Page 48 of Fifth
Hannah caught his hand before he could move. She laced her fingers with his, pressed his knuckles to her thigh. Not for the cameras. For herself. To affix herself to the only thing that held when the ground broke. Heat surged through him, hard and undeniable. The way she fit against him would always ruin himand save him at once. Her skin burned where it touched his, the press of her thigh against his hand far too intimate for the headman’s stage. The connection was dangerous, apromise no threat could sever.
They walked. Two riflemen in front, two behind. The headman strutted backward three steps for the camera, then turned. Hannah’s mother gripped the porch rail until her knuckles went white. Her father wrapped an arm around her. He looked like a man who already had a tool in mind, ready to turn into a weapon.
Outside, three SUVs idled in the drive and along the curb, gray paint, dark glass. Afourth idled at the corner, adriver in a Yankees cap slouched in boredom. Exhaust clung to the damp air. Two houses down, awoman in pink slippers retrieved her newspaper without looking up. The camera liked her,too.
Locus placed Hannah in the middle SUV, then slid in after her, body filling the space between her and the door so no bullet could find her. His thigh pressed firm against hers, aline of heat he refused to yield. Arifleman rode shotgun, barrel aimed lazy down the line of the headrest. The headman rode in the lead car, enjoying first place. Engines revved. The convoy pulledaway.
Hannah’s hand didn’t release his. Her palm was cool now, steady against his. The seatbelt cut across her collarbone, aline he longed to taste. He dragged his gaze away, fixing it on the window, but every breath carried her scent.
“What’s the Challenge?” Hannah asked the rifleman.
“Need-to-know,” he replied, proud of his script.
“I didn’t ask you.” Her eyes cut to Locus, searching for truth andhope.
“They will not hand us a layout or directions,” Locus said. “They think surprise will make us bleed for them. They are wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I will not bleed for their joy. Iwill choose my own wound, and I will turn it into a blade they never meant to give me.”
She leaned against him, her shoulder brushing his arm, the contact a quiet brand. “It’d be easier if we knew.”
“It would. They deny advantage to seem powerful. Iwould like you to listen now.” He turned so he could meet her gaze. “If I tell you to close your eyes, you’ll close them. If I tell you to drop and lie still, you’ll drop and lie still, even if everything in you screams to run. If I tell you to put your hands on my shoulders and climb, you’ll climb without apology. Do you understand.”
“I understand,” she whispered. “In other words, same as before.”
He inclined his head. “Affirmative. Same as before.”
She pressed their joined hands to her mouth for a single heartbeat. The softness nearly undid him. He pulled their hands away, flattening them on his thigh so he wouldn’t break and kiss her, shedding armor too soon. Her breath brushed hot across his knuckles before he drew them down, leaving a trail of want that coiled under hisskin.
The convoy rolled past empty lots and sagging buildings. Twice they turned where there were no signs. They passed a chain-link fence gaping at a corner. Through an open gate they entered a small airfield: tired hangars, crooked blinds in office windows. Awoman stepped out to smoke, nodded at the headman’s car, ignored therest.
A twin-engine plane waited, its fuselage streaked gray with exhaust. Its nose cone was a blunt fist. Stairs rolled up to the hatch. The engines idled, aheavy throb. The headman climbed out of the lead car and lifted his cigarette like a priest offering benediction.
“Up you go,” he called. “Don’t trip. Wouldn’t want pity. Audiences want terror. They want perseverance. You have perseverance. We’ll make sure you experience the other. Soon.”
The rifleman in the front seat opened Locus’s door, then backed away quickly as if burned. Locus slid out first, turned, arm already out for Hannah. She caught it, let him lift her down. The intimacy of it—small, absolute, in front of men who’d sell their own mothers—tightened his chest. Her body brushed his as he steadied her, and the rush of heat that shot through him left him tight with restraint.
“Last chance,” the headman sang. “If your friends want to rain light on my morning, now’s the moment. Ican make a fine tragedy. The two of you staring at smoke, wondering which cloud is your parents.”
“Shut up,” Hannah said.
He grinned at her, delighted. “My darling, you’re going to make me rich.”
She lifted her chin, seized Locus’s hand, and squeezed hard. He answered in kind. He bent his head, brushed a coin-sized kiss against her hair. Agift to himself. The only one he’d take until he made it matter. Her scent filled his lungs, sweet under the sharp sting of fuel, and for an instant he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his lap and taste her mouth until she forgot thefear.
They climbed the stairs. The plane smelled of leather, fuel, along with an antiseptic chemical bite. Aflight attendant with a bored face barely glanced at them. Men with rifles sat along the aisle, pretending to scroll their phones. The headman lingered at the bottom of the stairs, face upturned, savoring the sky. The hum of the engine rumbled and Locus sent the same command across the private frequency to the only man listening.
Stand down.
Hannah leaned into him, her shoulder pressed into his ribs. “Do you believe we can do this?” she asked softly.
“I do.”
“Say it again.”
“I will see you through this Challenge. Iwill bring you back to your mother. Iwill bring your sister back. Iwill put your family together in one room and shut the door. Iwill let you cry as long as you want, and then I will make you forget how to cry.”
