Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(70)

Worst-case scenario: the other club members had also been rounded up and were this very minute lying hog-tied in vans. They could all be speeding to a short trial followed by a long sentence in a lifer camp. More probable. Which wasn’t reassuring.

Luke’s brain cycled between these two possibilities and a good few more besides. But it hadn’t settled on one by the time he felt the vehicle’s movements change and the speed drop.

Then they stopped.

His pulse rate shot up. He managed a sort of caterpillar wriggle towards the doors, rolled onto his back, and shuffled till his legs were bent up and his feet flat against the door panel. He heard footsteps round the side of the van; the click of the door handle. As it opened, he stamped down hard . . .

. . . on empty air and fell out of the back of the van. He landed at the feet of someone who sprang back with a yell.

Luke writhed on the ground, moaning. He hurt everywhere. It was pitch-black and absolutely freezing. He opened his eyes and looked up at a night sky filled with stars. Hundreds – thousands, must be. He hadn’t seen them since going to Millmoor.

‘Who the heck are you?’ a voice demanded.

A voice that apparently hadn’t expected to find a trussed-up teenage boy in the back of his van.

‘Was about to ask you the same thing,’ Luke croaked, trying to manoeuvre into a sitting position. ‘Where are we?’

He couldn’t see the driver clearly. The darkness was almost total, apart from a muted glow just beyond the trees that edged the road. Was it one of those useless security lights that only went off like a beacon when a cat jumped on a fence half a mile away?

‘Didn’t get orders to tell you nothing,’ the driver said. ‘Didn’t even know there was a “you”. Was just told to make the drop-off here. Got a number to call when I arrived.’

He pulled out a phone and there was a Post-it note stuck to it. Squinting at the number, the man dialled and explained to whoever answered that he had made the delivery.

Luke heard him repeat back ‘Leave it? You know what “it” is, right?’

Then the conversation ended and the delivery man began to walk back to his vehicle.

‘Wait!’ Luke called. ‘What’s going on? You’re not just going to abandon me? I’ll freeze to death.’

‘Not my problem,’ the man said, though he pulled one of the blankets from the back and threw it in Luke’s direction. It landed several metres short. Bastard.

Then he climbed in the van and drove off.

Luke waited a few moments to be sure he wasn’t returning, then started casting around for anything that might cut the plastic twine binding his wrists and ankles.

The roadside verge wasn’t promising, but he caterpillared his way over to the nearest tree where he found a stone embedded among the roots. It didn’t have much of an edge, but if he could work up a bit of friction he might be through by morning.

Luke didn’t think he had until morning.

He’d made no headway when the light beyond the trees flared up, then died. Metal creaked and shrilled, like hinges opening. Damn. He should have bunny-hopped down the road and hidden while he could. He curled against the tree trunk and tried to make himself as small as possible.

The light shifted and he heard a muffled sound resembling horse’s hooves. Two horses? Then footsteps. They came straight towards him as if they knew exactly where he was. So much for any escape.

The voice, when it spoke, was even closer than he thought.

‘Hello. It’s a bit late to be letting people in, but I do like having my brothers owe me.’

The voice was male, the tone wry and the accent cut-glass posh. Yet something about it made Luke want to burrow into the earth itself rather than see its owner. He pressed his shoulder blades back against the tree trunk, which was slippery with hoarfrost, and tried to control his rising panic.

The guy was Skilled. Luke could feel it in the way he spoke, just as with the Equal in Millmoor. His words could do stuff. Make things happen.

‘Let’s have a look at you, then.’

A faint, cold brightness suffused the air, as if someone had turned up the starlight, and Luke found that he could see.

Cool fingers tipped up his chin. It was a proprietary gesture. Luke snarled and tossed his head, then glared at the freak who’d handled him.

He wasn’t what Luke was expecting.

He was young – maybe no older than Luke himself, although taller. His hair was a mess, which saved Luke from having to see too much of his face. Luke caught a flash of dark eyes that made him shudder. It was as if someone had poked two holes right through the guy’s head and the night was showing through on the other side.

Luke looked away as the Equal studied him intently. Who was this, and where were they?

‘Well, I was right about one thing,’ said the freak, smiling in a way that was the opposite of reassuring. ‘You’ve got potential. You’re also in a bit of a state, so, first things first.’

The guy reached out and ripped off the bandage around Luke’s head. He lightly cupped Luke’s skull right where Kessler’s baton had hit. For a fleeting moment it was awful, then it wasn’t. Luke’s scalp and face tingled. His head didn’t hurt any more. In fact, nothing hurt any more. He didn’t even feel tired. The aristo was watching him carefully, wiping his fingers fastidiously on his sleeve.