27. Hellena

27

HELLENA

“ W oohoo!” Alaya whoops, her head out the window, careening around a tight mountain road.

She’s a hell of a driver, I’ll give her that. Even if I am gripping the handlebar above my seat and closing my eyes to avoid looking at the cliff dropping off to our right.

Yet another thing she’s good at…

At this point, though, jealousy is the farthest thing from my mind. Her driving skills and her uncanny knowledge of how to get around unseen is getting us where we need to be in no time. She knows shortcuts that even Evan and Gavin don’t know about.

“Alaya, you better cut that shit out once we hit the streets or we’ll get targeted immediately,” Gavin growls from the passenger seat.

“You. Are. Such. A. Nag,” Alaya grits out through a clenched grin, gunning the engine harder.

As if on cue, a patrol swerves onto the road at the next street ahead of us, hidden behind some wreckage until we came into view.

“Shit! What did I just say?”

“Play chicken?”

“NO!”

“I’m fairly sure that’s what you said.”

The engine roars as she stomps on the pedal, and my stomach drops. Everything inside me wants to scream, but I can’t breathe. The beat-up truck bristling with gunmen hurtles toward us at top speed.

The only saving grace is that they are going too fast to aim.

Bullets scream by outside, and Gavin returns fire, leaning out the window.

“I hate this!”

“But you’re so good at it!” she bellows, firing off a few shots out the window.

Each one of their shots takes out a gunner in the back, eliminating the barrage of bullet rain. But the driver grins, yelling silently at us as we rocket down the single lane road.

At the last possible second, Alaya yanks the hand brake, jerking the wheel. The truck veers at the same time, forced out toward the drop. Time slows down.

A collective scream fills the car as the Jeep hits the rocky slope on the other side and lifts, our wheels skidding, lurching us up vertically, looking almost down on the truck. All I can see are the wide-eyed stares of Marco’s men as we practically wall grind along above them.

Alaya looks over, mid-tumble, and shouts, “NOW!”

Gavin and Alaya unload on the truck, taking out the tires.

I don’t have time to even process the horror of the truck’s sudden spin, flipping the vehicle over once before sending it over the edge of the mountainside. That so easily could have been us.

The world rights itself as Alaya spins the wheel and rides out the skid back onto the road, bouncing to a halt.

Looking over at Evan, I see how pale he looks.

It takes everything to keep from opening the door and puking.

Thankfully, the rest of the drive is uneventful. Gavin looks furious, but he keeps his tirade to himself, which only has Alaya bobbing in her seat.

Once we hit the industrial park, things are quiet.

Burned out cars and businesses line the road, but not a soul is in sight. A palpable hush blankets the area, like the thin veil of smoke hanging in the air.

My hand finds Evan’s unconsciously, gripping tightly.

Tell might be here among the scattered bodies we see every now and then. We can’t spare the time to check every one of them for Tell. We need to start where we know he was last. So, all I can do is swallow my terror and worry.

“He’s not answering.” Gavin slams his phone down.

“Not that surprising. Marco knocked out a few cell towers,” Evan responds, careful with his tone.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it. Just get us there.” I don’t bother controlling the chill in my own voice.

It’s only a few more blocks, but the last bit takes forever. Alaya has to navigate around fallen street signs, entire chunks of buildings. This area got hit hard.

“The Ghosts must have put up one hell of a fight.”

“You can say that again…” Alaya mutters in awe as Devonde’s office appears through the haze around the corner.

The building is a shell, blackened and crumbling in places. Fires still crackle here and there in a few windows, but the structure appears more or less stable. Alaya pulls us up as close as she can get before we exit the car, all of us on high alert for any sign of movement.

But the whole place is deathly silent.

The ramifications of that reality sit like a weight in my gut. Marco must have wiped the slate clean.

As we approach, cautiously crossing the rubble strewn plaza, Evan and Alaya take up positions on our flanks, guarding the vehicle and our backs. Like an unspoken order, Gavin sidles up to me, heading for the entry.

“Looks like Devonde built this place to withstand an assault.”

“He didn’t build it strong enough, apparently,” I huff.

“Stay close.”

“Good idea.”

The interior of the building is smoldering, in places, blown out. Thankfully, most of the smoke has dissipated through the massive windows littering the street out front.

A few bodies line the hallway leading back to the elevator bank, a mix of Ghost-emblem wearing thugs, professional security guards, and a rabble of militaristic looking uniforms indicative of Marco’s forces.

“In broad fucking daylight,” Gavin rumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And not a cop in sight.”

“Smart. They don’t stand a chance against Marco’s firepower.”

“Or they’ve been bought.” Tell's reports of the failing effects of law enforcement echo through my head.

Or they're all just scared. Many of the good ones, the honest ones, are with us, abandoning their posts alongside their corrupt counterparts to protect their families.

Which inevitably compounds the problem. With only the corrupt cops left, it’s yet another faction we have to worry about when we’re trying to get around and evacuate civilians.

But right now, that speculation is a distraction I can’t afford.

“We can’t search the whole building. Any signal?”

“No. Either his tracker isn’t working or he’s not nearby.”

It’s a demand I had as things escalated, for Tell to wear a beacon. Knowing it’s not sounding here in the middle of this blast zone should be a relief. But I won’t stop looking until I know he’s safe.

“Let’s at least check Devonde’s office before we go.”

“Hellena…”

“No. If there’s anything useful there, we need to get it.” As unlikely as it might be.

Gavin nods, a look of concern on his face for me.

The stairwell is flashing with red light the entire climb, littered with more and more bodies as we climb. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes forward, to ignore the carnage.

On the top floor, the damage is less, but the fighting must have been the heaviest.

“They really let this fucker have it, didn't they?”

“That's Marco. He's fucking ruthless.” As if I needed a reminder of what we’re up against.

It takes both of us to clear a path to Devonde’s office door.

Inside, the room is a disaster.

There’s no way anything survived the gunfire, the clear signs of blasts and what looks like a thorough ransacking. Only one body stands out among the detritus.

Devonde’s secretary is huddled under her desk, sprawled out.

The poor woman looks unscathed, other than black soot and dust on her.

Turning her over, I pause to stare at the single bullet wound through her chest.

Regardless of whether she worked for a madman, a criminal, she was just a person. Silently, I rest her hand across her chest. The last kind gesture anyone will ever show her.

Rising, I look around the room, looking for Gavin.

“Hell. You should come see this.”

I follow the sound of his voice around the bookcase tipped against the wall, revealing a doorway leading back into the wall, bathed in emergency lighting.

He nods, inviting me into the space inside, his gun still out and pointing down.

The hallway turns, ending in a reinforced steel door. Dents pepper the surface, indicating that they tried to shoot their way in, most of the damage focused on the single, tiny porthole window around head-height.

The glass is cracked, fractured in a dozen places, but still intact. They must have given up at some point.

Peering through a still visible corner of the wrecked glass, I gasp.

“Devonde,” I whisper.

The man is sitting inside, his back to the far wall of the panic room.

Red contrasts against the green of his suit under the shaking hand pressed against the wound. His sallow, snake-like skin glistens with sweat. His thin-lipped mouth hangs open within his silver goatee, his breathing ragged.

I can’t hear him and I’m certain he can’t hear me as I knock once, twice on the glass.

He looks up at the hollow thunk, his eyes glassy but still cunning. Reaching over, he presses a button. A wheezing breath scratches over the intercom before he speaks.

“Who’s there?”

“Devonde. Open the door.”

His shoulders slump to the sound of my voice, and I see him shake his head, his eyes drooping closed again.

“Hey! I need to talk to you. And I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“What could you possibly have to tell me that I would want to know?”

Good, I piqued his curiosity.

“I’m Rachelle Tyson’s niece.”

Immediately, his eyes snap open again and he slowly rises, stumbling to the door. “You’re the woman from the Ball…”

His voice through the speaker is weak after exerting himself.

“Yes.”

“You owed me money once upon a time, didn’t you?”

I swallow, remembering the foolish deal I made so many months ago with one of his drug dealers, unaware of the chaos it would ignite in my life.

“I did. And I paid it back.” I don’t know why it’s important for me to point that out.

“At a great cost to my men,” Devonde sneers, looking past me at Gavin. “Ah. I see you still have your attack dog. Eraser.”

Gavin glares back at him, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Please, Devonde. Open the door. I promise we aren’t here to kill you. I just need information. And I can give you some in return.”

“Hah… too little, too late.”

He leans heavily against the door, and for a moment I think he’s going to turn away. A resounding clunk announces the locking mechanism drawing back, the door popping slightly outward.

Inside, the main room is just big enough for the two of us to stand on the other side of the table he flops back down behind. To the left, the adjoining room houses shelves of food, water, and a cot.

Somewhere he could clearly stay for a while if he needed to.

“Urgh… Shit,” he curses, doubling over in pain. A dribble of blood spatters the table, quickly wiped away with the back of his free hand.

“You don’t have much longer,” Gavin states, looking completely unfazed.

“No. No, I don’t.”

Explaining why he let us in at all.

“So make it quick. I want to die in peace.”

Smothering my disgust for the villain and my discomfort with watching him suffer, I square my shoulders. “Tell me why you wanted my aunt dead.”

“She was, is, the mouthpiece of the Sinful.”

“Who you work for, too,” I posit, unsure of how the pieces fit together.

“I did. For years, like a fucking pawn. I thought I would get my chance to join them, to eventually take my place as one of the Seven. But they only intended to use me. I realized it when they had me start picking off their own members. It wasn’t until the orders stopped coming that I realized Sanctum was a ship without a captain.”

“So who was Rachelle taking orders from?”

“Precisely my question.”

“You think that she was acting on her own?”

“I never found out. But after the Ball, I knew the Sinful had lost all control of the situation. Marco Vice was in the picture, and I hedged my bets that his invading force would be the better ally.”

“How’d that work out for you?” I sniff.

“The bastard promised me everything I wanted to hear. I told him everything I knew about the Sinful, the town. We were supposed to divide the spoils.” A fit of blood-flecked coughing takes him.

“But he turned on you.”

“Once he got what he wanted.”

“Which is what, exactly? What does Marco want with Sanctum?”

“This city is more than just a fortress. It’s a sanctuary. From government influence. From attack. And a treasury of boundless wealth.”

My eyes widen at the statement. It sounds ridiculous.

But why would Devonde tell me any of this at all, let alone lie about it in his state?

“So, let’s say I believe you. What is this font of wealth? How have the Sinful kept S.H. running all these years?”

“Gold.”

“What?”

“At least that’s what I think. Marco had me doing seismic readings. He needed to know for sure that his gambit was worth it. That the rumors were true.”

“And you told him…?”

“The city is built over miles of caves and tunnels. Mines. I never found the entrance, but that was a gamble I was willing to risk to get the upper hand in our dealings.”

“You lied to him?”

“Not exactly. But I wanted to draw him in. Use him.”

“So you could turn on him and take the town for yourself after he took over.” Gavin shakes his head in disgust.

The gurgling laugh that escapes Devonde’s lips makes my skin crawl. It’s manic. Bitter.

With Tell’s fate still unknown, I fidget, wanting to leave.

But he’s fading. I won’t get another chance to ask questions I need answers to.

“Who was your sinful contact?”

“Voracity. At one point. Who was yours? Or were the orders delivered through your little dance partner at the ball? The angel…” His eyes glitter. Even as he’s dying, the bastard can’t help himself.

“That's none of your concern.”

“Come on, humor a dying man.”

“Hubris. But we think someone else was using the moniker to deliver orders too. Spite. Hubris. Voracity.”

“And what about the others?”

“Ire and Avarice died years ago. Likely taken out by rivals, as well. We don’t know about Ardor.”

“I knew it. I fucking knew it. If only we had met sooner, Miss Michaels,” he rasps. “We could have combined our knowledge. We could have saved this town.”

“I would never work with someone like you. And I still plan to save it, regardless.”

“Why not? I might not employ means you approve of, but we both want the same thing. To preserve what this town was founded for. A haven for the unwanted.”

“You sell poison. Death.”

“A means to an end. Someone will always do what I do. Better me than another less responsible. At least I can develop the cure and treatment for the disease, too.” He laughs cynically.

“You’re sick.”

“No, my lungs are filling up with blood.”

“We could get you to the hospital,” I offer, knowing it’s futile. I’m honestly not sure I would want to save him if we could.

“There's no point. There's nothing worth living for, anyway.”

“I disagree.”

“You don’t stand a chance against Vice.”

“That doesn’t mean we won’t try. We have to try to save Sanctum. And if we can’t, we intend to at least save as many of our citizens as we can.”

“I applaud your altruism. But it’s hopeless. He’s already won. Why keep fighting?”

“It's what my father would have wanted.”

“Your father?” His eyes narrow.

“Yes. My father was one of the Sinful. Arguably, the last of them. And I will not let his legacy die.”

“My, my. You are a tenacious little bitch. Maybe a bit deluded…”

“Watch your mouth!” Gavin warns, his hand clenching on his gun.

“Apologies, old habits. None of it matters, though. The Sinful left us to fend for ourselves. One woman won’t make a difference.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“He beat me. And those soldiers are on their way to wipe out the Block next. After that, there won’t be anyone to fight back. But still, I almost wish I could be around to see you try.”

“Not all of us have given up.” The news about the Block shakes me, but I clench my fists, unwilling to let him see me flinch.

“Given up? No. I simply changed my strategy. I will die. But so will Sanctum Harbor.”

“What do you mean?” Prickling dread ripples down my back.

“I've set a plan into motion that will make sure there’s nothing left of Sanctum for Marco to take over.”

“Tell me what you did, Devonde!” I slam my hands down on the table, but another coughing fits racks him, dragging him to the ground. “What did you do?”

My demands go unanswered as he starts to black out. Dropping to my knees, I shake him, but he’s out, his breathing slowing.

Stopping.

Pulling away, I let Gavin drag me out of the room, the sickening revelation of Devonde’s promise echoing through my head.