Archenemies (Renegades #2)(82)

Sighing, he prepared to jump down from the container when an odd noise made him hesitate.

He cocked his head, listening.

It was ticking.

Slow, steady ticking.

His pulse jumped and he swung around, his memory launching him straight back to the carnival and the Detonator’s glowing blue explosives set around the park.

A bomb. Hawthorn has a bomb.

He crept back to the window and peered inside, searching the laboratory. From his vantage point, he could see Frostbite standing just outside the far opening, and though the ticking must have been loud enough that they all heard it, she seemed as relaxed as ever.

Frostbite stooped and set something down on the ground. A triangular box of some sort.

Was that the bomb? Had Frostbite brought an explosive with them?

But … why?

Moving to the edge of the crate again, Adrian peered down into the valley between the containers. Frostbite, Gargoyle, Stingray, and Aftershock were standing around Hawthorn, who was on her knees, her hands latched behind her back and her six spiky limbs pooling beside her.

Adrian could see the device on the ground more clearly now, and the needle that swung steadily back and forth. Back and forth.

It was a metronome.

He was fairly certain it was Turmoil’s metronome. The Sound Deadener, which would keep any noise, no matter how loud, from traveling beyond the area in which the ticking of the metronome could be heard.

But what possible use could they have for—

“No,” Hawthorn whimpered, her voice slurred from the effects of Stingray’s poison, as Aftershock and Stingray grabbed the ends of her tentacles and stretched them away from her. “What are you doing?”

Frostbite spread her fingers and six streams of ice shot toward the appendages, freezing them to the ground and locking them in place. Hawthorn grunted and Adrian could see the muscles beneath her shirt undulating as she tried to retract the limbs into her body, but the ice held them as tight as handcuffs.

Adrian’s fingers curled around the edges of the crate.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Frostbite. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you don’t…” She tipped her head.

Gargoyle raised one fist, and it hardened into gray stone. His smile was hideous as he crouched beside one of Hawthorn’s tentacles and slammed the fist on top of it.

Adrian recoiled. Hawthorn’s scream tore through him, echoing shrilly across the shipyard.

Nausea roiled in his stomach as Gargoyle lifted his fist and Adrian could see the place where the limb had been crushed from its weight. One of the thorns had splintered and was oozing yellow-tinted blood.

“So,” said Frostbite, once Hawthorn’s scream had died into a trembling whimper. “Are you ready to begin?”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“YOU—YOU CAN’T—” Hawthorn stammered through her clenched teeth. “I’m unarmed … immobilized … Your code doesn’t allow…”

“Oh, so you’re an expert on our code, are you?” Frostbite guffawed. “A thief, a producer, a dealer … I really don’t think anyone will be upset about what happens to you.”

Hawthorn snarled, tears wetting her face. “And when your precious Council sees that you tortured me?”

Frostbite laughed and unlatched a holster on her belt. “Oh, they’re not going to see anything.”

It was a handgun, exactly like those they had been training with lately. Adrian’s pulse thumped.

They had Agent N. That’s how Frostbite planned to get away with this. They could do whatever they wanted to Hawthorn’s extra limbs, because once she was neutralized, those limbs would no longer exist. All evidence of the Renegades’ abuse would disappear. And with the metronome steadily ticking away, no one would hear her screams beyond the shipyard.

It would be their word against hers—a known criminal and one that no one would be sorry to see stripped of her powers. Adrian wasn’t sure how or why Frostbite’s team had been allowed to arm themselves with the neutralizing agent, maybe they’d been given special permission for this high-profile case, but he did know it would be easy for them to claim they had neutralized Hawthorn out of self-defense.

Who would the Council believe?

His stomach was in knots.

“I know you’ve been selling your product on the black market,” said Frostbite, her voice haughty and cold. The sound of it made Adrian’s teeth grind. “I want the names and aliases of the dealers you’ve been selling to.”

There was a moment of silence, punctuated only with the tick-tick-tick of the metronome. Swallowing the bile in his mouth, Adrian peered over the ledge again.

“I don’t know any names,” Hawthorn growled. “They tell me where to drop the stuff and pick up the payment, and I do it.”

Frostbite signaled to Gargoyle.

He brought another fist down, crushing a second limb.

Hawthorn’s scream tore through Adrian like a physical assault.

He didn’t want to pity her. Hawthorn was a criminal. She had stolen medicine, used it to produce illegal substances. She had dealt it to teenagers. Her actions had likely resulted in numerous deaths.

He wouldn’t even have been sad to see her shot with Agent N right now.