Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Thirty-three





Grace woke to Dare rubbing her back lightly. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you, but we need to talk while we have some time alone.”

He handed her a soda and she sat up, blinked. “Where are they?”

“Scoping out transport. They’ll be all right,” Dare assured her. “When they’re done, we’ll all get out of here together.”

“Where to?”

“Gunner’s shop. And then we’ll figure out what else to do.”

She nodded, played with the tab on the can. “Jem was looking at the map a lot. Does he think I’m still trying to screw him over?”

“He wanted you to finish it.”

She stared at him, a flush on her cheeks. Fear in her eyes. “I don’t want to.”

“I know. But it will help end things once and for all.” He drew her close. “What happened in that room?”

She got up, paper under her fingers. With Dare next to her, she redrew the line she’d started to, picturing it in her mind. The large room with the single light hanging overhead and the cinder-block walls that kept the screams from traveling, made them echo in her own ears, its own form of torture.

“I spent a long time down here,” she whispered. “At first, I was drugged and tied. After a while, they didn’t need either. I just obeyed.”

“You did what you needed to.”

“There’s a window—here.” She pointed and he made a small x. “Through here, a corridor to a service exit.”

Another larger X. “I’m guessing this leads down a private drive.”

She nodded. “I knew that, but instead, I stayed. Got myself all steeled up inside. I put up my own walls.”

“So no one could ever use this against you.”

“So no one could ever get in again.” The fact that he understood allowed her to finally breathe. “It was several weeks after he’d killed my mother. I wasn’t cooperating. My mother always warned me not to, and honestly, I couldn’t have if I’d tried. My gifts were frozen, in a way. But Rip didn’t stand for anyone disobeying him, and I was going to pay for my insubordination.”

Dare’s face hardened. His body was filled with scars too, some of them because of Powell.

“If I’d killed him when I had the chance, you’d never have gotten hurt,” she told him.

“And you might not be here. I’d much rather it worked out this way.”

His reassurance rang so true, it gave her the strength to go on. “I confronted Rip about what he’d done to my mother.”

She’d been fifteen, in the throes of a rebellion a thousand times worse and more warranted than the average teenage girl’s. And her adopted father had not prepared her well for that eventuality. She’d barely gotten the question out before he’d smacked her hard, the back of his hand slamming her cheekbone.

She’d seen stars, tasted blood, and she didn’t know if things would be better if she’d stopped while she was ahead, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d slapped him back as hard as she could. He might’ve drawn first blood, but it was just as satisfying watching it drip from his nose.

It made his smile that much more chilling. He’d looked satanic with blood dripping down his lips, staining his teeth.

She figured that was fitting, because she spent the next several months in hell. Some of it was foggy, some way too clear, and as much as she tried never to relive it, that time would break back insidiously into her dreams.

“They hit me,” she started quietly. “Whipped me. It was never him, although I know he watched.”

“F*cking bastard.”

“He had three men he trusted. Three bodyguards. They all had their turn. One of them was the man who wrecked my house—Gunner showed me his picture. I don’t know if Rip told them to or if he just told them to torture me any way they wanted. There were no cameras in that room. He never wanted anything on tape.”

Dare looked at her like he didn’t want to believe what she was saying. But he had to know—to understand how far she’d come, how different things were now between them.

“When your father tried to recruit me, I resisted because I thought they’d do the same thing. I used to sleep with a knife under my pillow. Your dad gave it to me.”

“I will find those men and take them apart, piece by piece, for what they did to you,” he promised.

Those men had taken the last of her innocence, her dignity. Since then, she’d slept with many men, all of her choosing. Then she’d walk away, satisfied that she still felt nothing.

When Rip’s bodyguards had raped her, over and over, she would tell herself, I feel nothing. Told herself there was no difference between what they did and the beatings.

Whoever controlled the sex held the power. She could never be controlled again. She’d give herself orgasms, but sex was the place for power, not pleasure. But Dare had changed that. She’d tried to stop it, to fight it, but her body turned traitor, refused to let that happen.

She’d let him in and now hoped she wouldn’t pay the price. With him, she responded in a way she’d never be able to control . . . his fingers skimmed her hot, begging flesh and he chuckled against her neck when she gasped.

She was a virgin in so many ways. And most thankful she’d waited for Dare.

Rip had tortured her with a single purpose in mind—to break her. He was intrigued by the fact that she wouldn’t surrender. The fact that she couldn’t read the future any longer—and he’d tested her in subtle ways—was a secondary pleasure for him, something he no doubt assumed could happen. And it had. He’d taken her last safe refuge, or so he’d thought.

Dare’s fists were clenched on the table. She told him all the things she’d kept inside forever—that she’d been hit. Starved. Beaten down, mentally and physically.

He watched her like it all showed in her eyes. It probably did.

“I get the drugging thing now,” he told her.

“You were only trying to help.” She sounded raw, even to her own ears. But sometimes wounds needed to open again, get cleaned properly, before they’d heal.

Maybe it was finally time to let that happen.

“I won’t live in fear. If he did his worst to me, I was living through it, not hiding from it. The night I left, I watched Rip murder a high-level CIA agent. I’m the only witness. I recorded it. They had a disagreement about the way Rip was doing business. Rip lost it.” She poured it all out now. “And the recording is hidden somewhere only your father knew about.”

“Did Rip know what you did?”

“Not at the time.”

God, it had been horrible watching it. She’d forced herself to stay still, to record, because she couldn’t have saved the man if she’d tried. When she’d walked in, Rip was holding the knife at an angle in the man’s chest, and the man’s eyes were starting to go blank.

She’d recorded it because she’d had the cell phone in hand already. She’d been handed it by one of the men who was pretending to be a caterer for one of Rip’s parties but who, in reality, was working for Darius. She’d been told to capture what she could on Rip’s desk, to be prepared to make up an excuse if she’d gotten caught. It was well planned on Darius’s part—and that plan included her.

“Grace, if you don’t want to do this, we’ll still take you,” the man who’d handed her the phone had said.

“I want to help.”

She had, but she would’ve much preferred to deal with the documents than this. Thankfully, Rip was on some sort of killing high, not processing anyone else in the room with him.

She hadn’t worn perfume of any sort for that very reason. She never liked to draw attention to herself. Somehow, still, she was always on the receiving end of much of the unwanted kind. Her skin was good, her eyes and hair pretty and her lips full—she looked like her mother, and no matter how she tried to make herself look plain, it didn’t happen.

She’d quickly dropped behind the couch in the corner once Rip let the man’s body sink down. Only then did Rip pull the knife out of the prone body. She recorded him cleaning it with a calculated effort before he placed a call to his men to come in, wrap the dead man in the carpet and dump the whole thing—weighted—into the ocean.

Once he’d left, so did she, not waiting to watch the removal of the body. The risk of her getting caught was far too great. An hour later, she was on a chopper flying far away from the private island where she’d lived for the past eight years.

“Where’s the recording now?” Dare asked.

“Darius said he kept it someplace safe. He didn’t think it would matter in the long run—not to the CIA. He said it might even make the CIA come after him and Adele.”

It was unfortunately true—there was no predicting how the CIA would act, but taking down a valuable asset like Powell wasn’t typically something they’d be in a rush to do.

“They’d rather cover it up,” she said when he told her that. “So me making that recording was more insurance on me for Darius than for me.”

“I hate to say it, but yes, it was. It’s probably in one of the safe deposit boxes he keeps, but it’s not going to help us now.”


* * *

At his words, Grace smiled tightly, and maybe she’d realized that from the beginning. Not being trusted was a state she’d lived in for so long, she was used to it, and that made Dare’s gut clench. Mainly because he hadn’t trusted her either. Not until today.

He’d watched her twisting her hands together as she told the story. She’d been to hell and back. Held on to her secret like it was the only thing that could save her. Whether it would or wouldn’t hadn’t mattered as much as her belief that it could.

“I know how hard it must’ve been to keep all this from me—from Darius and Adele,” he told her.

“My mom used to say that everyone had a secret persona—she just gave hers a name . . . and a paycheck.” Grace shrugged. “I’m beginning to think she was right.”

“You were scared. For good reason.”

“It’s not a perfect science. It’s not something I want. I like the practical magic aspect, the healing, but the other stuff—I never want to be so vulnerable and used.”

Dare could understand that because his urge to use her gift to save both her and Avery and Darius was undeniable.

His desire for her safety was a larger entity, and he contented himself with the knowledge that he hadn’t turned into a total monster.

“You believe me that it just started coming back. That I haven’t been in contact with him.”

“I believe that you haven’t been in contact with Powell. But I don’t think it just started coming back.”

She looked so frustrated. “I can’t explain it. I don’t want it. It’s gotten me in trouble my entire life.”

He could believe it.

“I felt a twinge right before you came here,” she admitted. “But it was dread—and I don’t have to fear you, right?”

“You did,” Dare said. “But I think you were feeling something else. Someone else.”

She didn’t deny it, asked, “Where do we go from here? Do you want me to tell you what I know about Rip? What Darius and Adele and I discussed?”

“We could start there.”

“Rip’s deals were bad for the U.S.—he was selling secrets. After some of S8’s agents got killed on a personal mission for Rip, S8’s mission became discovering the identity of and destroying the man who’d created them. I was collateral damage . . . but Darius told me that they decided they couldn’t leave me behind. At first they thought I might be working with Rip. That I escaped with them purposely to spy on them.”

“And then they saw your scars.”

“Yes. They were still pretty fresh. It was the way he kept me in line. He kept trying to break me, but I wouldn’t break. And that made him try all the more, because that interested him. He told me I was a lot like him.” She shook her head, then drew in a deep breath and pushed forward. “Rip knew they’d discovered him, but he couldn’t take out the whole team at once. Even for a top-level agent, it would draw suspicion. S8 had been squeaky-clean until that point, Rip’s pride and joy.”

“He was a double agent, just like Jem said.”

“Is,” she corrected. “Jem’s right. His cover’s always been international wealthy financier. Which means his deals wouldn’t always be on the up-and-up—part of his cover. Makes things really convenient for his dirty games. He’s gotten the CIA some of their best intel in forever. Darius believed it was probably less than a quarter of what he actually knows. To be alive, he’s got to be smart and play both sides of the fence. His CIA background check shows he’s a distant cousin of a rich Boston family,” she said. “But that’s the biggest lie of all.”

“You’re sure?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands as a young girl. I got into more places than I should’ve because security thought I was just playing.”

“You got into his safe?”

“I watched him do it a million times,” she admitted. “At the time, his security cameras weren’t what they are now. He felt more secure in his own home with a lot of muscle. It changed as I got older, but by then, I knew all about him. He hated that I knew where he really came from—the fact that he was a poor orphan was information he’d managed to bury. From everyone but me.”

“Did Darius know this?” Dare wanted to know.

“I told him, yes. We discussed Rip in the beginning. He wanted me to tell him everything, and then he let me try to forget.” She shook her head at the irony of that. “For Rip, the thrill of the hunt, of anything new, is what he loves. He looks at all of it as a game. People are like animals to him. Pawns. He’s got a great job that allows him to quietly collect power.”

Dare was getting a better picture of Powell, a better idea of his motivation. But none of that mattered, because both he and Grace were the pawns. The game was already in motion.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” he said.

“You couldn’t have known,” she offered.

Maybe, but now he had the real enemy in his sights, and he was locked in and ready to move.

“I feel so goddamned guilty, Dare,” she spit out.

“You didn’t start this.”

“Rip tried to destroy S8 because they threatened to destroy him—they discovered he was their handler, and they were never supposed to know that, which you already know. They didn’t play their hand right away, though. They got me out first, and he suspected they had something to do with it. That’s what made all of it personal.”

“Darius doesn’t blame you. Darius set this in motion—it’s the only explanation. When he realized Rip was going after me . . . he knew it was time to take Rip down, even if it meant dying. Darius pulled us all together. He knew how powerful a group working together could be,” Dare said.

“I could’ve tried to escape earlier, and on my own. I didn’t have to drag S8 into it.”

“S8 never lets themselves be dragged into things like that. You did it to keep yourself alive, and then you left as soon as you could.”

“Yes, that’s true. Freedom always comes with a price. I told myself I could do more good alive than dead. And I’ve been trying. I feel like it will never be enough.”

“I know that feeling.” He paused. “But it might.”

She ran a hand along his shoulder, along the back of his neck, like she was drawing strength from his skin. Her touch was fire to his cold—he wanted, needed more.

“Let’s make this right for all of us,” she told him. “Let me go back to him and finish this.”

“Grace, you know he’ll kill you. You have too much intel on him. Even if he’s still intrigued by the fact that you didn’t break, even if you pretend you can use your gift for him, what makes you think he’ll suddenly believe—or trust—you?”

“It’s worth a try. I learned everything from my mother. The key isn’t reading cards—it’s reading people,” she explained. “Once you center in on their needs, it’s easy. And Rip had a lot of them.”

“You betrayed him once before.”

“He’s always been fascinated with people he thinks are as strong as he is. Wants to know more about them. He’d rather keep me underground and torture me, push my limits rather than kill me fast. He’ll learn more that way.”

“Yeah, that’s really going to convince me to let you go,” Dare said angrily.

“I have so much to make up for. Don’t you understand? I’m the reason my mother was killed. I fed her bad information, she gave it to Rip and he believed we were in on it together.”

“But you weren’t.”

She shook her head. “No, Esme believed me. She loved him. She wouldn’t have wanted him dead. That’s all on me, and she paid the price. He must’ve been suspicious, or maybe he was regularly testing me all the time I was using my gift and I didn’t realize it. But he knew, that night, that I was sending him to his death. I saw death and danger and I told Esme that he would be fine, that there was no danger. He knew I’d lied because he’d known that the meeting was a setup, that there was someone planning on killing him that night, so he wasn’t going to go to the meeting. He killed my mother because I lied.”

“That’s not what happened,” Dare said. “He made you think that so you’d believe you had nothing.”

“Wait—you’re saying my mother’s alive?”

“Alive and well and living in luxury,” Dare said, hating the look of utter betrayal in her eyes. Hated having to be the one to tell her. But she had a right to know, and he’d only wished she’d known earlier.

“Why? Why would she leave me behind like that?”

“I don’t know.”

She stared at her hands for several minutes, then met his eyes. “I don’t ever want to know. And if she and Rip planned it all to break me, they were wrong.”

“That I believe.”

After he spoke, Dare pulled her to him in that way that always made her feel whole. She wanted to make him feel the same way. She wanted not to be scared of all of this.

But with him, her gift could grow. Flourish. Whether she used it or not, Dare wouldn’t make her feel abnormal.

But there was no turning back.

“What’s going on in there?” He tapped the side of her head.

“You don’t know how often I’ve thought of getting revenge against Rip,” she admitted. “It’s not healthy, I know. But I couldn’t help it.”

When Rip had first let her out of the basement, she’d made tons of sketches of his property. She’d mapped out the ways she’d get off the island. How she’d kill him, make him suffer. She continued after she was rescued. Decided she would go back in there and take the revenge herself, because hiring someone to do it would be too easy—and also ineffective.

Darius and Adele both advised her to forget it. They would get revenge for their group and for her.

“They were right,” he told her now. “You’re way too close to this. It’s too personal.”

“As opposed to how close you are to the situation?” she asked wryly. “I know—you’re going to give me the I’m a professional speech. But we both know that’s bullshit too. Personal is personal—you can’t just turn it off.”

“I have to. If I don’t, I’ll get all of us killed.”

Just by trusting her, he’d put himself in a tough position—she got that. She was lucky that Key and Jem seemed to believe her. That Dare did.

“Now tell me what you’re really thinking about.”

She gave him a tight smile at being caught. “This ability. It’s something that might not come back fully. But it might . . . and I’ll know things. At its height, I could feel everything. See things about people they might not have wanted me to see. And you . . . you have so many secrets, so much pain. And it’s invading you. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.”

“I don’t care if you see everything, that you’ll feel my pain. Big f*cking deal. Everyone has pain, so don’t put that shit on me. You’re the one who doesn’t want to know.”

She took a step back from the sheer force of his words. From the truth of them too.

How could she answer the truth?

“I’ve sensed it since the beginning. You told me about it, confirmed it, but I knew that the black king was inside of you as much as the white knight was. You’re both.”

Now it was his turn to look as if he’d been slapped. He looked exposed, and she knew he hated that, but there was no rancor in his eyes.

No one ever liked what she had to say.

He stood then, managed, “You’ve known how f*cked-up I am, and you still . . . you still . . .”

She embraced him, put her cheek to his chest to hear his heart beating. “I still.”