Page 33 of Reclaimed

“Here,” she huffs. “Anything else?”

I take the glass from her hand, swirling the amber liquid before throwing it back in one swallow. The burn blazes through me, tamping my nervous system better than she did.

I hold the empty glass out to her. “How about another, since you’re still mine for the next eight minutes?”

Her eyes narrow as she snatches it from my grip and turns, pausing briefly at the sight of her friend laid out on her back, cheeks flushed as Slade eats her out. Then she stomps away, blonde ponytail swinging.

Turning my attention back to my phone, I navigate through the ghost door access Slade gave me and into the Vanguard’s security system for the fourth time today. I didn’t even realize I could view the live camera feed of Jersey’s cell until I stumbled upon the link while waiting on the installation guy at my cabin. Now, whenever my attention drifts, I somehow end up back here, staring at her.

She’s lying on the cot with her back to the camera, curled in on herself in the fetal position. I watch for a minute or two, but she remains motionless– likely sleeping– so I swipe the feed to the side and click into my notifications instead.

A few requests from Exchange, a new charge from Eleventh house pending on my card, a new music alert boasting Retrograde’s first album in five years...

Slade and I were contracted to work security for them at a concert downtown years ago to manage the political protests. Their music was decent. I tap to add the Transit album to my playlist just as the Vanguard feed I swiped aside suddenly flickers with motion.

An enforcer enters the frame, stalking toward the cot. Jersey startles, jolting upward as he approaches. The tip of my tongue traces my teeth as anticipation surges through me.

Here we go.

Maybe I’ll get to see some more of the little stray’s fire.

I zoom in as the enforcer crowds over her, hand lashing out to grab her by the bicep and yank her to her feet. She stumbles as she finds her footing, tugging her arm free and stepping back to create some distance. Jersey folds her arms over her chest, and thank fucking god for 4k video, because I get a perfect view of the thin material of her crewneck pulling tight over her tits. I zoom in on them, then pan up to see her plush lips twisted in the same scowl she gave me in the alley.

There she is.

My cock instantly thickens behind my zipper, but then the enforcer lunges for her again, dragging her out of the room with more force than necessary.

“Times up,” the blonde bitch chirps, slamming a glass of whiskey down on the table beside me

Pocketing my phone, I pluck up the drink and take a sip, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she retreats. Slade’s done with her friend, and she slings an arm around the poor girl’s shoulders, giving her some much-needed support to hobble away.

Nothing about the blonde interests me. The little stray, on the other hand….

There’s an itch beneath my skin that’s steadily growing stronger, burrowing its way down and spreading like a goddamn infection.

My fingers drum against the leather cushion as I nurse my drink, the alcohol doing nothing to tamp down my lingering irritation. On the sofa across from me, Slade leans back with an unlit blunt hanging loosely from his lips, an almost tranquil look settling across his features.

Fuck it.

Pulling my black baseball cap onto my head, I shove to my feet, sliding my phone back out of my pocket. “I’ve got to take care of something,” I grumble. “I’ll see you back at the compound.”

He gives me a lazy nod and flicks open his lighter, the rolling paper crackling loudly as I turn and head towards the door.

12

JERSEY

A311

The plastic beneath me creaks as I shift for what feels like the hundredth time under Evaluator Phillips’ unrelenting scrutiny, the chair’s strategically placed bolts managing to scrape against my bones no matter my position. He stopped asking questions five minutes ago, and has just been staring me down with his dead eyes ever since. I tug the cuff of one sleeve down over my hand, slipping it inside to hide my mangled cuticles and prevent myself from continuing to pick at the already raw skin.

Kenzie warned me about the psychoanalysis after I told her about my appraisal yesterday. She keeps telling me not to worry, but it’s hard not to while waiting for them to assign my fate. They’ve run every test, picked apart every flaw, but surprisingly, no one has mentioned the enforcer I stabbed before making a run for it.

Surely that means he’s alive, right?

It must be some form of domestic terrorism to kill an entity of The Registry– probably a ticket straight to becoming a human buffet to some scientist’s fire ant collection. The fact I’m still here, being appraised, must either mean he’s alive or they don’t know I killed him. Or maybe they all know, and they know that I know that they know, so they’re pretending to not know to keep me paranoid…

If that’s their play, it’s fucking working. I’m spiraling hard into the paranoia web they’ve woven around me.