Silenced (4 page)

A zap of pain races up my spine. I swallow and steady myself on my feet. “The Presenting?” I stumble left. An instinctual burn sears my throat; it’s hard to swallow.

“You okay?” She drags a chair over to me and I slump down onto it. She puts an arm out to steady me. I gesture her away with a hand.

Another shock buckles me over at the waist.

I’m about to lose my shit. Four months without it, the song, is too much. I’ve been hanging from a death ledge for too long.

Another zap steals my air. Pain twists my mind, tunneling it around one thing. The thing that turns me into a monster. The instinct to drink down need. Another jolt. I jerk backward and clench my jaw.

I force my gaze toward Kenya, whose face is becoming a milky blur. “Get.” I gulp. “Out.”

Kenya’s mouth forms a small “o.” Her face dissolves in front of me. Soon, I won’t be able to see her as a person.

The pain knots my muscles and I contort into exorcist like angles. I smile up at her with a face full of crazy, but manage to jerk my head at the door.

“Now.” The command stutters out of my throat.

Her form dissolves and I feel it. Fear. A sense of being trapped.

“Oh.” She turns and her blurry form rushes across the room.

But somehow I’m on my feet, and I’m after her. I reach out to grab her arm. She twists out of my grasp and I jerk to a stop.

A manic growl escapes my burning throat and beats against the walls. Glancing down, I grunt at the line of rusty brown powder at my feet. It’s thick and airy looking, like cinnamon. A sweet smell rushes up my nose.

Sandalwood.

Slowly, my mind unfolds. Away from the twisted animal. Back to myself. The smell takes me somewhere. My brain slows, and I can hear skates scraping on ice. My favorite sound. I can even feel the bite of frost on my fingertips.

It makes me feel a little more human. Or something.

My lips twist into a tight smile. Sandalwood. Forces people into a meditative state. Smart girl.

I stand there for several moments getting my shit together. Sucking in large breaths and letting them out after a few moments. This isn’t how I get down. I haven’t been that out of control since my first time. When I’m sure I’m in control, I pass over the powdered herb and into my room.

Well, the room. Nothing at Compound Six is truly mine.

The room is draped in pale, yellow light and furnished with maroon furniture. I glance to the corner and find Kenya cowered there, a look of obvious fear on her face. I hold up my hands and make no move to close the distance between up. “My bad. Not a great apology, but it’s all I got.

She glowers and points to the desk beside the full sized bed. “Eat.” She tries to straighten. “Then, someone will be by… For you.”

I nod.

“If you don’t need anything else…”

I wave her off. I just tried to kill her, and she’s asking me if I need anything. “I’m good. Go.”

She hugs the walls, never taking her eyes off me as she creeps toward the door, then vanishes behind it in a rush. I reach up to rub my shoulder and glance at the beige tray. Steam rises from a small, ceramic bowl and something thick and mushy is piled onto the tray. I shuffle toward the desk and sit in a ratty old office chair with chunks of leather upholstery missing and grab a water spotted fork.

As I shovel food into my mouth—tasteless beans, a hard roll, and watery cream of something soup. I think about almost ripping Kenya’s head right off. I almost lost control. Been locked in silence for too long.

When the last of the roll and the rest of the food are gone, I toss my fork down and brush crumbs out of my unkempt goatee. It’s probably more of a gross, homeless dude beard at this point, but at least it matches my insides.

My stomach growls, still hungry. Sure, the food is crap but getting something in me helps drown out the other hunger. For a while.

Drawing in a deep breath, I stand and pace. I try to feel my legs under me. I try to steady my movements. I try to focus on anything other than that cool spray of a kill that nourishes the burning inside my chest.

I’m not doing a good job.

A knock on the door halts me. I gaze toward the sound and after a few seconds, it comes again. Trudging across the room, I pull the door open. Another strange face is staring up at me.

I raise an eyebrow and scan her up and down, from the rusty mess of wild curls to the light blue slippers on her small feet.

“Yes?” I open the door farther and lean against the back of it.

“Um.” She twirls a few curls and teeters between both legs. “I’m here for Pike?”

She speaks in whispers and doesn’t seem very sure of what she’s saying. It makes me grin.

I point at myself. “Pike.”

Her moss green eyes lighten, reminding me of sunlight darting through leaves. “Nice to meet you. Juliet sent me.”

Now that she sounds sure, I have no idea what the hell she means. My face tightens.

“Sent you for what?”

She frowns and fiddles with the pockets on her coveralls. Her full lips part, then she wrinkles her nose and shrugs. “Um, I’m here to… Help you heal?” Unsure again.

Slowly, I realize what she means. My eyes narrow. I can’t decide if Juliet is sicker than I thought, or if I should be grateful. The burn sears my throat. I wince. The girl bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable.

I get myself together so I don’t freak her out. “Right.” I pull the door all the way open as I step back. “Come on in.”

She nods, bobbing her wild curls, and saunters in. My gaze follows her nice round ass as she does.

Nice. Very nice.

I shut the door and clear my throat. Gesturing to the bed, the most comfortable place in the room, I say, “Have a seat.”

She lets out a giggle of nerves and bounces across the room. She sits cross-legged on the bed. How adorkable.

I walk over and hold out a hand. She places her own in my palm, and I bend to kiss it. I get another girlish giggle.

Smiling as I straighten I ask, “Got a name, giggly?”

She nods. “Tahlia.”

“Tahlia.” I sit on the chair next to the bed. “I’d offer you something to eat, but all I have is beard crumbs.” I smile.

She laughs again and waves me off. I find myself leaning over, as if the sound of her laugh has strings that pull me in.

“I already ate. But thank you.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. Her eyes meet my gaze, a half smile on her lips. “So, how does this work?”

My mind stutters, unable to think of an answer. “How… this works?”

“Yeah, you know… You calling me.”

“Calling you,” I mutter, a surplus of useless replies. My body slowly tightens as the reality of the situation sets into my muscles.

Juliet sent this girl here for me to kill.

I squeeze my eyes shut, disgust swarming my insides. Not because it’s not the same thing that I just realized only moments ago, but because this is not how I do things.

Not anymore.

What’s even worse is that I don’t know if I’m disgusted by the fact Juliet sent this girl here to die, or by the fact that I’m going to kill her anyway.

I pace the room while this girl, Tahlia, prattles on like I’m not about to take her life. Her youth and eagerness crash into me like jagged waves. Thoughts roar in my head at high speeds, none of which stick around for very long. Well, none but the one.

Juliet sent this girl here to hear my song. For me to kill.

Like I’m one of her murderous Enforcers.

And I want to.

I grit my teeth and dart my gaze at her. I want to
real
bad.

Her energy jabs at me like a heavyweight pinning me to the ropes, until my throat is an ache of rug burn. Sweat beads up on my brow, and need sends jolt after jolt of pain through my body.

Yeah, I’m going to kill this fine ass, prattling girl.

No!

I stop pacing and ball my hands up at my sides.

I try to inhale control on my breath. As I hold it into my lungs, I repeat a revised version of the little engine mantra.

I will not kill. I will not kill.

“Pike?” Her strained voice darts through my storm-swept thoughts, and I pause to glare into those thick, green eyes. She stands and inches toward me.

I go rigid.

She juts up her chin, an expectant look on her face.

My eyes narrow. “You say something?” I back a few inches away from her.

She folds her arms with a smirk on her lips. “I asked if you play.” She gestures across the room toward the bed. I follow her gaze and spot a worn, black guitar case leaned against the foot of the bed.

My body jerks in pain.

She gasps. “You okay?” As her arm reaches to steady me, I stumble a few feet away.

I breathe through the pain and force my attention back to the case. It’s the first time I’ve noticed it. Almost killing Kenya must have distracted me. I gulp down the even stronger want—no, not want, need--to kill Tahlia-and clear my mangled throat.

“Uh, yeah. That’s Gip.”

Her footsteps shuffle and my gaze follows as she moves back to the bed and runs a finger down the case. She turns her head, a sly smile settled on her face.

“Gip?” she asks.

“It’s what I call my guitar.”

She giggles. “I’ve never known a guy that named his instrument.”

I grin at the double meaning and she blushes.

“Will you play for me?”

The laugh I choke up almost sounds demented. “Nah.”

Her eyes go wide and white. “Why not?”

I reach behind my head and pull my dreads back. I need a hair tie; this shit is hotter than a mofo. But pulling on it delivers sharp little pains to my scalp. It distracts me from the fact that I want to kill her now.

Breathe.

I will not kill.

I will not kill.

I clear my throat and force my face into the most neutral position I can manage. “Because if I did that, it’d only kill you faster.” Angel and demon Pike go back and forth in my brain.

Her mocha skin flushes slightly, unaware of the war inside my mind. She raises her thin, arched eyebrows. I stand, tightening every muscle in my body as I study her reaction. As she lifts herself up on her tiptoes, then back onto the balls of her feet, I try to keep her desires out.

Which is…

Impossible.

Just when I’m thinking one of us needs to go before things go bad for her, she shrugs.

“Well, I know what I signed up for.”

When she releases the guitar case, she actually smiles. My mouth falls dumbly.

“Come again?”

She nods, lowering the case onto a pile of clothes and stuff I once again, just noticed.

“Yeah, my roommate was tapped for this. She was a sympathizer so…” She runs a finger across her neck and makes a croaking noise. “But when I heard about you, I made a show of stealing her bread.” A smug smile paints her lips. “And the only thing worse here than sympathizing is rule breaking.”

She sounds proud, a fact that interests me.

Not that this is new to me. I’m used to people, especially females, seeking me out. Most of the time they don’t even know they’re doing it. Maybe her being so intentional is what intrigues me.

“So…” I stroll back to the seat at the desk and spin around to face her. “You want this?”

Shuffling across the carpet, she takes her former place on the bed. Her head tilts against her shoulder and a thoughtful look graces her face. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then yes.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Like I said, I get this a lot. The ones that come looking. Apparently, bitches love sirens.

That’s always been part of the problem.

I clear my throat. “Depends. What have you heard?”

“You know… beautiful women, draped on rocks luring sailors to their doom.”

I shake my head. “That would be water nymphs. Nasty bitches. They eat people.”

She laughs, and again, the sound digs into me, adding fuel to the inferno. I take deep breaths and grapple for control. My fingernails dig into my palms.

“That’s what I heard as a young girl.”

“And recently?” I say, teeth clenched.

She shrugs. “That the beauty of the song is worth it. And that you are all… irresistible. That the males can…” She places a hand next to her mouth and leans in like she has a juicy secret. “Give women everything they desire.”

Yup, that’s pretty much the standard, romanticized truth.

I force my gaze away from her face. “How old are you, Tahlia?”

“Twenty-two,” she says.

Another wave of her energy smacks me in the face. I force in a shuttering breath and close my eyes. My head swims. Soon, the pain will rip me away again. Soon I will be a brutal monster.

My body jerks forward.

Not soon, now.

Tahlia gasps. I double over and bite down a grunt. I can feel her hovering over me as my body wrenches from painful bolts.

The agony rips my mind, wraps silence around my nose, my mouth. Steals the air.

“How long has it been?” Her voice comes at me like there are miles between us.

I try to swallow and wind up croaking. I gasp for air, but it sticks to the edge of my lips, closing off my throat. Caving in my lungs.

I can’t…

Answer.

I can’t be…