The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(70)

Even through the dense woodland, its leaves and foliage soaking up all sound for miles, I heard it. Ava’s scream. I ran, her cry reverberating in my head, guiding me to her in this labyrinth of a forest. Just when I thought I was lost, I heard the manic shouts of a young man’s voice.

I found Halton in a frenzied tantrum. Cursing and hacking at the thick, sharp trees with his fists and boots. Hidden inside a hollow trunk, I watch him now as he paces between two logs ten yards from me. Twenty yards from the forest’s perimeter.

“Just do it. Just do it—prove to him you’re not weak,” Halton mumbles distractedly to himself, mopping the sweat from his forehead with his elbow, his entire body shaking.

My own muscles vibrate with a powerful adrenaline no spray could hope to mask. I mute my energy. Hone it. Reserve it for when it’s time.

Halton tries to pull himself together, tucking in his uniform, slicking back his greasy hair. He slumps down on a log matted with moss. A hologram pops up in front of him, and I see the moment that caused the downfall of my family. Me, Ava, my father. Our living room in Trinity Heights. He studies the image stolen by his tablet’s camera like he’s watching a film.

I barely catch his whispering, “They all think I’m weak.”

I throw it back at him. “You thought I was too.” I raise my weapon and move for him.

Halton whips around to find me six . . . five . . . four feet from where he stands. His face lights up, astonished.

“It’s you!” he blurts out.

Before he can say another word, I jab the pointed end of my umbrella into his throat. He doubles over, choking, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish gasping for air.

“I . . . can’t . . . breathe,” he rasps, clawing at his neck.

Quickly dropping my umbrella, I grab my knife and pull Halton up by his hair, shoving the blade to his Adam’s apple. His panicked hands swat at the knuckle duster protecting my grip as I grope at his duty belt and seize the gun above his right hip. I point the barrel to his temple.

“You don’t deserve to breathe.”

I zip-tie his wrists tight enough for his hands to swell and stiffen. In a last-gasp effort, he attempts to wrench loose, but after two violent spasms, his limbs slacken and yield. He feels the fury of my strength. Understands that I am ironclad, and he is but bait in my grasp.

His body weightless, I drive him forward, my blade and his gun forcing his dragging feet into a march. Wheezing, floundering, frantic to suck in air, Halton coughs and gags strangled cries as we edge in tandem toward a clearing where I spot Ava’s lifeless body.

I hear the click of metal. My eyes focus on Agent Hayes, his weapon drawn and aimed at me. He shoots his eyes to my forehead, left shoulder, my right leg, and my stomach, searching for a clean shot. I stand unflinching behind the governor’s grandson. My human shield.

“Drop your gun!” I shout, my order as steady as my hand that holds the pistol to his charge’s head.

My voice jolts Ava awake. “Mira!” she howls, flailing and twisting against her restraints.

I keep my focus on Hayes. He moves three steps toward me, but I stand my ground as he locks his eyes with mine, sizing me up. Working out my vulnerabilities. He grins like he’s found one, and with cocksure composure, he points his gun at my sister’s chest.

“No!” I yell savagely. My blood surges, and my finger stiffens around the trigger. I dig the barrel deeper into Halton’s temple. “Tell him to drop his gun, or I swear I will blow your goddamn head off.”

Terror trembles down Halton’s spine. A hideous gurgle bubbles up from his throat, and his voice cracks as he pushes words past his damaged windpipe. “Drop it . . . That’s an order . . . Agent!”

The gun remains trained on Ava’s heart. Halton hears my trigger click.

“Drop . . . it!” he shrieks, the veins in his neck bulging. “Or I’ll have you shot!”

Reluctantly, the agent lowers his gun. His eyes throw daggers as he tosses it to the ground beside my foot.

“And your mouthpiece!”

He opens his mouth wide, rips out a tiny communication device, and flicks the mouthpiece into the weeds alongside the gun. Did he already send out a call?

Hurry.

I stomp hard on the device with my heel. Shove the firearm into the waistband of my pants.

“Put your hands behind your head and lie flat on your stomach!”

The agent fails to comply, so I ask him again with my pistol. He bends slowly, glaring all the way down, but his bulk finally hits the ground, and I sprint for my sister, dragging Halton with me.

“I thought they had you, Mira,” she whispers when I reach her. Immobilized, Halton watches, a captive audience, as I kneel before Ava, making certain she is whole. Ava’s eyes are puffy and dazed. I graze my finger over the angry dart wound below her ear, just above the star-shaped scar on her neck.

“How?” she asks me. I don’t need to answer. She really doesn’t care how. Just that I am here.

“Mira . . . Ava . . .” Halton tries to clear his throat. It sounds like a garbage disposal grinding up his voice box. “I can . . . help . . . you both,” he continues to croak. “Come with . . . me.”

He pushes closer, but I fix the barrel to his forehead, warning him not to move.

Hurry.

I cut the cable ties that bind Ava and hold out my arm to help her stand. “Can you run?”