Vengeful (Villains #2)(109)

“All this fuss,” muttered Green Eyes, sizing him up. “Doesn’t look all that dangerous to me.”

“Oh,” said Eli, crossing the cell, “there are EOs out there far more dangerous than I am.”

“But how many people have they killed?” asked Blue Eyes. “I’m guessing it’s less than you.”

Eli shrugged. “That depends.”

“On what?” asked Brown Eyes—a woman, judging by her voice.

“Whether you consider EOs people,” said Eli.

“Enough,” said Blue Eyes, stepping toward the barrier. “Let’s get going.”

Eli held his ground. “Where is Director Stell?”

“Busy.”

Eli doubted Stell would hand over such a delicate task—unless it was truly urgent.

Or personal.

Could Stell have already found Victor?

Ships in the night, thought Eli grimly. But he couldn’t afford to worry about Victor Vale right now.

“Inmate,” ordered Blue Eyes. “Approach the divide and put your hands through the slot.”

Eli did, felt the heavy metal cuffs close around his wrists.

“Now turn around, place your back to the slot, and kneel.”

Eli hesitated. That wasn’t protocol. Cautiously, he did as he was told, expecting a dark hood to come down over his head. Instead, cold metal slid around his throat. Eli tensed, resisted the urge to pull away as the steel closed around his throat.

“The hunting dog gets a collar,” said Blue Eyes.

Eli stood, running his fingers along the band of metal. “What is this?”

Brown Eyes held up a slim remote. “Didn’t think we’d let you out without a leash . . .”

She pressed a button, and a single high note, like a warning tone, sounded in Eli’s ears before pain pierced the back of his neck. Eli’s vision went white, his body folding beneath him.

“And down he goes,” said Blue Eyes as he hit the cell floor.

Eli couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything below the shard of metal driven between his vertebrae.

“Come on, Samson,” said Green Eyes, “we’re on a schedule.”

The tone sounded again, and the steel spike withdrew. Eli gasped, chest lurching as his spine healed and sensation flooded back into his limbs. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, and then up to his feet. A small pool of blood on the cell floor was the only sign of what they’d done.

Brown Eyes waved the remote. “You try to escape, you try to attack us—hell, you piss us off—I’ll put you down.”

Eli studied the slim remote in the soldier’s hand, and wondered if it was the only one.

“Why would I do that?” he said. “We’re on the same side.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Green Eyes, thrusting a hood through the slot. “Put it on.”

Eli was led, blind and bound, through doorways and down halls, a soldier gripping each arm. He felt the ground shift beneath him from concrete to linoleum, and then to asphalt. The air changed, a breeze grazing his skin, and he wished the hood were off, wished he could see the sky, breathe in fresh air. But there would be time for that. A few feet more, and then their progress halted. Eli was turned around, maneuvered until his back came up against the metal side of a van.

Doors swung open, and he was half dragged into the back of the van, forced a little too roughly onto a steel bench against one wall. A strap went around his legs, another around his chest. His handcuffs were locked to the bench seat between his knees. The soldiers climbed in, and the doors were thrown shut, and the van’s engine revved as it pulled away from EON.

Eli smiled beneath the hood.

He was cuffed and collared—but he was one step closer to free.





XI





THE LAST AFTERNOON


THE FALCON PRICE


A couple years ago, Mitch had taught Sydney about magnets.

They’d spent a whole day testing their effects, the attraction and repulsion. Syd had always thought of magnetic force as a pull, but she’d been shocked to discover the strength of their push. Even a small flat disc could exert so much force against another.

She felt that same repulsion now, as her fingers hovered over her sister’s bones.

Sydney tried to will her hands down as something inside her heart pushed back.

Why couldn’t she do it?

Sydney had to bring Serena back.

She was her sister.

Family isn’t always blood.

June had said that—June, who’d never betrayed Sydney. June, who’d protected Victor. But she wasn’t Serena.

And if EON was chasing them now, Serena could help. Serena could do anything. Could make other people do anything.

It was a terrifying power to start with—but how bad would it be if Serena came back wrong? What would that power look like when it was fractured, broken?

For so long, Sydney had assumed she was afraid of failing. Afraid that she’d slip, lose the threads, and with that, her only chance at reviving Serena.

But the longer she stared at her sister’s bones, the more Sydney realized—she was just as scared of succeeding.

Why had she waited so long? Was it really because she thought it had to happen here? That the connection would be strongest back where it had first been broken?