Cassius turns to him, still avoiding eye contact with me. “It appears we’ve located your companion, Renquist—dead. In one of the vent shafts. Along with a cache of weapons.”
“Renquist… is dead?” Styles’s stance falters. He looks confused.
But he can’t possibly be as confused as I am.
“I’m afraid it’s true, Styles.” Cassius pats him on the shoulder. “It would appear these Incentives have been busy, possibly working in tandem with the Recruits and a traitor in our midst, right under your noses, in fact.”
He finally turns to me, his eyes bitter with frost.
“And they’re going to provide us with some answers, before they are all executed.”
TWENTY-FOUR
My aching lungs revolt against the cold water flooding them, cutting off the air. My nails scrape against the metal armrests, cracking, tearing. Can’t take it in. Can’t spit it out. I flail in the chair I’m strapped to. My body convulses as if jolts of electricity are ripping through it. Drowning, struggling for a single breath… nothing but a big blur. Colors. Shapes. A dozen times already and the fear’s worse each time. It’s not going to stop this time—oh, shit. Fuck. No… .
Swoosh!
The water filling the face mask that covers my head is sucked out once again by the vacuum tube.
Dark shapes move into view, blocking out the hot glare of the floodlights trained on me.
Sergeant Slade and Captain Valerian.
Valerian rips the mask from my head, her nose wrinkling from the stench of my throw-up. But other than that, she seems just as bored as she did when this whole interrogation began.
The same can’t be said for Slade. Her eyes are twinkling like fireflies. Her thin lips pull back to her ears in a half-moon grin. She’s relishing every moment of my degradation and suffering.
She leans in conspiratorially. “I am going to ask you for the last time, Spark. Who were your accomplices in the murder of Officer Renquist?”
I clear my throat of the lingering mixture of acid and puke. I lift the burden of my eyes until I’m staring her dead on. “I’ve already told you at least a dozen times, you stupid bitch.” My voice sounds ragged, hoarse. Every syllable hurts. “It was only me. Get it? Me.”
I’m going to die anyway. No sense dragging anyone else down with me if there’s even the remotest of chances—
Smack!
The force of her blow snaps my head back. In seconds, the side of my face is throbbing. My tongue scrapes against my gums, tasting metal. My back molar rattles in its socket.
In spite of the pain, I conjure up a smirk. “You don’t have much to give, huh?”
The words hit her like a seismic surge. Her smile cracks and sinks. Tremors rock her reddened face. She tears the helmet from Valerian’s hands and slams it back over my head. It still reeks of vomit.
“I think we need to try this again.” She marches over to the control panel. Her hand hovers over the release valve.
Buzz!
The sound shatters my already-shredded nerves. A transmission is coming through the com system. The large screen flickers to life.
Slade twists the valve shut. The dark gunk in my mask freezes less than an inch away from the faceplate, sloshing with a sickening wetness.
Cassius appears on the monitor.
Behind him, the others—Cage, Boaz, Drusilla, Arrah, Dahlia, Tristin, and Corin—are barely standing, their faces and exposed parts of their bodies covered in bleeding cuts and bruises. My eyes linger on the kid’s hands. Even from this camera angle, I can see the blood oozing from the tips of his fingers.
They pulled every single nail out.
My hands and feet strain against their restraints.
“Has he confessed the conspiracy to you yet, Sergeant?” Cassius asks Slade.
Is that a squirm? This must be the first time I’ve ever seen Slade this nervous. “Prefect Thorn, Sir. Spark insists on the lie that he was solely responsible for the murder and theft.” Her eyes shoot hate my way, then return to Cassius. “But I can assure you, I was just about—”
Cassius’s tsks silence her as effectively as a shout. He shakes his head. “No, no, no, sergeant. I’m disappointed. I would have thought someone with your expertise would understand that there is only one thing Lucian Spark cares about.” He sighs. “Others.”
He holds out his hand to Styles, who is standing behind the group. “Give me your sidearm, Officer.”
Styles unclips the gun from its holster. His expression alternates between bloodlust and disappointment, as if he’s being robbed of another opportunity to inflict pain on the innocent. He slides the weapon into Cassius’s palm. The long, gleaming, black eel contrasts against alabaster flesh.
My heart trips over itself as, one by one, Cassius’s long fingers coil around the grip. He holds the gun out and begins to pace along the haphazard line of haggard Recruits and Incentives. They’re sandwiched together, terror and exhaustion spread over their faces, eyes pleading through the cameras at me.
Cassius studies each one as he passes, the barrel of his weapon tracing lines of sweat, blood, and grime across their foreheads. “What is it going to be, Lucian? Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to be forced to motivate you?”
“Don’t bother, Spark.” The sound of Boaz’s voice surprises everyone, like the dead calm of the eye of a storm that rages around it. “They’re going to kill us either way.”
The cock of a trigger cracks loudly, like the sound of splintering bone. Cassius shakes his head. “Our first volunteer.”
Before words can erupt from my throat, Cassius jams the gun against Boaz’s temple. I can almost feel the cold steel pressed against my own head and I flinch—
BANG!
A bright flash obscures the image for a split second. Then a spray of red and gray confetti spatters Cassius and the prisoners closest to Boaz.
The blast propels Boaz’s body into Dahlia and Corin. His body teeters for a few seconds, then crashes to the ground.
Someone’s cry penetrates my shock. It’s Corin, now sobbing uncontrollably.
Cassius turns to look right into the camera again. Flecks of Boaz’s blood and brain trickle down his face like obscene tears. He swipes at the gore sprinkling his uniform. “I wish you hadn’t made me do that.”
Just as quickly, his expression changes into one of rage. He shoves Dahlia out of his way and grabs Corin, jamming the muzzle of the weapon into the child’s mouth.
“No, don’t hurt him!” Arrah shrieks.
Cage springs forward, but Styles slams the butt of his gun into the back of Cage’s head and he falls to his knees.
Cassius’s green eyes target me. “What is it going to be, Lucian? As always, the choice is yours.”
It feels like I have that mask clamped over my head again—I can’t breathe, my stomach twists as it tries to repel an invisible invader.
“Let the boy go.” My voice is hoarse. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“I knew you would.” He pulls the gun from Corin’s mouth and pats his head. “Styles. Take this boy back to his cell… for now.”
“Yes, Sir. What about the other prisoners?”
Cassius casts a disinterested glance their way and stifles a yawn. “This lot is guilty of conspiracy and treason. Take them down to the furnace and execute them. It will save you the trouble of having to drag the bodies down and burn them.”
“Right away, Sir.”
Styles and the guards surround the others, dragging them away.
My chair nearly topples over and I buckle against it trying to break loose. The restraints dig into my skin, drawing blood. “Cassius! I said I would tell you whatever you wanted to know. We had an agreement!”