Rough Edge (The Edge #1)(46)

“So you can send them back out.”

“So we can send them back out. Imagine that though? Healthy men. Stable men. Fighting like they’re trained to do. It would crack the recruitment problem wide open.”

“How do I know he’s not going to be the first guy you cure and send out?”

“Because he’s not the only one. We have test subjects from all over who are better suited to going back to the front lines.”

I sighed and turned back to the street. A plume of smoke wafted up from Sixth Avenue. Jackhammer debris. Was it possible to enjoy living in a city when it pounded your soul into compliance?

“I don’t trust you,” I said.

“He does.”

“He barely knows you.”

“Do you know him?”

I snapped back toward him. The years had rubbed away so much of Ronin’s handsomeness, leaving behind a face that was a little more than good-looking, a little less than readable. When Caden stuffed his emotions away, he hid behind a mask of stone. Ronin’s mask was made of intensity and enthusiasm.

“Maybe not,” I said.

“You don’t have to trust me, but you should. I’ve told you more than I’m supposed to.”

“I love him, Ronin. He’s my life, and seeing him like this… it hurts me more than you can imagine. If I could put myself in his place, I would.”

“My guess is seeing you suffer would hurt him just as much.”

“I can handle it better.”

“Don’t sell him short.” He stood and leaned down to pick up his cup. “He can handle more than you think.” When he was straight again, he saluted with his cup-hand, two fingers to his forehead. “Later, Major.”

“Fuck you, Lieutenant.”





Chapter Twenty-One





CADEN





The Blackthorne tech was a young Hispanic woman in a white coat, the picture of seriousness and detachment. She flicked the end of the syringe.

“Right arm,” she said.

“What are you giving me?” I rolled up my sleeve.

“B vitamins.” She gave me the shot with painful precision. I felt as if I was in the army again.

“Ventrogluteal’s safer.”

“I’ll mention it to management.” She collected her tray and left.



* * *



They put me in the same black room I tested in, which was comforting in a way. But the slide choices and the clickers were absent. In its place were a comfortable chair, a table with a soft lamp, and a bottle of water.

“Caden?” a voice came over the speaker.

“Good morning, Ronin.”

“I just came by to say it’s great to have you.”

“Thank you.”

“Lee reviewed how you do it, right?”

“In-out, in-out. Been doing it my whole life.”

“The pacing is important,” he said. “And the depth of the breath.”

“This isn’t meditation, is it?”

“Not quite.”

“Because I don’t have time for woo-woo bullshit, okay?”

“This is not woo-woo bullshit.”

“All right then.” I grasped the arms of the chair and the lamp dimmed.

Ronin was replaced by a woman’s recorded voice. She repeated the same two syllables over and over.

Soo-hoo.

“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled.

Soo-hoo.

“She’s like a mating bird.”

The speaker clicked on, and another voice came over the cooing woman. “Just try to relax.”

Fine.

I would relax.

For Greyson.

I could do this for Greyson twice a week. I’d given up too much to be in that room, and half a self-conscious effort wouldn’t reward my sacrifice or hers.

Soo-hoo.

I breathed in at soo and out at hoo, starting over without holding either inhale or exhale.

Soo-hoo.

The voice faded into the hiss of my breath, folding like a map into my consciousness.

Soo-hoo. Soo-hoo. Soo-hoo.

Something inside me trembled.



* * *



And shook.



* * *



And tried to break but couldn’t.



* * *



On the fourth session, I came to a terrifying well of despair, but the tape stopped and the light went bright before I touched it.



* * *



It always did.





Chapter Twenty-Two





GREYSON - LATE FEBRUARY, 2007





“Thank you for meeting me,” Tina said as she sat down behind the shiny conference table.

Outside, the western sky dimmed into a burning rust color. Dots of headlights crawled along Fifth Avenue, and the green of the park turned gray.

When we shook hands, my sleeve hiked up. Caden had tied me up three days before, and the bruises had just faded down to yellow.

Like a teacher who called on you for the one answer you didn’t know, Tina’s eyes fell on the discoloration inside my arm, safely an inch below the wrist. She couldn’t know the pains he’d taken to make sure he didn’t pinch the nerve. Nor could she know the most pleasurable pain didn’t come from the ties.