Enemy Within (Vampire Born Trilogy, #2) (19 page)

“David!” I scream as I run through their family room. I barrel down the hall and burst into David’s room.

Empty.

I swivel on my heel and whisk down the hall into the kitchen. I try to stop, but my feet can’t get traction.

I slide across the linoleum.

In blood.

David’s sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, which is spreading fast. His throat is slit all the way to his trachea.

The bloody knife lays on the floor, glinting up at me.

His eyes are open, but they’re empty.

Lifeless.

“Nooooo!” I wail. Something deep and powerful inside me snaps. My whole body fills with unadulterated rage.

My skin’s on fire. No, it’s under my skin.

Maybe it’s the horror of the torn flesh, the sinew and bone.

Or maybe it’s simply the loss of another innocent life on my account.

Bang!

My head snaps up when the back screen door slaps closed.

I run toward it, slipping in David’s blood for a few steps until my feet find purchase. I sprint, bypassing the door altogether by flexing my Nestati again.

Once outside, I spot a man running into the woods.

I flex again and land at the tree line.

I needed to go past it.

The man runs through the trees.

I chase him, trying to flex enough to land on top and tackle the bastard to the ground, but I keep coming up short.

I’m too weak—my blood buzz spent.

I pull out my phone and autodial Mirko. I run as fast as I can, holding the phone to my ear.

He better have that thing on.

“Slat—”

“David’s dead. I’m chasing his killer right now. We’re in the woods behind David’s, heading toward the railroad tracks!”

“I’m on my way. Keep him in your sights, but do not approach him,” Mirko growls.

I jam my phone in my pocket, not even ending the call.

I’m going to do a lot more than approach this guy.

He’s fast, definitely a Zao Duh or Pijawika. Most likely a Pijawika.

Mirko’s fast, but that’s because he’s Mirko, and luckily for me, Mirko is the one I race when I train.

My lungs burn from the cold and a stitch roars up in my side, stabbing me on each inhale. I push harder. The guy took David’s life.

He murdered him.

With a weapon.

Pijawikas aren’t supposed to use weapons. It’s cheating. It makes the already horrendous crime more violent.

I’m determined to make him pay.

Fury bubbles inside me so fierce, I can’t think of anything else, but the way I push my body clears my head some.

The guy mentioned the Commission. Told me to run and hide.

Why does he care if I stay or if I run?

Could my father have something to do with it after all?

Did he send him as a last resort to keep me from testifying?

I don’t want to believe that.

But why David? How did David get into this guy’s crosshairs?

I somehow run harder when the guy gets farther away. My heartbeat sounds in my ears. I’m not stopping until I have my hands around his throat.

I flex again to gain some ground, but it takes too much strength and actually costs me a few steps.

What’s the benefit of being so strong if I can’t use my powers when I need them?

I recall flexing in Garwin’s foyer when the Commissioners called me, back at school when my father came and I went to grab Mirko, and flexing as far as from the hospital to David’s. I couldn’t really expect Mirko’s blood to last longer than that.

My focus wanes and slows me down, so I push all thoughts aside and fix my full attention to the murder in front of me.

He isn’t getting tired, but no matter how bad my side hurts, I won’t allow myself to, either.

Grinding and shrieking sounds in the distance.

We’re approaching the train tracks. Sounds like a train’s approaching us.

The guy shoots out of the trees and a couple seconds later, I’m out of the forest and running through the dead grass, then up the gravel hill alongside the tracks.

He speeds alongside the train. It must be going at least seventy miles an hour, and the guy is barely a bit slower, maybe sixty-five.

He reaches a train car shaped like a big, black gas tank, a metal ladder welded to the side. He latches onto a rung and jumps.

I struggle to speed up to reach the car, but I’m already at my max speed. The car beside me doesn’t have anything to grasp, but the one behind it is another tank.

I slow slightly until the tank is beside me and I keep pace with it for a couple of steps before lunging onto the ladder.

I wrap my fingers tight around the metal in fear that I’ll slip and fall under the train’s heavy wheels.

“Brooke!”

I arch my head back at the same time Mirko clears the trees.

Whoa. He’s fast.

But not fast enough. The murder’s still ahead of us.

I take a deep, aching breath and scramble up the ladder to the top of the tank. It has a circular railing, so I climb over it and run to the front of the car, readying myself to jump.

I hesitate, gauging the distance, not sure how far I need to jump while the train is in motion.

The guy’s now five or six cars ahead.

I vault in the air and hope the next car will catch my fall. I land the same time I hear a heavy ding against the car I vacated. Mirko is on the train.

I don’t stop and wait for him.

I scramble to my feet and run, swinging my arms at my sides and pushing so hard, spittle flies out of my mouth with every exhale.

I jump the next car and slide a little when I land. My arms shoot out to balance and I take off again, jumping the next car with precision, and the next car and the next car until the guy is only one ahead of me.

I allow myself one last flex, and I flex so hard a tooth groans like it might snap.

I arrive on the same car as David’s murderer. I plummet into the air and land on his back, pushing him down onto the cold, hard steel.

I don’t spare him any time. I clock him in the side of the face.

“Who sent you?” I scream and punch with the other hand.

“What’s your name?” I punch again and again, never letting up.

“Brooke! Stop!” Mirko hollers behind me.

Bone snaps and still I land blow after blow.

Blood spurts into my face when his nose breaks, but I slam my fist down again.

“Who sent you?” I sock him in the eye, shattering his socket, and still I don’t stop.

Mirko tackles me from behind and rolls me off the guy. “He can’t answer you when you do that.”

I push him off and scramble back to the guy, throwing one leg over him.

His hands are free, but instead of fighting back, he reaches into his pocket, and then brings his hand up.

He places something in his mouth and slams his broken jaw up with his palm, crunching whatever he put between his teeth.

“What is that?” I growl, reaching my hands to his face and trying to dig his lips open with my fingers.

“It’s a suicide pill,” Mirko says from beside me.

I jerk my hands away. “A what?”

“A cyanide pill. We’re not going to get anything out of him.” He sounds defeated.

I scrutinize the guy’s face and slap it. “Who sent you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only stares up at me through his swollen and bloody face like he can’t breathe.

“Hey!” I slap him harder.

He sputters and gurgles.

Strange noises bubble up as he chokes.

I stand and kick him in the side. “Who sent you, damn it?”

Mirko pulls me away. “He’s dying.”

“You son of a bitch!” I yell.

He does
not
get to kill David and go out like this. “Who sent you?” I scream and kick him so hard, a rib gives under my foot.

He feels it too because he gurgles louder.

His face turns purple. His eyes widen, and then he’s out.

He still wheezes, so he must be unconscious.

“Why would he do that?” I ask Mirko, stunned.

“So we can’t interrogate him.” He looks down at the piece of trash. “That was the worst interrogation I’ve ever seen. What were you thinking, Slatki? Even if he wanted to answer you, he couldn’t with the way you pummeled him like that.”

“He killed David!” I yell and point at the dying man. I glance down at him again. His face is a mean red and his mouth starts to foam.

Such an ugly sight.

Good. He better be suffering.

His legs jerk and the rest of his body follows suit.

“What the …?” I step back. We’re on a speeding train and I don’t want one of his wild arms or legs to knock me off.

“He’s seizing.” Mirko pulls me back a little more.

The guy’s rigid body flops and flails on top of the train car as it speeds through the cold Virginia air.

When he finally settles, I can’t speak.

David is dead.

The guy who killed him is dead.

But I don’t feel better about anything.

I’m not appeased.

I’m cheated. David is still dead, we don’t know who ordered it, and I just saw a man die—pretty much at my hand. Although he deserved it, I have no doubt his face will haunt me in my sleep.

My humanity?

It’s gone.

The old Brooke would’ve fallen to her knees on David’s bloody floor and wept. She would’ve held his hand and rocked back and forth as she cried.

Not this Brooke, though.

This Brooke tasted revenge.

Her vision turned red with the scent of blood and she sought to spill even more of it.

And she did.

She’d shattered bone, tore skin, and caused a man to kill himself.

But no matter how savage I was with this man, I can’t garner one ounce of regret for any of my punches.

In fact, I don’t think he suffered enough.

CHAPTER SEVEN
TEEN

Mirko

Brooke was brutal, which is exactly what she needs to be to survive this cruel new world. However, it’s her lack of control over this brutality that worries me. Her ability to turn it off doesn’t appear to be intact.

This lack could be dangerous to her
—and others.

I was in the middle of explaining to Kaitlynn how her life will change if she turns when Brooke called. I slipped out of the room before answering, so I didn’t get a chance to tell Kaitlynn she’ll go through a similar stage Brooke is experiencing.

The train clears the trees and flat, bare ground spreads out on both sides.