Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(32)

From behind me, Clifton Salloway calls out, “Consider my offer, Roselle. I’d love to work with you.”

Hawthorne swears under his breath. He stomps right past Gilad, who slams the door behind us. We enter the elevator and face the glass that overlooks the immense drop to the ground. Gilad and Edgerton step into the lift as well. Hammon closes the door and selects the ground floor. As we descend, I try to ease my arm away from Hawthorne’s grip. He tightens it, and then realizes that he’s hurting me and lets go. I take off my coat, folding it over my arm to hide the bruises that Agent Crow left.

“Do you mind explaining what just happened back there?” I ask.

“Whoo!” Edgerton yells. I flinch from the surprise and sheer volume of it. It takes all my willpower not to throat-punch him. He slaps his thigh, and then doubles over, hands on top of his knees, laughing. “Damn, that was fun!” He wipes a tear from his eye. “Did you see the look on his face when we evac’ed to the elevator without giving him a chance to worship at the altar of Roselle?” Hammon snorts with laughter beside Edgerton, and even Gilad cracks a smile. “That ol’ boy can hunt!” he continues. “He wants Roselle somethin’ fierce!” He points at me. “And you! You got to be the coolest customer that I’ve ever set eyes on when it comes to handlin’ those Diamond-Fated douchebags!”

I rub my forehead, at a complete loss. “Who is ol’ boy?” I ask.

Hammon takes pity on me and explains. “We sometimes call a firstborn ol’ boy or ol’ man. He was talking about your boyfriend, Clifton, back there.”

“Don’t call him her boyfriend,” Hawthorne scolds. He’s really angry. “Talk like that could get her killed! That kind of relationship isn’t just flirting with danger, it is danger.” Hawthorne points at me. “You, stay away from him. He’s no good for you. He asks you again for private lessons, you tell him no, and then you tell your commanding officer that you’re not interested in training anyone. Do you understand me?”

“I take it private lessons have nothing to do with weapons training.” I lean my forehead against the glass of the elevator and watch the rapidly approaching ground. A part of me hopes to be splattered by it so that I don’t have to face the soldiers in this lift.

“Aw, he wants his weapon trained, all right,” Edgerton hoots, doubling over again.

“Thanks for the warning,” I reply. “I’ll stay away from him.”

We reach the ground floor and Gilad is first off the lift, followed by Hammon and Edgerton. Hawthorne holds the door open for me. I’m glad he doesn’t touch me. I’ve reached my limit for being manhandled today. The next person who tries will wind up hurting.





Chapter 9


That’s Mine

We file through the ground floor of the firstborn officer Tree. Hawthorne still radiates rage. Gilad marches beside him. Hammon and Edgerton are ahead of them. I trail behind, my heeled boots and shorter legs making it hard to keep up.

My entourage walks right by the cluster of chairs closest to the outer doors without seeing the devil seated in one of them. I slow my pace, staring at Agent Crow. He smiles. Steel teeth shine. Pointing to the life-size virtual monitor encompassing the nearest pillar, he directs my gaze. My image is on it, a replay of the news conference. I blink. I seem so much older than I am—it’s the air of confidence I’m feigning, a trait I’ve learned from watching my mother. It exudes from behind my carefully applied war paint.

I come to a stop when I notice the hilt of my fusionblade on Agent Crow’s hip. It’s unmistakable, bearing my family crest. My heart squeezes tight. My grandfather gave me that sword when I was born. It’s the only thing I ever received from him.

Agent Crow says, “You didn’t even mention me once in your news conference.”

“You’re not important, Agent Crow.”

“You wound me, Roselle.”

“I’d like nothing better.”

“Don’t tease me,” he replies.

“That’s my sword,” I state. The fact that he’s wearing it on his person is so offensive that I’m laser-focused.

“Was, Roselle. This was your sword.” His eyes almost sparkle.

“No. It is my sword. You stole it from me.”

“Careful.” His smile evaporates. “You don’t want to go around making accusations you cannot possibly prove.”

“I can prove it’s my sword. It has a rose embossed on the center of the hilt.”

“I like roses.” He shrugs with an amused smirk.

“The rose is interwoven into the St. Sismode crest.”

“Coincidence.”

“I think not. I want my sword.”

“Well, you cannot have it.”

“Why not?”

“Your commanding officer is only going to take it from you anyway. You’re no longer a St. Sismode. You’re Roselle Sword. Roselle St. Sismode no longer exists. This is just a representation of who you used to be. What do you say I keep it for you . . . for later?”

“I say no.”

Hawthorne is so close behind me that he accidentally brushes up against me as he whispers, “Stand down.”

“No.”

“Agent Crow’s right,” Hawthorne explains. “They’ll only take it from you, Roselle. Let it go.”