The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) (17 page)

Elliot didn’t budge an inch. "I'm not up to anything."

"Why did you request those files?"

"You can read my request in Central Records if you're that curious. It's not private."

The two stared at each other, returning to their long-standing power-struggle. They waited, presumably for one or the other to back down. When it became clear that neither would, Rainer jerked his chin toward Clover.

"Why did you get her?"

"She appealed to me." Elliot answered so quickly, and with such ease, that even Clover came close to believing him.

It was surprising to hear him playing the role that only a day before he'd been embarrassed about.

"What school did you get her from?"

Elliot paused this time, and Clover felt her stomach sink. He'd dropped the ball, and she knew the others would pick up on it as well. They’d not had access to the records she could only assume Fisher had planted, only the papers of ownership.

"That's none of your business." His voice, at least, didn't give anything away. "Stay away from her."

Not waiting for a response, Elliot made for the exit, keeping an arm wrapped protectively over Clover's shoulders as he ushered her out. From behind her, before the door had closed completely, Clover caught Pierson’s subdued voice.

"He has no idea where she's from."

"They can't hide it forever. We'll get another chance."

Rainer's answer muffled out at the end, but their words had Clover's stomach turning over and over as she and Elliot walked the empty hall back toward the lifts.

They'd been on the elevator for four floors when Elliot seemed to realize he was still holding her tight against his side. He released her and took a pointed step away.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It's fine."

What was happening? Her heart raced, but it wasn't from fear. She was confused. This boy signed death warrants. He approved genital mutilation. But he'd saved her. He'd protected her from someone she knew terrified him, and now her shoulders felt too cold.

"How'd you find us?"

"One of the women on your crew told me when I came to get you."

"Jeanette." Clover said more to herself than to Elliot, sure he didn't know any of the workers by name. "But how'd you know where we'd be?"

"My brother's not as smart as he thinks." Elliot flashed her a smile that made Clover want to forget the death warrants.

She looked back at the numbers above the door of the elevator to keep him from seeing the confusion she struggled with. Her hand closed the collar of her blouse, feeling exposed even with her uniform on.

"Thank you."

- 17 -

The red light from Elliot's clock was like a spotlight in Clover's eyes as she tried to sleep. She could tell by the rhythm of his breath that Elliot was deeply under, but her body wouldn't settle down. She'd said nothing to him about her conversation with Jeanette and Isaac, as though not saying it out loud would keep it from being true. She didn't want it to be true.

Finally giving up on sleep for the moment, she slid out of her blankets, draping one around her shoulders as she escaped the claustrophobic room. The wood of the hallway and stairs was cold on her feet as she moved down into the sitting room, embers in the fireplace still clinging to a faint glow from the fire that had burned there hours ago. Using one of the metal pokers hanging from the mantle, she stirred some life back into the coals, adding a piece of fresh wood after some heat had built.

In the middle of the awkward small talk that night, Elliot had said that wood-burning fireplaces were hard to come by in newer houses. Most used gas. The history of his small town home seemed important to him. Clover, having grown up making fires out of broken furniture she'd found in alleys and dumpsters, wasn't that impressed.

After pushing one of the cushioned chairs toward the hearth, she planted herself in front of the now healthy flame, perching her feet on the edge so her toes got the brunt of the heat. Her mind was numb, which came as a relief. Her fingers stroked the soft material of the chair, pausing only when they found a charred spot made by her branding iron. Out of reflex, her other hand found the still-puffy numbers on her neck. Her kind healed fast, to balance against the injuries of changing, but it was still tender, and it would be there forever.

Not wanting to think about it, she sat on her hands, but the burn had set her mind whirring again. Maybe Jeanette and Isaac had been wrong. Maybe Elliot wasn't even
that
important. Maybe he was just a paper-pusher; all record keeping, no executing. Isaac had just been mistaken. Feeling like she could find evidence to defend
her
side, Clover leapt from her chair, only returning to the blanket she'd left once she'd collected the small black case Elliot had deposited by the front door.

She removed the manila folders that filled the main pocket and discarded the bag, crossing her legs under the stack of folders. After a single, bracing breath, she opened the top folder. Paper-clipped to the inside was a photo of a woman in her late thirties, her nose and eyes red, but her mouth and brows drawn into tight, defiant lines. Under the photo was an identification number and a general description of her appearance. On the following pages, Clover found several blurbs, written by hand, discussing her disposition and physical state. The last page consisted of a yes-or-no checklist of characteristics, and at the bottom, separated from the rest were three options: 'Refinishing,' 'Termination,' and 'Other.' 'Refinishing' was circled.

Clover swallowed, her mind trying to deny the rush of horror her body felt through instinct. She tossed the woman's file to the ground and opened the next one. Another woman, in her fifties. "Refinishing." A young boy, who was ten at most, was in the next file, his face sickly-pale in his photo. "Refinishing." In the fourth file was the photo of a man her father's age. She skimmed the hand written notes.

              Subject is verbally and physically aggressive.

              Refuses to cooperate with evaluation. 

              Refuses meals.

On the last page, in ink that seemed darker and more ominous than the others, a circle was drawn around 'Termination.'

Clover pressed the file into her thighs when she realized her hands were shaking. They'd been right. With one draw of his ink pen, Elliot had murdered someone. He'd murdered the man who was looking at Clover through the small photo in her lap.

As the word 'murderer' bounced around her head, her arms flung the papers into the fire in front of her, as though burning those printed pages would magically set their subject free. Then she collected the files on the floor and added them to the blaze. Settling back down in the chair, she gripped her knees, digging her fingernails into the tight skin there, trying to distract herself from the horrible feeling that had spread through her body. It hurt so much more than anger—betrayal.

She felt like she was sleep-walking when her feet led her back up the stairs. In her satchel by her pallet she found the knife she'd used to subdue Elliot on that first day. It felt heavier in her hand as she unfolded it now, her bare feet making no sound as she walked to his bedside. She could stop him from killing anyone else. He wouldn't even know it had happened until he was bleeding out into his own sheets. She knew that someone else would just come to take his place, but at least she would still have the satisfaction of dispatching him herself. But what about her family? What about her siblings? Her father might be gone already, but her little brother and sister were both prime candidates for reform.

Clover shook her head as she brought the blade of the knife silently to Elliot's throat. She could find them without this liar. Without this
traitor.
She would search every finishing school in the city if she had to. She would take them back by force. No more sneaking around and play-acting. Her hand was surprisingly steady as she lined the blade up. Just one quick pull and his murderous spree would be over.

"What is it now?" Elliot's voice was calm, his eyes still closed.

"Shut up."

Elliot unsheathed the green of his eyes like they were weapons and looked at her, but did nothing to try escaping her knife.

"I know everything, Montgomery."  She used his surname like an insult. "I know that you sign death warrants." She waited for him to defend himself, but he just stared at her through the dark. "Well? Don't you have anything to say?"

"Would you listen to anything I said?"

"Do you even
care
that you're a murderer?" His calm made her temper bubble again and she pressed the blade to his throat, just under the hint of a line from the last time she held him at knife-point.

"I wasn't keeping it a secret." Elliot tilted his head back to alleviate the press of the blade, but his voice was still steady. "I thought you knew."

"Will you stop saying that?" Clover was shocked by the volume of her own voice. She was tired of having her ignorance rubbed in her face. She didn't know anything, and she knew he was pointing it out on purpose.

Clover felt the knife move as Elliot swallowed.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He had the look of a man trying to sooth a wild animal. "Can we talk about this? Without the knife?"

"What could you possibly say to make what you do alright? And you
chose
this job." Her tone barely scratched the depth of her disgust.

"What would you rather have me do?"

"Not participate in this? Set them free? You send half of them to their death and the other half to owners who'll beat them on public trains.” Clover heard herself rambling, but couldn’t stop. “Why would you
want
to make a choice like that? Do you get off on the power of it? Do you think it's fun picking between such horrible options?"

"Clover, I would be arrested if I just let everyone go." His voice was quiet and so patient that it was almost offensive. "I have to work within the system."

"Why do
anything
if all you can pick between is death or slavery?"

"Weren't you just complaining that no one ever did anything?"

An uneasy feeling passed through Clover's body, like the jolt you feel missing the last rung of a ladder. She
had
said that, but this wasn't what she'd meant. Had she meant something more radical? What had she hoped would happen with Ji-Yung? What would have satisfied her? Hunting down Pierson and punching her in the nose would have been a start, but then what? She expected society to handle situations the way she did—violently, immediately, and haphazardly.

The touch of Elliot's hand on her wrist brought her back to herself, and she knew by his expression that her realization had shown on her face. He looked sympathetic, even as he guided the knife away from his throat.

"I never liked seeing your kind treated like that girl on the train, Clover. But growing up, Dom would talk about things like killing
all
of you." He tugged gently on her arm, guiding her to sit at the edge of his mattress. "I didn't like that either. I wasn't sure if you guys were really as dangerous as they said, and honestly, I'm still not completely sure." Clover wanted to protest, but his sincerity kept her silent. "But I
do
know that killing you isn't the right answer. I just wanted to keep you guys alive."

"This isn't living." Clover's temper felt doused. The steam it let off clouded her emotions. She didn't know what she was feeling, but she'd lost the urge to hurt him.

"I know."

Elliot sat up and placed the knife he'd taken from her on the table beside his bed.

"If you could set everyone free," Clover's voice was quiet, but still stiff. "Without getting arrested. Would you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?"

Elliot must have been braver than she thought, because he held his ground.

"I don't think you're bad people, Clover. But you
can
be dangerous. You're contagious. If nothing else, the sickness has to be confined."

"That doesn't mean we're evil! We don't just go around biting people for the hell of it. We don't want it spreading any more than you do."

The look Elliot gave her reminded her of their talk in the alley behind the boutique.

"Isn't that exactly what you've done?"

She was making herself a poor example for her people.

"You shouldn't judge the others based on bad people like me."

Elliot didn't look like he believed her, but if he had any questions, he didn't ask them.

"I burned your files." She admitted instead of continuing their conversation. "I'm not sorry."

"Okay," was all he said after sighing through his nose.

Clover left the room after that, still disillusioned. She was confused again, and didn't want to spend any more time with him, certain he would only muddle her thoughts more if she did. She slept downstairs that night.