15. Marco

15

MARCO

T here's something to be said for loyalty and trust.

I've always traded in the currency of power.

Fear. Retaliation. Violence.

Money, of course.

All of those things revolve around threats, the promise of punishment.

The upper hand over my enemies is a must, whether it's staying one step ahead, cutting them off at the knees by turning their allies against them, or just being the smartest guy in any room.

Or the richest.

I always hedge my bets to win.

But none of those things garner the kind of security that loyalty provides. Knowing that your people will do their jobs, even when no one is watching. Knowing that they won't stab you in the back.

Of course, you can never know for certain.

But you can predict that people will act in their own interests. Stick to their compass.

So in that regard, you can always trust, if you learn how to read people.

Knowing who will behave in the way that's always true to who they are. Even a conman, a sleazebag, or a lying, cheating thief.

Know. What. To. Expect.

That way, when you step on the backs of the people beneath you, you will always have sure footing. Or at least you'll know which back is going to cave in.

Every once in a while, though, someone really pulls the wool over your eyes.

Like Hellena.

I never knew just how devious she could be.

And I'd be lying if I said I didn't like who she's become.

However, it's a bur in my sock, the way she turned things around.

The little spiked nuisances that coated my shoes as a child growing up in the arid, desert scrub grass of the poorest fucking section of LA.

I started my uphill battle in those slums, doing the job that needed to be done. It's all I ever ask of anyone who works for or with me, too.

What needs to be done.

Like my father taught me with the back of his hand. Then his fist.

He taught me that when the time came, I should not hesitate. Even to kill him.

And I did.

Just like Hellena thought she was doing when she ran. Or when she fought back against me. And now, as she panders to what she thinks I want from her.

Doing exactly what I want her to do by going back to Sanctum, paving the way for my return.

I wonder if she realizes that she's one of those stones being laid for me to tread upon?

Set loose to dig up the secrets that I need her to find.

So that I can make my way to my end goal.

Sitting behind the desk in the White House. Or the equivalent power.

Leverage over that office. Because that, I believe, more than the gold underneath Sanctum, is the real prize that the Sinful held.

And why I still need the psychopathic woman I'm waiting for in the fading light of dusk, sitting under a street light in the middle of an abandoned park.

"Marco, darling, it's so good to see you," the purring, slightly raspy voice croons from the shadows of the trees nearby.

"I'd say the same thing, but you don't look so well."

She's haggard, drawn. I suppose weeks of lying in a hospital bed will do that to anyone.

"It's how I feel that really matters." She steps up to the bench, sliding down beside me.

Up close, I can see that a lot more than a lack of food has altered her state.

She's twitchy. Her eyes are glassy.

Almost like she's on drugs.

But I know better. This is something inside. In her head.

Like my mother when the dementia took her mind, slowly. Painfully.

"And how do you feel, Rachelle?"

"Spectacular," she hums, leaning back. "I don't recommend getting shot, though."

"Noted. I'll avoid it if at all possible."

"How is she?" Rachelle asks suddenly, her mood shifting.

"How is who?" I give her a concerned, confused glance.

"My niece. I know you have her. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I wanted to?—"

"To put her under your thumb instead of mine. Manipulate her. How did that work out?"

"I wanted to train her to understand what we are trying to do and why it's so important."

"And as usual, we disagree. She only needed to know enough to lead her to the prize, thereby leading us to the prize. The prize that, need I remind you, you failed to deliver."

"I needed more time. And now…"

"Now, your minions are making it decidedly difficult for anyone to move around or dig for clues."

"And she's back here doing just that, out of both of our control. Unlike my army of compliant soldiers."

"Indeed. But none of this would have been necessary if you would have kept Devonde in hand. Or at least kept him from destroying half the town." Let her think Hellena escaped on her own. That she's not exactly where I want her.

Rachelle's head flicks to the side in a strange twitch of denial. Her lips move, just barely. Like she's speaking to someone I can't see.

Great.

"Everything, the flood, the Ghosts. All of it is part of the plan," she mutters, blinking rapidly.

"Whose plan, exactly? The Block fought back so much harder than you said they would or could."

"Clive was one of them! The Seven. How was I supposed to know?"

"Precisely my point, Herald ," I mock, my lips pulling back in a sneer. "When you don't know, you tell me that instead of lying to me."

Again, that manic flare of her eyes.

Several seconds of tense silence. But I can tell she's engaged in another conversation altogether.

I swear, if I didn't still need her…

"Get the junkies in line. Whatever you've given them makes them a liability if they attack us too. From what you said before, they should be unable to disobey. So give them orders. Make them find what we're looking for. Or find someone who does."

"They are susceptible to suggestions, not completely mindless. Well, mindless might be closer to the mark, but they have wants . Needs. Instincts that drive them. And what about your end of things?"

"My end? I've got people cleaning up the town as we speak. From the sound of things, they're getting a bead on the Block and their survivors. They have a camp somewhere in the mountains. I aim to find it. Soon."

"You and your long games." Rachelle snickers, showing a hint of her old self, the woman I met months ago in secret with that hack, Mayor Vanderbelt.

"Tried and true."

"But tedious. And slow to turn a result," she snips.

"Then make a move. Follow through on your promises and deliver the Sinful's bargaining chip in the government. And the gold."

"I told you, I will have it soon."

"When?"

"The day of your wedding. Consider it a bridal present."

"Consider this a final warning. No more delays."

She's on her feet, smiling down at me. For a split second, I almost see a presence behind her eyes. A flicker of a shadow, something dark and hideous.

Like my abuela used to warn us about.

The dark spirits. The cursed ones.

Then it's gone, and that frantic look returns, following her off into the woods, back to wherever the crazy bitch is holed up.

I need to end this partnership before she snaps and loses her mind. Which means I need to find what she promised me on my own first.

Heading back to the circle of trucks and SUVs at the bottom of the path, I twirl my finger once overhead, signaling that we're meeting up.

"Destination?"

"Hit the hotel on the edge of town. They got everything we need ready?"

"Grico just called and confirmed," Vance replies, opening my door.

"Good. Any word from Sing?"

"Rarely. Heh." Lonnie chortles at the bad joke.

"Nah. He said he'd call when he had something, though."

"Then let's go see what we can see."

Night hides our entry into town where we change into rougher gear, beat up cars, and arm ourselves to the teeth. For anyone watching, they'll just see a few odd cars filled with survivors, or maybe opportunists coming to Sanctum to see what they can scavenge.

And with the cover and hazard of the Ghosts an ever present threat, no one will look twice at us.

Least of all Hellena's little friends, or the woman herself.

She's had over a week to get settled in.

To put out feelers.

And I know she's up to something.

I intend to find out what that is.

"You look ridiculous, Lonnie," Vance snorts, tugging on his jean vest.

"At least I don't look like a gimp."

"Hey! Shut up, this stupid leather shit's the only thing that fit me!"

"Both of you look like flunk outs from the Village People," Grico grumbles, shaking his head.

"Anyone have anything to add about my getup?" I snap, crossing to the old pickup truck. All three shuffle awkwardly.

"Uh, actually, what's that one movie with the singing and dancing and the two gangs?" Lonnie starts.

Grico thwacks him on the back of the head.

"Oh, yeah!" Vance laughs, covering his mouth as I pin him with a glare. "Cool! Go! Crazy, Go!"

Fucking. Stooges.

"Both of you go. Now. Before I reassign you to a task in close contact with sewage."

Vance and Lonnie scurry to their vehicle, shoving one another for the driver's seat.

"Grico, you're with me. The jets and the sharks are heading into the hills. It's time we see what my fiancée is up to and if she's staying true to her word."

Here and there on our systematic, somewhat erratic sweep of the neighborhoods, we spot stragglers.

People slipping in and out of houses.

Occasionally, I spot one of Rachelle's lackeys, scrambling from one shadow to the next.

Over the next several hours, reports come in over the radio. Signs of movement from the Block. My guys are good. Within half a day of arriving, I have a picture of what the stakes look like.

A neat comparison from the calls Hellena's made, that Sing has confirmed.

There are definitely… discrepancies.

But as the Herald pointed out, I play the long game. So I'll give this a few days. Keep an eye out. Let her show me her loyalty. Or dig her own grave.

We're about to head back to my hotel base of operations when I spot a shadow beside one of the houses, sitting still. Watching the door.

"Grico, tail that wretched creature. I want a closer look."

As paranoid as the sickly looking man seems to be, he hardly notices us.

The only thing on his mind appears to be the other scavengers. Watching them, checking what they're taking. He moves from one spot to the next, mumbling to himself.

Or to someone else.

A bedraggled looking woman peeks out of a once-nice suburban home, looking both ways before trotting out carrying a sack full of random groceries, water bottles. She makes it halfway across the lawn when the freak dashes out, tackling her to the ground.

Fists batter her face as she screams, lashing out with a pocket knife.

"That's fucked up," Grico murmurs, disgust clear on his face.

"Let's see just how fucked up."

The creature becomes more frantic with every slice and stab of the knife.

More enraged.

It doesn't seem to feel any pain.

Until I hear it, what it keeps repeating over and over again as it begins to bash the woman's head in with a garden cobblestone.

"Find water. Find water! Find water! I'm trying, I swear, I'm trying! FIND WATER!!" he screams, covered in viscera.

And suddenly, the limp body beneath him is irrelevant. Only the bottles of water she was hauling hold the man's attention. He scoops them up.

Walks off down the street like he's out for a Sunday stroll.

Very interesting.

Fascinating, even.

The process, the event, repeats itself all over town. Hunters, with very specific orders. Tasks they seem to follow beyond all reason.

By the end of the next day, I've seen enough.

Signs all over town of the Block's influence, rescuing anyone who needs assistance. Offering them a place to stay. With very specific rules. Agreements.

Surrender weapons.

Donate all available resources to the commonwealth. Fucking communism.

At the heart of all of it, Ora Clive. And Hellena.

Meeting in secret. Sharing intel.

Conspiring…

I knew her change of heart was too good to be true.

So I make a phone call as my men prepare to make our arrival official, contacting the advance party at the mayor's mansion. We'll roll in tomorrow with pomp and circumstance.

To prepare for the wedding.

To make this takeover official.

"It's me. I've seen what your poison does. Color me impressed."

"I told you, despite his betrayals, Devonde knew his craft." Rachelle chuckles, sounding slightly more in control than before.

"And you know yours. I think you were right. About me wasting time. Wasting resources."

"I take it you want to cut to the chase? Expedite things?"

"Hellena has been off her leash long enough. She knows what we want, and how to get it."

"You've had her this entire time, haven't you?" Rachelle snips, her tone accusing. Dangerous.

"Not like I thought I did. It's time she became devoted to the cause."

"Hmm… that can be arranged."