Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“I’ve got a truck,” he says.

“You’ve got electricity, too,” Bex cheers, pointing to some lights glowing in the balconies and the back of the theater.

“We’ve got hot water,” Lucas says. “You could take a bath in one of the sinks.”

“If that is some kind of crack about how I look, I don’t even care,” I say with a laugh.

“Nothing wrong with the way you look,” he says.

I blush.

“Look who gets to be the hot one,” Bex whispers to me.

“Where should we sleep?” I ask.

“Find a spot. Anywhere, really,” Lucas says, then points to one of the balconies that overlooks the stage. “Except for there. That’s Malik’s. He keeps his prayer rug up there, so be cool and find somewhere else. The place is huge. There’s a couple rules. You can’t hang around outside, and when you go, you need to use the tunnels. This place is off the town’s radar at the moment. It has been closed for years, but when they shut it down they left the power and water on, which tells me someone still owns it and has plans for it someday. I have to assume it’s a big company that doesn’t care that it keeps getting bills, but there’s no point drawing attention if we don’t have to.”

“Got it. We’ll be gone in the morning,” I promise.

“I said the same thing when I walked through that tunnel at the back of the theater,” he confesses. “Ignore what Malik said about leaving tomorrow. If you need to stay, you can. We’re all here for as long as there’s no place else to go.”



At some point a bottle of vodka gets passed around. It’s the cheapest brand you can buy and bottled in a big plastic jug, which is never a good sign. I pass on it, but Sloan and Lucas each have a pull. They pass it on to Bex and Duck. I gave her a worried look and she gave me the thumbs-up expression. She upends the bottle, taking a long, slow drink, then wipes her mouth on her shirtsleeve.

“Easy there, cowgirl,” I say, trying to take it from her.

She takes another swig.

“Don’t spoil the fun, Walker,” she teases.

Duck takes a drink himself, then drags Bex out of her seat.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where I sleep,” Duck says. I expect her to pull back, and for a moment she does stand her ground.

“Duck, let’s keep the down low on where they’re from,” Lucas says in a low tone. “Some people will freak.”

He nods, then gives Bex another pull. This time she lets him, and they skip into the darkness. I’m about to follow them when Lucas stops me.

“He’s harmless.”

“She’s just very vulnerable right now,” I say.

“So is he. Are you harmless?”

“Most of the time,” I say as I look down at my glove. “And you? Anything I need to worry about?”

“Best behavior,” he says. Oh, boy, he’s flirting again.

“We must talk about Bex Conrad,” Arcade says. “There is no room in my plan for her. We will leave her here when we go on to Tempest.”

“What? No!” I cry.

“I am speaking to him,” Arcade says, gesturing to Lucas.

“What? I’m confused,” he says.

“You take in those without a home. I ask you to take in another. Our companion, Bex Conrad, cannot go any farther with us,” Arcade says.

“No, Arcade. I can’t leave her,” I say.

“She is thin and weak. She has no combat training. She has never drawn the blood of an enemy. She will only act as a distraction and get in our way,” she argues with me.

“Keep it down,” I warn her, turning in my seat to make sure we’re not being overheard.

“What is happening tomorrow?” Lucas whispers.

“Death,” Arcade says matter-of-factly.

“I am not killing anyone,” I remind her. “I’m not made like you, Arcade. I can’t just kill someone ’cause they’re in my way. The people we’re going to run into in Tempest aren’t the evil ones doing all the terrible stuff. We’re going to be fighting the guards, at least at first, and they’re just doing their jobs.”

“What is Tempest?” Sloan asks.

“It is a house of evil where my people are imprisoned,” Arcade explains, then turns back to me. “You see these guards as people who are just doing their jobs? Lyric Walker, the men who guard the camp are no less evil than the ones who work within. They labor to protect the horrors the others commit. You spoke to Terrance Lir, correct? He told you what happens there. They cut him open and emptied him out, filled his blood with poisons, and took saws to his bones. What was the word he used to describe it?”

“Torture,” I say, ashamed.

“The surface dweller excels at the vile arts. It is dishonorable. I will kill anyone in that camp who participated in it—even the fools who sweep the floors. There are no innocents at Tempest, and I will make an example out of every last one. They will sing songs to warn the future never to practice this torture again or else face being cut down.”

“I think we can rescue everyone without killing people,” I argue.

She shakes her head.

“You are not that naive.”