Page 35 of Rogue Voice

“…which means I still don’t know why you’re here. Oscar is disappointed. He was sure thepicanawould make you talk.”

Rogue didn’t bother replying. It didn’t seem like Cruz wanted an answer.

“Me, on the other hand, I had a feeling brute force wouldn’t work.” Moving fast for such a big man, Cruz pushed himself to his feet and pulled on Rogue’s ponytail, forcing his head back painfully. “But it’s alright. Last night my brother came to me in a dream. He reminded me there are other ways to get you to talk.”

Cruz released Rogue and took a step back. Making sure Rogue was looking, he pulled a small baggie out of his pocket. There was a slim syringe inside, filled with a caramel-colored liquid.

At the sight of the syringe, Rogue felt the first inklings of panic. His breaths grew shorter, more labored. He’d been clean for years now, but he had no difficulty remembering the rush, the sense of relaxed euphoria that used to fill him every time he shot up. He also remembered how that innocent-looking liquid had destroyed his life, eventually making him wish for death.

“Once I inject you with this, you will do anything to get the next hit. That includes telling me everything I want to know.”

Rogue didn’t know if that was true, if just one time would be enough to get him to relapse, to forget everything that had happened, the long, fucking uphill road to recovery the last two years. But he remembered, he remembered everything. The cravings. The fear. The knowledge that this drugwouldkill him.No. I can’t go through that again.

As fear darkened his vision, he focused his thoughts on his team. Dark, Ash, Griffin, Slate. Fuck, even Thorne. In the months they’d been working together, they’d become as close as family. No matter what, he wouldn’t let them down, and he wouldn’t put them in danger.

Rogue kicked out, but Cruz side-stepped his kick easily and trapped Rogue’s head. Instants later, Rogue felt the prick of the needle against his neck.

Unlike in his memories, there was nothing warm or gradual about the way the drug set in. This was pure, liquid heat, bursting through his bloodstream with all the delicacy of a freight train.

Rogue couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His body faded away. Pain faded away, until there was only the drug coursing through his veins. And a part of him prayed for it to hurt. Because pain he could work with. What he could not cope with was the idea that he might start to enjoy it soon.

The heat grew more intense. He wanted to cry out. The faces of his teammates disappeared, replaced by Bea’s face, looking at him. And she was trying to tell him something, that there was something important, something to hold on for.

She’s not here.She’s not really here.But Slate will come. Slate will help her.

“Who the fuck is Slate?” Cruz yelled. Spit from his mouth landed on Rogue’s face. Rogue clamped his lips together, realizing he’d spoken his friend’s name out loud.

The heat grew, his world blurred, but still there was no pleasure. And Bea’s face didn’t leave him. Her image stood there, as if looking over him—protecting him from the drug. Rogue felt a moment of elation—he could withstand any amount of pain, any amount of heat, as long as she stayed there with him.

15

Bea

Bea ran breathlessly along the corridor.

She’d struggled for hours against the stupid lock, had been just about ready to give up when, suddenly, the pins had clicked into place and the door had opened.

There was nobody in the corridor, but that didn’t mean Bea wanted to hang out here any longer than necessary. With every step, her heart thumped against her chest. She wasn’t cut out for this. She wanted to lock herself back in her room and climb under the covers but that wouldn’t help Rogue.

It was the memory of Rogue’s expression, the look in his eyes as the quads had gotten closer and closer, that kept her going. He knew what was going to happen, and instead of throwing her under the proverbial bus, he’d done his best to keep her out of it. He hadn’t told on her.

She knew that because her uncle hadn’t come to kill her yet. Which he would, if he knew she’d begged Rogue to take her away, that she’d offered to pay Rogue with money her uncle knew nothing about.

Rogue hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t know if that meant he was dead, or if her uncle just hadn’t found a way to get him to talk yet. But she couldn’t worry about that. The only thing she could do was try to get his friends here to help him.

She stopped outside her uncle’s door. Though the room was silent, there was always a chance he could be inside, and she had no idea what she would say if he found her there but she had to take the chance.

She turned the handle and opened the door. Light streamed in from the windows, revealing the large, thankfully empty, four-poster bed. She remembered how it’d taken four men to drag the thing up the stairs, and how it’d then had to be disassembled because it wouldn’t make it through the doorway. Remembered how angry her uncle had been. As if it’d been the door’s fault.Focus, Bea. Focus.

To her left was her uncle’s walk-in closet, and Bea ran inside, moving so fast she slammed her elbow against the wooden edge. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, she opened the first drawer. It was full of colorful branded boxer briefs. Not something she wanted to see. No phone. No phone in the next drawer either. Or the third one. She breathed in deep before opening the fourth and last drawer.It’s been years.Maybe he threw it out.Maybe?—

Then she saw it. Such an innocent-looking object, but Bea knew that little plastic box might just save Rogue’s life. She took it in her shaking hands, looking for the power button.Please turn on.Please.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then the well-known logo appeared. Bea held it tighter. She wanted to run back to herroom, but that would only increase the risk, since she’d have to bring it back later. It was safer to make the call here.

She counted the seconds while the phone powered up. Seconds that stretched into a long minute until the phone finally asked for a PIN code.

Bea prayed she remembered her father’s PIN code correctly. She typed each number in ever so carefully, breathing a sigh of relief when the phone accepted it.

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