Page 11 of Resist

My mini-tab vibrated on my wrist. I ignored it. This wasn’t the time to check my messages.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

The tab shook on my wrist again, begging me to pay attention to it. I quickly lifted my wrist and cast a quick glance at it. It was Edith. I tabbed the screen.

Edith:Duck!

What?

“Watch out!” Wes screamed as he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me down to the floor. A whistle sounded through the air and then fire exploded into the mass of snarling dogs that had been standing in our way. The shockwave of the blast threw me forward, sending me onto my belly and Wes onto his back beside me. My ears rang, the high-pitched sound blocking out all else. I opened my eyes, feeling dazed and lost as I tried to scramble back onto my feet. I looked to my right, catching Wes’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a word of what he said. All I heard was the ringing…the incessant ringing.

I looked away from him, out at the pack of hounds that had been at our backs. Some of them had been knocked over. A few had scattered off, ears pinned flat against their heads as they slouched low to the ground. Only a couple remained determined to see us as their next meal. I felt a tug on my arm and turned to see Wes on his feet, clearly yelling at me, pulling on my arm with one hand as the other pointed vehemently to the chopper in front of him.

I looked out in that direction and saw that a path had been cleared. Most of the hounds lied in chunks of charred flesh and in bloody pools. A few trotted about still, seeming not to notice the fire burning the little fur they had. Apparently, these things felt no pain. But despite the few that remained, a clear path had been set. And we took it.

Using my hands to push off, I broke out into a sprint, watching as Wes fired his Glock—once, twice, three times—the bullet casings flying into the air in silent discharge, as he broke out intoa sprint beside me. The ringing kept sounding as I looked behind me to see the hellhounds had broken into a run to chase us.

I couldn’t focus on them…I had to stay focused on the Blackhawk. I turned back around, pumping my arms as I gave it all I had, eyes focused on the black helicopter that was still hovering above the ground. Why wasn’t it lowering? How the hell did they expect us to get on with it hovering in the air like that?

I glanced at Wes running at my side, and as if he could sense my gaze on him, he looked at me. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, if we were going to survive, but my lungs gasped for oxygen as my chest tightened and squeezed. I looked forward again, the helicopter only twenty yards away, and then I caught sight of the measly little rope dangling from the side of it. It dropped all the way down and stopped approximately six feet from the park floor.

Oh hell no. There’s no way they expected us to shimmy up that rope in time before the bloody hounds ate us.

The ringing finally subsided, and the ambient sounds of the huffing and snarling behind me, ever closer, were an unwelcome change. I looked back at Wes again as we closed in on the dangling rope. Just as we reached it, his hand darted out, wrapping around my waist in a death grip as his opposite hand lashed out and grabbed the rope. Before I could understand what the hell was happening, my feet were flying off the ground. The Blackhawk pulled straight up—six feet, seven feet, eight feet. And then the hounds were under us, leaping high into the air, snapping at our dangling limbs. Wes held me tight against his bloodied body while his other hand stood as the only thing that kept us from plummeting to our deaths.

Holy mother!

I gripped on to him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tactical vest with all the strength I had.

Ten feet, twelve feet, sixteen feet, twenty.

Higher and higher we climbed until the chopper had cleared the fake trees of the park, the hounds becoming nothing more than glowing red eyes. And then it flew off, straight into the night sky as Wes and I clung to each other, holding on for dear life.

8: The Rebels

My breath had finally evened out, the excitement settling. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I sat tired, slumped in the back of the Blackhawk while sweat trickled down my face and dried blood crusted my skin. My gaze fell to my throbbing hands, glistening in ointment. They were burned raw from the rope, and stained pink with the remnants of dry blood. Some of it was mine, it turned out. But most of it belonged to Wes.

After dangling from the flying vehicle for what felt like hours, someone began reeling us in, pulling up the rope and bringing us closer and closer to the safety of the chopper’s cabin. And I was so incredibly grateful, because as I gripped onto Wes for dear life, I could feel the strain of his muscular body as he held both our weight with one freaking hand. And as he did, I felt my clothing dampen with his blood.

I turned my face to look at him next to me, tactical vest torn open and bloody gauze wrapped around his torso. It was a crude job, but it was better than nothing. I studied him, watching ashe slumped against the back of the chopper, eyes closed, dozing. The medic in the helicopter thought it would be best if they drugged him for the ride back to the North. It wasn’t going to be a straight shot, though. We were going to have to stop to refuel at a satellite camp—Camp Butte—which rested between Telvia and the Northern capital. But, for now, he slept.

And I watched.

Not in a creepy ex-girlfriend kind of way. I wasn’t his girlfriend. Never had been.

No…I watched him sleep and thought about the weird relationship we shared. I had been betrothed to his identical twin brother. Promised by my mother to marry the First Son of the North as a way to secure an army to take down Raúl. But all of that ended when Raúl had Chase murdered in the arena. I wasn’t promised to anyone anymore, and I was finally free to make my own choices. Free of Raúl’s tyranny, and free of Belinda’s vindictive abuse. She was my wicked-ass stepmother who enjoyed torturing me my whole life. But none of that is what kept me staring at Wes.

I watched as strands of loose blond hair fell across his face and framed his right eye. I watched as his chiseled cheekbones and angular jaw sat firm, making him look as though he were carved out of stone. I watched as his chest rose and fell in soft movements, creating a delicious scene of pectoral muscles and perfectly carved abs. I watched him, and I felt as my heart quickened, and my stomach churned. I felt as heat flushed my body, burning low and slow, simmering deep within me.

I watched.

Once upon a time, I used to look at Wes and see nothing but Chase, and my heart would respond like this. My body craved his touch and gentle caresses. But I didn’t see that anymore.

I saw something different.

I saw a boy who was everything like his brother and then completely different at the same time. I saw a boy who had grown up in the shadow of his perfect twin, held to the same standard but never given the same benefit of the doubt. I saw a boy who loved and hated his mirror image because he desired the attention but feared the responsibility it came with.

And then, I saw a man…a man who fought hard to save my life the day the world burned down at the rebel camp. I saw a man who was wrestling with his new identity as the First Son of the North—an entire region of the United Factions of America. I saw a man who was nothing like his charismatic and charming twin. Who was all hard lines, obscenities, and a granite shield that kept others from ever getting too close. I saw a man who, despite his twenty-one years, was still only a boy in his heart…afraid of what his future held in store for him.

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