Target 84 (12 page)

“I'm falling apart, one part after another. Falling down on the world like snow. Half of me is already on the ground, watching from below.
”―
Ashly Lorenzana
None of the kids have names here. We are all numbers. We train physically day in and out but it’s not like gym class. It’s different. Harder. The rules are clear. Don’t do anything unless
they
tell you to. There are no school vacations. Ravenbrook doesn’t feel like a school at all. We don’t have art or music or math or science or library. We aren’t taught traditionally. Of course we’re learning all the essentials--just through different methods. We eat three times a day. We have two outfits. We are locked in our rooms at night after dinner.

I push my back against the door, wrapped in my blanket from the bed. It’s been months and Mama hasn’t come. I don’t think she's coming ever.

“Please tell me your name,” I say when I hear the footsteps slow at my door.

“I don’t have one.” His voice is gruff tonight.

“Your number then. Please,” I push.

“No.”

“I don’t understand.” I cry quietly.

“Little bird. Please don’t cry. I’ll be gone soon. You need to be strong.”

“You’re leaving? How?” I ask, hopeful. Maybe I can leave too.

“This school isn’t for me. It makes me sick. I can’t wait until graduation. I won’t make it.”

“How are you leaving?”

“I’m going to escape.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. The first week they walked me around the perimeter. There are walls and curly cue wires with blades on them at the top. There are people watching always. My small, new group was told the rules. No one escaping was part of that speech.

“You can’t.” My voice wobbles. He is all I have here. He is all I have and just barely at that.

“I’m sorry, little bird. You’ll understand someday.”

He doesn’t give me time to say anything. He starts humming softly and I drift to sleep on the floor in front of my door.

He bends down, picking me up off the floor as I come to. He holds me to his chest and kisses the top of my head before setting me on the cot and backing away. My body tingles.
He
is the boy, the one who brought me comfort all those years ago. The tingling intensifies, localizes, and sharpens deep at the core of me.
Somewhere deep in the vast, dark space of my black soul something begins to beat so fiercely that heat blooms and spreads throughout my body. Still feeling detached,
I can hear myself panting now, and I hate myself for it. He’s tortured me. He’s using me for something. I need to hate him. He is my target. Target 84, he is only a target. I will kill him. I have to. I
have
to. I cannot let distant memories cloud my mind. I cannot let my weak judgment gain the upper hand.

I stare into his eyes. Blue and green and brown threads mixed together. He looks...excited, grateful even. An internal grenade explodes, splitting me wide. I will never kill
that
boy.

The one who escaped.

The one who lived.

My world crashes around me. All the pieces of me, all the training and mind games spiral out of control. I can almost see them floating around me, taunting me. How does he know who I am? Why did they assign him to me? Is this a test of devotion? I look into his mixed-blue eyes for the truth.

I push myself up and walk on shaky legs to him. I stand close to him. He doesn’t move a muscle or twitch in the slightest. I survey his face closely. My brain is foggy with thoughts and assumptions. My hand reaches up, the pads of my fingers lightly tracing his jawline.

“How?” I breathe, bewildered.

“The song you were humming,” he answers.
His
song. “Nobody hums that song. It couldn’t be coincidence. I dug deeper into your background, much deeper.” He shrugs as if that explains what he found.

I’m not traceable.
Unless you knew what you were looking for.

“Your song,” I state. “It was your song, never mine.”

I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what my next move is. I’m lost, floating in a sea of limbo. It feels as if I'm dismantling who I was and moving it stone by stone into someone new.

“It wasn’t just my song. It was your comfort too,” he says, puffing out his large chest, standing to his full height. His voice is low, deceptively smooth. I hate my betraying body for acting more alive than I’ve ever felt. He is my target. I have been reprogrammed so efficiently it overrules all common sense. I know he will not hurt me physically now. I know I’ve dreamt about him so many times over the last couple decades that he’s probably the closest person to me and I know that he has a sentimental place in my memory.

I turn back to the open space with partially exposed brick walls. My eyes move along the wall to the corner where a toilet and sink stand with no walls. I look down at myself.

Tattered clothes.

Bloody mess of a face.

Ravaged by hunger, thirst, and exhaustion.

Could
he by lying? If he found out about Ravenbrook he might know I’m a killer, but he’d never know that song. He’d never know my number, or his. He’d never know about the picture. I snap my gaze up to meet his. Death would be a luxury compared to this apprehension.

“Where is my bag?” I urge, knowing the weakest part of me is my brain right now. He looks at me, confused. I need my bag. I need to see his reaction when he sees what I keep in it.

“What?”

“Where the hell is my bag!” I demand. He stumbles back a step and leaves me standing in the room alone.

One click. Two click. Three click. All three deadbolts in place.

Does he not trust me still? Where the hell did he go? Why did he leave? My head and shoulders sag with the weight of this information. Bentley James, my next target, is the boy who saved me. The boy I thought was dead long ago at Dee’s hands.

He’s gone. Three nights ago the alarms sounded, loud and harsh in the middle of the night. Floodlights gleamed over the yard. The last two days have been torture. Literally. One by one we’ve each been questioned, beaten, or denied a basic comfort like food, water, or toilet use. They are so sure that someone has information on how Twelve did it. He’s gone and only after do I get to learn his name. They are so sure someone knows how he escaped. Dee had come into the dining hall at breakfast the morning after. She looked like she was going to implode. Her face was red and scrunched up, her hands in fists at her sides. She’d asked for anyone who knew anything to volunteer their information. She’d said Twelve would not last more than a week out there. No one did say anything, so we all got punished.

I wait by the door still, curled in my blanket, hoping he comes back because now I’m truly alone. I squint at the drawing he gave me and think of our interrogation teacher’s words from today: “You choose to push forward when blackness closes in on you. You accept the risks, the dangers, and make them your own. Then face the darkness on your own terms, instead of waiting to be dragged into it. Doing otherwise equals death.”

Into the darkness I fall then.

How did he survive? Why didn’t he come back for me? I sink to the floor, knees already bruised, connecting painfully with the concrete. Not knowing is like a hundred knives piercing my flesh. I try to bring myself to a restful state. I need to be sharp and ready when he returns. I feel like we are standing at opposite poles of the universe, yet equal partners in a bigger mystery.

“Why keep putting yourself back together if you’re just going to keep breaking apart?
”―
R.L. Griffin,
Seamless
I wasn’t prepared for the outside world. Five years at Ravenbrook changed me or maybe it was just the world that changed in those five years while I was under lock and key. The abandoned shed I call home is cold at this time of year. I’ve managed to collect water from a nearby brook and set some traps for rabbits. My clothes are ragged and worn now. I’ll need new ones soon. In the town nearby I asked around for work but they all explained that I’m too young. I need a worker’s permit. I know at least seven different ways to kill a man but I can’t get a job. I don’t have any form of identification, I don’t have parents. I’m going to have to create a plan for myself. A plan to become someone else so I can be a part of society. This shed makes me feel like less of an animal than Ravenbrook, but only slightly.

I lost track of time while sitting in the rental car outside the warehouse. For the first time in a long time, a tear fell from my eye. I don’t even know why. The room had started spinning when she demanded her bag. I left and braced myself on the other side of the door, waiting for the spinning to stop. Her demand caught me off guard. I’d expected a different reaction. A different question. She completed school. I
didn’t
save her. Her entire persona is what
they
want. How can I ever trust her, when she’s been carefully reprogrammed to overrule her reactions, stripped of normal morals and values? How will I know what she’s truly thinking?

Her bag was in the trunk. Now it sits in the passenger seat next to me. I’m not about to assume she walks around unarmed. She’s Ravenbrook for fuck’s sake. A sash cord. Nice. A Glock, loaded. Zip ties, cuffs, and a ball gag. I set the sash cord and the Glock on the passenger seat and step out of the car with her bag clutched tightly in my fist.

I set a tray filled with syringes and vials by the door as I enter. I still need information. I still don’t know if this is now Dee or Torren who wants me out of the picture. Sure, I could have exposed Ravenbrook years ago. However, with all the big names and deep pockets aligned with the school, it was easier to just become someone new and pretend as if Ravenbrook never existed. I’d never be able to bring them down on only my word.

I was made to kill. It was almost as if the instructors here could smell the weakness in me. The solution to that was apparently to force my hand in the matter.

The man I’ve just executed is slumped over half-eaten meatloaf, a thick rope of drool gently swaying from his bottom lip. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know if Dee knows who he is. I was brought to this house, miles from school. Dee had walked me into the house and let me know in no uncertain terms if I wanted to live, he had to die. “This may not come across as very appetizing. It may make you want to vomit. But you will, I assure you, get used to the taste. And pretty soon, you'll be spooning it down and asking for more like all the other students,” Dee snaps at me. I want to run now. I need to get out of here. She was right. I’d seen the older kids. Witnessed their unkindness, the way their eyes were all hollow. They lived only to graduate. Some never came back from graduation weekend. I’d heard the weakest were weeded out during graduation weekend.

I toss her bag, sending it sliding along the floor. It stops just short of her. She crouches, digging through it until she has what she wants.

“What’s with the ball gag?” I ask as she stands.

“Unimportant,” she clips, standing. A small, square piece of paper is clutched in her hand. She starts unfolding it gently. It’s old. The creases in the folds almost give way. A yellowing piece of tape runs down the center of the page, holding it together. She looks at it. A glimmer of sentiment flashes in her eyes before she turns the page around to face me.

My drawing.

My gift to her nineteen years ago. It’s faded, cracked, time worn.

Grief, guilt, hope, and awe unfurl from my gut, seeping throughout my body. Invading my veins. She’s testing me, seeing if I’ll meet her in the middle of impossibility. She kept it. She kept something I would have destroyed if roles had been reversed.

“Your birthday,” I state. “How’d you keep it?” I ask.

“Carefully,” she answers. “How did you find me?” she asks.

“Does it matter?” I answer.

“It always matters.”

“You’re good, Greta, but I caught you tailing me. I wouldn't have thought much of it except you tailed me in two different states.”

“You saw me?” she scoffs disbelievingly.

“That hard to believe?”

“Not now that I know who you are. Most people aren't trained like we are to notice things.” She backs to the cot, sits, and starts to carefully fold the drawing back up.

“I need you to contact Dee. I need to know who hired you.”

“She’d never tell me, Bentley! Anonymity is our business.”

“Jesus!” I bark. “I need to know if it’s Dee or if it’s an actual Ravenbrook unrelated hit.” My frustration is getting the better of me. I need to get a grip. I will never attain the information I need this way.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
”―
Oscar Wilde,
The Importance of Being Earnest
He paces like a madman then looks at me and shakes his head, bewildered. I don’t know what I've done wrong this time, unless the anger is left over from everything else. Then it's justified.

A tray filled with bandages, syringes, and vials neatly laid out in their compartments sits by the door. Staring at it, a ripple of anxiety tightens the back of my neck. I wonder if he’s still a threat to me. Unimportant. Focus on the real threat.
Getting the hell out of here
.

“It’s imperative, Greta. I need to know who hired my hit,” he says, voice subdued now.

“Why? I...I’m not going to kill you. I can’t,” I admit.

“I don’t give a shit about me! I need to know if someone is trying to get me out of the way to get to Pepper.”

“Pepper who?” I coax carefully. Anxiety ripples through me followed by terror.
How many Peppers are there, really
?

“My current case. I’m sure
you
did your research and know that I’m ATF. I’m working with...” His voice trails off. He doesn’t trust me.

“With who goddamnit! Why were you ever in Christiansburg?” Truth hits me square in the face. Pepper Philips. ATF. Witness protection. Carmine. Ezra. Cane. “My Pepper,” I say and breathe. He stares at me like I have three heads.

“Your Pepper?” he questions.

“Pepper Crown. Sawyer, Allie. Pepper. She’s...fuck, Bentley, she’s the only friend I have. Who is probably going out of her mind wondering why I’ve bailed on her for the past...”

“Four days,” he finishes. “Who hired you?” Four days. Four days. Rage boils my blood. She must be worried sick with grief.

“Look. Dee sends a text, it has a name, last known location, and assignment number. That’s all the info I get. I have no idea who contacted Dee to have you killed. I haven’t seen her in seven years and I’d prefer to never see her again. God dammit, Bentley, I’m two assignments away from being able to get out!”

“Get out? Are you insane? No one gets out, Greta.” He laughs.

“Disappear, vanish, retire. I was just waiting until I had enough in the bank.”

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, laces his fingers behind his head, and stares at the ceiling.

“How the hell do you know Pepper?” he asks.

“I met her at the gym. We train together. We just sort of fell together. Comfortable in our silence.”

He nods his head as if that somehow makes perfect sense to him. “How the hell do
you
know Pepper?” I ask.

“I placed her in Witness Protection.”

“You’re ATF guy?! I seriously thought Pepper had better taste.”

“You saying I’m unattractive?” he scoffs.

“No, I was implying that your personality is lacking. Pepper doesn’t take bullshit well.” He snorts at my response.

“Greta. Pepper could be in danger. Torren Delanti is working with Dominic Napoli, Sawyer and Pepper’s…”

“I know who Dom is.” I cuts him off.

“Why should I even consider involving myself in your mess?” I reply dryly.

“Because my enemy is your enemy, and you are already involved in this mess. If I lose control of the situation you'll be exposed,” he says.

“I don't respond well to threats.”

“I'm not here to threaten you. I'm here to see if we can work together.”

“How much trouble are we looking at?” I ask, knowing we both have rules about making deals. About what’s fair and what is not.

“I think Torren is using Dominic as a cover. My gut says he’s looking to remove Pepper once and for all. Carmine Delanti, his cousin, was just found dead.”

I suck in a sharp breath. That scumbag. Infiltrating the Mayhem MC and ratting Pepper’s whereabouts to his uncle for his own personal gain really grinds my nerves. When they apprehended him, I was relieved and also angry. I wanted to take him out myself.

“I see where you’re going with this. Carmine’s dead. Ezra Ash is dead. The only person left is Pepper...and
you
.”

“Either Dee found me and wants me dead or Torren Delanti hired you to take me out,” he says.

“Dee didn't find you. I have a feeling she would have completed that task herself, not paid one of us to do it. You were personal to her.” I’m confident in my assessment.

“That’s crap news.”

“It means you’re probably right about Delanti and Pepper.” I reach down towards my bag and pull my cell phone out. “Dead.” My shoulders slump. I probably have a thousand missed texts and calls from the Crown household. Arching backwards, I crack my neck and spine. “Do you have a charger?” I ask.

“I’m still not sure I trust you yet.”

“Bentley, if you were going to kill me, you would have by now. If I was going to kill
you
, I would have used your knowledge about me against you, charmed my way into being unchained, fed, and then killed you,” I snap at him. Hunger is causing my moods to swing left and right. A pendulum with no gravity as its center.

“Even so. I feel safer with you restrained somehow. You almost broke my nose,” he chuffs.

I can’t help the satisfied chuckle that bubbles out of me. Serves him right for pummeling me.

“I’d like to call or text Pepper. Make sure she’s all right. Unless you care to update me. Worry and stress can’t be good for the baby. I should really let her know I’m all right,” I push, hoping he will budge.

“What baby?” A hint of shock graces his handsome features. Damn, Pepper gets all the hot men in life.

“She’s pregnant. She let me know just before I left for Richmond. Speaking of, are we still in Richmond?” I question.

“There’s no reception in here anyways. See,” he grunts, flashing his screen at me. I wonder briefly if he’s irritated at the news of Pepper being pregnant. I know for a time they were involved. Pepper had spilled all the details of her sordid past to me over drinks one night just after Sawyer proposed to her. Her rape. The misunderstanding that caused her to leave her first love. Meeting Bentley, letting him in, and then finding and losing her first love Cane Ash, again. Agony. She’d cried buckets of tears that night. It had been hard for me to console her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wasn’t entirely sure how to.

“Probably lots of old copper in the walls around here,” I state. He shrugs.

“So what now then, Bentley?”

“Food. You must be starving.” My stomach rumbles loudly at the mention of sustenance.

“I can’t leave looking like this,” I point out. My clothes are tattered, blood soaked, and filthy. My hair is a golden rats’ nest and I’m sure my face looks as though I’ve been in the latest MMA pay-per-view fight. Bentley’s eyes rake down my body, his eyes lingering on the more feminine parts of my body.

“I’ll bring back food,” he grunts, turning for the door.

“Wait. Don’t leave yet.” The words rush out of my mouth, making me feel weak. For four days I’ve been alone. Tortured. For now, I’m enjoying the conversation. I’m actually curious about the man before me. I’ve wondered about him so many times over the years. I pause, considering if I should ask him my next question, wondering if it might be a mistake by trusting him so much.

“First, tell me, how’d you get out that day? Why’d you leave?”