Faith's Revenge (New Reality Series, Book Four) Page 3

  As with any concentration camp-like facility filled mostly with law abiding people who’ve had their behavior criminalized by society, it didn’t take much security to contain them. There were probably only ten active guards in the five-hundred-person camp. Trake’s military training made him certain that once he knew which Collin was Faith’s, he could go in shooting, grab the boy, and shoot his way out.

  He pulled up the plans for the facility to refresh his memory, having only visited the camp years ago while working in another position.

  He knew he had to contact Faith, but he couldn’t call her. An AI bot monitoring the call might flag it if either of them accidentally mentioned Collin. He needed to see her in person.

  Pulling up her address, he decided he’d go to her house tonight.

  Chapter Three

  Trake navigated the narrow streets lined with old row houses, wearing a hooded thermal coat with a tinted environmental facemask. Keeping his hands in his pockets, he figured it would be hard to see he had dark skin in the ghetto of the poor white minorities, as they were called. No dark-skinned person had any business being here unless you were visiting a prostitute or getting drugs. However, if the police caught you, your next visit would be to the Royal Morality Courts, and at best, years of hard labor. At worst, execution.

  Prostitutes, drugs, unorthodox behavior of any kind was a felony in New D.C., which was absurd since the founding members of the Aristos were from a large black crime family, deeply involved in every conceivable corruption that could earn a buck.

  After the crime family took over what was left of Washington, D.C. following the last nuclear war, they established a dictatorship and later fashioned it into a monarchy. The closest associates established a small, brutal aristocracy, and most members had dark skin. Decades later, those unfortunate to have lighter complexions used cosmetic treatments to darken their pigmentation.

  The aristocracy took what it wanted and left crumbs for the poor and the immigrants in an economy consisting of international banking and financial services. However, its biggest assets were the technology, military equipment and knowledge they were able to salvage from the previous society a century and a half ago.

  While in numbers the whites were the majority, they were ironically the minorities in New D.C. As history had always shown, when the minorities demanded rights, their riots required a military state to suppress them. The biggest thorn in the Crown’s side was the organized and long-standing movement called the Resistance.

  Trake was going to a lot of trouble sneaking in to see Faith, but it felt good to finally have a higher purpose. There was no happiness in his lonely apartment, no reason to continue going through the motions of daily life.

  At last, he reached her building and touched the bell panel.

  When she opened the door without first asking for his ID, his protective instinct crossed wires with his anger, and he barked out at her unintentionally. “You didn’t ask for identification!”

  She startled and tried to shut the door on him, but he wedged his foot in place to stop her.

  When he flipped back his hood and mask, her hands flew to her face. “Trake! You scared me. What are you doing here?”

  He quickly stepped into her small living room and closed the door. “Why were you so quick to open?” he asked in a calmer tone.

  “I-I thought you might be a member of the Resistance with information about Collin.” She tightened the belt around her robe, which did nothing to hide her nipples budding through the thin fabric, enticing him.

  “Are you well acquainted with the Resistance?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

  She shook her head. “My parents were active until they were caught and executed, but I was always on the outside. Then I was too busy supporting Collin and myself to be very connected.”

  “I assume Collin is involved.”

  Nodding, she admitted, “He led a local Resistance cell.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. They were going to have to act fast to save him.

  She grabbed his biceps and stared up into his face. “What is it? Did you find him? Is he still a-alive?” A hiccup sob interrupted the flow of her words.

  “I promise he’ll be okay.” He took her hands in his and squeezed them tightly. His body thrilled at her touch, but he had to concentrate. He took a deep breath, and after giving her hands another quick squeeze, he let them go, unzipped his jacket and removed two printouts. “Which Collin Daniels is your brother?” he asked, handing them to her.

  She quickly took them and scanned each one. “This is Collin.” She returned one of the pictures.

  Taking a look, he let out a huge sigh of relief. “Good, your brother isn’t the one scheduled to be interrogated tomorrow.”

  Her forehead furrowed as she peered into his eyes, searching for answers. “Is that why you came here tonight?”

  Trake grunted affirmatively. Standing so close to her was arousing him, but there was no time for that now. He needed to decide what action to take next, and in order to do that, he needed to put a bit of distance between them so he could focus.

  He paced the sparsely furnished room that was a combination living room, bedroom and kitchen. It was tiny, but it was neat and clean. Its largest furniture was an inexpensive couch, currently spread open as Faith’s bed, which put delicious images in his head he had to shake clear. Opposite the bed, a dresser stood with a video screen terminal on top.

  “If he was the one scheduled for interrogation, I would have to break him out,” he said, glancing out her small window, which had an expansive view of the wall of the next building less than ten feet away.

  “W-wait, w-what?” she stammered as she lowered herself to the bed.

  “The joke in military school is that it would be easier to break someone out of the detention camps than it would be to break into one to get a good paying job,” he said, still focused on the opposite building. The room was silent, and he turned his head to observe her reaction.

  She stared at her small coffee table, seeming to collect her thoughts. She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs. Then she looked at him with eyes full of emotion. “Why would you even consider doing such a thing?”

  He took in a long slow breath and considered her question. Finally, he answered. “Because that’s the only way to save him.”

  “But Trake…why would you risk your life?”

  Trake turned back to glare out of the window. “You know why.” His voice was low and thick.

  “No…no, I don’t know why.”

  He refocused and walked over to her, grabbing her hands and roughly pulling her from the bed into a standing position. His face was inches from hers as he peered into her eyes. So close they could easily kiss. “You worked pretty hard to bring me to this point—this place where I find it nearly impossible to resist you,” he accused.

  She pulled away, ducking her head. “But it wasn’t just for my brother’s sake,” she said quietly.

  He was stunned, both by her reaction and by what he had just accused her of. He opened then closed his mouth. He couldn’t take back the words he’d spewed, but what could he possibly say now?

  Her face was turned away from him, and he watched as she took a deep breath as if gathering her strength. She was about to say something. Perhaps, leave here and don’t come back. He had to stop this scene from getting worse.

  “This morning I almost stuck my service revolver in my mouth,” he blurted.

  She spun her head to meet his gaze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

  “I can’t do it anymore. It’s not a matter of if I will leave, it’s when.” His words hung in the air between them.

  “Trake…” she said, compassion in her voice, her eyes softening.

  “You think I don’t know how brutal New Washington is?”

  “But what are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Getting your brother was the only plan I had.”

  “An
d then what?”

  Trake hesitated before answering. “My original idea was to get a posting on our colony on the moon. But now, that would be out. So, I guess it’ll be the hills.”

  “The hills?” she echoed. “You would join the Resistance in the hills?”

  “How do you know I would join the Resistance?” He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. He was glad the conversation had moved away from the previous dangerous territory.

  “I don’t. I just can’t imagine another reason for going to the hills,” she stated simply.

  “Perhaps I’m coming to understand why everyone around here is fighting so hard for the Resistance.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “You would be surprised at how few actually are fighting. Most people just want to be left alone, and they’ll put up with a lot of mistreatment.”

  She paused and seemed to consider him for a moment. “I didn’t trick you or trap you,” she said, returning to the previous subject.

  Uncomfortable but relieved, he now had a chance to apologize. “I know. I mean, I did it to myself.” He studied her to see if she understood.

  She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look. He would have to fully dig himself out of this hole. Time for the honest truth, he had nothing to lose.

  As he started to speak, a feeling of shame swamped Faith. As a matter of fact, she had worked hard to make him want her, so he would help her. She’d planned to pass on any information she came across working in the Transportation office to her brother, to the Resistance. Having the Deputy Director as a lover would also have been very beneficial. But it wasn’t just the possible assistance he could have provided her; she would have chosen him as a lover anyway. He was strong, handsome, and most importantly, a good person.

  Each day she’d come to work, she couldn’t wait to see him, and her main desire was to find an excuse to interact with him. However, after weeks of flirting with him, she’d given up all hope of him ever taking her as a lover. She’d been able to tell he was attracted to her too, but a real relationship between an Aristo and a white immigrant such as herself was impossible.

  Most men in his position would have had no problem using her for sex, but Trake wasn’t that type of man. He was supposed to find a nice Aristo wife and settle down, but Deja’s need to hide her sexual identity seemed to be holding him back. How long would he allow that impossible situation to go on?

  “I thought about you too much, created this imaginary situation in my head,” he continued.

  She wanted to leap across the room and cover his mouth. She was the one who had thought about him and daydreamed about living with him, making love to him, being held by him. If only he knew the scenarios she’d created in her mind. Things she knew could never be. As good of a man he was, he wouldn’t want her if he knew her past, or what she really was like inside.

  “When you asked for help for your brother, I knew you wanted a simple quid pro quo, but I had built up this…” He looked down at his hands as if hoping to find the answers there. Apparently finding none, he gripped them into frustrated fists.

  She couldn’t let him continue to beat himself up like this. When Collin was arrested, she’d tried seducing Trake again. This time she’d been blatant about it. This time she hadn’t given him an easy out. He either accepted the bargain and slept with her or risked hurting her. She knew he cared about her enough he wouldn’t want to hurt her, and she had to do whatever she needed to do to help Collin.

  She walked toward Trake because she had to touch him. As she did, the opening of her robe widened, revealing her full breasts. If he desired her, she would do anything to please him, but he wouldn’t want her after she told him the truth about herself.

  He was willing to risk his life…to end his life, as he knew it, to save her brother who he’d never met, just to help her. She had to tell him everything; she owed him that much.

  “I used to be a whore, Trake,” Faith stated plainly as she reached out a hand to lightly touch his arm.

  “Faith, no! I didn’t mean that,” he protested.

  She took a step closer to him and put her finger to his lips, silencing him. “Shhh.” She gazed into his eyes, wanting to remember how he saw her right now. She would never see that look from him ever again.

  “I need to apologize to you. The truth hurts,” she said, turning away from him. “My parents were pretty high up in the Resistance before they were executed.” She glanced back at him, not for sympathy, but to see if he had probed her past.

  He looked at the floor, apparently unsurprised at this piece of information. The thought that he would have bothered to find out more about her warmed her, briefly. She took a deep breath. There was an art to letting go.

  “A young, eighteen-year-old girl trying to support her brother with no skills has very few options.” She paused. “Now, I felt I was a courtesan, you must understand, not just a common hooker.” An involuntary laugh escaped as she remembered her naïveté, which had allowed her to accept her drastic change in lifestyle. Should she tell him of her acquired skill? It would explain her behavior earlier that day in his office.

  She promised herself she would tell him everything.

  “You probably wondered what happened between me…and Deja,” Faith started.

  Trake tried to interrupt her again, but she quickly crossed to him and grabbed him by his arms to quiet him. Her motion caused her robe to fall completely open. Her nipples pointed toward him. As he gazed down on her, her hands explored the strength evident in his well-muscled arms. Arms to hold her, to make her feel safe…but not really for her, never for her.

  “When I got started in the business, an older lady told me about a special skill,” she continued, “to be able to enjoy sex with whomever you are with. It made it a lot more bearable.” She studied his eyes for any reaction.

  He returned her gaze, but mostly he looked guilty.

  She let go of his biceps and turned away, closing her robe and tying the belt tightly again. This next part would be the hardest.

  “I had regulars. I grew close to many of them. One owned a company that was able to give me secretarial training for free. That’s how I was able to work for you.” She spoke with her back to him. “With Deja today, I wanted to enjoy it, so I did. I know…” She faltered. “You must think I’m some sort of freak.”

  She wanted to see his reaction, but she was afraid to turn around and look. She swallowed hard to ease her dry throat and closed her eyes to stop the flow of tears that had suddenly welled up. She wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight embrace as he told her he didn’t think there was anything wrong with her.

  If not, then she wanted him to leave quickly.

  “I regret what I asked you to do. Deja is the other thing I can’t do anymore.” He spoke to her back.

  She turned around. “I told you it was okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay…what I did, what I have done in the past.” He met her eyes levelly, leaving no room for argument. “And okay, I didn’t hurt you, but I am sorry anyway. It was wrong.” He turned away, but not before she recognized the shame in his eyes.

  Faith stared at his back, her mind racing at another unexpected turn of events.

  “I have my own demons,” he said in a low voice. Then he hesitated, as if considering whether or not to bare his soul. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he glanced up at her. “When I was in military school, we had to literally kill to survive.”

  Faith waited for the rest, because from the anguish on his face, there had to be more.

  “As to the how and when, I can’t tell Deja’s story, but on more than one occasion, we had to eliminate an adversary before that adversary had the opportunity to eliminate us. The school knew parents expected the students to be tough enough to survive in this crazy postwar world. Kill or be killed was what we were there to learn.”

  Faith’s heart ached for the young man and woman who’d been taught such harsh lessons.

&
nbsp; “My people have created a world I would not want to raise children in,” he said, standing and pacing around her small living room. “What is the difference between us and the Nazis from two centuries ago?”

  The question was rhetorical, but she shared his pain.

  “That’s how D.C. survived, even a person riding a desk like me has killed people with his bare hands. But…in my mind, only an elected government is a real government. That’s why I wanted to get a post on the moon,” he said.

  “You wanted to run away? You didn’t think you could change things here?” she asked.

  He looked at her, seeming to take in her question. “I’m just one man,” he answered simply.

  “That’s how change always starts,” she insisted. “But I understand. Even after my parents were killed in front of me, I didn’t get deeply involved, not until Collin was captured.” She paused before adding, “You could fight for the Resistance.”

  “Yeah, they could probably use me. I know how to eliminate the opposition.” The pain in his eyes echoed the ache in her heart. He didn’t want to be a killer, but he was.

  She wanted to hold him and comfort him. She wanted to take him inside her and make him feel better. But that didn’t seem like what he wanted right now. She decided to change the subject.

  “What can I do to help my brother, other than breaking him out?” she asked.

  Trake rubbed his chin as he thought. “If they get some information out of him, they may release him. An informant is worth more than a prisoner.”

  “Not Collin, he will never turn on the Resistance,” she responded automatically.

  Trake regarded her. “Have you known many from the Resistance to come back?”