Chapter 4 Kill Pill

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KILL PILL

Gemma

"THIS IS YOUR kill pill."

"My what ?" My eyes snap to the woman with unassuming features and plain, brown hair behind what I presume is bulletproof glass.

She sits behind a counter on her side of the divide, packing a tan backpack with basic survival items—standard issue for each outlaw on the brink of Eviction. She waves the item she's holding to get my attention, waiting until my eyes land on the small, translucent packet pinched between her finger and thumb. Inside the packet is a single, unnaturally bright neon green pill.

"You only get one," she continues. "Standard issue for female outlaws. Women like you are often targeted upon entry."

I jerk my chin back. "Women like me ?"

She sighs, but not with annoyance. If the dark circles under her weary eyes are any indication, her sigh is a breeze of deep exhaustion spilling out.

"If you find yourself in a position where death is preferable, just rip the packet open." She taps her finger at the side of the packet to indicate a small perforation. "It's notched for an easy tear. The pill can be chewed or swallowed. Once it's ingested, you'll be dead in three minutes or less."

"Great, that's my plan B. Thanks for that. I didn't expect you all to make it so easy."

She ignores my comment and finishes her well-rehearsed statement like a damn professional. "Swallowing it whole is more efficient if your situation warrants a quick conclusion."

A quick conclusion.

I'll admit, it's tempting.

The thought of falling asleep forever and being done with all the pain has a certain appeal… Though the thought of hurting Seb in all the ways he hurt me is far more appealing.

"Eviction begins in ten minutes."

Ten minutes?

It feels as though an entire lifetime has passed since the journey from my jail cell in Connecticut began. Yet only an hour has passed since our bus arrived at the Transition Center.

Herded and filtered.

Stripped and showered.

Implanted with a microchip just behind my ear.

It's been a mad rush—an unexpectedly quick and efficient process—and I haven't taken a moment to reflect on how drastically my life is about to change.

The woman on the other side of the glass unzips the front pocket of the tan backpack and slips in one easy-open kill pill before zipping it closed. She presses a button on the countertop and a hinged door rises to reveal an opening that's conveniently backpack-sized.

"This is yours." She drops the backpack into the hole and slaps the door shut with her palm.

Her finger descends on a second button, triggering a brief but irritating buzz. Something shifts and clangs within, then another hinged door springs open against my thighs. Inside is the backpack.

"These items are granted to you as a goodwill courtesy by the federal government of the United States of America."

I grab the bag and slip it on over my shoulders. The weight of it settles, and though there isn't much inside, it feels heavier than I expected—heavy enough to drag me down with the weight of reality.

I'm afraid.

Everything is about to change—permanently and irreversibly.

I no longer have a choice.

I have no control.

"The backpack and items contained within it are the only possessions you will be allowed to take into the Territory." She pauses. "Please raise your right hand."

Shit, this is happening.

"Please state your full name and date of birth for the record."

I swallow hard. "Gemma Rose Hadley. January thirtieth, twenty-thirty-four."

"Gemma Rose Hadley, you have been processed for Eviction from the United States of America. On this day, May twenty-fourth, twenty-sixty-four, your citizenship is hereby renounced, effective immediately. Please acknowledge your understanding by stating, 'I understand.'"

My sight is unfocused, blurring as I struggle with the truth of this moment, but my eyes are fixed on hers, watching her speak through the haze. "I understand."

"You no longer retain the rights and privileges of a citizen. You are here and forevermore an outlaw, and all outlaws of the United States must be Evicted. Your Eviction is a life sentence. You are effectively banished to live your remaining days—however many that may be—in the Territory. Please acknowledge your understanding by stating, 'I understand.'"

"I understand."

"The Territory has no unifying governing body or system of law, and therefore, no law enforcement or public safety services. All outlaws assume their own risk for injury, bodily harm, or death from the moment they enter the Territory. Please acknowledge your understanding by stating, 'I under—'"

"I understand," I spit out the words before she finishes.

Fear crawls beneath my skin, and it scratches me, rubbing me raw with impatience.

I'd thought the four months of waiting in solitary were the worst part of all this, but I was wrong… It's this . The pomp and circumstance, the formality behind my Eviction, the ritual of this transition.

Get on with it.

Just send me away already.

There's a slight pause before she begins again. "Immediately upon receiving directions, you must exit this Transition Center. All outlaws will enter the Red Zone, pass through the tunnel, and enter the Territory for outlaws. At no point will you be allowed to re-enter the Transition Center, nor any part of the United States beyond the border walls of the Territory."

She takes a deep breath, then blows it out, and the hopeless sound somehow draws me back and focuses my vision—it has me sweeping my gaze across her face, noting the exhaustion in her features. This job must be draining, sending people off to their potential demise.

How many of the people in this room will survive a week in the Mojave? A month? Will one of us die today?

"Gemma Rose Hadley, do you acknowledge your renouncement of citizenship and imminent Eviction from the United States as the sentence for your crimes as judged in a court of law?"

Do I acknowledge…?

Why ask a yes or no question when they'll only allow you to answer one way?

I let my head fall to the side a little. "What would you do if I just said, 'No?'"

"You would be removed from the facility by force."

"Where would they take me?"

"Same place. You would be forced to enter the Red Zone all the same."

"A man would put his hands on me to do that?"

Her brow furrows at the line of questioning. "Yes, as I said, you would be removed by force. As many of our officers are male—"

"Got it. Not worth the argument for argument's sake. I've had enough men put their hands on me and take me by force to last me a lifetime, you know?"

Her eyes scrutinize, but I see a hint of softness there. Still, she's all business, just trying to get this done to move her day forward. "Gemma Rose Hadley, do you acknowledge—"

"Yes, I acknowledge. I understand, and I acknowledge."

She gives me a short nod. "You can lower your hand. Please join one of the lines on your left. Outlaws must stay behind the black-and-white line until they are called forward to enter the Red Zone."

I glance left to see the lines of outlaws forming and growing, the head of each line stopped behind a black-and-white line painted across the cement floor. A row of five fire-engine-red doors stand ominously about ten feet beyond the black-and-white line. Armed guards stand between the lines and the doors, watching the outlaws with careful scrutiny and skepticism.

And on each door, the same sign is affixed, bold and clear with thick black letters on a stark white background.

RED ZONE

OUTLAWS ONLY

NO RE-ENTRY

No re-entry…

None.

Once I pass through those doors, it will be final. I'll never return home again; I'll never see my family or my friends again. Any chance I could've had at a normal life will be gone forever.

"So, that's it, then?" My voice is soft. "Through the red doors and no turning back…"

It's not as if I have a choice anymore. I made my choice the night I killed those three bastards.

"Please join one of the lines."

I blink at the sound of her voice, realize that fear and weakness must show in my expression, and I quickly fix my face—this isn't the time or place to show fear.

I mutter a quick and quiet, "thank you," adjust the weight of the backpack, and naturally gravitate toward the line that's second from the right—one of only two lines, as far as I can see, with women.

I join the line behind two young women, chatting vibrantly. The energy and intonation in their speech reminds me of the roommate I had during my sophomore year of college and how she interacted with her sorority sisters. They had the social connection I secretly envied but denied myself—I was too obsessively focused on my program.

I'd thought their lifestyle was the dangerous one—with all the partying, drinking, and random hook-ups with strangers. When I was young, it never occurred to me that I was prey simply because I had tits and a pussy.

My mistake.

Maybe if I'd developed more friendships and let myself have a little more fun, I wouldn't have been so lonely and vulnerable when Seb and his friends found me.

The woman directly in front of me faces the red doors, fussing with her shoulder-length brown, wavy locks, freshly washed from the showers we were required to take and air-drying in soft waves. She speaks to her friend in a hushed voice, but at a rushed pace.

The other woman—shorter than her friend by at least three inches—was matching her energy until I stepped into the line. Every time I glance, I find her looking at me before she quickly diverts her eyes back to the brunette. She pulls her long dirty-blonde hair over one shoulder, absent-mindedly twisting the strands into a braid in front of her.

I don't know why she keeps looking at me, but it puts me on edge. I don't know her. She's here because she's a violent criminal. I know my motivations for violence were justifiable, but I don't know what she did or why . She might recognize me from the media, and if she does, she could be one of those women I don't quite understand—the ones who hate me so passionately that they wish me dead.

I don't judge those women.

I imagine them as the unfortunate wives of men like Dom, Peter, Colin, and Seb. If I were one of them, I would probably misdirect my suppressed rage, too.

Regardless, I have to remain vigilant. I'm about to enter one of the most dangerous places in the world, and I can't let a moment's hesitation, fear, or weakness—however fleeting that moment may be—stand in my way of surviving long enough to get my final revenge.

My brow furrows as I harden my expression. I start to ask her what she's looking at, but before I can get a word out, she decides to give up on the sneaky glancing and go all in on full eye contact instead. She leans to the side a little so she can look at me squarely over her friend's shoulder.

"You're that girl, right?"

I draw in a subtle but deep breath as my fingers curl around the straps of my backpack. With feigned innocence, I ask, "What girl?"

She smiles softly, almost sweetly, and lets go of her unsecured braid as her friend whirls around to look at me, too. "You're that girl… The one who single-handedly murdered three men in revenge before dyeing her hair pink on social media…"

I shrug. "Am I?"

The brunette's eyes widen as she gives me a once over. "Oh, my God !" Her gaze darts wildly to the shorter blonde. "That's her… It's her !" Her expression morphs instantly from excitement to annoyance, and she taps the back of her hand against the blonde's shoulder. "How long was she standing there, and you didn't say a fucking word?"

The blonde is staring at me, paying no mind to the brunette. She nods slowly as a grin lifts her cheeks and scrunches her nose. "Oh, my fucking God. It's the Siren ." She enthusiastically throws her hands out in front of her with her palms angled toward the ceiling. "You're the fucking Siren! I fucking knew it!"

She's not angry.

Her tone is… joyful?

Like she's meeting a celebrity.

They're practically bouncing, gleeful in front of me, staring like I'm the second coming of Christ or something.

I don't love it, but I definitely don't hate it, either…

Okay, maybe I like it a little.

"The motherfucking Siren." The brunette sinks her fingers into her hair, overcome with disbelief. "Girl, you're my idol . I fucking love you! I've been following your story from the beginning. You inspired me. For real, though, you're the reason I'm here."

She hesitates, then launches herself forward and throws her arms around me, giving me a hug. I'm stiff as she squeezes me tight, stunned and frozen in the way she embraces me.

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you for doing what you did." Her words are soft and sincere. "Watching you gave me the strength I needed to survive."

Oh… Wow.

I didn't expect that.

I'm not exactly sure what she's thanking me for, and I'm still shocked as hell when she releases me and steps back.

She flashes a wide, star-struck grin. "I'm Quinn." She puts her hand on her chest as she introduces herself, then places it on the shorter blonde's shoulder. "This is Katie. It's so funny we both have the same Eviction date. We were friends in high school, but we lost touch for a bit. Graduation was three years ago, and we haven't seen each other since…"

They glance at each other, then Katie says, "Yeah, but we both ended up on the same prisoner transport flight out from Tallahassee and rode the same bus here."

"Who fucking knew we were in solitary in the same damn detention center this whole time?" Quinn laughs.

"We were actually just talking about you on the bus ride," Katie tells me. "Found out we were both in for basically the same crime…" she pauses, "which was inspired by you. The Siren. Oh, my God , I can't believe you're literally standing in front of me right now!"

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as they speak, though not because of them… It's because I feel eyes on me.

They've said the name I'm known by several times now—the Siren—and they aren't exactly using their indoor voices. I'm relieved that these two women don't hate me, but there are a lot of men in this room. Men who know what I did, but don't believe the reason why I did it. Men who think of me as nothing more than a lying, man-hating bitch who would try to kill them simply for having the wrong tone of voice.

Maybe I would…

Becoming the Siren changed me.

"Shit," Quinn whines. "I wish I had my cell phone so I could take a pic."

Katie puts her fists on her hips and turns her body to Quinn, looking up at her. "Girl, you're never gonna have a cell phone again. Accept it."

"I know, and I hate it! At least I could text on that cheap phone one of the officers snuck into solitary for me…"

As they chatter on about cell phones, I recall something Officer Cruz had said to me outside…

"There are going to be a lot of pissed off men who will target you, and that's going to start as soon as you enter the Red Zone. Find women who know you as the Siren, who appreciate what you did. Seek them out the moment you go through those doors and make friends with them. Connection is how you survive."

Make friends?

I'm not sure I even know how.

Yet, I feel my shoulders shrugging against the tension in my neck—a physical manifestation of the unease I'm feeling as attention is drawn in my direction. Maybe I do need connections to survive this. And these women are standing in front of me offering exactly that.

When I find a natural spot to join in the conversation, I take advantage of it. "I'm pretty bummed I can't do any live streaming in the Territory. I'm willing to bet I'll find more than a few men who deserve to hear me sing…"

There's a brief pause as they both look at me, and I wonder if they understood what I meant. I know they did when they both break out into laughter.

"Girl, yes!" Quinn cheers.

"Pretty much every man in this room, right?" Katie leans in. "We should start a fucking uprising out there. Find all the women, work together to wipe out all the men, and then take over the Territory for ourselves."

"Sounds like a dream." I nod, giving them a small smile.

That really does sound like a dream.

A head-in-the-clouds, get-real-it's-never-going-to-happen dream, but a nice dream, nonetheless.

Quinn looks me up and down. "You're such a fucking goddess. Honestly, you're so pretty. I thought you were pretty in the clips from your live stream they showed on that network special, but you even look fucking cute in these hideous orange jumpsuits."

Katie looks at her and grins. "I know, right? She's a queen!"

I think maybe this is where I should return the compliment, but before I have a chance, something heavy bumps into me from behind, shoving me forward. I nearly collide with Quinn and Katie, but they both put out their hands to halt me, to keep me upright as their eyes rise over my shoulder, their expressions twisting from excitement to rage.

Speaking over each other, Quinn punches out the words, "Back up, asshole."

Katie gives attitude with hers. "Ever heard of personal space, dickwad?"

"Shut the fuck up." It's a deep male voice at my back, booming down from somewhere above my head. "No one asked any of you dumb bitches to speak."

Excuse the fuck out of me?

Slowly, I turn and come face-to-chest with a wide, tall, mountain of a man. His predatory energy is overwhelming, consuming, palpable. I'm immediately disgusted by this man, unease crawling beneath my skin from his disturbing energy.

I lift my chin, slowly dragging my eyes up to the nasty motherfucker's face. He towers at least six inches above my head and probably thinks that makes him intimidating. I ball my hands into furious fists held down at my sides.

White-knuckled.

Jaw tense.

Pulse racing as chaos thickens my blood.

"Say it again." My voice is quiet, but insistent in my growing rage.

His head tilts down as he meets my eyes, his bushy eyebrows angling down toward his nose. "What did you say to me?"

I quickly scan his face, hyper-vigilant as I take in every twitch, every subtle twist in his expression, every wrinkle, every freckle, every bead of sweat. There's a nasty-looking scar across his left cheek, and I can't help but think it looks like some of mine, which were made by the wild slashes of a knife.

I hold his stare as I emphasize every word. "Say. It. Again. Tell us one more time to shut the fuck up. Call me a dumb bitch again. Say it."

He's already too close to me, but then he leans forward, his protruding belly pressing into me.

I'm disgusted that his body touches mine, and my heart races from the adrenaline of fear, from memories of my most traumatic moments rushing around somewhere in the back of my mind, warning that there's something wrong… Warning me that he's like them.

Despite my fear, I won't step back.

I refuse to step back from men like him ever again.

"Shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch."

Quinn and Katie are hyped that he dared to say it again. I can feel their anger as they make utterances of disbelief at the man's audacity and give me encouragement to fight him.

I don't want to fight this man.

I don't need to fight this man.

The last man I'm going to hurt is somewhere out there in the Territory, and I'm not giving an ounce of my building vitriol to any other. Logan Sebastian gets all my remaining fury.

Ease off, Gem.

Save it for Seb.

"That's what I thought you said. I guess I'm just such a dumb bitch that I didn't understand you the first time."

So much for easing off.

I force an exaggerated smile, one that uses every muscle in my cheeks so I can ensure my dimples pucker.

He counters my sweet smile with a dark grin.

"You'd better look out for me and my boys out there, dumb bitch ." He really doubles down on the dumb-bitch shtick. He lifts a massive finger and jabs the scar on his cheek with a filthy fingernail. "This is your fault. You're the reason my girl tried to take me out. But I don't fuck around with bitches like you and her, you understand? When I knew what it was coming to, I put her down for good. And I'm gonna put you down, too."

My breath catches momentarily, but my sweet smile never falters. "I don't know what you looked like before she cut you, honey, but I'm willing to bet she did you a favor."

He lunges, bumping me backward into Quinn and Katie again. They catch me before I topple backward, grab hold of me and pull me behind them. They willingly step up to the giant to defend me, shouting obscenities and gesturing wildly. I almost have to laugh at the extreme height difference between the man and Katie, the way her neck cranes backward to look up at him so she can make eye contact without fear.

The urge to laugh rushes out of me in a wave when the man's hand snaps forward and latches around Quinn's throat. My fury begins to unsheathe, but a familiar voice leaps from the crowd somewhere behind me.

"Outlaw!" Officer Cruz appears on my right, walking down the line of outlaws in my row. His hand lands on the giant man's and yanks it down, forcing him to release Quinn. "You keep your goddamn hands to yourself. You are still standing on US soil."

The man's face is contorted with rage, but he lifts his palms in surrender at Officer Cruz.

"You three," Officer Cruz indicates me, Quinn, and Katie with his hand, "move to the front of line one."

As we move to pass, Officer Cruz gently grips my elbow. He walks me along behind Quinn and Katie toward the front of the line, nearer to the red doors.

Leaning in, he keeps his voice quiet but speaks to me quickly. "That man is going to try to kill you. Line one enters the Red Zone first, so you girls will have a head start. As soon as you enter, move . Get as far ahead of the crowd as you can and move quickly through the tunnel. When you step out into the Territory, move faster. Don't stop until sunset."

He walks us along the black-and-white strip on the floor to the first line, and places us at the front. "You can survive this. Good luck to you."

And just like that, he's gone.

"What the hell was that?" Katie looks at me, bewildered.

"He's… I think he's trying to help me survive Eviction."