heel to his ribcage, where the kidney
should be.

I
retract my leg and mock the strike to his ribcage.

“Good. 
Focus on the thigh and rear muscles, and break the ribs.  This is a powerful
kick.”

Titus
grabs a cushion and straps both arms into the loops.  Then he holds it just in
front of him.

“Kick,”
is all he says, so I kick the pad.  I lean on my left leg and make sure to
tighten the muscles in my right leg and buttocks while I extend my heel, aiming
toward Titus’s ribs and slamming into the pad.  He counts off sets of five,
letting me breathe in between sets.  After that, he shows me how to kick a man
in the throat--the goal of which is to crush the trachea--and I’m surprised how
high I can actually kick.  Although I shouldn’t be surprised since I worked on
things like this with Vance.  Although, my sessions with Vance had mostly been
focused on self-defense, and this is very much offense-focused.

Going
through the motions, I realize it makes sense that my legs can do more damage
than my skinny arms can.

Another
hour passes with Titus showing me other ways to kick and knee an opponent.  I
look over my shoulder to where Marsiana teaches Jensen how to do some sort of
jump-kick. 

I
turn to Titus.  “Can you teach me that?”

He
nods toward the captain.  “She can show you.”  He puts away the pads we’d been
training with and wipes the sweat from his face on his sleeve.  “Good job,
today.” 

I
beam from his compliment while he walks away.  If I ever had a brother, I hope
he’d be like Titus.

Everyone
seems to be winding down, including Marsiana and Jensen.  Maybe I’ll ask her to
teach me that move once we’re alone in our room.

The
next day, they split us up to begin learning the various functions of the
colony.  Marsiana, especially cranky today, walks me down to the supply
building to learn about inventory.  She scans her finger and her access chip
and we enter the building.  I’m taken aback by how much is in it.  This place
is so full of lies it churns my stomach.

“Where
does it all come from?” I ask, trying to sound timid to hide my anger.

“We
trade with other colonies.” 
Other colonies
--
I knew it!  Her eyes examine me for a reaction, but I don’t
make one.  “These documents represent the inventory.  We keep a month’s advance
on supplies in case there’s any unexpected hindrance in trade.”

“Who
keeps the inventory?”

“Soldiers
with an aptitude for numbers, usually.”  She’s matter of fact, and a tad
distant.

“Do
they bring it here?  I’ve never seen any deliveries.”  I’m trying to hide the
fact that I’m jumping out of my skin from hearing about other colonies.  I just
can’t let my questions give me away.