Chapter 14 - Riggs

CHAPTER 14 - RIGGS

W hen I close the bedroom door behind me, I'm frustrated and angry. Frustrated because she's right, of course. Why should she trust me? It's Stockholm syndrome shit.

But the anger is with myself. Because I was starting to fall for her and it's nothing but a stupid, hopeless fantasy.

What I didn't tell her, when she asked why I was doing this, was that maybe the reason I wanted to lock her in the bunker for three months was so I could sort things out and then… go back and get her so the two of us could…

I scoff.

Could what? Go on the run together? It's so fucking absurd, I'm internally cringing at my own thought process.

But the truth is… that was what I was thinking and I didn't even realize it until we had this conversation about trust.

I really thought I could put her on hold while I sorted shit out, then go back and get her and keep her forever.

Not alone, in a bunker, but in her world up top.

We could find a new future together. I mean, her life just imploded. She lost her job and her place to live. It's the perfect time to start over.

Yeah, Riggs , that little voice in my head says. She really wants to start over with a guy like you .

Probably not. She saw right through my lies. And even if she could convince herself that I was telling the truth about liking her, those threats I made in the beginning are something else altogether. I can almost picture us as old people, after being together for thirty years and getting in a fight. She would still be quoting those threats at me. We'd have kids, and grandkids, and she'd tell the story of how we met.

Well, dear grandchildren, your Pop-Pop here kidnapped me on the worst day of my life, and then we ran away to an underground city and …

And what? What are we going to do next?

"Next," I say out loud, "we're going to dinner at Ike Monroe's."

I go into the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and try not to look at myself in the mirror.

One night.

All I have to do is get through this one night. Then, tomorrow, get on the train, take her to the bunker, lock her in, and never think about her again.

This was the plan.

This is the plan.

When I go back out to the main living area, she must've splashed water on her face too because her cheeks are a little bit flushed.

She doesn't say anything, so I walk to the door and hold it open.

We exit the room without another word.

Outside, the lights are dimming down to the twilight hour. The nights down here never go completely dark, but all Colonies keep a moonlight schedule so the amount of darkness will differ like it does up top. Something to do with circadian rhythms.

"When I first learned about the moon cycles, it bothered me so much I couldn't sleep for almost a week." To my surprise, I say this out loud.

Clover side-eyes me. "What?"

"The moon. The real moon. I nearly went crazy from it."

"What do you mean?"

"It was…" I shake my head a little. "It was the biggest lie I learned before I was sent up top. I mean, the lies we tell down here, they're wrapped around everything. And you'd think that learning that there was a world up top would be the kicker, ya know? The biggest lie of them all. But it was the moon."

"Why not the sun?"

"I dunno." I look at her as we walk down the street. There are people about, but Blackberry Hill isn't what we'd call a big Colony. It's spread out because there are lots of levels, so it looks big. But there are only about two thousand people living here. "I dunno," I say again. Because she's right, it should be the sun.

"Maybe because you can't look at it."

I smile. "Yeah, maybe that's why. You can look at the moon all you want. They showed us pictures of it in Assimilation, but my first night up top happened on the full moon and those pictures didn't even come close. I mean, it's a big rock in the sky, ya know?"

"Yeah. I get it. I think the moon inspires awe in everyone."

There's a lull in the conversation after this. Which is fine by me. Ike's place is not that far and I'm hoping that the silence will extend all the way to our destination. But just as I'm thinking this, Clover says, "Hattie Miller, right?"

"Yep."

"Anything else I should know about her? Other than she's rigid and boring?"

"Nope."

"Come on, Riggs. There has to be something."

"You don't need to pretend to be her. Trust me, no one down here wants to be her. Just say you're her and leave it at that."

"What did she do to you?"

I stop walking and look at Clover, shaking my head a little. And I'm about to deny it and just ignore the whole thing, but Clover holds up a finger. "First," she says, "I'm really not prying, but you're hostile."

"I'm not hostile."

"You are. You get this cold, aggressive look in your eyes whenever you speak about her. We're already fighting over our own personal shit, the last thing we need is the name ‘Hattie' setting you off. I'm not gonna tell Ike who I am. I'm not escaping here through him. And you're spilling all this bullshit about me trusting you, but you can't trust me with the reason you hate this woman so much?"

I scoff. "Fine. If you must know, she's the one who found me."

Clover's eyebrows knit together as she works things out. "Found you." Then they shoot up in surprise. "Up top?"

I nod. "Yep."

"OK." She's smart. She knows there's more to this. "She turned you in."

"You could say that."

"Well, I did say that. But is it true?"

"She's a bounty hunter, Clover."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We were friends as kids. We were both ‘curious' kids so we both got sent to Future Founders. And there was… maybe… a year there? Where I liked her the way you were thinking earlier. Maybe when we were twelve or thirteen, but definitely before fourteen because fourteen is when we get to select our possible assignments."

"Are these assignments a Founders thing too? Or does everyone get to choose?"

"Yes, a Founders thing. No, most people do not get to choose their path in life. Not everyone grows up the way we did. Most of them"—I wave my hand at the people going about their business on the streets—"they don't live any different than people up top. They swallow all the lies, dedicate their lives to working harder and longer to just afford something a little bit nicer. They dream big for their kids, and watch sports, and think about everyday things. But everything in the Founders is different. It's like ROTC, like you said. There are uniforms and we earned ribbons, and medals, and awards by completing our destiny checklist."

Clover stares at me for a second, then blinks. "Wow. Destiny checklist. That's quite a title. But I gotta say, this whole image you're painting in my mind is starting to come off a little bit…"

"Tyrannical? Yeah, I would agree. Hattie is a bounty hunter for people who escape."

She and I just look at each other for a moment and I watch in real time as her opinion of this place adjusts. Clover blows out a breath. "Wow." Then she turns and we resume walking. "So… she hunted you. Like actually hunted you?"

"Yep."

"Did you ever date her?"

"No."

"Did she want to date you?"

"I think she did."

"Come on, Riggs. Either she's a bitchy jilted ex or she's not."

"She's not. Not really. She never had the chance to be an ex."

"So she's a bitter, scorned woman looking for vindication?"

My smile is crooked, but honest too. "I think that would be the perfect way to describe Hattie Miller."

"All right then."

"But don't be like that. Please. Just… be yourself."

"That's the second time you've said that."

I shrug. "Well, you're likable just the way you are." She doesn't say anything and when I steal a look down at her, I find her cheeks flushed. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not."

"Whatever."

"It's just… you're such a contradiction. One minute you're threatening to?—"

" Clover . My God. Can we just put those threats behind us? If I had known you'd throw my words back at me for the rest of my life, I'd have chosen them more carefully."

She chuckles. "Rest of your life? That's dramatic. Unless you have plans for me that I don't know about. Because tomorrow you're gonna drop me off in a bunker and we'll never see each other again."

"No. I mean…" I sigh and stop walking. Then point at a building. "We're here."

Clover looks over at it and lets out her own long breath. "OK." Then she turns to me. "But I would like to go on record that I think this whole night is a bad idea."

"It's fine. Ike Monroe is a bit player in the big scheme of things. Blackberry Hill is considered somewhat of a backwater in my circles. It's probably a major event to host people from Kingfisher Flats. We're gonna go up, mingle, eat, and leave. And tomorrow we'll be out of here and never think about him again."

Clover wipes her hands on her pants like she's nervous. And she doesn't agree with me. But there's no way back now, so I just walk to the door of the building and hold it open. "After you."

Ike Monroe's quarters are a lot like the penthouse at the consulate. It's all very upscale and proper. Which is a bit of a contradiction to Ike himself, who comes off as folksy and simple.

It's an act, though. Well, I'm sure that's who he started out as. He did, after all, grow up in the up-top Blackberry Hill. And from what I've heard, before he took over, it was a real shithole of a place.

Of course, what happens up there has almost no relevance to what happens down here, so this city—while tiny in comparison to the ones out west—has always been rather middle-class. Maybe even upper-middle-class.

I'm sure, when Ike Monroe came of age and was brought down here for the first time, his eyes went wide with wonder. To someone like him—a folksy, simple boy from a poverty-stricken hillbilly village—I'm sure it was nothing short of opulent.

And I do admit, Blackberry Hill has a certain charm to it. Kingfisher Flats is more of an urban city. It doesn't have the old buildings like this place. Or the historical struggles that took place up top. Even though Blackberry Hill has the forlorn and destitute feel of up-top West Virginia, it's kinda quaint and has a very small-town feel.

But that's not the look Ike was going for when he styled this penthouse. Though the building has to be over a hundred years old, and looks its age from the outside, you'd never know it from up here.

It's all modern and sleek. Floor-to-ceiling windows and stainless-steel accent tables, in combination with the ultra-modern black and white color scheme, makes the whole thing feel very metropolitan.

When we arrive, Ike is busy talking to other people and it immediately becomes clear that this isn't some simple dinner. It's a cocktail party and no one is dressed as casual as Clover and me. Dozens of people mingle. Every man is wearing a suit and every woman is wearing a dress. Not tuxes and gowns, but compared to us, in our woodsy-adventurer clothes, they might as well be.

Ike spies us from across the room, smiling big as he excuses himself from the crowd of people he's been talking to and heads our direction. I turn my head to Clover so he can't read my lips and quietly say, "Here he comes. Just smile and act… demure, or something."

Clover's comeback is cheerful. "On it."

"Riggs Russell!" Ike comes at me, hand extended. I shake it as he beams. "It has been a minute, hasn't it?"

This is a dig at my six-year absence, obviously. But I let the taunt slide and force a smile. "It has, Ike. It has." The words come out wearier than intended, but the tone isn't entirely false.

Ike lets go of my hand, immediately directing his attention to Clover. "And you must be the infamous Hattie Miller." His eyes slide back to me. "You never mentioned how beautiful your hunter was, Riggs." He chuckles. Looks back at Clover. "I wouldn't mind having you on my tail."

Clover, having been brought up with manners, puts on a flawless customer-service face and offers her hand. Not in handshake. Fuck that. Clover is both Southern and rural, so it's one of those limp finger offerings that concludes with the kissing of knuckles.

To my surprise, Ike actually does this. He takes Clover's hand in his and, without breaking eye contact, gently brushes his lips across said knuckles.

I lean back a little, slightly repulsed. But Clover suddenly transforms into someone I don't quite recognize. She bows her head, averts her eyes, and does a little curtsy.

And I've got to say, I'm a little bit annoyed that Ike Monroe is the man who coaxed this response out of her instead of me. The worst thing is, his internal ugliness has nothing to do with his outside appearance. In fact, Ike Monroe kinda looks like a Viking. Very tall—at least six-three—and while his blond hair isn't as long as it was the last time we met, it's tousled and sloppy in a lion's-mane kind of way.

I've never seen him wearing anything but black leather and denim. Like he's some kind of biker gang leader. But tonight, he's in a casual cream-colored suit. Something very Disciple, which surprises me, since that place reeks of his archnemesis, Collin Creed.

Who, quite frankly, is my archnemesis too.

So there's a sort of paradigm shift happening in my brain, and, unfortunately, this shift looks good on him. I think Clover is as surprised as I am at how easily all our preconceived notions of Ike Monroe could be shattered in less than thirty seconds.

"Nice to meet you," Clover says, recovering from her curtsy.

"You as well, Miss Miller." He's still holding on to her hand, but he takes a step back like he wants to get a better look at her. "I was expecting something more…"

When he falters for words, Clover attempts to set him at ease by filling them in. "Hardy? Robust? Muscular?"

Which makes Ike bellow out a laugh. Practically a guffaw.

"Come on," I mutter. "It wasn't that funny." But neither of them are paying any attention to me.

In fact… are they staring into each other's eyes?

I slip an arm between them, breaking the moment. "Yes. She's quite something, isn't she, Ike? Hattie and I have known each other our whole lives."

"I've heard," Ike says, not looking at me. His eyes are still locked with Clover's. Now he points at her. "You know what I like about you, Hattie?"

"You don't even know her," I scoff. "How could you like anything?"

Clover shoots me a warning with her eyes, then trains them right back on Mr. Viking here. "Never mind him. He's still bitter about how it all turned out."

My mouth actually drops open, and I want to grab her arm and pull her away. But Ike steals my move and the next thing I know, they've turned their backs on me and are walking across the room.

I take a deep breath. It's fine. She's nothing to you. In fact, she's your prisoner so you should just let it go and… I head to the bar. Get a shot of tequila, down it, then get another one and down that too.

Ike Monroe. What the hell does she think she's doing? She's gonna blow it. She's gonna ruin everything.

But as the minutes tick off, I realize she's not gonna blow it. She's actually having a conversation with him. Ike takes her around, introducing her, and there's a moment of panic here that someone will recognize her—as either Clover, or as not-Hattie. So I have an urge to go save her.

But this recognition doesn't happen, so neither does my saving.

It makes sense, I guess. That no one recognizes her. Clover said she moved out of Disciple for college, which was a decade ago, at least. A couple of years before Ike Monroe was officially in charge down here. And no one this far away from Kingfisher Flats knows what Hattie looks like. Her identity, when she's up here hunting defectors, is a secret.

This whole charade is actually working.

So why am I so pissed off about that?

I drink a little more, notice that Clover is also drinking, and by the time the party starts winding down, she's well on her way to tipsy.

It's time to go.

She and Ike are in a crowd of people—mostly men, I notice. And all of them, even the women, are gawking at Clover like she's some shiny thing they all need to get a piece of.

I touch her arm and lean in. "Ready to go?"

"Oh, Riggs!" Ike exclaims. He's clearly ‘tipsy' too. "Not yet. We're just getting started here. The night is young!"

I check my watch just for show. "It's past midnight and"—I almost say ‘Clover'—"Hattie and I have a long trip tomorrow on the trains. We'd better turn in, don't you think, Hattie?" I give her arm a little squeeze when I say this. Not enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention.

She's about to say no, but then her eyes find mine. I think she actually might've forgotten that she's not Hattie Miller and these people are her literal enemies, because once our eyes lock, they sober up and she nods. "Yes, you're right." Then she turns to her crowd of admirers. "We'll have to catch up another time."

"Looking forward to it," one man says.

"Do keep in touch," his woman adds.

Clover leans in to have a few final words with the crowd, while Ike leans in to have a few words with me.

"Hey, the two of you… you're not together, right? I mean, tell me I haven't been stepping on your toes all night, Riggs, because I'll feel like an asshole if I have."

"No," I quickly say. "We're friends, that's all. I'm just a little protective of her."

"I've noticed. You've been lurking in the shadows behind us this whole night. Antisocial, as usual. But I have to say, I'm surprised you've remained friends. I mean, I wouldn't mind if she took me down and tied me up. But most men probably would."

"She was only doing her job," I say.

"Hmmm," Ike hums. "Funny. I've heard her name enough times to have a picture of her in my head. But that mental image and this real one don't seem to have any relation whatsoever. She's an absolute delight. And… well, if you're not with her, then… I might just take my chance. You wouldn't care, would you?"

I force a smile. "Not at all, Ike. Give it your best shot."

He laughs, throwing his head back. Then he claps me on the back. "Thanks, brother. We'll see ya next time you come through." Then he steps away, raising his hand to hail another friend across the room.

He passes Clover, stops to kiss her offered hand one more time, then shoots me a wink over his shoulder as Clover approaches.

"Wow." Her face is very flushed and while her eyes are bright and happy, they are also a bit glassy. "This was fun!"

"Yeah." I offer her my arm, not even knowing where that gesture came from because never in my life have I offered a woman my arm. It just felt appropriate for some reason. And Clover doesn't even blink when she clutches it, pushing herself into me, like she's tired.

She sighs. "Did you have fun?"

"Sure."

She looks up at me as we enter the elevator. "You didn't."

"It was fine. These people aren't my crowd." Then, under my breath, I mutter, "But apparently they are yours."

If she hears my snide comment, she doesn't respond. Just sighs again, leaning her head against my shoulder. "He's not what I thought he would be."

Here it comes. "I presume you are talking about Ike?"

"Yeah. I mean, from the way Lowyn described him, he's a monster. But he doesn't come off as a monster."

"He's like one of those pretty, poison frogs, isn't he?"

"Or… just one of the copycats. For survival reasons."

"Oh, my God, you like him?"

She shrugs, not even denying it.

"You're just drunk," I say, making excuses.

This makes her laugh. "Probably."

Which is a terrible answer. So we go silent after that. Thoughts of Ike Monroe lingering in our heads all the way home.

When we get upstairs to our room, Clover heads straight for the bedroom. Once inside, she turns at the bottom of the bed, smiles, then spreads her arms and flops backwards, sending a ripple through the white, down comforter. She sighs. "I really needed this night."

I close the door behind me and step into the middle of the room. "You needed a night out with a monster?"

She scoffs and, because she is kinda drunk, it comes out as a snort. "If you're the monster, then I guess you're right."

"Whatever."

"You're just jealous."

Now it's my turn to scoff. And because I am way less drunk than she is, I don't snort. "There isn't a chance I'm jealous of Ike Monroe."

Clover turns on her side, awkwardly attempting to prop herself up on her elbow. Her eyes are bloodshot and her long, blonde hair is all messy. She looks tired. But… also happy. Like she really did have a good time. "It's not him you're jealous of, Riggs. It's my impression of him."

"Because you fell for his cliché good looks? Because you fell for his over-the-top fake charm? Clover, the only thing I feel about those two things is pity."

Her laugh bursts out and becomes a guffaw as she flops back on the bed and looks up at the ceiling. "This is a new side to you." She side-eyes me. "You like me, Riggs. But you're one of those unemotional men who can't stand intimacy. While Ike Monroe is the exact opposite. He's dying for some intimacy. He's looking for a partner. That's why women like him. He's looking for someone, Riggs. And you're just pushing everyone away."

I shake my head, sit down on a nearby chair, and start taking off my boots.

"I can feel it."

"You can feel what ?" I snap back.

"Your distance."

"Whatever."

I finish taking off my boots and stand up, pulling my shirt over my head. To my surprise, I find Clover watching me.

She even takes a moment to study my body before meeting my gaze. "Will you take off my shoes too?" She lifts up one leg, with some difficulty, and wiggles her trendy hiking boot at me before letting her foot fall back to the ground with a thud.

I want to say no on principle, but she closes her eyes and turns her head to the side, like she might just pass out and sleep fully clothed if I don't lend her a hand.

So fuck it. I walk over, pick up her foot, unlace her shoe, and then do the other one.

She doesn't even move. Doesn't even open her eyes.

"Clover?"

She lazily answers me with a low, "Hmmm?"

"You're… you're in the middle of the bed."

"What?" She tries to laugh, but she's already half asleep.

"You're in the middle of the bed. You need to scoot over. I'm not sleeping on the couch."

"Isn't there another bedroom?"

"No. And if you don't move, I'll do it for you."

Her giggle is sleepy and filled with disbelief.

She doesn't move.

So I walk over to the side of the bed, grab her by the arms, and pull her up and push her over. She wakes up just enough to unbutton her pants and start wiggling them over her hips.

I watch, fascinated, as she brings her legs up, slips the pants off, and then kicks her long legs around as she tries to get under the comforter without opening her eyes.

"You're ridiculous."

She finally slips her legs under the covers, and then opens one eye to look at me while she snuggles into her pillow. "You like me."

I point to myself. " You like me ."

She smiles, eyes closed again, and nods. "I do like you. It's a very bad idea, but you're just kinda…" And then she falls asleep. Leaving me dying to know what I'm kinda like.

I watch her for a moment, wondering what this liking her will get me.

Probably another prison sentence.

Possibly a death sentence.

How pissed off would my father be if he knew I had smuggled a Disciple resident into Blackberry Hill? Livid would be an understatement. It would be rage. A great rage. The kind of rage one expects from men with great power. And because it was me who did it, he would take it personal.

It would not just be a betrayal, it would be treason.

I take off my pants and get in on the other side of the bed, turning my back to Clover.

Immediately, she squirms behind me and then the next thing I know, she's got her face all cuddled up to my back.

I push her off. "Don't."

She is only semi-awake, but she musters up some energy to taunt me. "What's wrong, Riggs? You don't like me anymore?"

I push her all the way over to the other side of the bed. "There's a line here, OK?" I cut the bed in half with a fingertip. "You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine."

This makes her snort. "That's so very I Love Lucy ." Then she snickers while making a monumental effort to open her eyes one last time. "Don't be a prude. Let me snuggle you, Riggs."

There's a pause here while I replay that word ‘snuggle' back in my head.

And then she bursts out laughing and turns her back to me. A moment later, she's snoring.

I reach over, turn the light out, and then lie there in bed, staring up at the ceiling, forcing myself to think about the consequences if I don't get rid of her.

Falling for this woman would be a monumentally stupid thing to do and all the ways in which it could go wrong start playing in my head on repeat well into the early hours of the morning.