Kristen Simmons - Breaking Point

I winced. Though his other tenants had to pay, those in the resistance fed his nicotine addiction, and we had returned without a carton of Horizons brand cigarettes.

“We’ll get you next time,” said Chase. He switched the bag of uniforms to his other shoulder.

“I’d always take a kiss,” he said with a devilish gleam in his eye.

“You’re not really my type,” said Chase.

John laughed. “You’ll come around.” He winked so pathetically at Chase that I couldn’t help but laugh.

We bypassed CJ the stairway guard—a seemingly drunk, homeless man with dreadlocks—and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Each step closer to resistance headquarters brought more relief. I couldn’t wait to tell Wallace and Billy of our success. I hoped it would overshadow the fact that Tubman and Cara had left without his approval. I wasn’t yet sure how we were going to break that to him, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be pretty.

With Chase on my heels, I pushed through the stairway door, which led to a long corridor lined by old beige wallpaper and stained blood-red carpet. Billy’s mangy black cat curled around my calf, purring her greeting.

Home. It wasn’t the home I’d always dreamed of, but the feeling was there, nonetheless, and I smiled, because I’d finally earned the right to stay here.

Raised voices in the hallway drew my attention. We weren’t the only ones back. Chase veered into the surveillance room to see if there were any new updates to the mainframe, but I wasn’t ready for bad news, not after completing my first mission. I sped toward the supply room, netted by the gathering crowd blocking the way, and warmed at the sight.

Sean was standing just outside the supply room door, hands behind his head, stretching his back. He looked worn out and dirty, and as I pushed through the others I could smell the mud and sweat on him. It didn’t matter; I was glad he was safe. Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“You’re back,” I said, relieved. “God you stink.”

He squeezed me tightly, ruffling my hair into knots. “Like you smell so much better.”

The greeting party made for a tight fit in the hall, and when he tried to avoid my punch he backed into Lincoln, who, when he saw me, said, “Hey, you’re alive,” and slapped me on the back. Houston, just behind him, offered his congratulations as well.

Sean pulled me off to the side. For the first time in weeks he looked genuinely happy about something.

“The new guy remembers Becca coming through the base,” he said. “He never saw her before she went to Chicago, but he remembers her name from the inmate roster.”

A smile spread across my face. Finally we had a lead.

The way cleared momentarily, revealing the recruit within the supply room. I could see only his profile, but his face was scruffy, his blond hair oily, and his muscular shoulders bowed. He wore donation-bin black slacks and a gray, long-sleeve thermal, rolled up to the elbows to reveal a scuffed cast half-torn off one arm. From where I stood I could see the faint pink lines of three parallel scars clawed from ear to collar.

Fingernails had scratched those marks.

My fingernails.

Tucker Morris.

There was a moment of fear. Crystallized, unbreakable fear, that congealed the blood in my veins and iced the breath in my throat. A moment where the frenzied images petrified me. The arrest. The hatred in his eyes. The taste of his breath. Those words I’d heard over and over again: I’m a damn good soldier. I did what needed to be done.

And then fury consumed me, and without another thought I pounced. He’d followed me. He’d come to finish the job. Well, I was going to finish it first. I was going to tear him to pieces. But Sean had grabbed me around the shoulders. I fought him like a cornered animal, no longer seeing my friend, only seeing danger. Feeling it rip through my limbs. My elbow swung back and connected with his jaw and a string of curse words tore from his mouth.

The breath released from my lungs in one burning strike: “Run!”

Wallace burst through the door of the supply room, but there was another person blocking my way. Riggins. I jerked to the side. His fingers caught in my clothing, but maybe it was deliberate. Maybe he was holding me back purposefully.

“Ember! Where is she?” I saw his black hair first, the glint off the silver gun barrel a moment later. The way cleared as those nearest to him contorted out of the way. Billy jumped on Chase’s outstretched arm, but it was too late. The trigger had already been pulled.

A crack of gunfire had me hitting the deck reactively. A flash of a red sweatshirt fabric and my fingers were smashed under someone’s shoe. The next thing I knew Sean’s fist was in my collar as he was shoving me farther down on the floor.

Chaos. Shouting. Running feet, echoing in my eardrums.

“Chase!” I screamed.

I got away from Sean. I shoved past Riggins. Tucker had ducked back into the supply room, and for a brief moment I panicked, realizing he had access to more than one weapon inside. But I had to find Chase first; everything else came second.

I could barely see him. He was beneath at least four other men. One of them was Houston, and he was slamming Chase’s forearm repeatedly into the floor to get him to release the gun.

“Stop it!” I jumped on Houston’s back and he burst up, spinning me into the wall. I grunted as all the air fled from my lungs at the impact. But I didn’t let go. I held fast to his neck.

Hands gripped my waist, pulling me down, squeezing me into submission with one arm locked firmly behind my back.

“Stop!” Sean ordered. “I don’t want to hurt you, okay?”

“Then let go!”

He released my arm but trapped me in a bear hug against him, where I struggled until his knees locked my flailing legs in place.

“Ember!” I heard Chase yell.

“I’m here!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” roared Wallace.

Houston and Lincoln hauled Chase to his feet, and I glanced fleetingly over his body to assure he wasn’t badly harmed. They pointed guns at him. As if he were the danger.

I smelled it now. Gun smoke. Just like in the house on Rudy Lane. Where had the bullet lodged? Somewhere in the floor. Every muscle pulled taut, like frayed twine, ready to snap.

“You and your damn hot head!” Wallace was shouting. “You had it, Jennings. You had it, and you threw it away. Dammit .” He got right up in Chase’s face, and I had the sudden image of a drill sergeant yelling at his troops.

Chase spat a mouthful of blood on the maroon carpet. His white teeth were stained red, and for some reason, of all things, this frightened me the most.

“Tucker and I have business,” Chase said.

“Not here you don’t,” said Wallace furiously. “You come here, into this family, and draw on one of your brothers? You’re out, Jennings. Clear your effects and get out of my sight.”

Silence.

“ What? Hold on a second.” Sean was the first to speak. He loosened his hold for just a moment, and in it, I dove in front of Chase, blocking Wallace’s words with my body.

“You want a gang, go find one,” said Wallace sharply over me to Chase. “There’re lots of them, right outside. You can shoot anyone you want.”

“I don’t want to shoot just anyone,” Chase said.

“There’s a reason,” said Billy in a tenuous voice. “There’s a reason, right, Chase?”

Chase didn’t answer.

“There’re a lot more than one.”

The way parted, and Tucker was revealed, one hand in his pocket, the casted arm hanging limply at his side. I immediately scanned for weapons. None that I could see, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one in the back of his waistband.