Unforgettable (Talented Saga #6)

  “Got one!” Hugh panted victoriously through the comm unit. “Gonna take her down the fire escape. But we’ve got us company.”

  “We’re coming to you,” Artie replied.

  The heat was becoming unbearable. Pint was convinced she’d be coughing up soot for days.

  I’m demanding a pay raise, Pint thought bitterly. She’d known these raids were dangerous, more so than the usual ones since these Created Chromes were like nothing the Poachers had ever encountered. Still, this was just ridiculous. She was a member of the family after all. Risking life and limb to collect the filthy mutants was beneath her.

  “Holy crap!” someone screamed behind her. “What the hell is happening?”

  Pint froze. Newcomers. UNITED? She hoped not.

  Even though poaching was illegal, it had been overlooked by the international organization for years. In Europe. Here, in Chrome-friendly America, it was not likely to be tolerated.

  “97th and Renard. Ten minutes.” The words crackled through her comm unit.

  “Oy that’s a hike,” Artie grumbled. “Come on, Pint! Better get moving if we’re gonna make it.”

  Pint nodded, unsure if Artie actually saw the gesture or not. He pulled her forward, urging his team leader to snap out of the daze she was in.

  Once out of the main living quarters, the air was clearer and visibility much better. Pint gulped the fresh air and tugged at her mask to cool the scorching skin underneath. She straightened and shrugged out of Artie’s grip, embarrassed that he’d needed to come to her rescue. Pint hated feeling helpless. Sensing her mood shift, Artie didn’t fight her and just let go.

  “There,” he said, pointing towards an open window at the end of a short hallway, past several doors that probably lead to bedrooms.

  Sizzling sounds came from the living room, as though water had been thrown to douse the fire.

  “Three—no, four—bodies,” she heard someone say in an American accent. “And one’s armed. Like, really armed.”

  “Move, Pint,” Artie growled, his eyes darting to the clouds of steam behind them. Once they cleared, the Poachers would be in plain sight to whoever it was in the living room.

  “UNITED, you think?” Pint asked quietly, pausing just as she reached their only hope of exiting the building.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care to find out. Unless you wanna go back for Benson? It’s your call.”

  “What’s going on? Are you all going to make it out?” Jaylen’s voice came from her comm unit.

  Pint debated for the blink of an eye. Leaving Benson behind was protocol in these situations. Capture was a risk they all took willingly, and Benson knew not to talk if taken into custody alive. But the Duke had been clear. The Americans couldn’t know that the Poachers were hunting on their land. If they tied Benson to her organization, whether he talked or not wouldn’t matter.

  I’ve botched this whole thing up, Pint thought.

  The Duke was going to have her head.

  “Pint?” Artie urged her for an answer.

  “No, leave him. We don’t have a choice. Let’s go.”

  The pair climbed through the open window and on to the fire escape. The warm, fresh air surged into her lungs and Pint was able to think more clearly. The first thing Pint noticed was that Hugh was not there.

  “Hugh, where are you?” she snapped into her comm unit.

  “Three buildings over. Girl’s heavy as brick. She better be worth it,” Hugh replied.

  “She’s Created, Hugh. She’s worth every little ounce,” Pint shot back, hating that the words were true. “How’d you get across?”

  “Look down. Third level, there’s a makeshift crossing from that building to the next. I’m thinking we can get to the rendezvous point this way.”

  Pint looked down. Sure enough, a metal ladder connected the two buildings’ fire escapes. She was already in motion when a blur of activity in the window caught her eye. They’d been spotted.

  “We’ve got two runners!” an American voice shouted.

  Pint didn’t look back, she’d already wasted too much time. They needed to move. Team leader or not, if she wasn’t at the van in seven minutes, Jaylen would give the order to leave without her. They’d already have the merchandise, once Hugh arrived. And Pint had no intention of being UNITED’s newest prisoner.

  Small and agile, Pint had no difficulty making it across the ladder. Artie, too, was light on his feet and made it across with relative ease. Pint spared a glance up at the window to the fifth floor flat, just in time to see two men climbing onto the fire escape.

  “Get rid of the ladder,” she ordered Artie. “Don’t want them pursing us.”

  With one great thrust, Artie shoved the rickety bridge free and sent it careening thirty feet to the street below. Then the two Poachers set off into the night to find their colleagues.

  “WHAT THE HELL happened here?” Erik Kelley asked, knocking a burnt can with the toe of his boot. “Did you guys do this, or did they?”

  The fire had been contained and eliminated hours before, leaving behind charred bits of blanket, broken plates, and random debris. Oh and the stench, of course. Eau de burnt wood.

  Erik wouldn’t admit it, but he sort of liked the smell—it reminded him of a campfire. Thoughts of roasted marshmallows and melted chocolate filled his head. He smiled, almost able to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers as he brushed dark curls back to kiss her cheek.

  “You’re all sticky,” her voice said inside his head.

  He traced one chocolate covered finger over her bottom lip.

  “And now so are you,” he told her, right before bringing his lips to Talia’s and tasting the sweet confection for himself.

  Abruptly, the scene in his mind changed, obliterating all thoughts of his girlfriend and their outdoor getaway just three nights before.

  The campfire smell shifted to one of burning chemicals, as if the wind had simply changed direction. Blue-green fire blazed in Erik’s mind, swallowing the landscape in a sea of iridescent flames. Agonized screams sliced through the air, assaulting his eardrums. Erik’s hands flew to the sides of his head, as if the small gesture was enough to stifle the pleas of the dying. Soldiers, consumed in flames, writhed in agony, their bodies spinning and contorting in a horrific imitation of puppets whose strings were being pulled too harshly.

  No, no, no. Not here. Not now, Erik thought, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the memory away.

  It wouldn’t stay gone for long, though. That scene haunted his dreams at night and woke him screaming in the predawn hours more often than he cared to admit.

  “Talia,” Erik whispered, unaware he’d spoken aloud until her soft voice answered.

  “Right here,” she called, sounding blessedly distracted.

  The nightmares were no secret, at least not from Talia Lyons. She was the one he turned to when the darkness outside brought out the darkness within. His girlfriend, the love of his life, had been amazing, and the only reason he was still functioning at all. Still, he hated worrying her. And if Talia knew how often memories of the fight in Bethesda surfaced, the memories of all the people who died, she would worry. And those weren’t even the worst ones.

  Erik blinked his turquoise eyes open and focused on the job he was supposed to be doing. Talia crouched three feet away, examining a frayed wire.

  “Electrical fire, I’m guessing?” she said, looking first at Erik and then at Ray, the UNITED agent who’d been first on the scene.

  The tiny Manhattan apartment was swarming with UNITED agents now. Some were members of Ray’s team, others members of his and Talia’s. There were even a couple of local cops who’d responded to the fire.

  “Definitely electrical. One of the Created we found and sent to containment is an Electrical Manipulator, among other things,” Ray said.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Talia asked and stood, small hands fisted on her hips.

  “Of the three Created we recovered, none will have lasting damage. A littl
e smoke inhalation, some minor burns, nothing too serious,” Ray replied.

  “Three? I thought there were four?” Erik asked without thinking, then winced inwardly at the mistake.

  He was pretty sure that Victoria Walburton, UNITED Councilwoman and the person he and his team were directly under, had said four people were taken into custody. But his short-term memory had more holes than Swiss cheese these days and it was possible he was misremembering. If so, Talia would notice. Hiding his increasing mental issues from Talia became harder with each ticking second.

  “Four people total, but only three Created,” Ray said. “We don’t know much about the fourth guy. He was heavily armed, though. Like ready-to-do-battle armed, you know?”

  “Not the other three, though?” Talia asked, brows drawing together in confusion. “I mean, they were just kids, right?”

  Ray laughed good-naturedly.

  “Kids? That’s rich—you calling someone a kid. How old are you anyway?”

  Talia scowled, purple eyes bright with agitation. But it was Erik who took the other agent’s words to heart.

  “Listen,” Erik snapped. “She’s been through more than you can even imagine. She’s done shit that no one should have to. Until you can add ‘dismantled a corrupt organization’ or ‘saved the lives of thousands of children’ or even one of the other things she’s accomplished to your resume, I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut.”

  Erik hadn’t realized how close he’d moved to the other man until Ray stepped back, palms held out in a placating gesture that nearly sent Erik over the edge.

  “Easy there, killer,” Talia forced a laugh. “I’m sure Ray was just kidding. Right, Ray?”

  Her voice had an edge that Erik knew well. Talia looped her arm through Erik’s and he instantly began to calm. He knew what she was doing, using her Talents to soothe him. Erik hated that he’d become so worked up that Talia felt the need to intervene. He hated that she was in his head and knew the trouble he had staying in control of his emotions.

  “Sorry. Seriously. I get it. She’s a badass. You’re a badass. I’m only half a badass.”

  Ray took another step back from the lethal couple. He’d been with UNITED for ten years, recruited after three years with the now defunct TOXIC. In all of that time, they were the two most frightening people he’d ever encountered. Talia Lyons and Erik Kelley were legendary, and Ray was just glad they were on UNITED’s side. This was the first time he’d met them in person. Hopefully the last. Something about the pair was deeply unsettling. No one should wield the type of power they each did in their own rights. It was almost as though you could feel it emanating from their compact bodies.

  “To answer your question, yes. The three Created are kids. The oldest is a boy of seventeen. The two others are younger. Twelve and eleven, I think. One female and one male. But the fourth person we apprehended is a full-grown man,” Ray said.

  “Wait, what?” Talia asked, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “Is that the one that was armed for the apocalypse?”

  “Yep,” Ray confirmed. “He was unconscious and kind of battered when we got here. It appeared as though the guy had been shot with a tranquilizer dart. Which was only odd because the sole weapon of that kind was found was in the guy’s hand.”

  “And he’s not one of ours?” Talia guessed.

  “No, definitely not. Biometrics don’t match any we have on file. The Brains are running them against a wider database now to see if we can get a hit. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait for him to wake up and see what you can get out of him.”

  Ray nodded in Talia’s direction. Rumor had it that she was particularly skilled in psychic interrogation. One look into her dark eyes told Ray that he never wanted to find out firsthand.

  “You think the guy was tracking the Created, too? Like for a different organization?” Erik asked, all trace of irritation from earlier gone.

  “That’s my guess. He wasn’t alone. I spotted two more fleeing down the fire escape, but they got away.”

  “Any idea what this phantom organization might be?” Talia asked.

  Ray rubbed a hand over his short hair. Yeah, he had an idea, alright. And if he was right, UNITED’s troubles were a whole lot worse than they’d imagined.

  “Who?” Talia demanded.

  Ray blinked, startled. He was usually pretty good at keeping a blank face. Then again, it wasn’t everyday he encountered a Mind Manipulator with her power.

  He blew out a long breath, hating to give voice to his concern but knowing the tiny manipulator would just pull the name from his head if he didn’t say it aloud soon.

  “Poachers. They’re called Poachers. And believe me, if they are after the Created, we have a really big problem.”

  “WITH ALL DUE respect, Sir, I—” Pint began.

  “Excuses will not be tolerated, Priya,” the Duke interrupted. “Only results.”

  Libby’s father was one of the only people who called Pint by her given name. Normally she didn’t mind, but today the gesture irritated her.

  “How many did this last raid yield?” the Duke asked, his voice just as snotty through the plane’s comm system as it was in person.

  Pint gritted her teeth and ground out, “One, Sir.”

  God she hated addressing him as Sir. He didn’t deserve it. The only thing worse than giving the Duke undeserved respect was calling his children Lord and Lady. But no, she had to be born into the wrong branch of the family. The one without any titles.

  “And what do we know about the one you managed to collect?” the Duke asked, his tone pure condescension.

  “Her name is Francie Owen. She is seventeen and definitely Created. Beyond that, I can’t know until we get back to the Rock. She’s heavily sedated, same as the others,” Pint said.

  “With the addition of Ms. Owens, how many total?”

  “Sixteen, sir,” Pint replied. “We are bringing back sixteen from the States.”

  “Very well. You know, it’s a terrible shame to pull you all out without performing another roundup. Though your carelessness does necessitate it, I suppose.” He paused for effect, letting his words sink in.

  Pint wasn’t stupid, the Duke was reminding her that she’d screwed up by allowing herself and her team to be seen by the agents from UNITED.

  I’d like to see you do better, your Grace, Pint thought bitterly.

  Of course, Nigel Monroe would never get his hands dirty. No, he left the grunt work to his underlings. Wanker.

  “I have it on good authority that a number of these Created are in Europe. I trust you and your team will be able to help find them,” the Duke continued.

  “Yes, sir. We did lose Benson, though. It was unfortunate but unavoidable.”

  Pint steeled herself for the rebuke that was sure to come.

  “Ah, well, that is always a risk, is it not? No matter. Benson knows to keep his mouth shut. I am not concerned. How many did we lose in total?”

  “Benson makes five. The others were killed, though.”

  Pint’s throat tightened with the admission. It wasn’t even that she cared much for her fallen comrades, so much as she hated the idea that their lives were worth less than the Chromes. Chromes were barely even human, and yet people were willing to pay through the nose to own one.

  “Probably for the best. I hear UNITED has a very powerful Manipulator working for them these days. No telling what she can extract, even from the most unwilling of minds.”

  The Duke paused, lost in thought. Almost to himself, he added, “I wonder how much she would garner on the open market. Manipulators are rare these days, and so very valuable. Hmm, something to think about, I suppose. I shall speak with you further when you arrive, Priya. Tell my children I am relieved to know they will be returning home.”

  With that, the line went dead.

  “Tell them yourself, you bastard,” Pint muttered, slamming the end button on the communicator.

  EARLIER THIS MORNING, a group of Created—employees o
f the defunct TOXIC organization who were injected with the illicit Creation Drug and now possess a vast array of abnormally strong Talents—stormed UNITED’s Manhattan facility. UNITED is the world-wide governing body for Talented citizens. In a statement released shortly after the siege began, the organization’s spokeswoman, Victoria Walburton, denounced the unnatural offshoot of the Talented species. The councilwoman is quoted as saying: “The safe release of the hostages is this organization’s top priority, but UNITED will not negotiate with terrorists.”

  The ringleader was seventeen-year old Alana Stillwater, one of many former students of the McDonough School for the Talented who were called up to TOXIC prematurely and injected with the controversial drug. Under the belief that the only remaining vials of the drug were being housed at the Manhattan facility, Stillwater demanded the confiscated vials of the Creation Drug be turned over to her rogue group, in exchange for the lives of the UNITED agents inside the same facility. The ransom demand led to a nearly six hour standoff, with both sides refusing to surrender. Sighting no better alternatives, Councilwoman Walburton gave the order to take the building by force just after midday.

  In total, ten Created were taken into custody. On behalf of UNITED, the councilwoman expressed sympathy for the families of the hostages, several of whom sustained minor injuries when the organization’s agents reclaimed the facility. As for the fate of the Created detainees, Walburton said, “They will be dealt with both swiftly and justly.”

  Which begs the obvious question: Will they really?

  Since the emergence of the Created, the most hotly debated topic has been the jurisdiction under which they fall. UNITED continues to argue that, as Talented, even if not natural-born, the Created are theirs to apprehend and discipline—a task that many governments were initially glad to leave in their hands. But the attack on UNITED’s own facility has caused those same governments to question the wisdom of such a decision. Many fear UNITED is incapable and ill-equipped to handle this destructive problem, for which they are ultimately to be blamed.