Chapter Fifteen
Shit.
Ducking behind the corner, I waited for the shadows to disappear before moving forward as quietly as possible. This was bad. I got to the end of the hall in time to see Henley round the last corner to the kitchen.
This was it. Crunch time. It was now or never. Cain’s ability had proven sporadic until now, but I was out of time. I had to get a grip fast—that was, if I could get to Wentz before Henley. If he got there first, it was all over. For Wentz. For the Supremacy kids.
For Dez…
I peered around the edge and saw Henley grab a set of keys off the wall and breeze through the back door. When I was sure the coast was clear, I crept into the kitchen and snagged the keys to the truck I’d taken the other night and followed him as quietly as possible.
The guy had a lead foot, so staying far enough behind to not be noticed wasn’t hard. He was almost impossible to keep up with—not that it would have mattered. About three blocks from the boarding house, I knew exactly where we were going.
Dromere.
Henley turned off his headlights as he pulled into the lot across the street from the tall glass building. I rolled up alongside the donut shop two doors down and killed the engine, waiting for him to make his move. A few moments later, his shadow passed on the edge of the streetlight as he ducked across the road and around the building to the employee parking lot. I couldn’t see what, but he had something in his left hand. A bag of some sort. I counted to ten, then slipped from the truck and followed him, afraid of letting him get too far ahead.
He waited in the shadows next to the side door. A few moments later, it swung open. I strained to see who was on the other side, but they kept their face concealed. Henley slipped inside and I bolted across the lot the moment he was out of sight. I was able to get my pinkie in just as the door was about to latch, biting back a yelp as it got crushed in the frame.
Whoever let Henley in seemingly disappeared into thin air. It had to be Anderson’s third spy—but who? I hadn’t had time to look into it. As I let the door close softly behind me, I saw Henley start up the stairs leading to the lab. I crept across the lobby and waited at the bottom till I heard the door close. When I was sure he was gone, I climbed.
Everything was quiet, so each time my foot hit the steps they made a sound, no matter how hard I tried to be quiet. It wasn’t loud, but it echoed. I couldn’t figure how Kale—my cousin’s boyfriend—managed the stealth stuff. The guy could dance into a room with bells on and knock you senseless before you even knew he was there. It made the rest of us look like chumps. If I ever saw him again, I was going to ask for some pointers.
I pushed through the door at the top of the steps, cringing when it let out a shrill squeak. Henley was nowhere in sight. He must have crossed the room and made it to Wentz’s office already. I held my breath, listening. There was no sound coming from the other end—and that worried me.
I couldn’t waste any more time. I crossed the lab and pushed through the door to Wentz’s office, my attempt to be quiet forgotten. At first I didn’t see anything. The light was on and the room was empty—or so I thought.
I took two steps inside and something hard jammed into my back with violent force. I sucked in a deep breath, wincing. “You’re about stealthy as neon sign, a*shole,” Henley snickered. He prodded me with what I assumed was a gun. “I made you the moment you stepped into the hallway at the boarding house.”
“Oh yeah?” I challenged. “Then why not say anything? Kind of risky letting me get this far.”
More laughing. “Risky? Dude. You’re no threat to me.”
He shoved me forward, and when I turned, I saw it was a gun. A Sig Sauer P290. Cain must have had experience with guns, ‘cause I’d never seen a piece up close and personal, much less had the ability to name one, and yet I knew this gun. Deceptively small, it packed one hell of a punch. “Wentz?”
Henley set the gun on the table beside him and stepped away, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could lunge for it before he grabbed it. He unzipped the bag he’d been carrying and pulled out a syringe. “They swore the freak would be down here. I was supposed to have an informative chat with him since, yanno, you and that little bitch failed.” He made a choking sound, then smiled. “And we know how I do that.”
“He’s too valuable to kill. I can get the information. I know that would make Anderson happy.”
“Save it. I could care less how valuable Wentz is to Denazen—and I couldn’t give two peanut-filled loads what Anderson wants. I’m here to get that formula for my boss.”
I opened my mouth—then closed it. He said Denazen. Not Zendean. My hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
“Well, well, well. Looks like neither one of us is what he appears,” he said with a laugh. A second later, his expression turned icy. “You a spy for Marshal? He trying to double cross me? We had a deal!”
“Dude, chill. I wouldn’t piss on Cross if he was on fire. And wait—you’re secretly working for Cross? That doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t he and Anderson on the same team?”
“Let’s just say they’re both looking to impress the high-ups. The one who manages to snag this formula will make one hell of an impression.”
“What high-ups?”
Henley’s lips parted in a smile Dez would have labeled creeptastic. “What high-ups? The Council, dude.”
My blank stare gave me away.
“You’re not with Anderson, either, are you?”
I didn’t answer. Anything I said would get me in trouble. It would put me on the enemy list, and saying I was one of Anderson’s people would put me there as well. I was boned any way you split it.
“Well, if you’re not Denazen, then there’s only one other choice.” He took a menacing step closer and I braced myself to fight. A second later, he laughed. “You’re one of the Visionary’s people, aren’t you? The losers from the underground.”
It was incredibly stupid, and I’m not sure what made me even try, but I said, “Henley, listen to me. I need that formula. There’s a handful of innocent people near death’s door and without it, they’re not gonna make it.”
“I don’t care about other people. I don’t even care about Cross and Anderson and their petty little pissing match—I only care about me. And I need that formula.”
“What could you possibly need it for?”
“Because I have no intention of dying.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered. It all made sense. “That’s why you’re working for Cross. He promised to cure you… You’re Supremacy.”
“Cain?” a girl’s voice called from out in the lab. Footsteps echoed against the tile, getting closer.
“Is that Devin?” Henley asked, surprised. “You brought Devin with you?”
“Devin, get out of here!” I screamed, but it was too late. She was already through the door.
Henley lunged for the gun and my heart stopped. I tried to get there first, but he was closer. His fingers closed around the black steel and he flashed us a wicked smile.
“Cain, what the hell—” Devin turned to Henley as he swung and the barrel of the gun connected with a loud snap against the side of her head. She went down hard and I dove forward in time to shield her head from cracking against the bottom corner of the mini fridge.
I looked from Devin to Henley, and let out the rage Cain barely kept in check. It was like someone pushed the fast forward button. Everything sped up as I got to my feet and lunged for the gun. He sidestepped me—but barely—and sent my equilibrium off balance. I stumbled, lost my footing, and hit the wall as something sharp connected with the right side of my face. Cursing, I swung blindly as bright ribbons of light exploded behind my eyes. When my vision cleared, it was just in time to see Henley come at me again. This time, I managed to sidestep him.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, he wasn’t aiming for me as much as the syringe that had been knocked from his hand when I charged. I tried to beat him to it, but he had too much of a head start. His fingers closed around the needle and he made a sharp change of direction just as Wentz came through the door. I stumbled forward, but not in time to stop him from burying the tip of the needle in Wentz’s arm.
I tackled them, sending the three of us to the ground in a pile. The needle fell to the floor and bounced away, stopping when it collided with the wall. It wasn’t full—Henley had managed to depress the plunger before I stopped him—but it wasn’t empty either. Wentz hadn’t gotten the full dose.
“Doug, how did you get in—who—” Wentz tried and failed to get to his feet, although he did manage to roll away.
Henley growled and swung for my face. I dodged the brunt of the blow, but his fist connected with my shoulder, knocking me back to the ground and sending spikes of pain down my arm.
I rolled away as he jumped up and brought his boot down in an attempt to crush my head. “Get Devin—get out—”
Wentz finally got up, wobbling like a frat guy on his way home from an all-night kegger. He made it four steps—maybe five—before collapsing to his knees. He hadn’t gotten the full dose of Henley’s junk, but apparently he’d gotten enough. “What’s going—?”
Paying attention to Wentz distracted me from Henley and his singular desire to ground my face into a fine powder. His next kick landed with agonizing precision, straight to the gut. I struggled upright, gasping, and teetered sideways until I hit the wall. Really, it was the wall that kept me from falling again, but no reason to get technical. Up was up.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Wentz go down. He made another valiant attempt to crawl across the floor to Devin, but fell still under the weight of the drugs pumping through his system.
The drugs.
As Henley dove for me, I skated out of reach and lunged for the syringe. The tips of my fingers brushed the cool plastic as his boot connected with my gut again. A rush of air whooshed from my lungs and I gasped to catch my breath.
“I told that moron Anderson you were no good.” Another kick. “Did he listen? Of course not.”
One last try and my hand closed around the syringe. Slipping it into the cuff of my sleeve, I twisted onto my back and kicked out. My right foot caught Henley behind the knees, bringing him down to my level. Something flew from his hand, and before I could see what it was, he dove for it—and I dove for him.
As a loud bang filled the room I buried the tip of the needle in his thigh and depressed the plunger, hoping to God there was enough juice left to knock him out. We stumbled apart and Henley yanked the needle from his leg, throwing it across the room. It bounced off the edge of Wentz’s desk before clattering to the floor, empty.
But something wasn’t right. Henley’s expression was dull—the drug affected him—but he smiled like a lunatic. “Good thing for you I’m offing Wentz. Don’t think the guy would appreciate you bleeding all over his floor.”
I looked down and everything started to spin. Red. There was a lot of red. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from exactly—everything was a little hazy—but the entire left side of my T-shirt was soaked.
Henley took a step back, staggering several feet before finally falling to his knees. Whatever had been left in the syringe must have been enough. For a little while, anyway. I needed Wentz to wake up. Fast.
Henley was laughing now. “You dosed me. Big—big deal.” He staggered, but caught himself on the edge of Wentz’s desk. “I’ll wake up and you—you—”
He wobbled on his knees, then went down.
I was right behind him. The last thing I remember thinking before it all went dark was that I had to wake up Wentz so he could drag himself—and Devin—away before Henley could get back up…