Disruption (27 page)

As if it had ever been any other way.

At that thought I looked at Quentin and realised just how wrong I was. Two guards were leading him in the opposite direction, but perhaps sensing my eyes he looked back at me, then at the guard whose fingers were digging roughly into my shoulder.

‘It would not be wise to forget who I am.’ Quentin’s voice was level and so measured it was almost terrifying. ‘If you harm her in any way, it will mean the end of you.’ It wasn’t just his voice. He radiated authority and strength beyond anything I’d seen before. The guard’s grip on my shoulder loosened instantly. I stared at Quentin and, before he turned away, I caught the flash of pain in his eyes and a determination that made me shiver, reminding me he was indeed a Mercer.

And now … he despised me.

The moment I was shoved into the waiting elevator I felt a sharp sting in the side of my neck. Tranq. My vision blurred even as the reality of my situation became crystal clear. I hadn’t always been on my own. For a brief time, with Quentin, I’d had everything.

Then I’d thrown it all away.

I
woke with a gasp, my heart pumping hard as I shot to my feet and looked around wildly.

‘Epinephrine.’

I spun towards the voice.

Garrett Mercer.

I put my hands on my knees, trying to slow my breathing and get myself under control. They’d given me an adrenalin shot. I was in a grey cement cell. No windows, of course. There was a toilet in one corner and a narrow bed in the other. Nothing else.

Desperate to mask the tremors I couldn’t control, I fisted my hands by my sides and turned back to Garrett. It wasn’t a surprise they’d brought me out of the sedation. I didn’t imagine he waited for anyone.

I swallowed a few times, trying to loosen my throat. ‘How long have I been out?’ I rasped.

‘Just over a day,’ he said, his cold eyes locked on me.

‘Where’s Quentin?’ I asked.

He tilted his head, considering me like a lion stalking its prey. ‘You played my son; told him things he wasn’t ready to hear or understand. Poisoned him against his family. There will be a price for that.’

‘I didn’t need to poison him for him to know the difference between right and wrong,’ I said.

‘And you … Maggie,’ he snarled my name. ‘Which one are you?’

‘Wrong,’ I said without hesitation. I studied Garrett in a similar fashion to the way he studied me. Had my father told him that Quentin was my true match? Had Quentin?

‘At least that is one thing we agree on,’ he murmured. ‘The question is: how much damage have you done?’ He was speaking more to himself than to me, so I didn’t respond. ‘And what am I going to do with you now?’

‘I’m sure there is a community pod that is due for clean-up soon,’ I sneered, knowing that was what he’d probably do.

He smirked. ‘True. But first you need to fix the problems you have created for my family. Eliza is very distressed.’

I swallowed, my throat raw. ‘What are you going to do with me then?’

Garrett tapped the door, indicating to the guards he was done with me. As the door opened his eyes met mine one more time, his pleasure evident. ‘I like to think of myself as a bit of an artist at times. And, like many artists, I find myself indecisive. It could take some time.’ His smile broadened. ‘It’s a good thing I know where you’ll be when I reach a decision.’

With that, he spun on his heel and left the cell, closing the heavy door behind him. A moment later the lights went out.

Sweat trickled down my neck as I felt my way towards the corner and reached the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach. It took a long time for the waves of nausea and wracking shivers to work their way through my system.

Time is impossible to track when there is no light. No routine. No sounds. Nothing that your mind can use to confirm the passing of a day. I had no idea how long I’d been locked in the cell. It felt like years. More likely, I reasoned, it was probably weeks.

It was the worst torture.

I’d expected to be paraded around and thrown to the wolves. I’d expected to be tossed into the worst of the neg communities and left to rot until the next cleaning day. I’d expected to be executed.

Instead, my ongoing existence and isolation gave me nothing but time to contemplate all the mistakes I’d made. The face of every neg I’d turned my back on when I’d gone into the tunnels in search of Dad haunted me. I relived the blackmail deals I’d made with contacts and wealthy businessmen, all to get what I wanted. I hadn’t given nearly as much thought to what I’d done to them as I should have. I’d done little more than ease my conscience.

For days, I thought of Gus. I cried when I finally admitted to myself that he was my best friend. That I loved him like family. And yet, I’d held him to ransom and made him believe I’d be his worst nightmare if he didn’t follow my every order.

I couldn’t blame him if he’d been working with my father this whole time. I probably would have if I were him.

At least I knew he had gotten away. He was out. That was the one good thing I’d done. And, knowing Gus, no one would ever find him.

I was starving.

Food and water were slid into the cell occasionally. But it was nothing more than stale bread. They were keeping me weak on purpose. It was smart. And cruel.

One day, they threw in a bowl with some kind of stew. I’d almost cried out as I crawled to it on all fours and poured the contents down my mouth, barely pausing to chew.

It took about thirty minutes to understand it had only been another punishment. My stomach rejected the rich flavours and I’d spent the rest of the day throwing up.

It was impossible to steer my thoughts away from Quentin for very long. They always ended with him. The look of betrayal on his face. The fear that he was down here like me. Slowly dying.

The only thing that stopped me giving up completely was the belief that, as awful as Garrett Mercer was, Eliza would never allow Quentin to just be left to rot. But if not this, then what? What horrors had he been made to endure? All because of me.

When I slept, I dreamed of him. They weren’t pleasant dreams. More like premonitions, knowing that if I ever saw him again he would be my enemy. He would want to destroy me. And I wanted him to. I wanted his revenge. My dreams were violent and I always woke up before the finale.

No one had spoken to me since Garrett Mercer. No one had come near me.

There was a tiny ventilation fan in the ceiling. It made a constant whirring sound. It kept me company.

I looked down at my M-Band. It had beeped a few times and the screen had even flashed up once, causing me a fleeting moment of hope. But it had been disabled since they’d captured me. There was no way to contact anyone, no way to check my vitals or activate my GPS. And yet, I knew they’d somehow hacked into it. Every now and then, I would hear a health screen test. They were monitoring me.

Slowly, I was losing my mind. The fact I understood this was the only way I knew it wasn’t already gone. I’d catch myself talking aloud to no one, seeing things in the darkness. Scenes from my past – family Christmases and birthday celebrations – played back movie-style, but in these versions my father now looked evil. And every now and then I’d scratch my arms or legs until they bled. Just to know I was still alive.

The first few days, I expected my father to show up. To waltz on in and tell me there had been a terrible mistake and he would take me home. Eventually I stopped expecting him. He was done with me.
Had been
done with me since that last night at Mitchell’s Diner.

I’d fallen to the ground a while ago. I’d been trying to do laps of the cell to keep my legs working. I tried to move as much as possible. But I’d gone downhill, and after I fell I hadn’t gotten back up.

After more time than I dared to consider, the door opened. I scrambled back into the corner. Had they finally come to kill me?

A guard stepped closer to me. I squinted up at him, struggling with the shards of light pouring in from the open door. He dropped a fresh bottle of water, a loaf of bread, two bananas and four energy bars at my feet.

‘Eat slowly. A few bites every hour.’ He turned and left, shutting out the light behind him.

My M-Band. They knew I wasn’t holding up.

I studied the selection. Plain food. Even the energy bars were made from basic ingredients. They wanted me alive.

Briefly, I considered denying them even that.

They wanted me to exist, knowing the failures of my life. I was supposed to be defeated. Lost for any cause and at their mercy.

But they had made two mistakes. Now that it was no longer about finding my father, I was finally able to give way to the thoughts I’d held at bay for so long. Finally able to consider what I could do with everything I knew.

My M-Band beeped. I looked down, almost too scared to consider what that particular tone signified. I hadn’t received any communication since I’d been in the cell. Slowly, I turned my wrist.

Tears instantly pricked my eyes.

My lips trembled.

My hands shook.

Was it even possible? I shook my head, staring at the message as it began to disappear one letter at a time, as if someone was trying to cover his tracks. Only one person I knew had those kinds of skills. But there could be plenty of M-Corp employees trying to set me up too.

But still.

Those words.

No one else could’ve given Gus those words.

No one.

I watched as the last letters disappeared, my M-Band going black again. It didn’t matter. The words were etched into my mind.

Never forget. I know that you know.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. ‘Quin,’ I whispered.

I shook my head and wiped the tears away. I couldn’t be sure. It could be some cruel punishment. The worst they’d given yet. A way to make me think he was outside and safe. But why? Did they think it would make me stop wanting to fight? Did they want to remind me of all that I’d lost?

Oh God.

I hoped it was real. I hit my chest with my fist to try to stop the ache. God, I hoped it was true. Those words only meant one thing. They were the words he’d given me when he’d told me that he loved …

I swallowed back the thought. It was too much.

I had to be smart.

Who was I kidding? Even if there was the smallest chance he could one day forgive … I blew out a breath, my mind rolling in a state of confusion. I needed to get strong.
Be
strong.

And not for my own selfish reasons anymore.

I managed to crawl onto the narrow cot, chewing slowly on my food rations. I contemplated what would happen if, in my father’s words, I ever saw daylight again. I knew it had to be about more. It always should have been. I thought of all of the intel that I’d secreted away over the past two years. All the evidence I’d collated and then ignored. All the innocent faces in so many neg hubs, and some of them probably weren’t even negs at all …

I wasn’t proud of myself.

There had been too much death. Given the chance, I would not stand by again, but it wouldn’t be about revenge. It wouldn’t be about me at all. Strange how that it was only then, locked away in my dark prison cell, that my eyes were finally opened.

And if they thought I was going to just give up before I knew that Quentin was safe, they were headed for disappointment.

I took a few sips from my bottle of water and braced my hands against the cold concrete wall for support. I trembled as I took my own weight, but eventually I was standing.

My purpose had delivered a new hope. That one day, I might do something worthy of his forgiveness. Of his love.

That was the moment I made myself a promise. That I would do whatever it took. I’d see this through to the end. Make it right. This promise, above all others, I will gladly keep.

As always, it takes a small army to produce and publish a novel, and I have been so fortunate to work with such an enthusiastic, knowledgeable and passionate team.

Huge thanks to my agent, Selwa Anthony. I am incredibly grateful to have someone to turn to who knows this business inside out and can so seamlessly navigate its waters on my behalf.

Thanks to the entire team at HarperCollins Australia. To my publisher, Tegan Morrison, who once again showed her meticulous attention to detail throughout the production process. Thanks goes to CEO James Kellow, head of children’s publishing Cristina Cappelluto, project manager Kate Burnitt, publicist Amanda Diaz, editor Deonie Fiford, designer Matt Stanton, and marketing executive Tim Miller. I’d also like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank Amy Fox in sales, Elizabeth O’Donnell in international rights, Janelle Garside in production, and children’s assistant Gemma Fahy.

Many thanks to my family, who continue to endure early drafts and dare to be honest. I love you all, and your honesty! To my husband, Matt, and our girls Sienna and Winter – you are my everything.

Finally, to all of the readers and bloggers out there who have supported my books, your enthusiasm and support are continually humbling. I hope you enjoy this first part of Maggie’s story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Look out for …

Corruption

The thrilling sequel to
Disruption

Also available …

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Every twenty-four hours she ‘Shifts’, living each day twice. She has one life in Wellesley, Massachusetts, and another, completely different life in Roxbury, Boston.

All Sabine has ever wanted is the chance to live one life. When it seems like this might finally be possible, Sabine begins a series of dangerous experiments to achieve her goal. But is she willing to risk everything – including the one man who might actually believe her?