TAG (30 page)

Kacen scuffles over to the fire and sits down on one of the logs. He rests his elbows on his knees and keeps his head low. “Have any
more of those,” he asks without lifting his head.

“Dude, didn’t you prepare?” Seaver quips. “At all?”

Kacen doesn’t respond. It’s the first time I’ve seen a hint of shame behind his eyes. There’s more to his story I’m gathering. “No,” he says simply. “I thought they’d give me the shit I needed.”

“Dude, we’re not
in
anymore.” Seaver turns around and reaches
into his pack, pulling out a meal. He tosses it over to Kacen, and it lands in front of his feet. “You need to take more initiative. You ever question why you sat behind a desk, instead of the wheel of a hummer?” I can tell Seaver isn’t intending his words to sound like a dig—more like curiosity.

Kacen lifts his head, and the trouble stirring behind his eyes is
clear to all of us. “I didn’t need to question it.” He pulls his knife out and shoves the blade into the plastic of his packaged food. There’s
one
point for him on survival skills. “I enlisted as a promise. I never
promised to go to war.”

Tango and Seaver don’t question him. “Who did you make a
promise to?” I ask.

Kacen gives me a
how dare you ask me that
look. But I couldn’t care less.

“Let me guess.” I point my plastic fork at him. “One of your
parents died in combat?”

His eyes narrow at me and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “My father made me promise to defend my country when I was old
enough to enlist. He said it would make him proud. He left for the first Gulf
War and never came home.” He nods his head at me. “Happy?” He shoves a forkful of food into his mouth and keeps his focus set on the
fire. “Didn’t know this was a fucking psych retreat.”

This would be the time where I’d expect a snicker from Tango or Seaver, but neither of them flinches. “You did a good thing, man.
Every
job needs a body in the military. Sorry for giving you shit,” Seaver says. “Why did you come here, though? Obviously this isn’t
cupcakes and rainbows.” And there’s the dig.

Kacen looks directly at Seaver, then Tango, then at me. His eyes linger on me and a slight grin creeps up one side of his face, illuminating a deep dimple in the very corner of his mouth. “I know
what we’re after. I know why the world is after your dad. Actually, I know why each
of us is here.” The grin relaxes back into a straight line across his face. “I may not be a fucking war hero, but after I was discharged, I worked for a man named, Eli Tate. Anyone know him?” A dubious
smile stretches across his cheeks as he takes the time to look at each one of us.

Blood is boiling in my face and scorching the tips of my ears, and I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. He’s another Reaper. Seaver didn’t even know this. Seaver didn’t even know the real
reason he was
here. I can see that much written on his face. He’s a war hero, being used as nothing more than a body in this situation. And Tango, he’s being used as Kacen’s bait, like I am. I can see the veins swelling
over
Tango’s forehead and his neck. I’m waiting for an animalistic snarl to
groan from his throat. Tango looks over at Seaver, and with one look, they both stand from their logs and prowl over to Kacen. But Kacen doesn’t move, and he doesn’t blink.

Seaver fists his hand around Kacen’s shirt and lifts him to his feet. “You have one chance to tell us what you know.”

The asshole laughs as if what Seaver said was a joke. “Or what,
you’re going to mind fuck me like Cali evidently does to people?”

That was all it took to push Tango over his mental cliff. Kacen’s flat
on the ground. Blood is spewing from his nose, and his legs are
twitching
below Tango’s weight. Seaver stands guard, his arms crossed,
admiring Tango’s handiwork. I don’t know if he’s going to kill him. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Kacen could be a roadblock for Tango acquiring his cure.

CALI

KACEN’S ROPED
to a thin tree. Seaver is lobbing pebbles at him, and Tango is zipping us up in our tent. The mixture of thoughts stirring in my head is making me dizzy. I need to keep everything
straight
somehow. Reaper and Kacen were both working with Dad. Dad stole this treatment he was protecting in China. He cured mom, saved her life, and then they ran to hide, knowing he’d be hunted for
stealing this unpatented drug. Two groups of people—some being the team he used to work with, and some who just know of this drug—are after him to retrieve this shit he has. And as I’ve known, I’ve been left high and dry as bait or maybe a barrier in front of my parents. Why the fuck would they do this to me?

I prop my pack up behind me and slide my feet into the cushy sleeping bag. The soothing feeling of something soft on my feet
comforts me after the tortures of this day.

Tango is nestling back against his pack and turns a small flashlight on and tilts it upward, illuminating the entire tent. His legs rest on top of the sleeping bag and he folds his arms behind his neck, keeping his eyes locked on my face. I can see thoughts forming behind his eyes.

“I know I don’t need to warn you that things are going to be a little
rough tomorrow.” His voice is hoarse from coughing so much
throughout the day. His symptoms are getting worse, but he’s trying his hardest to hide it—to act like nothing’s wrong. But every time I hear him cough, I know he’s getting closer to his last breath and it’s breaking me. Everything is breaking me.

I nod my head with understanding. This life isn’t new to me. I am
ready to move on one way or another, though. “I know.”

I pull the elastic band out of my hair and rake my fingers
through the snarls. While I’m tugging at one of the bigger knots, I see Tango’s eyes drift over to my left wrist. “Tell me what happened here,” he nods his head toward the scar.

 “A knife slicing through my thin skin felt better than the pain in my heart.” I pull my wrist down and cover it with my other hand.

“And the tattoo covering it?” He scoots over next to me and tugs
my hand onto his lap. He turns my wrist over and traces the outline of the wings puckered up against a heart, and the touch of his fingertip sends shivers down my arm. His hand curls around my
wrist, covering
the tattoo. “Tell me,” he pleads softly. He pulls my wrist up to his
lips and the sensation of his mouth covering the numb spot on my skin is strange—but wonderful.

“When I realized how dumb I was to slice the knife across my wrist, I could hear my sister’s voice telling me to live for both of us. I
felt guilty, so I covered it up with the heart and wings—her free soul.” I
point to the initials KT scripted in tiny letters on the bottom of the
heart. “Krissy Tate.”

He lifts my other arm and inspects the artwork detailed over my skin. “And this?”

“My favorite painting,” I respond quickly.

“Who’s the artist?”

I look up at him and admit another truth about myself. “I am.” I haven’t told anyone how much painting means to me. “Painting was my escape. My feelings. My beliefs and dreams all on a blank canvas, forcing me to believe that everyone starts with a blank page and can fill it in however they want. Someday, I’m going to pour a bucket of white paint over my life and start over.”

“You created this?” he asks. He lifts my arm closer to his face,
inspecting every detail, letting his eyes decipher what he’s looking
at. “A girl curled up on a deserted island?” A non-artistic eye would see this as only a girl curled up on a deserted island.

“The girl is me. The girl is alone, deserted by the world around
her, from love and happiness. The girl is tired. I am tired. The vines
coiled around her limbs are the constrictions she lives within. The
obscure low
bearing clouds cause the shadows to hover over her life. And the
dominating waves surround her are like a prison, keeping her where she will always be—alone, abandoned, and in the dark.”

“What happens to this tattoo when someone saves you from this deserted island?”

“Maybe I’ll consider adding him to my island,” I smirk.

“Well,” he skates his fingers along the tangled vines, “only if
these vines are still holding you down. Otherwise, if I'm that guy . . . no deal.” He laughs. I’m falling in love with his laugh. I might be falling in love with him.

He slides his feet into my sleeping bag and molds around me. Unsure of what’s on his agenda, I’m surprised when he pulls my
head
over to his chest, curls his arm around my stomach, and closes his
eyes. “Good-night, island-girl.”

I reach my lips up and press them against his stubbly chin. “Good night, Tyler.”

He reaches over and pinches my chin between his thumb and finger, then pulls my lips up to his. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am,” he whispers into my mouth. He grabs the flashlight and
shuts it off before replacing his arm around my waist, squeezing me tightly. His grip doesn’t loosen until I hear his rigid sounding breaths elongate. My breaths soon follow. Sleep has never come so
easily.

***

My body is stiff from sleeping so deeply. Birds are chirping from the overhanging trees, and the glow of the sun is seeping into the opaqueness
of the forest green tent where we’re still curled up. I roll onto my back and
Tango is lying sideways, leaning on his elbow,
staring at me. His finger twirls around a loose strand of hair and he tucks it behind my ear. “Want to go find some vines?” he asks, biting down on his bottom lip. I elbow him in his chest, making him groan and clutch the sore spot. “Geez, all you had to say was,
later
.” I roll my eyes and pull myself up against my pack. I flip my head forward, twirling my
hands around my hair to pull it up into a knot. I snap the elastic
band into place, and Tango pulls me in, causing me to lose my balance and completely fall into him. “Everything you do turns me
on, and I need to concentrate today.” His fingers skate against the
bare skin where my
shirt is lifted partly away from my shorts. “You are so damn
beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of telling you that.”

I turn around and press my hands into his shoulders, forcing him flat against the sleeping bag. I straddle his hips and pull his shirt up while speckling kisses from the slight trail of hair below his belly
button up to his collarbone. I move my hands slowly up his chest until they reach his chin and I cup my palms around his cheeks.
“You’re pretty beautiful too.” I cover my lips over his slowly, softly, causing a rush of tingles to tickle over my lips from the little hairs growing around his mouth.

His arms wrap around my back, pulling me into him, making it hard to breathe. “Damn you. Making this life-saving business impossible.”

 “Guys, you ready?” Seaver yells. “I’m unleashing the asshole from the tree in a minute if you’re ready to head out.”

“Damn you, Seaver,” Tango whispers in my ear. “We need some vines anyway.” He slaps my ass and sits us both up.

We dress quickly, hunched under the tent’s top, throwing everything into our packs and unzipping the thin layer of fabric separating the cruel world from our makeshift love nest.

I pull my sunglasses from the small pocket on the side of my pack and slip them down over my nose. When my focus reaches Kacen, I notice one of his eyes is swollen shut. His perfect model-like
nose is now crooked, and dried blood is stained over his cheeks. He moves forward with a limp and I wonder if Seaver pulled any information out of him. By the looks of it, I’m guessing he didn’t.

Tango shoots a glance over to Seaver. “Anything?”

Seaver shakes his head, clearly pissed.

***

We walk in silence for an hour. Tango and Seaver have been
comparing coordinates off and on, and I have this feeling we’re coming closer.
But with the base of the canyon cutting off our trail, I’m questioning whether or not we went the wrong way. Although, neither Tango
nor Seaver look lost. They’re looking up, searching for a method.

Crap. I already know where this is going. “We’re going up,
aren’t we?” I ask.

 Tango nods despairingly and they both drop their packs while
simultaneously pulling out climbing gear. Tango loops his legs
through a harness and clips himself together with various buckles. Once he’s secured, he moves over to me and digs my climbing gear out of my
pack. “You can do this, Cali.” He holds two loops in front of me and I lift each leg and step into both sections. “Hmm. This could
substitute as a vine.” He looks up at me and shoots me a wink.

I purse my lips as I feel my cheeks redden. “Want me to fall down this canyon?”

“You’re going to be fine.” He tightens the straps over my legs, tucks his hand under the belt over my waist, and pulls on it. The sensation turns me on, and I’m wondering if it was his intention. The
smirk on his face confirms my suspicion.

“If you don’t stop, I am going to lose my grip,” I remind him again, realizing my apprehension about ascending this canyon wall is growing by the second.