Page 6 of The Rebel King

“Did they give you a name for the group?” I ask.

The line goes silent, and I practically hear the cogs turning in the professor’s quick mind.

“Sorry, Mr. Hunter,” Kimba says hastily. “I should have told you. I have you on speaker so Maxim can hear, too.”

“Maxim?” he asks. “Maxim who?”

“Uh, Maxim Cade, sir,” I reply.

“The environmentalist?” he asks, obviously confused.

“Uh…yes?”

“How are you involved with my daughter’s case, Mr. Cade?”

He doesn’t know me. It stings for a second that I met Lennix when she was seventeen and I’ve nevercome upin a conversation with her father.

“I’m—”

“He’s a friend of ours,” Kimba interjects, stretching her eyes at me warningly.Later,she mouths.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Hunter says, understanding in his voice. “I do remember her saying she was managing your brother’s campaign, but it wouldn’t be publicly announced until February.”

My brother. Wow.

“Yes, sir. Nix is, ahem, a close friend, and I want to help.”

“Nix?” He laughs weakly. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that before.”

Good. That’s mine. She’s mine.

“The group?” I press. “Did they give a name?”

“No, on the video—”

“Can you send us the video?”

“Well, the CamTech rep said I can’t share it with anyone,” Mr. Hunter says, his words dragging like he’s unsure of what to do.

“Maxim’s got lots of connections, as you can imagine,” Kimba says. “Of course, we won’t share it with the media or anyone else, but we need it if we’re going to help her.”

“Okay.” A rule keeper’s reluctance still lingers in his voice. “I’ll send it, but I need to warn you. The video… It’s bad, and they’ve hurt her.”

My blood freezes in my veins.

“What do you mean they’ve hurt her?” I ask, my words blunt, curt.

“You’ll see on the video,” Mr. Hunter says. “Her throat… God, what if they…if she—”

“I’ll get her back.” I smooth my voice into false confidence. I’ve never been more afraid in my life.

“You still have my email, Mr. Hunter?” Kimba asks, pulling the iPad from her bag. “Just send it there.”

“Yes,” he replies. “The video’s not long. I’ll just stay on the line while you watch and you can tell me what I should do next.”

In moments, Kimba receives the email and clicks the link to the video.

A face—or, rather, a mask—appears. A tall man, ripped with muscles and wearing a Kurt Cobain T-shirt and an Abe Lincoln mask, adjusts the camera. They’re in some dark space, illuminated dimly with a few lights strung along the back wall.

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