27

Across the road from the Guard Station, light glowed from every window in Berkley House. The Sisterhood hadn't wasted any time taking over the building, and they were clearly hard at work. Ironing out the finer details of the new regime, no doubt.

My gaze swept over those windows as I crossed the road, catching the occasional glimpse of a moving silhouette behind the lowered Venetian blinds. I tried to picture what this new world might look like. I wanted to believe it looked better, prettier. I didn't know, but I did know this: I sincerely doubted it could look any worse than where we'd come from.

The steps up to the porch were unchecked. I hammered a fist on the door, once, twice…it opened and I was greeted with the barrel of a rifle. I smacked it out from my face.

I had gone my entire life without encountering a lethal weapon, but the shine of horror was quickly wearing thin. I didn't even wonder if this one was loaded or not.

The pretty brunette on the butt-end of the rifle didn't take offense. She looked me over, then waved me inside. "We've been expecting you."

"You have?"

She bumped the door closed and turned the lock. "Rose wanted to send someone out to find you, but Geneva insisted you'd find your own way here sooner rather than later."

"Rose is here?"

"In the boardroom on the second floor." She nudged her chin toward the staircase rising up from the middle of the wide foyer. "You can't miss it."

"Actually, I'd like to speak to Geneva."

"Oh, sure, Bev will take you up. Bev!" she called over her shoulder, and the scowling grandmother from the other day appeared. "Bev, could you please escort Georga to the map room. She wants to see Geneva."

The older woman nodded, and walked on ahead, not too bothered about whether I followed or not.

"Hi, I'm Georga," I said, hot on the heels of her first step onto the staircase.

She didn't acknowledge me, and, again, she didn't utter a single word the whole way. Maybe she was mute? She wasn't deaf, obviously. Maybe she just didn't have anything to say to me.

The map room, as it turned out, was a small, private library on the top floor. Once again, Bev knocked, and opened the door for me to enter.

"Thank you," I called as she closed the door in my face, leaving me to take in my surroundings.

A couple of comfortable reading chairs were scattered about. Along one wall, a series of reading lamps and hardback chairs were stamped to a long table. Standup bookshelves with narrow aisles between them occupied one half of the room. Geneva, seated at an enormous oval table inlaid with leather, occupied the other half.

"Georga," she drawled, beckoning me toward her. "I'm sure you have many questions."

I did, but that's not what I'd come for. Although, maybe just the one. "What's the story with Bev? She doesn't much like conversation, does she?"

"Not since she was released from rehab, no." Geneva's mouth thinned. "She was committed for six years. Have you heard of the hard-crack cases?"

"I've heard," I said, my heart bleeding for the poor woman. I'd heard of full incarceration. Women who came back like Miriam Edgar, or not at all. But I'd never heard of this third option, women who came back six years later. "That's horrific."

"I agree." Geneva flourished a hand at the chair beside her. "Sit, please."

I moved to stand behind the chair, curling my fingers over the top. My gaze skimmed the notebook she'd been writing in, and the pile of iComms on the table.

She tipped her chin up, studying me, hunting my thoughts with that gray stare. "You're upset. That was quite the shock we threw you into, tonight. It was the only way, I assure you."

That's not what I'd come for, either. And now that I was here, I didn't just want Roman's release, I wanted an explanation and an apology. "Why do you have my husband, Roman West, locked in a cell? You know he's a warden. They have no authority here in Capra. You had no reason to drag him down to the Guard Station."

Her brow arched. "I assumed that's where you'd want him to be."

"Why?" My voice pitched. "Why on earth would you assume that?"

"He turned you over to the Guard," she said calmly. "He placed you under reprimand. According to Rose's report, you stated that he wouldn't hesitate to commit you to rehab for a life sentence."

Oh, okay, maybe I'd laid it on a bit too thick while trying to keep Roman squeaky clean. "Do you know what Roman was doing when you were throwing me to a ballroom of wolves? He was getting himself battered and electrocuted, trying to help me escape the Guard. So no, I definitely do not want him in that cell. In any cell, ever."

Her lips quirked.

"What?"

"You're an interesting lady. I was impressed before, but you've managed to surprise me yet again." She gave a slow shake of her head, her mouth still amused, and picked out one of the iComms. "Very well, if that's your wish. Consider your husband released from custody. He'll be waiting for you outside the Guard Station by the time you cross the road."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"There's more," I said. "Daniel Edgar and the other heirs."

"What about them?"

"They have to be released, too."

"Trust me, you do not want that."

"Trust me, I do."

She sighed, blinked long and hard, and flourished her hand again. "Please, sit. Let's discuss this."

"I'm in a hurry to collect my husband," I reminded her. "He's injured, I don't even know how badly, so I'd rather not sit."

"Then I'll make this short and sweet." Her tone lost a fraction of its graceful warmth. "The heirs will only be released once I've deemed them no longer a threat."

"They're not a threat," I said. "Daniel Edgar certainly isn't. You can't punish him for his father's sins."

"Boys grow up to either be their fathers, or to avenge their fathers." She shrugged a shoulder. "You may not want to hear this, but it's the truth. We've taken Capra tonight, but make no mistake, our hold on it is precarious. We cannot afford to show any weakness—"

"Compassion isn't weakness," I argued. "Having faith in people isn't weakness."

"Capra is three-quarters male, and many of those men have enjoyed the benefits of council rule. I won't have a subversive army rising up from the shadows. I won't give them any hope that their old way of life could be restored."

"If you're suggesting Daniel would start an underground network…of what…? The Brotherhood? You don't know him at all. And what about the other heirs you've taken. Some of them are only children."

"The council must be stamped out in all its iterations," she said firmly, flatly.

My blood ran cold. I didn't know what she meant by that, but it was nothing good. "No."

Her brow shot up.

"I said no," I repeated, my grip tightening over the top of the chair. "You don't get to destroy an innocent life just because you're afraid of what it might grow into."

"My dear Georga." Her voice was silken, but her eyes cut into me like steel-tipped arrows. "You are the face of our revolution. You are our spark. But do not presume to imagine you run this show. A spark can be stomped out just as quickly as it ignited."

My mouth went dry.

I felt sick to the pit of my stomach.

My grip on the chair was so tight, pains shot through to my wrists.

What had I done?

The words Roman had given me in the tunnel swam inside my head. Knowledge isn't good or bad, it's just knowledge. What you do with it, however, that has the potential to lead to sin.

I'd given this woman my truths. I'd given her this power. And now I wasn't sure, not at all, that she'd use it wisely.

"But come now," she said, her voice just as silken, her eyes softening with friendly concern, "let's not quarrel. This has been a long, difficult night for us all. Everything will look brighter in the morning, I assure you."

I closed my eyes, and breathed some sanity into my fogged mind, some grit into my suddenly boneless legs. I had to choose my battles. Or rather, I had to choose the time and place of my battles, and that time, that place, was not now.

I couldn't offer her a smile, though. I could barely look her in the eye. So I just inhaled another long, slow breath, and turned my back on her and walked out of her domain, out of this damn map room and out of Berkley House.

As she'd promised, Roman was waiting for me on the street. He started toward me as soon as I stepped out the door, and I ran toward him. We met in the middle of the road and I nearly collapsed in his arms…until I remembered his exhaustion and his injuries.

I pulled away, reaching for his hand, linking our fingers together.

We walked for a minute, cutting through a dark alley to where we'd parked the truck, before he said quietly, "What is it?"

"It's Daniel," I said. "She won't release him. I don't think she intends to ever release him, or any of the heirs."

Roman squeezed my hand gently, saying nothing.

What was there to say?

But no, I would not be voiceless. Never again. I would not let Geneva—I would not let the Sisterhood—take my voice.

"I am the spark of this revolution," I said fiercely. "I am the flame. I am the fire."

"Georga." His voice was tender, a rumble deep in his throat.

I slanted my gaze up to him. "I won't let this happen, Roman. I can't. I promised Daniel I'd get him out of there, and I will."

"We will," he said. "It's just…"

"I remember," I said softly. "The system is bigger than the individual."

Geneva made that quite clear.

"But I am the spark, Roman, and I can use that within the system to do what needs to be done."

The place of my battle would be in the heart of the Sisterhood.

But not right now.

Not tonight.

Roman was my heart.

He was my soul.

He was my priority and he was bruised, battered and exhausted. "Let's go home."

** Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this book. **