Page 108 of Born for Lace

God. Jesus. Mary.

Just more fairy-tales.

But it is this belief system that secures him connections and loyalties across The Cradle. Other believers are present in almost every pocket. The doctor who removed my coil—a believer. Trade men, even lords, many who keep this faith in secret.

“I have something to show you,” he repeats. “Wake up.”

And I snarl, closing my eyes to block him out. “Why is it so fucking quiet?”

“Because…” His voice fills with enthusiasm, my mood washing off him like it always does. He has a twenty-second rebound rate, and he’s back to his Purpose. “I parked the truck in a fuckingcave, brother. No Redwind.”

My eyes cut open, and I straighten. “What do you mean in a cave?” I get a good look at him—bright—as if he has been solving problems and dealing with people all day while I slept in the back of the truck. Through the window, I study the jagged rocks on all sides of the vehicle. My heart slows down, but thumps deeper, heavier as if the organ draws in a breath and relaxes.

“You remember I told you about the Half-tower? How it’s The Trade’s most neglected tower? How there are people who want to escape? People we can help, peopleyoucan help, heal your soul?—”

I snarl.

It’s too early for this.

“What fucking hour is it, Tomar?”

“It’s first-light.” He waves his hand, way too eager for my liking. “I drove through the night. Now listen. You remember the underground town?The Bite.The one near the Half-tower. The one we thought didn’t exist…” He nods his annoying head, his lips drawing out into a huge smile. “I found it! We’re here!”

Here.

His words find their mark inside me, joining my anger, self-loathing, and disdain for life.

Help people.

Heal your soul.

ChapterThirty-Three

Lagos

I grind my teeth in my sleep.

The roar of the storm outside carries a familiar nightmare on its sand-laden back. Single quick flashes of a scene appear in my mind.

Flash; a dead baby on the floor of the compound laboratory, head crushed into the clean white tiles. Flash; bloody grid marks beneath my boots.

Flash; running, running, my lungs burning… And then a girl sprawled out on the mattress, her neck twisted and crushed.

Flash.

Dahlia.

Dead Dahlia. Crushed little flowers covered in blood, green eyes staring up at me, betrayed and in love… In love.

Dread weighs me down.

“Lagos… The storm is scary tonight.” Somehow, her small whimper reaches into my mind and pulls me out of there, thrusting me back into her arms.

My eyes snap open to the ceiling of the farmhouse, my body instantly turning to pull her close to me. To protect her. “It’s just the wind. You’re safe with me, little flower. I’ll take care of you.”

I lie still, staring ahead, but part of me feels tethered to that place, the compound, and the years that I spent training, killing, and studying. So, I hold my little flower, focus on her breathing, her scent, and easily shake away the dark images of my past.

“But…” she murmurs sleepily. “What about tomorrow and the next day and the next? What about… Spero.”

---