Retribution (The Praegressus Project Book 5) Read online

  Liz bit her lip, knowing Ashley was talking about more than just her and Jasmine. An image of Mike’s death flickered through her mind, of the Texan convulsing in the chair, strapped down, dying in agony as Chris watched on, until the camera had suddenly cut off.

  Ashley might be right—they had all done despicable things. But what Chris had done, that hadn’t been a fight to the death. His life might have been on the line, but had still been cold-blooded murder.

  And then…then there was the kiss he’d shared with the Director.

  Her gut clenched as she forced the image from her mind. It shouldn’t matter—not beside his other crimes—but it did. At least to her. Her insides turned to liquid every time she thought of him. The passion, the love of just a few short weeks ago was gone. In its place was an empty abyss that threatened to drown her.

  In her heart, she knew whatever he said, whatever explanation he offered, it wouldn’t be enough. There was no coming back from what he’d done—not for them.

  “Did you ever think it would end like this?” Liz whispered suddenly, still staring out over the harbour. “The last time we were up here…did you think this was how things would be? That we’d...that we’d lose Mira and Jasmine and Maria. That Chris would…” she swallowed, barely able to get the words out, “that Chris would betray us?”

  The wind howled around them, shrieking as it passed between the wire supports of the bridge. For a long time Ashley did not speak, did not move. She sat staring off into the distance, her scarlet hair curled around her elegantly shaped ears, her soft white wings stretched out behind her.

  “Don’t give up on him, Liz,” she said finally. “You don’t know what it was like for him, locked down there with her, without any hope. You don’t know what it was like to be her prisoner, to have her slowly crush the life from you.”

  “But she didn’t crush you,” Liz replied.

  Ashley pursed her lips. “I had already been broken,” she said. Shaking her head, she looked across at Liz and smiled. “No, not broken. But I had survived the worst Halt could throw at me, and walked out the other side. Thanks to you, Liz.”

  “Me?” Liz asked, frowning.

  “When we last sat up here, you reminded me who I was, helped me find the courage to pull myself back together.” She looked away then, her voice growing sad. “Maybe you can help Chris do the same.”

  Liz swallowed. The past week, it had felt as though a vice were closing around her heart, crushing the love from her. She didn’t know how much she had left to give. “I don’t know if I can, Ash,” she murmured into the breeze, “I’m not sure he can come back from this. I’m not sure if…if I can forgive him.”

  She looked up as Ashley’s hand settled on her shoulder, and found the girl’s amber eyes staring at her. “Maybe you can, maybe you can’t.” Ashley’s voice was soft. “But at least give him a chance. Let him explain. And give yourself time to heal.”

  A long sigh escaped Liz’s lips. She wanted more than anything to follow Ashley’s advice, but she wasn’t sure if it was possible, if she could find the strength. Watching that video, it had been as though her Chris had been in that chair with Mike, as though the boy she loved had died with the Texan.

  Liz didn’t know what kind of man remained now, but she didn’t think she wanted to find out.

  Before she could put her thoughts into words, the radio on her belt crackled. They both looked down at it started to squeal, and then Sam’s distant voice whispered from the old speaker.

  “Hey girls, you there?”

  Liz’s heart lurched at the voice. There was only one reason Sam would be calling them. Hands trembling, she unclipped the radio and lifted it to her mouth. “Yes, Sam…we’re here,” she said after she pressed the button on the side.

  “Great!” his voice came again, stronger now. “Well, wherever you are, I suggest you get back here pronto. It looks like sleeping beauty is waking up.”

  At that the radio went dead. Looking up, Liz stared at Ashley. Her friend’s eyes were wide, her amber irises shining with the light of the noonday sun. For a long moment they sat there, frozen by the news, by what it meant.

  Suddenly Liz felt as though she were suffocating. She gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air. Fire lit in her stomach. A tremor ran down her back as every hair on her body stood on end. Her mind raced, searching for a way to escape the coming confrontation, to cling to the illusion of the past week, if only for a moment longer.

  “Liz,” Ashley’s voice called her back. A firm hand gripped her by the shoulder. “Liz, it’s going to be okay.”

  Liz blinked and looked across at her friend. She nodded slowly, though the movement felt detached from her mind. A passenger in her own body, she stood as Ashley took her hand and drew her up.

  Come on, Liz,” Ashley whispered, holding her on the edge of the girder. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

  Chapter 2

  Chris’s wings beat harder, hurling him through the sky. Around him the dense clouds churned, enfolding him in their cold embrace, until he could see nothing but the whirling black. His heart raced as he fled the unseen creature behind him. Its howls whispered in the darkness, chasing after him. Its stench filled the air, putrid, decaying, death.

  A shadow flashed at him from the clouds, dark claws extended at his throat. His wings twisted instinctively, sending him spiralling sideways. Pain seared down his back as something struck him. Screaming, he slammed his wings down, lifting higher.

  “Chris!” a voice screamed.

  Choking, Chris spun in the air, searching for the source. His wings beat the swirling clouds as he hovered, spinning, searching. The voice was filled with warmth, with love—but also a desperate fear. It was a voice Chris had never thought he’d hear again.

  “Mum!” he called as the clouds closed around him.

  His throat contracted as a figure took shape. She strode towards him, her bare feet seeming to float on open air, green eyes aglow. Her curly auburn hair swirled in the breeze, though where Chris hovered the air was still. She drew to a stop in front of him, a ghost from the nightmare of his past.

  “Son,” Margaret Sanders whispered.

  “Mum,” Chris repeated, choking as hot tears streamed down his face.

  He drifted towards her, arms outstretched, desperate to hold her again, to be held. She smiled as he approached, a gentle warmth that reminded him of cold winter nights, of dinners by the fireplace, of the safety of childhood.

  Yet as he reached out to take her hand, her smile faded. Her face seemed to change, her lips turning hard, her eyes flickering to hazel, her hair growing straight, fading to blonde. And suddenly it was no longer his mother standing there, but the Director. Rage glinted in her eyes as she stepped forward and caught him by the wrist.

  “Christopher,” she growled. “You failed me!”

  Then Chris was falling, his stomach rising into his chest as he plummeted through empty air. Screaming, gasping, he tried to stretch his wings, only to find them gone. Helpless, he fell. All his old fears came rushing back, and Chris found he could do nothing but scream and scream and scream…

  “No!” Chris shouted as he sat bolt upright.

  Chains rattled as he thrashed, trying desperately to cling to some impossible ledge. Eyes shut tight, the darkness still held him, pulling him back down, drawing him into the abyss. He opened his mouth to scream again.

  “Chris!” A voice called, only this one was a man’s. A hand grasped him by the shoulder

  Slowly, a trace of sanity trickled back into Chris’s consciousness. He realised he was no longer falling. Panting, he cracked open his eyes, and was met by the harsh glint of fluorescent lights. Pain lanced through his head and his vision flashed white. The strength went from him in a rush. He collapsed back on the bed.

  A dull ache began in his back as he landed on his wings, followed by a wave of relief that they were still there. Taking another breath, he tried opening his eyes again. This time it was almos
t bearable, though the light made his head pound like a drum. The room slowly came into focus, and he saw a familiar face staring down at him.

  “Sam?” he croaked.

  For a moment he was confused. His thoughts were a mess of splintered memories. He looked around, surprised to find himself in a hospital bed. Chains rattled again and glancing down, he found his hands cuffed to the steel rails along the side of the bed. A trail of wires and tubes led from his arm to a host of machines behind him.

  Shaking his head, he frowned, trying to piece together the memories. They returned slowly, as though trickling back through a sieve. He saw again his hellish captivity with Ashley, felt the slow dwindling of hope, the ghoulish deaths of the Director’s experiments. He remembered Ashley raging down the corridor, feral, unstoppable—then Ashley again, on the ground, helpless, being dragged to her death. And the Director, offering him her hand, pulling him to his feet, stripping the buttons from his shirt…

  He choked, trying to resist the flow of memories now, but they continued to come. He saw again the night he’d betrayed his heart, and the morning after, as he took the jet-injector and placed it to the Texan’s neck. He watched as Mike thrashed in his chair, saw his last agonised throws of death.

  Then Liz was there, and his grandmother—only for her to be stolen away forever. And Jonathan was speaking, revealing how he’d tricked them all, had revealed the truth to the world. And the Director was fleeing, escaping…until little Mira stepped up behind her, grenade clenched in her tiny fist.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Chris felt the tears streak his cheeks.

  “You remember?” he heard Sam ask.

  Shame welled in Chris’s chest, and for a moment he wanted to deny it, to pretend he couldn’t remember, that it had all been someone else. He couldn’t bear to look in his friend’s eyes, to face Sam’s judgement, not after what he’d done. He wanted to flee, to run and hide and escape the truth.

  Instead, Chris nodded. “I remember.”

  Sam exhaled loudly.

  Opening his eyes, Chris looked up at his friend. “Where are we?” he croaked. “How am I alive?” His hand drifted towards his neck, to feel for the collar he had worn for weeks, but the handcuffs brought him up short.

  Sam’s eyes shimmered as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Mira…” he swallowed. “The grenades…they incinerated everything. The Director’s watch was destroyed before it could activate either of your collars.”

  “Either?” Chris whispered, his heart lurching. “Ashley…?”

  “She survived,” Sam nodded, though he didn’t smile, “and Liz. Jasmine didn’t.”

  Chris’s chest tightened. “How?”

  “She was shot, when soldiers raided our safehouse,” Sam replied. He shook his head. “It’s just the four of us left now.”

  A strained silence stretched out at that. Chris swallowed. “I shouldn’t be alive.” He looked up at Sam. “You know what I did.” It was not a question.

  Sam nodded. “The whole world saw,” he shook his head. “You really messed up this time, buddy.”

  “I know…” Chris croaked.

  “But I’m glad you’re okay,” Sam added.

  Reaching out, Sam gripped Chris’s wrist. Chris looked across at his friend. Their eyes met and Chris quickly looked away again. His vision started to blur. He didn’t deserve kindness, didn’t deserve anything but a bullet in the head. His stomach churned, and a dark gulf filled his chest, a sickly guilt that threatened to swallow him. He jerked his hand back from Sam.

  “I shouldn’t be alive,” he repeated, tears in his eyes. “I told Liz to end it, to kill the Director and end it,” he choked.

  A strained silence blanketed the room as Chris started to sob. He had killed a man in cold blood, had given himself to the woman who had tormented them, then watched as that same woman killed his grandmother. In that instant, Chris had truly been lost, had lost his will to live. After everything he’d suffered, he could go no further.

  “Liz didn’t want to lose you, Chris,” Sam said finally, his voice soft, sad.

  Blinking the tears from his eyes, Chris looked at his friend. “Lose me?” His heart gave a little flutter, before the yawning gulf swallowed it. He lowered his eyes. “She already lost me, Sam.”

  Before Sam could respond, the door clicked and swung open. Looking up, Chris shrank in his bed as Ashley stepped into the room, followed a second later by Liz. Their wings were still half extended, but they tucked them neatly behind their backs as their eyes found him in his bed.

  “Chris…” Liz’s voice was strained, her hands trembling at her side.

  Sam stood suddenly, looking from Chris to Liz to Ashley. “Why don’t we get some fresh air, Ash?”

  Without waiting for a response, Sam moved across the room and took Ashley by the hand. Chris watched as they fled the room, begging silently for them to stay. Then they were gone, leaving him alone with Liz.

  Swallowing, Chris forced himself to look at her. “Liz…” he whispered.

  Chapter 3

  The moment Liz stepped into the room and saw Chris sitting up in bed, whatever doubts she’d had about her feelings for him vanished. Stepping across the threshold, it was as though some veil had been lifted, and the fog impeding her judgement was swept away.

  She saw Maria again, his own grandmother, defying the Director to the death.

  And Mira, sacrificing her short life to end the woman’s evil.

  Then she saw the video of Chris, meekly following the Director’s commands, submitting to her power, murdering his own friend to survive.

  And Liz knew she could never love him again.

  “Liz…” he started after the others had left.

  “Don’t,” Liz spoke over the top of him, voice sharp as a knife. “Don’t speak. Don’t talk. Don’t try to explain, Chris.”

  She stalked across the room, her knee-length boots thumping loudly on the linoleum. Chris’s gaze dropped to the floor as she stopped beside his bed. He couldn’t even look at her. It only enraged her further.

  “Look at me!” Suddenly she found herself screaming, unable to contain her fury. Until this moment, Liz had clung to the hope that Chris could somehow explain everything away. But now the thought of him even speaking made her tremble, and she knew anything he said would only add gasoline to the flames of her rage.

  He had murdered Mike, had given himself to that vile woman, and done God only knew what with her. Whatever Ashley might have hoped, Liz could never forgive him for it.

  Still chained to the bed, attached to the whirring machines pumping him full of drugs, Chris slowly lifted his face to look at her. Tears brimmed in his hazel eyes. His face had grown thin and haggard in captivity, but it was still the face Liz knew, the one she had kissed, had loved. Now, it only made her sick to her stomach. They might have the same face, but the Chris she had known was gone, betrayed by the coward now lying before her.

  “Liz…” he tried again.

  “I said don’t speak!” she shrieked. Her vision blurred and instinctively her wings snapped out, beating down to send air swirling. A magazine someone had left on the coffee table shot across the room.

  Chris shrank down in his sheets, though with the cuffs there was nowhere he could go. She leaned over the bed, her wings casting him in shadow, until there was nothing but him and her and her rage.

  “How could you do it?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Their faces were only inches apart now. Slowly her anger slipped away, leaving only an empty abyss where her love for him had once been. She felt the awful grief of loss. “How?”

  Liz shuddered, biting back tears. Her whole body was trembling, her wings shivering as they fluttered behind her. Something caught in her throat, and unable to look at him a moment longer, she straightened and turned away.

  Behind her, Chris wisely remained silent.

  “I thought you were dead,” she mumbled to the wall, hardly knowing what she was saying now. “You said you’d rathe
r die than be caught. You made me leave. It broke my heart, but I did it.” She spun back, her anger returning. “You coward! Why couldn’t you just have died like you said? Like you promised!”

  She stood over him, fists clenched, teeth bared, trembling. Chris lay still in his bed, eyes staring up at her. Words had apparently abandoned him.

  “Your nana would be ashamed of you,” Liz spat. “She would have despised you if she knew. She died for you. Mira died for you. And Richard. And Jasmine. They all died, but you’re still here, and for what? So you could kill their friend? So you could screw that vile woman?” The words tumbled from her mouth, an unstoppable stream of pent-up emotion. “They all threw away their lives, thinking they knew who you were, that you were good, believing you would make a difference. All those students, all those widows, they’re dead, and in their place, all we get is you,” Liz was screaming now, her words rattling the windows.

  Raging, she gripped the chair beside Chris’s bed in both hands. It was a heavy thing, all wood and cushions, but she lifted it as though it weighed nothing and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the concrete wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. Red flashed across her vision. Chest heaving, she turned on Chris.

  A desperate yearning swept through her, a desire to throttle the life from him. She felt as though that was the only way to end her pain, to quench her rage. Only with his death would she find peace, could she escape the sight of him.

  A growl rumbled from her chest. Striding across the room, she towered over Chris. She half-expected him to try and flee, but he didn’t move. Reaching down, she took his throat in her hands. Her gloves had been lost during her outburst, and she shivered at the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. Through pain and bloody-minded determination, he had developed an immunity to her touch weeks ago, but that wouldn’t save him now. Slowly she began to squeeze.

  Chris didn’t try to fight back, although with his arms cuffed to the bed and the machines pumping him full of morphine, there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop her. His hazel eyes stared up at her, sad and unblinking, almost begging her to do what he could not. A single tear crept its way down his cheek.