Page 81 of Born Savage

As I turned around, holding the bottle for him to see, I instantly noticed a strange glint in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. “Tequila. You said you were game.”

His hesitation was unexpected. He’d struck me as the kind of guy to jump into anything with both feet.

He took a deep breath as I’d seen him do when he wasn’t certain of something. Well, neither was I. “Sure. I’m game.”

CHAPTER 17

Rage

In a world where time held no meaning as it once had, only the fear of the oppressive darkness prominent, it shouldn’t matter that we seemed to remain in suspended animation.

But I was cognizant of the mission and in a sense the clock was ticking.

The jump drive was secure in a pocket within the sheath of my knife. Whatever was on the drive could not be allowed to get into the hands of anyone else. While Peter had offered no other instructions, I knew it was best to keep the information from Star until we reached our destination.

Knowing her, she’d require we waste time hunting for a computer.

I understood that the king’s power was getting out of control, more people dying daily than ever before, but without the full facts of the need for the mission, I had no real sense of urgency.

Or maybe the honest truth was that I enjoyed spending time with Star. Even when she tossed out her worst, being with her was electrifying. Of course there were those who’d say the experience was merely physical, which in part would be true, but she was funny and intelligent, her take on the world entirely refreshing.

In never having known anything but survival mode, living life vicariously through her love of books had created a well-rounded warrior.

In the back of my mind, I’d started to think of her as my warrior.

“I saw my mother’s face in the dream.” Her voice managed to echo in the open space, the only other sound a light ticking of whatever equipment was keeping the bunker powered. Being alone with her, watching her shift through levels of emotion while fighting her vulnerability around me was something I’d never felt before and couldn’t label.

We’d spent the last hour or more pretending as if the world wasn’t waiting to be saved. We’d ignored the obvious questions we both had as well as her nagging insistence she had no intention of trusting me. “Oh, yeah? A premonition about Wren?” I took another gulp of the liquor, trying to remember the last time I’d had a drop of alcohol.

“No, not Carrie, my adoptive mom. I mean she and Tom are my parents, but only because I was left in the middle of nowhere. You know that as well as I do. My biological mother.”

“You hadn’t remembered her?”

She shook her head, twirling the glass she’d found in the cabinet. There were daisies in the glass, faded yet visible. A funny memory hit me.

They’d been my mother’s favorite flower. Or at least that’s what she’d told me when I brought her a bouquet picked from a field behind our house.

Peter was counting on the fact our memories would slowly begin to return. Which was exactly what John had indicated. Was it coincidence that their names were two of the apostles?

Star was exhausted and seeing the bruises on her neck kept anger just below the surface. When I’d found the motherfucker on top of her, trying to rape her, I’d lost all sense of humanity.

A test. Had I passed or failed?

“Peter suggested the reason was whatever had led to me being without anyone. Now I know he meant after abandonment. A way to protect one’s psyche.” She lifted her glass, her nail picking at one of the flowers. “I figured what was the point. The chance of finding out the truth was zero.”

“That’s understandable, especially for a child.”

“Yeah, I know.” She slumped further in the seat, unable to look at me because she seemed lost in her own world. “I think finding Wren awakened a part of my deep core memory banks. Then somehow your appearance pushed the cobwebs away.” A quick dart of her eyes wasn’t filled with animosity as I would expect. “In my dream she was telling me about a place called Eden. She often read to me about amazing places since we were stuck in another bunker. That’s where I learned to love books.”

I didn’t interrupt her, my questions going unanswered. With the vibes she’d been tossing out, I was getting the feeling I didn’t really want to know. She was a tough one, inside and out. My reaction to her and hers to me were unexpected from both ends.

“Things were different before the war. I don’t need to tell you that. You seem well educated as to what the world was like before fire and ice.”

She smiled, which was rare and when she did, she had a way of lighting up a room. “Fire and ice. I like that. What was it like?” Genuinely curious, her expression was one of hope, needing someone to tell her a story.

Which I sucked at.

“Like what you’ve read. Breathtaking. The air was warm with scents of everything from flowers to food. All kinds of food. My father always wanted to live abroad and decided to augment his children’s education by trying various ethnic foods. You do know the term.”