Weapons of War: Explicit Edition (Rising Book 2) Read online

  They let the wolf loose that night. I wish they’d killed it. I wish I’d had the sense to ask them to or to do it myself. If I had, Ryan wouldn’t be out here searching for it. He’d be at home, asleep and healing. Or at least trying to move on instead of searching for something that doesn’t want to be found.

  “Shit,” he curses up ahead. His anger echoes over the empty street, between the abandoned buildings, rolling back to me in the deepest shade of shadow I can find.

  I fall back a step, shifting my pack on my back. I scan the darkness, looking for danger, but there’s nothing. No one but Ryan and I and another night that’s getting away from us.

  He’s frustrated; that’s the problem. He lost the wolf’s trail. He’s scoured this section of town too many times already. Our scent is sticking to everything, coating the landscape like big, bright stickers screaming STAY AWAY. The wolves won’t come here. Not until we leave the landscape alone for a while, but Ryan can’t do that. He can’t drop this and he can’t leave it alone.

  My biggest fear is that he actually finds the wolf. He’ll try to kill it instantly. Emotionally. It won’t end well. If it was able to kill his brother, it’s going to kill him. No question.

  Go home, I think fervently at Ryan. Go to sleep. Let me go to sleep.

  I’m tired. These endless nights are getting to me. I’m worried I’m going to get sloppy if I don’t get a good night’s sleep soon. The Hyperion can’t afford that. Not with Kevin dead and gone. He was our best fighter, I’m our best hunter, and if we’re both absent, we’re screwed. We’re defenseless and starving. We’re going to end up like the Pikes, and Marlow won’t even have to lift a finger to end us.

  I heard Marlow was mad about the wolf. The whole Hive was. Freedom says Vin kicked Chapman’s ass for what he did to Kevin. Her eyes lit with a cold fire when she described it, and she reminded me so much of Ryan right then that I felt real fear for her. I’ve been waiting to get word that she tried to kill Chapman or Marlow, same way Ryan is looking to kill this wolf. Either way, I’m worried this is going to end badly for both of them. For all of us. We can’t afford to have a beef with the Hive and that’s the way this thing is headed. Dylan met with Marlow on neutral ground a week after it happened. I don’t know exactly what they said to each other, but when Dylan came home, he told us we’re at peace with them. No arguments. No questions.

  I could see a million of them written in Ryan’s eyes, but he kept his mouth shut tight. We all did. But no one is happy about it.

  Ryan takes a left up ahead, moving away from the park. Away from the wild girl with the red hair. I breathe a silent sigh of relief for her as I follow him. He marches openly down the road without trying to hide himself and I think this is good, this means he’s given up on the wolf for the night. He’s heading home. Finally.

  I follow him to within a quarter mile of the theater before darting down a side street. I sprint three blocks south, hurry a few west, and dive straight into the dark recesses of the tallest building in the neighborhood; the site of my Crow’s Nest. The festering smell of rotting animals remnants and mildewed everything chases me up through the bank lobby and the stairs, but I lose it around the third floor. From there, the air is cleaner. Dry and crisp as the night reaches its coldest point, leaking in through the busted out windows.

  I keep carcasses in the lobby for a reason – camouflage. The smell of death covers my scent, keeping the lobby clear of Risen. It also keeps other animals away. I’m less likely to find a stray dog sniffing around if all there is to find is rotted flesh. It keeps the cats away too, thank God. I can’t stand cats. They’re creepier than I am.

  Twenty-four stories later and I reach the roof. I ran all the way up. I’m panting and sweating, stars bursting behind my eyes. My breath rises in a lacy fog above me like clouds that have lost their way. My chest feels tight, my lungs burn, and I smile as I look out over the city from my vantage point because this is when I feel the best. I feel like up here I can get away from the pain of Kevin’s death and the dark cloud of Ryan’s depression. Here, alone, is where I escape the conversations I don’t know how to have. The frowns I get when I say something strange or nothing at all. When I look at someone too long. When I ‘sneak’ into a room, startling everyone in it.

  It’s exhausting, not being normal.

  Nights like tonight, when I’m feeling overwhelmed, I come up here to sleep. I have a sleeping bag and a hammock stashed in an old AC unit I gutted years ago. There’s other stuff in there too. Books. Magazines I’ve read a million times. My telescope. Water and jerky. Kevin’s brass knuckles.

  I don’t touch them. I tell myself not to. It’ll only hurt if I do and I’m not willing to feel that right now. I’m too tired. Too unsure how to make it stop once it starts. If I let myself sink inside the pain, I’ll forget which way is up. I’ll drown in the remembering, and I’m no good to Ryan if I’m a zombie. That’s what matters now; Ryan. Keeping his head up. Keeping his blood inside his body. I have to make sure he doesn’t go down the way his brother did, because that’s what Kevin would want me to do. It’s what I have to do, for them and for me, because without them I’m feral. I’m alone in the woods the way I was before they stumbled into my life. I’m an animal, adept at killing but shit at living. Not without help.

  I freeze as the wind shifts, sound traveling on the current up through the building. An echo in stairwell. Sounds of someone coming.

  I pull my knife, the rough handle digging into my dry palm. Quickly but quietly, I hurry over the roof through the door, looking down the dizzying maze of steps and railing. I can see a shadow move in the dark. Climbing. It’s still about halfway down, but I know it’s Ryan. Maybe because I’ve been his shadow for months now, his dark mass has become familiar to me.

  My hand loosens on the knife handle. “Ryan,” I call down.

  He pauses, breathing heavily. “Hey, man!”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m getting my cardio. You?”

  “Same.”

  “Cool.” He huffs and puffs for a second longer before waving tiredly. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right up.”

  “I’ll give you ten.”

  “Screw you,” he chuckles before launching forward again. He finds a rhythm to the climb. He keeps a steady beat to his footfalls up the heart of the building until he makes that last big leap to the top. He lands solidly, hunching over with his hands on his knees. “Dude. That never gets easier.”

  “You should be asleep.”

  “So should you.” He pauses for a long second, his face pinched from the climb. “You come out here a lot lately, don’t you?”

  “I always have.”

  “Not usually this much.”

  I shrug. “I’ve had trouble sleeping.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Ryan grunts, standing up straight. His brown hair is getting shaggy, sticking to his sweat-soaked forehead in curling clumps. His chin is covered in a fine stubble. He looks older than seventeen, more like his brother than himself, and when he gives me a knowing, appraising look, the resemblance is uncanny. “But you knew that, right?”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve been out hunting the wolf,” he tells me bluntly.

  I nod once, unfazed by the confession. “I know. I’ve seen you.”

  “You see everything, don’t you?”

  “I haven’t seen the wolf.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?”

  “Yes.”

  “You promise?”

  “Sure.”

  He winces, not sure how to take that. “Is that a yes?”

  “I already said I’d tell you.”

  “But you won’t promise.”

  “Why do you need me to?” I reason, feeling impatient. “Why do you think I would lie to you?”

  “To protect me. Just like he would do.”

  “I’m not your brother, Ryan.”

  That bothers him. A lot. He puts his back to me, his head bowed lo
w. We stay that way in silence for a long time; longer than even I’m comfortable with. I start to wonder what to do. What to say. Who to be, because obviously being me isn’t working. It’s been months and Ryan is no better tonight than he was the day we burned his brother’s body, and I feel like that’s my fault. But I’m lost as to how to fix it.

  “I can’t sleep,” he tells me quietly. “Every time I close my eyes, I— I don’t know. I can’t keep them closed. They pop right back open, no matter how tired I am.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Then I feel sorry for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder, smirking. It’s small but it’s huge. A flicker of emotion that changes his whole face. He goes from brooding to brilliant in a second, that charm he and his brother have inside them painting his face in a whole new light that’s brighter and better than sunshine after six straight months of rain. But as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. His face falls to flat again.

  “You know, I’ve never asked,” he says suddenly, looking at the city surrounding us. “How high up are we?”

  “Twenty-four floors.”

  He wanders toward the edge of the roof. The side facing the Hive. “That’s a long way down.”

  I take a step after him. “I saw Freedom today.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, keeping his back to me. “How’d she look?”

  “Good. She was with two other girls. They were laughing.”

  “That’s good. Kevin would—” Ryan’s voice cracks. Breaks. Shatters into rough pieces at his feet that he crunches into the gravel. He clears his throat quietly. “It’s good for her to be happy.”

  “It’s good for everybody to be happy.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan steps to the edge. Right up to the low wall surrounding us, leaning forward against it. He doesn’t brace himself with his hands. He keeps them stuffed in his pockets, his upper body hanging precariously over the edge as his weight is balanced on his thighs against the wall.

  “Do you remember the night Seven died?” he asks me quietly, his words whipping on the wind before finding my ears.

  I swallow thickly. “I remember.”

  “We waited up here all night for Kevin to come home. I’d never been so worried about him. I freaked out when we finally saw him coming up that street right there.” Ryan nods to the road leading to the Hive.

  It’s empty tonight. Everything is.

  “It was a relief.”

  “I keep waiting for him to do it again. To show up out of nowhere.” He sniffs sharply, running his hand across his mouth before stuffing it back in his pocket. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and he’ll be home, you know. Like this was all a bad dream.”

  I shake my head faintly. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “I know it’s not, but I keep hoping.”

  I watch him closely. I’m gauging the distance between us. How far forward he’s leaning. How fast I can run. How loose the gravel on the ground is.

  He jerks forward suddenly, sending my blood flying, but then he rocks back onto his heels. He steps away from the edge, turning to face me.

  I can breathe again.

  “I’m going in the Arena.”

  I blink, studying him long and hard. I’m not overly surprised. He was talking about fighting for a gang in the Arena before Kevin died. It was only a matter time before he picked up that cause again. “When?”

  “Soon,” he answers resolutely. “I’ve already talked to Chapman. He’s excited about it.”

  “Of course he is.”

  “It’s my decision. I’m locked in. I’m doing it.”

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “I know it’s not.”

  “Don’t do it,” I tell him boldly, almost begging him.

  H winces apologetically. “I have to.”

  I swallow, feeling afraid again. Like even though he’s walked away from the edge, he’s still in danger. I just can’t see it. I can’t stop it. I can’t fight it. I can’t kill it. The enemy is invisible, it’s inside him, and I don’t know how to deal with that kind of problem. This is not the type of fight I’m used to, and every day I feel more and more like I’m losing it. Like I’m going to lose Ryan.

  “Are you fighting for the Hyperion?”

  Ryan shakes his head faintly, his eyes steady on mine. “The Hive.”

  I scoff. A single breath that bounces out of my body unwillingly. “You’re leaving us.”

  “It’s just a fight. I’m not joining up with them.”

  “Marlow has agreed to that?”

  “It’s what Chapman and me agreed to.”

  “You should have talked to Marlow.”

  “You and Kevin told me to never talk to Marlow.”

  “So some advice you take and the rest you ignore?”

  “Yeah, that’s kinda how advice works, Trent.”

  “This is a mistake,” I warn him clearly.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Kevin didn’t want—”

  “I know he didn’t want me to,” Ryan interrupts calmly, “but I can’t handle it, man. None of it. I’ve got this… thing inside me and it wants to get out. It wants to kill something or someone, anything to balance the scales, but I can’t find the damn wolf, so this is what I’ve gotta do.”

  “You could hunt Risen. I’ll go with you.”

  “And I could go down for breakfast like I did every morning with him. I could walk the same streets, but it won’t be the same and it will feel like I’m trying to make it the same. I can’t keep living my life like he’s still here. It’s driving me crazy. Nothing feels real anymore!”

  “You think fighting in the Arena will feel real?”

  “I think it will feel like something new.” He shakes his head, pursing his lips together tightly. “It’ll feel like I’m alive.”

  I hang my head, avoiding his eyes. I feel powerless standing here with him like this. It’s that same feeling as though everything I’m saying and doing is wrong. I can’t keep him safe. I can’t stop him from diving into an early grave headfirst, chasing his brother’s ghost all the way off this rock.

  I sigh reluctantly, raising my head. “When?”

  “Next fight night.” Ryan shifts on his feet, his chin held high. Defiant. “Four days.”

  “We better get started.”

  “With what?”

  “Your training.”

  He smiles slightly. “Dude, I’ve been training for this almost my whole life.”

  “So did Kevin, but what did he do in his spare time?”

  “He trained. Constantly.”

  “You think you’re a better fighter than your brother?”

  Ryan’s smile disappears. “No.”

  “Then we better get to work.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Vin

  Marlow sits on his throne on the stage. He’s towering one foot above us, pompous and old. The couches surrounding him, normally occupied by six of his closest men, myself included, are empty. We’ve been sent to the edges of the room to leave him alone on his massive armchair so he can look down at us like an angry school teacher.

  He’s got a spare tire inflating around his waistline. His ass is getting dumpy. Bags are building under his eyes, etched into his skin by time and arrogance. He’s never been a good-looking guy, not as long as I’ve known him, but he’s sure not getting better with age. If anything, he’s getting uglier. Every last part of him.

  “We’re down to a single generator,” he tells Yenko disapprovingly. “When can we expect the second to be up and running again?”

  Yenko shakes his head, the bald, brown skin of his dome gleaming in the yellow light. “Never. Not unless we can find the right parts for it, but they’re not easy to come by.”

  “That’s discouraging.”

  “That’s reality.”

  “You’re telling me in this entire town, you can’t find another generator to salva
ge the parts you need?”

  “It sounds insane, but no. I can’t. It used to be pretty easy, but lately, I don’t know what happened. It’s like it’s all disappeared.”

  Marlow pauses, savoring his disappointment like a thick, juicy steak. Rare. “When you say ‘it’s all disappeared’, you mean…”

  “All of the old jennies I’ve been salvaging from and all the shit from the hardware stores that I could improvise with. It’s all gone.”

  “How is that possible?”

  He meets Marlow’s eyes, readying himself for the storm. “I have a theory.”

  “The Colonies?” Hector guesses. His big body is wedged in behind the small desk brought in just for him. A simple black ledger sits in front of him, closed. A nub of a yellow pencil is lined up perfectly next to it. The lead is almost used up but the eraser is brand new. Never been used because if you’re going to be an accountant for the King of the Hive, you don’t make mistakes.

  “Why?” Dante scoffs. “They’re living off solar batteries and wind turbines. The one in the east is all hydroelectric. They got so much juice stored up in their batteries, I doubt they even use their generators.”

  “Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hoard the parts for them,” I remind him quietly from my corner. “Especially when they know how bad we need ‘em.”

  Dennis, our Honey dealer, nods in grim agreement. “They’d do it just to hamstring us. Remember the sugar fiasco? They went through town with their trucks and snatched up all the sugar they could find. Tried to charge us an arm and a leg to get our hands on any of it.”

  “Yeah, and you subbed out maple syrup to keep making your Honey, but I can’t do that with a generator,” Yenko reminds him.

  Marlow sits still as stone, his eyes going distant. “They know we have this baby deal coming up soon. They’re going to have to pay top dollar for that kid, but not if we need something from them. They’ll use our desperation to negotiate the price down.”