Born of Fire

There was pride in his eyes when he spoke about that—like he’d had something to do with it. “When Sheridan was old enough, Indie taught him how to work the systems.”


Then his look turned dark again. “If he messed up, on a good day, Indie would break some of his fingers for it. On a bad day, he’d break Talia’s.”

He shook his head, his features tormented. “And you know the saddest and sickest part of it all? She was buried right after his father and me was arrested. Sheridan, in custody at that point, was the only one at her funeral, and I remember them news people broadcasting how cold he was over it. They had a picture of him at her grave, dry eyed, and they painted him as a monster, which is another reason why they sent him to jail and no one would take him in. ‘Ten years old and already his father’s son,’ that’s that they said. A second generation Wade psycho in the making.”

He spat in fury. “Sheridan didn’t cry because Indie would burn or scald him anytime he cried until he learnt not to. That boy was never allowed to shed a tear without making it worse on himself. So when Sheridan didn’t cry, the media crucified him for it. Son of the devil, as heartless as his father. May they all burn in hell.”

Anger burned deep in his eyes. “Some of the victims’ families were there when they returned him to jail just so they could spit on the ten-year-old boy who’d lost everything in his life, including his freedom, for nothing more than the fact that he was born and that he didn’t die when his own mother tried to drown him. The media painted it like he deserved that, too. Can you imagine going to bury your sister wearing armor and handcuffs and manacles? Alone? Having people throw things and spit at you?”

Shahara flinched, her stomach churning at the thought. No, she couldn’t. She’d barely made it through her parents’ burials, and at least she and her siblings had known their parents were sick and had had time to prepare themselves—even though that was a myth. No one was ever ready to let go of a loved one. Not if they actually loved them.

Poor Syn . . .

I deserve to be flogged for what I’ve done to him. Never in her life had she felt more wrong.

She could tell herself that she didn’t know about his past. But that was only an excuse. She’d hurt a good man who watched out for her brother and sister . . .

She looked down at her palm where he’d written Digger’s number and at the necklace she wore—Syn’s necklace. Given to her to keep her safe even after she’d handed him over to his enemies.

Clenching her fist where his writing was, she wanted to cry. But like Syn, that had been kicked out of her long ago by her own brutal memories.

Digger ground his teeth before he continued. “When he was executed, Indie had a list as long as my arm of business clients he serviced, and they paid well for information about their competitors and other people they wanted to watch . . . or hurt. Sheridan used that list to make contacts and get jobs. He was that good.”

So Syn hadn’t been lying about that. Just how many times had he told the truth to uncaring ears? And why did she have to be yet another set of them?

“Until he got caught.”

“Until he got caught,” Digger breathed. “That’s when I came back into his life. As luck would have it, I was on yard detail and saw him while they were leading him down to interrogation.”

He fell quiet for several minutes as if reliving the horror of it. When he spoke again, she had to strain to hear him. “I tell you I haven’t ever seen anyone so beaten. Even what was done to him now can’t compare to what he looked like then. And he was only a kid. Those Rits were on him like nothing I ever saw. They kept him locked down under the tightest security and were always questioning him . . . torturing him. I can still hear his young screams for them to stop hurting him. Those sounds would cut through the yard and even hard-core prisoners would all stop as a cold shiver ran down our spines.

“But I knew those screams. For me it was like listening to him with his father all over again. Hell, I figured it had to be easier on him to be tortured by a stranger than by someone who was supposed to love and protect him. But I knew if I didn’t do something, they were going to kill him. The fact that he knew not to tell them anything—to stay strong—still amazes me.”

“You’re how he escaped that time?”

“That I am. I’d been working on an escape for years when they brought him in. It didn’t take but a couple more bribes to get him out, too.”

Shahara sat back and thought about what Digger was telling her. If what he said was true, then Syn’s story about Merjack was also true.

That wasn’t good. Not for her anyway.