“Hey, screw you!” I turn on him, frustrated and furious. “Just because you think you’re so big and bad doesn’t mean you’ve got all the answers. In fact, last night you seemed pretty—”
I freeze as it hits me that I’m not supposed to remember the break-in. Rebel might have told me about her boyfriend, but I’m not supposed to know who Draven is, am not supposed to remember him at all. The last thing I want is for a bunch of villains to know about my immunity, even if they are friends of Rebel’s. Whatever Draven does to push my buttons almost pushed me into revealing my biggest secret. I can’t lose control like that.
“Stop,” Rebel says, calmer now that she’s taken a few breaths. “Just…stop. You can’t defend them, Kenna. You have no idea—” She closes her eyes. “This is only the tip of an iceberg of evil. Trust me when I say it’s not just a few bad heroes, and it’s not as simple as mind control. It’s much bigger and much worse than anything you can imagine.”
I open my mouth, but what can I say? I trust Rebel. The villainous identity of her secret boyfriend aside, she has never lied to me. And while she may be a bit out there, she’s never been one to leap to unjustified conclusions or make unfounded accusations. Why would she start now?
Part of me refuses to accept her claims though. Part of me believes that she’s wrong and there is some non-world-shattering explanation. Except right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting Deacon out alive.
As if reading my thoughts, Dante whispers, “Tell me.”
My heart thunders.
Rebel turns to him, taking his face between her palms. “Babe, no.”
Behind me, Draven says, “Don’t.”
I don’t want to relive any of it. What I saw—I’m not sure I can put it into words. I’m not sure I should.
But when Dante pushes Rebel’s hands away, his cheeks splotchy and eyes glistening, I can’t look away. I try to imagine what I would want if I were in his situation, if it were my mom or Rebel in that chair on sub-level three. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if it were my twin.
Still, if it was me, I’d want to know. I would need to know. And as painful as it will be, Dante deserves to know.
I have to tell him.
“They had him strapped to a chair,” I begin, and have to pause to maintain my composure. “I think they were shooting electricity through him.”
Dante squeezes his eyes shut and Rebel hugs him tighter, petting him softly while she rests her head on his chest. I want to close my eyes too, to shut out the memories, but I can’t take my gaze off Dante. As I replay all the horrifying details for him, for all of them, Dante’s legs give out and he collapses onto the couch. Rebel goes down with him, holding him still.
“I pulled the fire alarm on my way out,” I tell them, “hoping it would”—I look at Draven—“distract them, maybe.”
I feel so helpless. When I stopped these villains in the lab last night, I hadn’t known the truth. But tonight…I know. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I’m not used to feeling helpless. Powerless, yes, but helpless? It’s not a feeling I like.
There must have been something more I could have done for Deacon. I should have burst into that room and made them let him go. I should have threatened to expose them. I should have done something, anything, rather than run away.
I don’t realize there are tears streaming down my cheeks too, until Draven reaches out to wipe them away. His eyes are distant, but his hands are gentle.
Rebel, the girl who never cries—not even when she broke her ankle flying off the swing set in fourth grade—sobs into Dante’s shoulder.
The seconds tick by as we each dwell in our own private torment. Then Dante lets out a primal scream.
The windows rattle and a picture falls off the wall.
“Dante, no—” Rebel shouts, but she’s cut off by a roar of wind.
Draven shoves me behind him as a dining room chair flies across the hall, slamming into the wall and splintering into kindling. Books fly off shelves and the TV crashes to the floor.
A mini tornado tears through the house, tossing around everything in its path. Every time Dante yells, it gets stronger, adding another gust of wind to the destruction.
Guess I know what Dante’s power is.
“Baby,” Rebel yells above the din. “Baby, come back to me. We’ll find him.”
Draven shields me against the nearest wall.
“You shouldn’t have told him,” he growls at me, as debris pelts him in the back.
Who is he to decide what Dante should hear? “It’s his brother. He has the right to know.”
I shove at his shoulders, but Draven doesn’t move. He just glares at me. His obvious blame mixes with my own guilt about abandoning Deacon, leaving me angry at myself instead of him. I stop trying to push him away. Take the protection he’s giving me.
“We can go get him,” Rebel says, still trying to get through to Dante. “Kenna knows how to get to the secret level. We can rescue him.”