Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2)

  Dom has to admit, he’s surprised. He read things completely wrong. He thought he was being hidden away out of shame. Embarrassment. But it’s the opposite. He’s being kept secret because he’s important. Crucial to the mission.

  He says nothing, chewing on the revelation.

  Corr extends a hand, says, “I tell you what, you catch Benson Kelly and if you still want to get some press time, you can have as much as you want.”

  Dom stares at the hand. Takes it and lets his boss pull him to his feet. As usual, he’s surprised by how strong Corr is. Stronger than he looks. “I’ll catch the Slip and then decide,” he says.

  “Good.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “I’ve been running a mission, off the books. I wasn’t officially appointed, so it had to be covert.”

  “What kind of mission?” Dom asks, cracking his metal knuckles.

  “The kind that could very well lead us to the Slip.”

  A thrill fires through the Destroyer’s human nerves. Even his machine parts seem to tremble with excitement, even though he knows that’s not possible. “When do I get involved in this mission?”

  “Immediately,” Corr says.

  “Where am I going?”

  “South of the city. But first you have an operation to plan.”

  A smile curls the Destroyer’s human lips.

  Chapter Nine

  Benson doesn’t know exactly why he’s been asked to meet with Jarrod, the Lifer leader, again, except he’s been told it involves his brother. The way Simon said Harrison’s name—almost spitting it out—combined with the way the guard’s face looks—purple bruises, a crooked nose, puffs of white tissue paper sticking from each nostril, smeared with blood—he knows it can’t be good news.

  Simon opens the door for him and pushes him inside rather roughly, almost like he’s a prisoner. Benson blinks at the bright white lights that hit him from the overhead panels. He’s been in this room once before, when he first met Jarrod. When he was first told that the Lifers wanted him to join their cause. He’d brushed the offer aside, promising to think about it and talk later.

  The first person he sees is Harrison, leaning casually against a wall. Not bound and gagged, like he expected. Whatever happened, his brother doesn’t seem that perturbed by it. But then again, sometimes it feels like his brother has a unique mixture of fire and ice running through his veins, something Benson obviously didn’t inherit.

  Sitting in a chair near his brother is a dark-skinned girl with frizzy hair sprouting from beneath a boyish hat that doesn’t fit quite right. She’s wearing a huge smile and hoverskates, which are kicked out in front of her. She looks so happy she might’ve just won a prestigious award. Benson’s never seen her before.

  On the other side of the room is Minda, one of the guards, looking angry, her eyebrows plunging toward her nose and one edge of her lip turned up. So basically, she looks the way she always looks.

  In the middle of the room, standing behind a chair, is Jarrod, his calm, collected self. Benson’s mind tries to connect the man who stuck a knife to his throat with the man standing before him now, but he can’t seem to do it. They don’t fit together.

  Simon closes the door and Benson says, “What happened?”

  “Your brother happened,” Simon mutters.

  “He hit you?”

  “Head butted me,” he says. “A real cheap shot, right in the nose. Then he went outside.”

  Benson gawks at the heavyset guard. “Like outside outside?”

  Minda says, “He tried to save this girl’s life.” She motions to the girl in the chair, who keeps on grinning.

  “I saved her life,” Harrison says. He doesn’t sound like he’s bragging, just correcting.

  “No,” Minda counters. “I saved both your lives.”

  Harrison stares at her but doesn’t contradict her.

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” Benson says. “Is Harrison in trouble?”

  “Yes,” Simon says.

  “No,” Jarrod says, finally speaking, resting his hands on the back of the chair. “Well, not really. He injured one of my people and compromised our security, but his heart was in the right place.” It seems impossible there would be no repercussions for Harrison. Unless…Jarrod is worried that Benson won’t cooperate if he punishes his brother. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

  “So let him go,” Benson says.

  “He’s not a prisoner,” Jarrod says.

  “Tell that to Simon over here,” Harrison mutters.

  “Sleep with one eye open, kid,” Simon says.

  “Silence!” Jarrod shouts. The amount of authority in that one word and the tone of his voice is enough to snap everyone’s mouths closed.

  Except Benson’s. “I still don’t understand. Who is she?” He looks at the girl, who meets his gaze without fear. In fact, her expression is the complete opposite. Like she’s more at ease than she’s ever been in her entire life. Like she’s among friends. Friends who all look like they want to kill each other.

  “I’m Destiny,” she says.

  At first Benson thinks she’s purposely being elusive, but then he realizes she’s just told him her name. He steps forward and extends a hand. “Benson Kelly,” he says.

  Her smile vanishes and she stares at his hand, her expression one of awe. “The Saint Louis Slip,” she whispers.

  “I’m just a kid who got lucky,” Benson says.

  “Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it,” Harrison notes.

  Benson drops his hand because Destiny seems too shocked to shake it. “You found Refuge,” she says.

  “More like Refuge found me,” Benson says. “Well, actually my friends found the Lifers, who happen to live in Refuge, who loaned them their Hawk drone, and then they came—”

  “Mr. Kelly,” Jarrod says, cutting him off. Benson purses his lips, realizing he’s been rambling. “There’s something you need to know about this girl.”

  He raises an eyebrow, waits for the Lifer leader to finish his thought.

  “Destiny is like you,” he says. “Destiny is a Slip.”

  ~~~

  Benson’s mind is blown. He feels like each and every carefully placed piece in the puzzle of his life has been clawed apart, scattered, stomped on, and lit on fire. He can almost see the motes of ash swirling around his feet.

  His back is to the wall, his legs tucked underneath him. His eyes are closed. People are talking around him but he’s barely listening, because he’s still trying to wrap his mind around one thing and one thing alone:

  The girl calling herself Destiny is a Slip.

  Like him.

  A wanted fugitive.

  Gonzo is saying something, his voice high and excited. Some kind of a joke. The others are laughing. How are they laughing? Benson wonders.

  According to Jarrod, the Department of Population Control has been lying about how many Slips there are. Or at least some of them have been. After dropping that bomb, Jarrod sent them all back to their sleeping quarters to “get acquainted.”

  Benson’s dimly aware of Luce’s body heat close by on one side. He wants to push closer to her, to twine his fingers with hers, to feel her heart beat against his chest. It’s like he needs her to feel normal.

  But he can’t. Because he hasn’t told Check about them yet.

  What is he even thinking about? he asks himself. Who cares about any of that when there’s a Slip sitting in the same room with him?

  Finally, he opens his eyes, while the conversation continues to swirl around him but unable to touch him. Voices and laughs and ideas and questions and maybe answers. All without meaning.

  The Slip is looking at him.

  “How are you even possible?” Benson asks. He meant for the question to be a silent one, asked within the safety of his shattered mind. Not dangerous. But when the room goes silent, he realizes he’s asked it out loud.

  “You mean that I’m not dead?” the girl, De
stiny, asks.

  Is that what he meant? He thinks he meant about a dozen things, but that’s probably one of them. He nods slowly.

  “Because she’s a damn hoverskating superstar,” Harrison says, his eyes meeting Benson’s from across the room. He’s sitting on his bed in the corner, his legs draped out in front of him, one flat, one bent, an arm slung casually over one knee. Like it dropped from the sky and just happened to land in that incredibly cool-looking position. Benson wonders if his brother was born with the ability to look awesome, while he got the full share of awkwardness.

  “Thanks,” Destiny says, glancing Harrison’s way. “You learn fast when one mistake means you die. But still, I was toast if you and”—she searches for the name—“Minda hadn’t showed up.”

  Harrison offers a single, cool bob of his head in acknowledgment. “I wasn’t going to just watch you get devoured by those AttackDogs.”

  “I’m glad you made it,” Benson says. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant how you’re possible?” He’s still not sure he’s making himself clear, but he doesn’t know how else to ask the question that’s trying to hammer its way out from inside his brain.

  He flinches when she laughs, a husky chuckle. “You’re the one that seems impossible,” she says. She pulls off the cap resting precariously on her head and a mountain of dark, frizzy hair explodes out, some of it falling over her eyes. She blows upward and it flies away, revealing big brown eyes aimed his way again. “The Slips in the big cities usually don’t last very long.”

  “And the Slips in the small towns?” Benson asks.

  “They can’t catch us all,” she says, in such a way that it sounds like the most obvious statement in the world.

  “But…they have to,” Benson says, frowning.

  “Why?” Check says, jumping into the conversation. His gaze seems to dance between Benson and Luce, narrowing, as if only just noticing their closeness.

  “Because…” The answer falls off Benson’s lips like an empty promise. Because it’s not the right answer, it’s the answer on holo-ads. The answer every citizen in the RUSA is supposed to have.

  Harrison finishes the thought for him. “Because if there are too many unauthorized citizens then the authorized ones won’t have enough resources to survive.”

  Gonzo glares at Harrison. His cheek is bruised where Harrison punched him earlier. But Benson suspects his friend’s pride might be even more bruised. Between Gonzo’s and Simon’s faces, Harrison’s been busy today. Or maybe this is just a typical day in his life, carving out a wide path of destruction wherever he goes. Benson has no clue what his brother usually does. His brother’s life is an impenetrable box, its contents shrouded in speculation and mystery. “Sorry to breathe your air, pretty boy,” Gonzo says.

  “And eat your food,” Rod adds.

  “And drink your water.” Gonzo again.

  “And—”

  Harrison cuts Rod off. “And this is BS,” he says. “I didn’t say that’s what I thought, not that you’d listen to me if I did. I was just saying why people want the Slips caught.” He slides off the bed, his feet stomping to the floor. He strides to the door, stopping and turning back at the exit. A half-turn, just far enough to make eye contact with Destiny, but no one else. “Good skating today,” he says.

  By the time she says, “Thanks,” he’s already gone.

  “Charming,” Gonzo mutters.

  “He puts the ‘harm’ in ‘charming,’” Rod says. When nobody says anything, Rod says, “You know, because, like, how he hurt Gonzo and Simon? Get it?”

  “Why do you hate him so much?”

  Benson’s head snaps away from the Mexican Jumpers. The question came from Destiny, who’s staring at them in puzzlement.

  “He’s not one of us,” Gonzo says, motioning around the room with his head.

  “I’m authorized,” Luce says. “Check and Geoffrey, too. Does that make us outsiders?”

  “No, that’s not what he meant,” Rod answers for him. “You’re street rats, like us. Harrison is privileged. Food on the table every night, the best schools, a normal life. He thinks he’s better than us.”

  “He saved my life,” Destiny says. “He could’ve been killed. He would’ve been if not for Minda.”

  “That was before he knew you were a Slip,” Gonzo says, unconvinced.

  Benson’s head bounces back and forth between them, like he’s watching a hovertennis match. Finally, he interjects. “I don’t think it would’ve changed anything. I don’t know my brother that well, but he’s not the type to sit back and watch something bad happen without getting involved.”

  “You’re defending him?” Gonzo says. There’s an accusation in his voice. “He’s the one who stole your life. He took your authorization from you.”

  “He was just a newborn baby. He didn’t take anything.”

  “How can you be so laid back about it?” Rod says, jumping in again, the second half of a one-two punch. “How can you not be angry?”

  “Because I’m the one who’s sad that my father is dead!” Benson shouts, feeling heat coursing through his veins. His face is as hot as the sidewalk on a sunny day, and he knows he’s gone bright red.

  Silence. Rod’s mouth is half-open. Gonzo is picking at his fingernail. Check is staring at Benson, one eyebrow raised. Benson refuses to look at Luce, for fear of the horror he knows he’ll see on her face. Even Harrison hates their father. Why doesn’t he?

  “Your father would’ve had us killed if he ever discovered us,” Rod says. “Would you have cried for us?”

  “Of course,” Benson says, all fight leaving him. “I’d die to protect you.”

  “Then why do you care what happened to him?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Benson says. “I—” He trails off, his words escaping like water through a sieve.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Rod says. “This place, this situation, everything…it’s confusing. For all of us.” He nudges Gonzo, who looks up from his hands.

  “Me, too,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week.”

  “It’s okay,” Benson says. “I understand.”

  “So no more fights, yeah?” Check says.

  Gonzo and Rod look at each other and manage a shared laugh. “Sorry, no promises,” Rod says.

  “But we’ll do our best,” Gonzo adds.

  Luce clears her throat, nods back toward Destiny, and says, “So there are more like you and Benson? More Slips?”

  Destiny shrugs. “I’ve met a few Slips. I’ve heard of more, but they’re usually hard to find, and they don’t stick around in one place for too long. Pop Con is a decentralized organization. The various units don’t really talk to each other, especially the smaller ones. So if things get too hot in one area, you move on and start all over again.”

  Benson grits his teeth. All this time he’s thought he was alone in this world. He knew there were other Slips, but only because they’d get caught and killed. The news was full of stories about UnBees getting terminated. Slips were rarer, but still, he’d heard of them. But he never dreamed there were that many running loose.

  Just another thing his father never told him. Unless his father didn’t know? He wonders whether Pop Con is so oblivious to not realize its own ineffectiveness.

  “Do the Lifers know about the other Slips?” Benson asks. “Did you tell them?”

  “Tell them?” Destiny says, looking at him strangely. “They already knew. How could they not? This is Refuge, right?”

  Benson knows he must be missing something. When they helped rescue him, Jarrod made it out to be a big deal. Like he was one of a kind. Like he was the symbol of the revolution. If they knew there were more like him, they wouldn’t have done that, would they? “Yes, they call it Refuge. But what does that have to do with Slips?” he asks.

  Destiny’s frown deepens. “Because Refuge is where all the Slips go to be safe,” she says.

  Luce, Check and Benson all share a look. Benson starts to sp
eak, but can’t bring himself to say the words that fill his mouth. Luce nods toward Check, the best talker of the three of them. “You and Benson are the only Slips here,” he says.

  “No,” Destiny says right away. “That can’t be right. Everyone knows about this place. It was hard to find, sure, but there are people to help us. Pointers. I met one of their brothers. He helped me find it. Without him, I’d still be skating around in circles.”

  “Do you have any injuries from today?” Luce asks. Benson had the same question in his head, only more like, “Did you hit your head today?”

  “No, I—” Destiny pauses, rethinking her answer. “A Hunter took a shot at me this morning. I think some shrapnel from a ricochet caught me in the back. I don’t think it’s deep, but…”

  “You should probably get it checked out. I’ll take you to medical,” Luce says. She slides away from Benson, barely brushing his hand with her fingertips as she passes.

  He knows exactly what she’s doing. Giving the rest of them a chance to discuss things in private. Figure out what it all means for them.

  For their world.

  For the rest of their lives.

  ~~~

  The Department of Population Control terminated twelve Slips last year.

  Hundreds of unauthorized births were brought to justice.

  Keeping you and your resources safe.

  Fighting for your lives.

  Population Control is for all of us.

  This advertisement paid for by the Department of Population Control.

  Chapter Ten

  Simon’s back is to him, but his eyes are boring into Harrison’s like a pair of drill bits. Well, one of them is boring into him; the other is half-closed, almost swollen shut. The battered look suits the Lifer guard, like he’s worn a black eye many times before. Like a favorite article of clothing. A shirt or a hat perhaps.

  Shirtless, the guard continues casually washing his hands in the sink, his eye-and-a-half like lasers coming out of the mirror.