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Devoted - Merritt's Story 2 - Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2020-04-23 05:06:00 +0000 UTCI hope you guys are doing all right! New chapter is here! I'm also planning the next chapter for next week. It'll be a very busy week, so cross your fingers for me! :D
As usual, you can read the new chapter inline or download the attached PDF.
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Book 2, Chapter 21
He couldn’t breathe. His lungs threatened to rupture if he inhaled one more time. Sweat dripped from the edge of his eyelashes into his eyes, muddling his vision. His legs ached. His shoulders ached.
He was euphoric.
With a weary, grateful smile, he bumped Ellis’s fist and backed away. He nearly slipped across the sweat slick on the mat beneath his feet as he stumbled toward the edge of the ring. Ellis looked ready to pass out, and Merritt worried that he might have pushed him past his limits.
They toweled off and recovered in peaceful silence, watching the other gym patrons as they sparred, lifted weights, and ran on treadmills. Ellis seemed like he wanted to say something but was reluctant to broach the subject. Merritt had his suspicions. It was getting late on Friday evening, and he’d kept Ellis tied up with training every evening that week. Hard physical activity was the only thing steadying his tormented mind, and he couldn’t thank Ellis enough for indulging him. Ellis probably wanted a few hours off, and he deserved it.
“You’re dismissed for the weekend,” he said so Ellis wouldn’t have to ask.
Ellis’s face brightened, and he gave a shallow bow. “Thank you, sir!” His gait betrayed his eagerness as he headed for the locker room.
Merritt finished rubbing his hair with his towel, then left it draped over his head. He sat under his towel tent and let out a heavy sigh. Throughout the week, he’d spent every free moment of his day at the gym or on military training grounds, using exercise as therapy. He’d inadvertently withdrawn from Belmont. He lacked the energy to put up a strong front for him, and physical exertion was a more reliable mask than his failing poker face.
Tonight, he’d taken Ellis to his old gym in the sub-Norwood Park slums to train in boxing and grappling. The gym sat adjacent to the Norwood Orphanage, where he grew up. Between the two properties was a common yard separated by a rickety fence that was all too easy to hop. While the gym was plagued with shabby equipment, flickering overhead lights, boarded windows, and water that tasted like death, it was frequented by some of the sphere’s most talented street fighters, many of whom grew up in the orphanage or were traded from other spheres. Despite it being a twenty-four-hour gym with barely any security, the gym’s fearsome regulars made it one of the better fortified places in the underground.
There was nothing more enlightening than the occasional round with street fighters. They didn’t play by the rules, nor did they waste much time worrying about whether they might hurt their opponent. Merritt got the benefit of a realistic combat experience, and he routinely took his newfound knowledge back to his captains to inform their training regimens. As an added bonus, many of the gym’s regulars had known him for years and always welcomed him warmly—even if their version of a warm welcome was a punch in the face without the big gloves.
Tonight, the street fighters planned to clear out of the gym early. There was a sport fight in the East Sphere that nearly everyone in sub-Norwood Park would go out to watch, but Merritt had declined his gym mates’ invitation to join them. Sport fighting competitions were a big deal in the underground, especially among civilian aces and armbands, but Merritt had never been able to enjoy them. In his world, fighting was reality, not sport.
His phone buzzed at his side. At last, he unearthed himself from under his towel and glanced at the incoming message. It was Belmont. Dinner? My place?
Merritt texted back. Can’t. Training at the Norwood gym till late.
He received a quick response. You’re impossible to reach these days.
The locker room door swung open, and Merritt quickly wiped off his frown. He waved to Ellis as he emerged, showered and fully dressed. “Have a nice night,” he called.
“Page me if you need anything, sir,” Ellis replied, though Merritt was sure he was hoping for a weekend of silence. Merritt watched him go, then returned to the ring for another round.
Half an hour in, he saw a familiar figure duck through the doorway and enter the gym. Belmont. Distracted, Merritt took a glancing blow to the cheek and barely managed to block a head kick. “Wait—time,” he gasped to his sparring partner. “Sorry, I have to break.”
A murmur echoed through the room, and Merritt realized that the fighters were blindsided by the presence of the King’s right hand in their humble, decrepit gym that catered mostly to aces. He couldn’t tell whether they were honored to see him or skeptical of his presence. This wasn’t a crowd that cared much for politics. The North’s aces and middle class saw Belmont more as a flashy celebrity than a politician, thanks to the salacious news headlines he always inspired.
Merritt jumped down from the ring and hurried to Belmont’s side. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is everything all right?”
“Calm down. Everything’s fine.”
“Oh.” Merritt wiped the sweat from his brow. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you were here. I’ve barely seen you all week. I came to say hi.”
Merritt felt an unexpected surge of emotion in his chest, even more potent than the rush of post-workout endorphins. He suddenly felt like the underground’s biggest idiot. Why had he spent all week needlessly avoiding Belmont? Why had he tried so hard to push him away?
In the back of his mind, he knew why. It wasn’t just that he was trying to hide his torment from Belmont. Some part of him—some idiotic part of him—thought that maybe, if he had some space, he could clear his head and reexamine his feelings about his duty to Mercury. That part of him was desperate to debunk Belmont’s claim that there was a difference between serving his King and serving his sphere—and Belmont’s insistence that he was right to chase the latter. Over the past ten months, he’d watched Mercury’s approval of him fade away, and he had Belmont’s ideas to thank for it.
But the time apart from Belmont had changed nothing. His heart still pumped harder and warmer when he thought about protecting his sphere’s soldiers and ace civilians. He still felt a surge of triumph every time he heard snippets of news programs announcing the further dismantling of the West’s underage dog trade. If anything, the time away only proved to him that those values were his own. They weren’t planted in him by Belmont. Belmont had simply shone rays of sunlight on them and allowed them to grow unfettered.
“Your smile looks… so stupid right now,” Belmont said with a barely restrained chuckle.
Merritt gave him a playful shove. “I’m just happy.”
“Good. It’s about time. But that doesn’t explain why you’ve spent all week avoiding me.”
Merritt’s smile tightened. He was happy to see Belmont, but was he happy beyond that? No. He really wasn’t. He still wasn’t happy with his work, his life, his relationship to his King, the growing distance between him and his former friends and comrades. He couldn’t reach Torrence to find out if he was recovering. His life was moving too fast, the reins slipping out of his grasp.
He’d barely had time to reflect in the ten months he’d been the North’s general, but the growing unease had festered and was now bubbling to the surface. He’d been hurtled out of his role as captain—where he used to work and train among his allies—and into a leadership position where his supporters were no longer at his side. His superiors didn’t see him as a capable leader, and he no longer saw himself as a suitable servant.
He was a mess, and being battered in the gym was a welcome distraction from the battering he’d received in the boardroom and continued to receive inside his own head.
“I’ve been busy,” he said to Belmont. “That’s it.”
Belmont narrowed his eyes. “I believed you a second ago. Now I don’t anymore.”
Merritt lowered his gaze. “I wasn’t lying. It’s just…” He clammed shut. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that they were being watched. “This isn’t the best place to talk.”
Belmont glanced toward the nearby locker room door. “How about we go in there?” he asked.
Merritt hesitated. He’d hoped Belmont would let it go; he wasn’t in the mood to talk. “It’s not so private in there. People go in and out.”
“But it’s better than here.”
Merritt couldn’t turn him down. With a shrug, he led Belmont into the locker room, grabbing a new towel on the way. Once inside, he quickly checked to make sure they were alone, then headed for the row of lockers farthest from the door. He sat on the bench beside his locker and mopped himself off.
Belmont sat beside him on the bench, straddling it and pulling Merritt in until he was nestled between his legs. He wrapped an arm around Merritt and kissed him.
Merritt eagerly returned the kiss but pulled away after only a few seconds. “People might come in,” he whispered.
“I stuck a mop in front of the door. We’ll hear if it gets knocked over.” Belmont pulled Merritt forward again, as audacious as ever. Merritt closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into Belmont’s embrace.
When Belmont withdrew, he stared down at Merritt’s face, and Merritt was surprised to see that he didn’t look as calm or confident as his kiss had suggested. “What is it?” Merritt asked.
“I’m just trying to understand what’s going on with you—why you’re telling me you’re fine when you’re not. Why do I feel like you’re trying to end this?”
“I’m not,” Merritt replied, stunned. “I swear I’m not.”
“You’ve turned cold. But I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else from a blue-tie.”
“I am fine.”
“No, you’re not. But you don’t trust me enough to tell me more than that. And I can’t even blame you. After everything, we’re still blue-ties, and this is still the underground.”
Merritt couldn’t manage a response. Belmont was right. No matter how hard they clung to each other, they could only escape the world around them for a few minutes. Only now, hearing the note of pain in Belmont’s voice, did Merritt realize just how much the uncaring brutality of their world weighed on him too.
Merritt had once believed Belmont was made for the North Sphere. But he wasn’t. He’d never been a model blue-tie; his emotions ran as hot as the North was cold. He’d been cunning and commanding enough to bend the North to his favor, but he could only pull it so far before it slipped from his fingers and snapped back in place.
After a long silence, Belmont cursed under his breath. “I hate this place.”
Merritt glanced around at the decrepit locker room. “Do you want to go back?”
“No.” Belmont shook his head. “I hate the underground.”
He pulled Merritt into a crushing embrace.
* * *
Merritt expected Belmont to leave after they emerged from the locker room, but instead, he sat on the splintered bench nearest the center ring and alternated between watching Merritt spar and reading on his phone. He’d masked his angst the moment they left the locker room, and Merritt couldn’t tell how much of it still lingered out of view. But when Merritt hopped out of the ring and sat beside him to chat between rounds, Belmont seemed as untroubled as ever.
“Pratt won’t stop texting me,” he said at half past eight, holding up his phone. “He’s suddenly trying to be my best friend. I give it three days max before he asks for whatever favor he’s trying to build up to.”
“Does he do that a lot?” Merritt asked.
“All the fucking time.” He gestured toward the ring. “Looks like people are starting to clear out of here. How long are you going to work out?”
“Until I’m too tired to move.”
Merritt shoved his mouth guard over his teeth and hopped back into the ring, where a master kickboxer and East Sphere trade named Octavi waited with his fists at the ready. Octavi was always a beast, but tonight he fought harder and dirtier than ever, knowing that the King’s right hand was watching. Merritt returned fire with just as much passion. He wouldn’t let himself get beaten up in front of Belmont.
He held his own, and after ten spirited minutes that felt more like a true fight than a sparring match, they called an end to practice and knocked fists. Octavi spat out his mouth guard and said, “We gotta head out if we want to get decent seats.”
Merritt had almost forgotten about the big sport fight in the East Sphere. “I can’t make it,” he said after dislodging his own mouth guard. “But I’ll root for your guy in spirit.”
“Good, he fucking needs it,” Octavi said with a rough chuckle. “I got fifty bucks riding on him.” He waved goodbye and called jokingly, “Another night and you’re getting away with a straight nose. I’ll fix that next time, General Merritt.” His use of Merritt’s title didn’t signal contempt like it did when Pratt or Evans used it. Instead, his gruff taunt carried pride for the man he’d spent years trying to catch with a good left hook.
“Later, Octavi,” Merritt called. He stayed in the ring and stretched while watching the last patrons hurry through the locker room and out of the gym.
Belmont remained seated on the bench, scrolling on his phone. After the last fighter left, Merritt finally jumped from the ring and jogged up to Belmont’s side. “There’s weights and bikes and treadmills if you’re bored.”
“You think that’s not boring?” Belmont scoffed. “We have private gyms at headquarters. One for Mercury, one for me and the board. I do an hour a day, five days a week. It’s an obligation. It’s not how I’d spend a Friday night.” He gave Merritt a light shove. “Do you really have to stay here until you get tired?” An impish grin flashed on his face. “I’ve got better ways to tire you out.”
It was a tempting offer. After a moment’s consideration, Merritt sighed. “All right. I’ll go wash up.”
Belmont stood up in time with him. “Hey, but before we go, I want you to show me something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Remember when you body-slammed me on the balcony at the North Star Lounge?”
“How could I forget?” Merritt replied with a grin.
Belmont’s grin reflected back at him. “Show me how you did it.”
“You want me to teach you how?”
“Nah, I don’t have the patience for that. I just want you to do it again.”
“You’re inviting me to throw you?” Merritt asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I think it’d be a little more fun on mats instead of stone.”
“If you insist.” Merritt tried not to look too eager as he jumped to his feet. He pointed toward the mats alongside the wall bordering the yard, below a half-boarded window. “Over there. The other mats are worn harder and flatter than your homemade pancakes.”
“Ooh, fuck you!” Belmont cried jokingly. “I cooked those with love!” He tossed aside his jacket, glasses, and shoes and tucked in his tie, then followed Merritt to the mats.
“Can you see me without your glasses?” Merritt asked skeptically.
“Of course I can,” Belmont replied. “My eyes are lasered to perfection.”
“Then why do you wear glasses?”
“They get me to 20/8.” He raised an eyebrow. “And they make me twenty times sexier.”
“Do they?” Merritt replied with a wry smile and a slow blink.
“They get me all the cute blond soldiers I want, don’t they?”
“Just come over here so I can throw you.”
When they both reached the mats, Merritt put on a serious face, automatically shifting into training mode. “All right. First, I need you to come up next to me.” He positioned himself on Belmont’s left, their bodies barely touching. “The first time I threw you, you came in from behind but a little to the side, and then you grabbed me, so it was easy for me to get an underhook here.” Merritt slid his right arm under Belmont’s, wrapping it around his back. “Now, I’m going to step to the side.” He stepped in. “And now that I’m in front of you, I’m going to push my weight back.”
Using his hip, he knocked Belmont off balance, then flipped Belmont over his shoulder. Belmont’s legs arced in a flailing cartwheel, and he landed on his back with a grunt.
Merritt followed him down, mounting his hips and leaning over him. “You’re right; that was fun,” he purred.
Belmont wheezed. “I told you to show me. I didn’t think you’d put all your strength into slamming me.”
“I…” Merritt blinked. “I didn’t.”
With a groan, Belmont said, “All right, you can get off me now.”
Instead of getting off, Merritt leaned down, kissing Belmont. Belmont gave a devious laugh and deftly shifted his hips, rolling Merritt onto his back and sliding on top of him. “Where did you learn that move?” Merritt asked, impressed.
“I get a lot of practice.” He continued their kiss.
Merritt’s heart pounded; he knew they were running the risk of someone arriving at the gym and walking in on them. They were obscured behind the ring where Merritt and Octavi had trained, giving them time to break apart if they needed to, but this was still more than they’d ever done in a public space. Merritt couldn’t hold himself back. They’d gone too many days apart, and he was starving for more.
After another minute of near-frantic kissing, Merritt rolled back on top, sitting on Belmont’s hips. He gave Belmont’s shoulders a seductive massage and said, “We should get out of here. Your place or mine? Or somewhere else?”
Belmont ran his hands up Merritt’s thighs and rested them at his hips. “I haven’t decided yet. Let me think.”
A blur of movement through the boarded window beside the mats caught Merritt’s attention. He was kneeling at eye level with a crack in the boards, offering a glimpse into the yard shared by the gym and the Norwood Orphanage. The smear of motion had passed in only a second, but Merritt could have sworn he’d seen a man throw something into the hold of a cargo trailer sitting in the clearing. For a split second, he heard the beginnings of a child’s scream before the sound was cut short.
Belmont tapped his thigh. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Merritt crawled swiftly toward the window. Staying low, he peered out through the crack in the boards. Outside, the motorcycle’s engine rumbled to life, but the vehicle didn’t pull out right away. Through the filmy, handprint-covered glass of the orphanage’s windows, Merritt could barely make out a figure in a dark uniform carrying another child toward the door.
He motioned for Belmont to join him at the window. “That’s an East Sphere cargo bike, isn’t it?”
Belmont squinted out the window. “I can’t tell for sure,” he said, sounding hesitant. “Cargo bikes all look the same. Why?”
“They’re taking kids from the orphanage and throwing them into the hold.”
Belmont turned his skeptical gaze toward Merritt. “Are you sure? Did you see them do that?”
“I think so. It happened fast.”
Belmont squinted again. “Yeah, I guess the bike looks East Sphere….”
Merritt elbowed Belmont in the side. “Look!” Barely visible behind the bike’s tall cargo trailer, a figure emerged from the orphanage’s exit. Merritt could only see the top of the figure’s head. It moved toward the bike, which bounced from impact moments later. “I think they just threw another kid in there.” He clenched his fists. “How did they even get this far into our sphere?”
Belmont craned his head. “I’m not seeing what you’re seeing.” When Merritt hurried back across the room, he called, “What are you doing?”
Merritt gestured toward his cell phone on the bench. “I need to summon Border Defense.”
“It’s just a single bike and two riders,” Belmont said. “This isn’t a military matter.”
“But how did they get here?” Merritt pressed. “We don’t know the scope of this infiltration.”
“Border Defense is already standing guard right where they belong—at the sphere borders. Calling them into sub-Norwood is extreme.”
Merritt resisted the urge to remind Belmont that he’d once called on the entire Elite Border Guard for a personal vendetta. Instead, he squared his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll go myself. Let me get my packs.”
“No, wait,” Belmont snapped. “Just give me a second. Let me think.”
Merritt gritted his teeth, holding back his frustration. He hated the North Sphere’s red tape. He was dealing with foreign invaders. If he’d been alone, his status as general would have given him the authority to deploy any military unit within the sphere’s borders without having to seek approval from his higher-ups. He would only have to notify his King and right hand after the commands were issued. But because Belmont was in his presence, North Sphere military regulations required him to defer to his superior. He stared at Belmont, doing his best to signal urgency without looking impatient.
“All right, listen,” Belmont said at last. “I’ll make a few calls, to see if we can get some police in. Just don’t rush out of here without me. Got it?”
“Got it,” Merritt replied, still tense. He didn’t love the fact that Belmont wanted to handle the issue himself. Had he come off too emotional about the kids? Did Belmont no longer trust him to be objective? The thought gnawed at him, but now wasn’t the time to argue. Besides, he knew that Belmont had a better chance at getting results with the police. The only police force in the North was a small division within the Elite Border Guard, which Pratt and Evans usually directed from above Merritt’s head. They only served elite districts, and Merritt could never get away with calling them into the slums.
Belmont ducked into the locker room to make the call, which needled Merritt all over again. As long as Belmont was in there, Merritt wouldn’t be able to grab a weapon from his locker and sneak out. He had no choice but to stand guard at the window while he waited. By the time Belmont returned, the number of children thrown into the cargo hold had risen to six.
Belmont looked unexpectedly distraught. He wore a mask of calm, but Merritt read tension in his crinkled eyes. He didn’t say anything at first. Only when Merritt raised his hands impatiently did Belmont finally clear his throat and say, “So hey, uh….”
“They said no?” Merritt asked curtly. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t surprised. “So it’s just me, then.”
“What do you mean?” Belmont asked. “You’re not still going out there…?”
“Those guys are getting ready to leave. I can’t throw a knockout vial; it’s dangerous for the kids. So I have to tail them and try to catch them with darts, or else we’ll lose them.”
“That’s not a good idea, Merritt. You don’t know how many people we’re dealing with. You could get ambushed from behind while you’re chasing them down.”
Merritt turned his plaintive gaze toward Belmont. “That’s my old orphanage. I’m standing right here, twenty feet away. If you weren’t stalling me, I’d already be outside.” He shot to his feet. “I need to get my packs and weapons.”
When he was halfway to the locker room, Belmont stepped in front of him and caught him by the arms. “Just wait,” he pleaded.
Merritt glanced urgently over his shoulder, then back at Belmont. “If you keep slowing me down, I’m going to lose them.”
“I don’t think you should go chasing after them.”
“Why? Because they’re just aces? Because they’re throwaways?” Eyes narrowed, he growled, “Order me to stay, or else get out of my way.”
Belmont gritted his teeth, his eyes shifting as he calculated his next move. Merritt knew what he was thinking: he wasn’t just Merritt’s boss anymore. He could issue all the orders he wanted, but now they’d come with personal consequences. He stepped away slowly, releasing Merritt then clenching his fists in frustration.
The concern was clear on Belmont’s face, but he stood down and allowed Merritt to race for the locker room. Merritt found his lone occupied locker and tapped his combination into the keypad lock, then pulled it free. He threw his uniform on haphazardly, then buckled his packs and straps. As he charged back into the main room, he could barely hear the continued rumbling of the East Sphere bike outside. “What’s happening in the yard?” he asked Belmont as he finished fastening his holsters.
“Big guy’s getting on the bike behind the driver. Definitely East Sphere.”
Merritt hurried to his side and squinted across the clearing. “They’re getting ready to leave. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Hey, weren’t you just working out for, like, five hours straight?” Belmont asked, sounding a bit worried. “You look worn out. At least take a drink of water before you go.”
“No time.” Merritt bolted for the exit, sprinted across the parking lot, and leaped onto his motorcycle. He fired up the ignition and took off without looking behind him.
By the time he got out of the back lot and circled to the front of the orphanage, the cargo bike had already disappeared from sight. Shit. Merritt rode slowly, peering down the alleys and listening for engine noises. East Sphere bikes were obnoxiously loud; if one was nearby, he’d hear it above his own engine.
As he crept up to the first major intersection, he spotted the bumper of the cargo trailer around the corner headed east. Immediately he veered right, following the trailer.
He had the speed advantage, but the cargo bikers knew the route. They took one sharp turn after another, dodging stray bikers and pedestrians along the way. They darted in and out of dark, cluttered alleys and squeezed through gaps that a cargo bike had no business squeezing through. Whoever was riding the bike was at least as skilled on flat terrain as Merritt.
After a mile of wild turns, he glanced at his side mirror and spotted Belmont a few yards behind on his sleek North Sphere motorcycle. Damn it, what was he doing here? Merritt hadn’t expected him to join in on the chase. As much as it meant to him that Belmont was there to back him up, he couldn’t risk Belmont ending up in the middle of a shootout.
It only took two blocks for Belmont to drop out of Merritt’s view again. But Merritt couldn’t let his eyes off the cargo motorcycle. Ten minutes of zooming stretches and careening turns took the chase closer to the southern end of the North Sphere, into sub-Lincoln Park. Their route supported Merritt’s suspicion that these men were East Sphere invaders. All they had to do was pass sub-Lincoln Park then ride through the North’s business district, and they’d be at the North-Neutral border. The North Sphere didn’t share a border with the East. The only way to get from one sphere to the other without crossing the West Sphere was through neutral territory.
The smooth rumble of an expensive North Sphere bike echoed behind him. He glanced in his side mirror and realized Belmont had miraculously caught up. He’d likely anticipated the cargo bike’s route and taken a shortcut to the business district. A fleeting glimmer of hopeful relief passed through him before he returned his attention to the armbands.
He ramped up his speed and closed in behind the cargo bike just before it unexpectedly cut through a back alley into the business district. He took a hard left turn and just barely made it into the alley behind them, but Belmont, at his right, made too sharp a pivot and clipped Merritt’s back wheel. Merritt gripped his handles and expertly rode through the jolt, but Belmont skidded, then crashed in a cloud of dust and rubble.
Merritt slammed on the brakes and leapt off his bike, then backtracked to the alley’s entrance. Belmont lay facedown on the ground, his motorcycle several feet away. “Belmont!” Merritt cried as he rushed to his side. “Are you hurt?”
Belmont groaned, raising his head. “I’m not sure. Help me up, would you?”
He didn’t look badly injured. Merritt only saw a few cuts and scrapes. He wrapped Belmont’s arm around his shoulder and eased him up to his feet. He wished he could stay longer, but he knew there was no time. “I need to get back after them. If you have any injuries that need treatment, call in a medic.” He rushed to his motorcycle without giving Belmont a chance to respond.
He jumped back on his bike, then cranked the throttle and took off down the street. But by the time he made it out of the opposite end of the alley, the cargo bike was nowhere in sight. He followed his instincts and continued toward neutral territory, but the streets were deserted. The business district was all but shut down for Friday night. Any remaining vehicles would be visible, or audible, from a distance.
Acting on a hunch, Merritt took an upward-winding ramp leading onto the North Point toll bridge, a suspension bridge that dangled from the underground’s ceiling. Just before the ramp merged, he swerved and jumped his bike onto the roof of the adjacent high-rise finance building. He raced across the roof, built up speed, and leaped onto the taller high-rise next to it. He continued to the south-facing edge of the roof and looked down. Every block from there to the North-Neutral border lay visible before him. From his aerial vantage point, he scoped out the grid of surrounding streets, but there wasn’t a single vehicle in sight.
He turned back, jumping the neighboring roofs like stepping stones until he was low enough to return to the ground. Belmont waited for him at the intersection of sub-Kinzie and State, sitting atop his barely-scratched motorcycle and looking about ready to vomit. Merritt saw his pallid cheeks and worried that he’d misjudged the severity of Belmont’s crash. But when they were close enough to speak, Belmont betrayed the reason for his blanched face. “So you’re driving around on high-rise roofs now?” he cried. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Roofs are easy,” Merritt said, brushing aside his worry. He squinted up ahead. “I lost the cargo bike. I have no idea where it went. We should have Border Defense surround the district and smoke them out.”
“How would that help if they’ve already crossed the border? We can’t put troops in neutral territory.”
“I don’t think they crossed the border. I could see everything from those rooftops.” He pointed down sub-State Street. “They would have had to take sub-State through the water tunnel if they were headed toward neutral territory. But they didn’t have that much of a lead on us. If they’d taken the water tunnel, I would have seen them go in.”
“I think they got out ahead of us. I think they already crossed the border.”
“I thought so too,” Merritt said. “But I had a line of sight, and I didn’t see them get into the tunnel. I bet they knew I’d catch up to them in there, and they wouldn’t have any alleys or side roads to zigzag through. They must be hiding in the business district, hoping to lose us.”
“That would be absolutely insane of them. It makes no sense. They know we have cameras everywhere.”
“I’m not saying it’s a good idea,” Merritt argued. “I’m saying that’s what they did.”
Belmont leaned forward, arms draped across his handlebars. “Merritt… I know this is important to you, but I think you’re letting your passion cloud your judgment. They can’t possibly be anywhere in the business district. You said yourself that they aren’t on the streets. You need a thumbprint or a keycard to get into any of the garages. These buildings have security systems. We’d know if there was a break-in.”
“Depends on the building,” Merritt replied. “Some of these are manned by armed guards. If the guards were ambushed, they could be in danger. We need to scope out the area, maybe make some calls.”
“I really think they crossed the border,” Belmont insisted.
Merritt ignored him and silently backtracked on his motorcycle to the last street where he’d seen the cargo bike. He examined each building as he slowly rode by. Ten feet behind him, Belmont reluctantly followed.
The short office building on the north side of the alley caught his eye. In all the times he’d patrolled the business district, he’d never seen any signs of life coming from that building. He’d just assumed it was unoccupied. But tonight, barely visible beyond the tinted windows, he could have sworn he saw the faintest glow of light. Could the invaders have occupied the building? Might they be hiding inside?
Merritt lowered his voice, walking his bike closer to Belmont. He pointed toward the building. “I think they’re in there.”
Belmont narrowed his eyes. “In there?” He shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“No one’s ever in that building. But it looks like someone’s there now. Don’t those windows look lit?”
“That could just be blue-ties working.”
“I swear, this building was vacant before tonight.”
“It’s not vacant.” Belmont stammered uncharacteristically. “It’s… a government building conducting top secret operations. I guarantee you, we’d know if someone broke in.”
“Three West Sphere invaders managed to get into Station 1 and kill General Rhodes,” Merritt said. “Anything is possible.” He turned to Belmont. “You can find out if anyone’s inside, can’t you? Do you know who works here? Can you call them?”
“I can. But I shouldn’t. Not without Mercury’s approval. And I don’t think he’d give it, just for a simple kidnapping in the slums.”
There it was. Merritt’s chest deflated, and his shoulders sank. “Just a simple kidnapping in the slums,” he repeated hollowly.
Belmont swallowed hard.
Merritt turned away so Belmont couldn’t see his rising disgust. He’d been wondering why Belmont seemed so reluctant to help him, why Belmont didn’t feel the same sense of urgency he did, why Belmont questioned and challenged him at every turn. Now he had confirmation of what he’d suspected from the start. The kidnapped orphans were just aces. This type of crime was never prosecuted. Neither he nor Belmont could ever convince the North’s elites to give a damn.
His blood pumped hard and fast, and new sweat surfaced on his skin. He felt like a powerless child all over again—barely strong enough to liberate himself, too slow to save Torrence from being carried out the orphanage door. Thanks to his failure, Torrence had been scarred forever.
Merritt needed to fight. He needed to do something, no matter who was trying to hold him down.
He turned to Belmont, allowing his passion to show on his face. “I know Mercury doesn’t care about aces. But I do. Can we fight for it?”
“What do you want me to say to him?” Belmont asked, looking as hopeless as Merritt was determined.
“This goes far beyond a ‘simple’ kidnapping. This is an invasion of the business district—just like the West Sphere invasion last year. We’d be derelict in our duty if we didn’t check it out.” He held up his hands to calm Belmont. “I understand if I don’t have the clearance to know what type of work is done in that building. I’ll stay out of the way. I just want us to make sure there was no break-in.”
Belmont grumbled under his breath. “Can’t I ever have a Friday night off?” Seeing that he would get no sympathy from Merritt, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll call Mercury. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to wait out here in the open.” He pointed toward the low-rise building on the opposite side of the alley. “This building’s unoccupied for the night, and I can get us in with my thumbprint.”
Merritt followed Belmont into the vacant building, which appeared to be a private medical practice with the entrance leading straight into a waiting room. Rigid chairs with uncomfortable-looking cushions lined the walls. Along the northern wall was a padded bench that looked just as uninviting as the chairs. A counter blocked off the reception area in an L-shape. Merritt spotted doors to an office and employee restroom behind the counter.
Belmont ducked into the office to make his phone call, and Merritt rushed for the windows. He peered out at the neighboring building, but he couldn’t make out any movement. Resigned, he returned to the center of the waiting room and paced anxiously around the coffee table. Magazines lay fanned out on the wood surface. The cover on top showed a surreptitiously snapped photo of Samsid East talking closely with Mercury in a shadowy North Sphere alley. “More Than Meets the Eye?” the headline read.
Despite being turned off by the tabloid-style photo, Merritt couldn’t resist grabbing the magazine. He flipped to the featured story and gave it a quick skim.
The first paragraph cited a news article in The Bird Post, a South Sphere publication that was known to deal more in rumor than confirmed fact but was often proven true in the end. The article claimed that Samsid was a preteen in an East Sphere orphanage when it was targeted with a chemical attack by an unknown assailant. The attack had permanently damaged Samsid’s eyes, leaving him sightless for years. In a sphere like the East where physical disabilities made one a target, he was at risk, so he’d secretly taken refuge in the South, where he was taught to survive without the aid of his vision. He’d even learned to ride South Sphere motorcycles while blind.
“It wasn’t until King Damen Mercury—then Dr. Mercury North, Director of Surgery—took Samsid under his wing that his eyes miraculously healed, mysteriously turning from brown to green.” The article went on to speculate that Samsid owed Mercury a debt for fixing his eyes, and Mercury was now pushing him to pay up.
Merritt remembered the conversation he’d overheard during his “diplomatic” dinner with Mercury and Samsid. Mercury had asked Samsid how his eyes were, then claimed that he’d “done miraculous things” for Samsid already. Samsid had replied, “I didn’t ask for these. I didn’t want ‘em. They’re hell, and I don’t owe you shit for ‘em.”
As a child only a year younger than Samsid, Merritt had heard about the series of chemical attacks on East Sphere orphanages. It had happened in the middle of a war between the East and the North. The chemicals were clearly a North Sphere weapon, but the North had denied involvement and claimed they were framed. Merritt had believed in his sphere wholeheartedly, but the East didn’t buy it. They swore revenge, one way or another.
Over a decade later, the East had yet to take their revenge.
Merritt dropped the magazine as a sudden thought struck him. The guy on that cargo bike was a good rider. So was Samsid. Was Samsid now the man tasked with carrying out the East’s revenge? If he’d survived a chemical attack, he had a personal stake in it.
Merritt shook his head, breaking the strands that threatened to connect his disparate thoughts into a full-blown conspiracy theory. He was letting his imagination get ahead of him, all thanks to a dubious magazine article.
Ten minutes passed, and Merritt could still hear Belmont’s voice through the closed office door. He sounded calm, then heated, then wildly desperate, then calm again.
Merritt continued to pace. It sounded like Belmont was having the argument of his lifetime. He crept behind the counter and cracked the office door open. Belmont turned, his lips pressed together. He shooed Merritt urgently away.
Merritt took a seat on the uncomfortable bench and grabbed the magazine again, hoping the article about Samsid would look more outrageous with a second read. Instead, it only seemed more plausible.
What if the East had been behind the North Sphere orphanage kidnappings not just tonight but ever since those chemical attacks? The North Sphere orphanage break-ins had preceded the East Sphere chemical attacks, but not every break-in was the same. When Merritt was younger, the people most likely to sneak into his dorm room were orphanage staff or drunk local perverts. When he started to approach his teen years, the perpetrators grew more varied. They sometimes came in groups of two or three, and they seemed more prepared, more militant. When those guys snatched someone, the kids were far less likely to ever return.
Those were the ones who’d taken Torrence.
It would have been hard for an armband to get across the entire North Sphere undetected, but maybe they had a blue-tie co-conspirator giving them access. If Merritt could follow that lead and save these kids… could he find out what had happened to Torrence all those years ago?
Belmont suddenly shot out of the office. “Wait here a second,” he said on his way to the exit. He ducked outside then dashed around the corner. Merritt followed his movements through the windows, wondering if he knew he was being watched.
A young man stepped into the alley between the medical office building and the neighboring target building. He was rough but attractive, sporting bristly stubble and dirt-scuffed coveralls with reinforced knees. “I finished up ten minutes ago,” he called. Then, with a sexy smile, “I was hoping I’d see your face before I left.”
Belmont held up a hand and waved him over as if to shush him. Then he leaned in close, whispered something in his ear, and slipped some money into his back pocket. As the man turned to leave, Belmont gave him a slap on the ass. The man looked over his shoulder and playfully stuck out his tongue.
A wave of jealousy coursed through Merritt’s veins. He knew that Belmont liked to use his sexuality for negotiations, but it still jarred him to see such a thing play out before his eyes.
A minute later, Belmont finally stepped into the building. He looked around and curled his lip. “I always forget how hideous this place is. Whoever they hired to decorate should be fired. No, not just fired. Traded to another sphere.”
“What did Mercury say?” Merritt asked.
“He said there’s people working in the building across the alley tonight, and they say no one came in.”
“Did Mercury give you the okay to go inside?”
Belmont headed into the room and took a seat. “He doesn’t want anyone inside to be disturbed, so no. He’s having people make periodic phone calls to make sure nothing’s wrong. He said someone would call or text me if anything changes.” He squinted across the room at Merritt. “Are you one hundred percent sure they didn’t cross the border?”
“No,” Merritt admitted after a long pause. “Not one hundred percent. But we can call Devon. His team would have video logs of the border.”
“Do you want to call, or should I?” Belmont asked. He didn’t sound at all excited to get back on the phone.
Merritt whipped out his phone. Across the room, Belmont picked the top magazine off the coffee table as if trying to appear nonchalant. He flipped to the story about Samsid.
Devon answered Merritt’s call, sounding as amiable as ever. “Hello, General. How can I help you?”
“Devon, I need you to check the last hour of video logs of the North’s water tunnel exit. We had some East Sphere invaders come through on a cargo bike, and I’m trying to track their exit.”
“Hmm,” Devon replied, as if Merritt’s request was more of a strain than he’d expected. “My teams are busy tracking a terrorist threat at the sub-Ravenswood elite border. It might be half an hour or so before I can get anyone on your job.”
“That’s fine,” Merritt replied, even though it wasn’t. He knew the deal; ace threats against the elite borders always took priority over foreign threats to the lower and middle class. “Call me back in forty.”
“Will do, General.”
Merritt hung up and glanced at Belmont while pacing across the room. “We won’t have news for a while. I might ride out and patrol the area.”
“Maybe you should take a few breaths,” Belmont said, eyeing Merritt with concern. “You’re all wound up. I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Merritt frowned and tried to slow his pacing. Belmont was right; he was wound up—and doing a terrible job of hiding it. But how could he not be? What was happening to those stolen kids right now?
He thought back to the days he’d spent at the orphanage leading his bunkmates in drills to fight against their intruders. Years later, there was still nothing that jolted him awake faster than the memory of rough, powerful hands yanking him out of his bed.
After Torrence had gone missing, Merritt had agonized for weeks. When Torrence had finally made his escape and reappeared, he’d been gaunt and disheveled, and forever changed. He’d refused to speak a word of what had happened to him, not even to Merritt. But after that night, he’d become mistrustful, paranoid. And his health never quite recovered.
Every kid taken tonight was someone’s best friend, someone’s sibling.
Merritt had never mentioned the break-ins to Belmont. The subject had never come up. Maybe if he could explain, Belmont would take his concern more seriously.
But when he opened his mouth, the first words that emerged had nothing to do with orphans. “Who was that guy outside?”
Belmont glanced at the window as if just realizing Merritt had been watching him. He cracked a grin and laughed. “Oh, just a guy I used to fuck after work to avoid rush hour. I hadn’t seen him in years, but I knew he still worked maintenance in the building you’re scoping out. So I asked him to check inside and I slipped him a few dollars. If Mercury won’t do it, I’ve got my… back channels.”
Merritt chewed his lip.
“What?” Belmont grinned. “Are you jealous?”
Merritt felt a blush creep into his cheeks. “We have more important things to deal with.” He pulled his canteen from his pack and uncapped it. Those hours of intense training without enough water were finally catching up to him, just as Belmont had warned him on his way out the door.
He raised the bottle to his lips, then froze. He sniffed, blinked, then sniffed again.
Belmont looked up from his magazine, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s up?” he asked.
Merritt squinted down into the mouth of his canteen. He’d filled up at the Norwood gym, and he knew that water. It had a pungent bite to it, like copper and fish scales with a bitter finish and an aftertaste of days-old sweat. He had to hold his breath every time he took a sip. But this water smelled pleasant in comparison. It still had those same unsavory notes, but it was somehow milder.
He knew of only one substance that had no taste or smell but would subtly dilute the taste and smell of a beverage with only a few drops. IPJ-8. But he hadn’t let his canteen out of his sight, had he? It had been stowed away in his locker. Ellis knew his code, but Merritt somehow doubted Ellis’s desire for an evening off was strong enough for him to drug his principal. Besides, he’d left hours ago, with no idea what Merritt had planned for the rest of the night. And Merritt couldn’t imagine any of the gym’s regular patrons finding a way past his keypad, or having a reason to try.
But the only other person who’d been in the locker room was….
“Something wrong?” Belmont asked from across the room.
Merritt capped his canteen. “No. It’s just—the water from the Norwood gym is disgusting.”
“So dump it out and refill it,” Belmont said offhandedly, then turned back to his magazine.
Merritt sat still, pasting on a poker face. Only Belmont had been in that locker room, but how could he have gotten to the canteen while it was locked away?
His breath caught when he remembered the story Belmont had told him of Jennifer, the South Sphere goat whom he’d granted honorary North Sphere citizenship using his bully’s blue tie. “I’m good at cracking numerical codes,” Belmont had claimed, “so I popped the lock on his locker and stole his tie.”
Merritt glanced at Belmont out of the corner of his eye. Belmont appeared pointedly absorbed in the article about Samsid.
Maybe Merritt was being paranoid. Belmont didn’t seem to care whether he drank the water or not. Maybe someone else besides Belmont and his gym mates had been in the locker room, and he’d been too absorbed in training to notice.
He headed around the counter and into the employee restroom. He didn’t dump his water or refill the canteen; he wanted to keep it. He could pick up an IPJ-8 testing strip from the pharmacy and check the contents later. He didn’t want to risk putting his mouth to the bottle anyway.
He ran water in the sink, thoroughly washed his hands, then cupped them under the stream. He drank his fill, then shut off the flow.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Belmont looked up at him. “Do we really need to wait here for Devon to call back? It’s depressing. We should go somewhere else.”
“Hmm.” Belmont had a point, but Merritt was having trouble deciding on a response. He felt an odd pressure in his head, and it clouded his thoughts. Maybe he was stressing himself out too much. Uncomfortable heat built up around his neck and shoulders. He shrugged off his fighting jacket and set it aside on the counter, but then he immediately felt a chill set in.
“Come and sit down,” Belmont said, narrowing his eyes. “You look wobbly.”
Merritt was about to disagree when he felt the floor fall out from under him, as if he were in an elevator that suddenly dropped a couple stories. No—nothing was wrong with the floor. It was him. Staggering, he grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself.
Belmont shot to his feet and bolted across the room. Merritt’s vision blinked out for a split second, then flashed back on just in time to see Belmont inches away, catching him as he careened forward.
The room spun around him. He clutched Belmont’s arm.
He remembered this feeling. The room had spun the same way after Archer had failed to immunize him against IPJ-8. But he hadn’t drunk the tainted water…?
“Merritt, you’re going to fall down.” Belmont wrapped an arm around him, pulling him forward. He looked concerned—but not surprised. “Look, you can barely stand. Come and lie down on the bench.”
At the feeling of arms wrapping around him, Merritt’s instincts kicked in. He knew what was coming. He scrambled, trying to thrash out of Belmont’s grasp, but vertigo hit him hard. He lacked the coordination to break free.
“Come on,” Belmont said again. “Don’t fight me. Just come and lie down.”
“No,” Merritt gasped. “No.” He tried to warn Belmont, but he couldn’t string words together. A flash of pain coursed through his abdomen.
“Merritt, if you would just calm down—”
Merritt lurched forward, vomiting on Belmont’s chest. Belmont released him and jumped back, but not before his double-banded tie was soiled. Merritt fell to his knees where he continued to hack up the water he’d drunk moments before.
After his spasms finally ceased, he sucked in a deep breath. His body felt shaky as if in the throes of a high fever, and his vision still wavered, but the fog was lifted from his mind. He could at least think clearly.
He’d been poisoned with IPJ-8. There was no question about it.
Belmont stared down at him, stunned.
What was that look on his face? He wasn’t wearing the expression Merritt would have expected of him. Why did he look more shocked now—seeing Merritt nauseated but lucid—than he had when Merritt had emerged from the bathroom and nearly fallen unconscious?
It only made sense if Belmont had expected him to be knocked out.
“Looks like Belmont’s purchased enough IPJ-8 to knock out a small village.” That’s what Archer had said the day she’d tried to immunize Merritt, after they’d looked up Belmont’s drug purchase history. She’d thought it was strange for him to have that much of the poison on hand, and she’d said that he’d kept his stash in a warehouse where, theoretically, he and his allies could access it on a whim.
Belmont had told Merritt to take a drink of his drug-tainted water before he’d left the gym, and Merritt had declined. When that hadn’t worked, had Belmont resorted to poisoning this entire building’s water supply? Is that what he’d paid his maintenance worker and former lover to do?
Belmont stood in the bathroom doorway, cursing under his breath as he wiped his shirt and tie with a handful of paper towels. He didn’t use water to rinse them off. When he realized Merritt was watching him, he tossed the crumpled mess aside and looked up. “Hey. You feeling better?”
Merritt stared at him in horror. “You… poisoned me.”
Belmont’s eyes went wide. For a second, he looked ready to deny the accusation, but then he met Merritt’s gaze, clenched his teeth, and shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“You didn’t call Mercury. That guy outside—he didn’t check that building. You hit me with your bike.”
“Merritt….” Belmont took a step forward.
“Stay away from me,” Merritt growled. He still felt weak from the aftermath of his IPJ-8 reaction, and he didn’t want another fight. But if Belmont brought it to him, he wouldn’t hold back.
“Merritt, you have to trust me.” Belmont took another step. “You can’t go out there. I need you to stay calm and listen—”
Merritt sprang to his feet and stumbled toward the exit.
“No!” Belmont yelled, chasing after him. He jumped on Merritt just as he reached the door, knocking him against it before he could pull it open.
“Get off me,” Merritt groaned, hoping his voice was more threatening than his unsteady stance. He knew from his failed immunization that it would take hours before he’d be at full strength again. He wasn’t sure if he could take on Belmont in his current state. “I’ll break your arms. I’ll knock you out. I’ll—”
Belmont tried to wrestle him away from the door, but he used every ounce of his power to hold his ground, putting up just enough of a fight to keep Belmont from knocking him off his feet. With every movement, he felt dizzier, and his desperation grew. He threw an elbow. It landed hard, bloodying Belmont’s nose.
“For fuck’s sake,” Belmont gasped through a sniff. He caught Merritt’s wrist, holding his fist at bay. Merritt threw a punch with his left hand, striking Belmont high on the cheek. With an exasperated growl, Belmont caught him and pulled him forward until he was too close to take another swing. “Merritt, please. Just wait—”
Merritt thrashed, unexpectedly breaking free and nearly spiraling to the ground. His reflexes kicked in, turning his momentum into a smooth arc as he delivered a spinning back elbow to Belmont’s face. He caught Belmont perfectly on the chin, and they tumbled to the ground in unison.
Merritt was the first to spring back up. He pulled the door open and dashed outside. He wasn’t sure if he’d knocked Belmont out or only knocked him down, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
He darted around to the back of the building, stumbling multiple times on the way and resorting to intermittent crawled steps. Only after jumping onto his bike did he accept that he was far too dizzy to ride even a few blocks. After the first block, he had to abandon it. He dragged it out of sight behind a pile of construction debris, knowing the hiding place was tenuous at best. But at this point, he had to prioritize his life over his bike.
He needed to get to a safe spot so he could figure out his next move. Belmont could catch up with him at any moment, and he wasn’t well enough to reliably protect himself.
Crouching behind a courtyard wall encircling the back yard of the nearest building, he plotted his path. He was too wobbly to stay on his feet, so he crawled toward the barely visible dumpster corral around the corner. He listened intently as he pulled himself forward on his knees and elbows. His surroundings were quiet, but he could feel the presence of life nearby. He tried to steady himself against the courtyard wall as he crawled. Rough brick scraped his bare shoulder.
He was barely six feet from the corner when he heard a soft, rusty squeal behind him. His reflexes were too dull to snap him to action. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a split-second glimpse of an opened gate before someone jumped him from behind and shoved him face first against the brick wall, still on his knees. A gloved hand covered his mouth, and a gruff male voice whispered in his ear, “I didn’t want to have to do this, Merritt.”
Another hand pushed the hem of his cut-resistant tank up; then something sharp pricked his lower back, just above his left hip. He knew he’d been injected with something, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He reached for his ankle strap and pulled his knife out from its concealed sheath. He turned and swung, aiming for his attacker’s neck, but the masked man behind him dropped his syringe and held up a hand to shield himself. The blade slashed deep across his palm, straight through his black leather glove. With a pained growl, the man stumbled back.
Merritt pushed himself to his feet, ready to take another swing, but the man was already in retreat. Merritt barely spotted a blur of broad shoulders and heavy black boots before his attacker slipped around the corner and out of sight.
Merritt collapsed to the paved ground and let his eyes close. When he opened them half a minute later, he noticed his attacker’s empty syringe lying on the ground inches from his face. He picked it up. It was a standard medical syringe, not military grade and not a syringe dart. He pulled out the plunger and took a sniff. The scent was unmistakable: it was the lethal poison GUS-42.
“Thank you, Archer,” Merritt whispered to himself. If she hadn’t immunized him, he’d have been dead seconds after the injection.
He glanced at the corner behind which his attacker had disappeared, and he wondered if the man would come back for a second try. And what about Belmont? Had he been trying to protect Merritt from that guy, or had he called the guy in to take Merritt out?
He had no way of knowing, and every moment he spent outside in the open was another chance for one of them to come after him. He didn’t even have his fighting jacket for protection.
He continued his crawl toward the nearest street, crossed it, and disappeared into the shadowed alleys on the other side.
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