Page 9 of Heir of Ashes

Logan fumbled inside his pants pocket and handed me the key fob to the Range Rover, surprising me. “If I have to distract them, I want you to go ahead and start the car. Turn it around and keep it idling. Be ready to go. Can you do that?”

Of course I can.I hoped he took a very long time distracting them. Before I could give him a reassuring response, we heard footsteps going up to the fourth floor. But it was only one set. Logan took out his gun and held it at the ready. The other man backed away, heading for the phone on the stand. He was probably going to call security. The dollar note, though, was nowhere to be seen. The cautious opportunist.

Logan cracked open the door, scanned the corridor, then ushered me out of the room. I followed him down, both of us moving as quietly as possible. We veered left at the lobby and spotted the man blocking the entrance at the same time. He stood guarding the door, his head lowered, one hand pressed to his ear, the other hovering near the bulk of his unbuttoned suit jacket, his eyes scanning ahead. A wire spiraled down from his ear, disappearing inside the lapel of his suit where three golden, starry buttons were arranged in a triangle pattern.

A PSS Elite guard.

The type who had guarded me my entire stay at the PSS. A tremor ran down my spine and I clenched my fists. I was no longer a victim, a prisoner, a freak. I would fight back and, if necessary, I would not hesitate to kill. I was no longer that frightened and disoriented teenager. They didn’t play by the rules, and I had vowed that neither would I. They had forged me into the monster I was today.

At a glance, the Elite possessed blue auras just like every ordinary human, but a closer glance revealed them as blurry. I already knew they were stronger and faster than the ordinary guard, and suspected there was more. And the bulge under their jackets still gave me nightmares. Instead of live bullets, theyhad tranquilizer darts, and God only knew what they did to an unconscious, uncooperative subject. If they saw us, they would shoot first. No questions asked. Since they were faster than the average human, we wouldn’t be able to disarm them before being shot. Although adept in hand-to-hand combat, they were instructed to avoid it.

We quickly ducked and backed away, moving in the other direction, going for the back entrance. Past a set of double doors and down a narrow corridor, a maid pushing a cart stopped us.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said sternly.

Logan gave her a lopsided smile. “The receptionist said we could hit the parking lot from the back entrance,” he explained. “I have a skin condition, and the employee’s exit is closer to where we parked.”

The maid’s frown cleared. If she had paused to process his words, she’d have known the lie for what it was, considering it was dark outside.

Logan continued with the charm, “But I guess we misunderstood the directions.” He made a frustrated gesture, and I watched, vaguely amused, as the maid expression moved from disapproving to friendly and then sympathetic. She motioned us to the end of the hall and indicated a set of double doors on the other side.

“That’s the kitchen. If you go that way, you’ll find a back door for the kitchen staff, but you’ll probably get in someone’s way.” She pointed a brightly painted red fingernail to the left. “But if you follow the hall on the left and take the door to the right, you’ll exit between the employee and guest parking lots.”

Logan thanked her with a sheepish expression before taking my hand in his. As soon as she was out of sight, we hurried our steps to the end of the hall and veered left. There were three doors at the end. The one to the left was unmarked.The one directly across had a small plaque that read “Janitorial” and the one to the right read “Exit”.

We spotted the third guard at the same time he saw us. He stood by the exit door, slightly angled so he could watch both the exit we emerged from and the kitchen’s entrance farther down. Logan moved fast, almost in a blur, kicking the man’s hand away before he reached his gun. If we had emerged from the kitchen door, he’d have had time to draw and shoot us. Logan followed with a punch to his stomach, not giving the man time to recover.

The guard doubled over, and I thought the fight was over, that Logan would either knee the guard in the head or punch him unconscious. Before he could deliver either move, the guard straightened, producing a long knife seemingly out of thin air and slashing at Logan’s stomach. Logan jumped back, touching his stomach through his split shirtfront. If Logan hadn’t moved out of the way, that would have been a fatal wound. As it was—I noticed with a jolt—his front was rapidly getting soaked in blood.

The guard retreated a few paces, putting some distance between them, his knife at the ready. When he switched the knife to his other hand, I knew what he was going to do. Without thinking twice, I jumped in and headbutted the guard, sending him staggering back. And just in time too—a stray tranquilizer dart whizzed by, in Logan’s direction. Even before I had fully straightened, Logan tackled the guard to the ground.

I took a step forward to help, but Logan shouted for me to go, and after a brief hesitation, I went. I sprinted to the black Range Rover and for a precious moment, just sat there blankly. Why was Logan fighting The Elite Team if he worked for them? Did the time limit of his contract expire? Or was it an elaborate scheme for me to trust him and … and what? There was the possibility that Logan wasn’t working for the PSS, but that possibility didn’t give me any comfort.

I pressed the ignition button and pushed the gas pedal too hard. The car jumped once and died. I took a long breath for a clearer head before trying again. This baby wasn’t the tough case Thunder had been. I started the engine again, the smooth purring like an alien sound between my hands. My ribs gave me frequent pangs with each press of the pedal, but adrenaline was a wonderful drug. I caught a glimpse of Logan and the guard still grappling on the ground, and the beginning of a crowd by the kitchen’s entrance. I backed out and drove away.

I kept a vigilant eye on the rearview mirror for any pursuing vehicles but found none. I didn’t relax. I had to keep telling myself Logan would be alright, that he was capable of taking care of himself. I was feeling guilty, and I didn’t like it.

“Don’t be a fool,” I muttered to myself. Whatever reason he had to help me, I reminded myself, that man had an agenda. The telltale lights of a nearby city illuminating the horizon also helped with the guilt. So far, I had passed a few establishments, some hotels and restaurants, and a few fenced-in private driveways that hid fancy mansions from prying eyes.

I drove fast, slowing only when I spotted road signs, a feeling of wonder beginning to replace the guilt. Because, voilà! I was entering Las Vegas.

Chapter 5

When I reached the city, I had to slow down to view the scenery or I’d crash. I drove awestruck at my surroundings, absorbing everything—every small detail, every colored bulb, large and small, tall and short buildings. I particularly enjoyed driving through The Strip—which happened by accident—the grand hotels, the luxury cars, the variety of people and classes. I could feel the despair, the greed, the malevolence, the excitement, even with the windows closed. I didn’t know if they were only strong impressions or if I actually tasted them. It was like a carnival had come through and taken permanent residence.

Prostitutes dotted the streets here and there, couples walked hand-in-hand. There were as many people strolling on sidewalks as there were cars on the narrow street. It brought to mind a kaleidoscope of people, vehicles, lights, and colors. I wished, just for a night, that this was my life. I wished I could be as carefree as these people, that just for a night, I could forget all my troubles.

I decided what to do when I caught sight of the Bellagio ahead. A valet came out and took the keys to the Range Rover, and I waited until he was out of sight before turning around and walking away. I looked up, and up, and up; it was as if I was in a bubble. There were no stars, no dark sky above, only glittering lights and colors. Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t resist the allure. I wandered through the mix of tailored suits, expensive gowns and perfumes, punks with peacock heads, thugs clad in black leather and bad attitudes, along with the ordinary denim and suede jackets. I had no destination, no goals besides yearning to be free. I walked and watched people, cars, colors and lights until my head spun and my aching ribs screamed for rest. I checked in at the America’s Best Value Inn acrossfrom the MGM—using the money I had found inside Logan’s glove compartment—and ordered coffee and a light meal to be brought to my room. It was as good a place to stop and catch my breath.

After I ate the chicken salad and toast, I drank the whole carafe of coffee and fell asleep face down on the pillow, putting pressure on my ribs.

I awoke at dusk the next day, feeling somewhat rested. My ribs ached a bit, but at least they were getting better. I dressed and checked out, and for a moment, stood on the sidewalk, unsure of where to go or what to do. The need to find a place to hide was there, but so was the desire to experience life beyond surviving the next obstacle. On impulse, I crossed to the MGM Casino across the street, wanting—no, needing—to know what living was like, even if only for one night. It was a crowded space, filled with witnesses, and the last place the PSS would look for me. Besides, there was something about the tall building, an air of expectancy that beckoned me.

I wasn’t the best-looking woman in the place, especially with my faintly bruised cheek and rumpled clothes. That suited me just fine. I still caught a lot of looks, but very few second glances. I was taller than average, around six feet, with dark, glossy hair and a clear complexion that accentuated the color of my black eyes. Tonight, that clear complexion still carried hints of yellow and green, and it was where most glances focused first. As long as the looks came from plain blue auras, my alarm meter didn’t buzz.

Everywhere I looked, people were playing, some screaming with excitement. Women—scantily dressed and glowing with all their jingly baubles and clownish makeup—dangled from the arms of men like crystals on chandeliers. A few seated people sweat and bet the last chip in front of them. Several women, some in sparkling gowns of every color of therainbow and others in conservative suits, were drinking and flirting or gambling, the expressions on their faces as intense as those of the men beside them.

Yeah, money spoke the universal language. As I watched the bustling activity in the casino, I realized how true those words were. There was a broad variety of people, a melting pot of ethnicities, economies, cultures, and religions, all boxed together in one place. A big spectrum that funneled down to one goal: to gamble and win, though it was a goal seldom achieved.

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