Page 143 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
The plan was simple. Part of our people would pose as coordinating personnel taking the matched-up couples from the auction to the cars we had taken over. Instead of bringing thecouples to their assigned apartments, our drivers were going to drive them to an isolated underground parking lot where others awaited to present them with a choice: leave Ilasall or serve as their puppet to the end of their lives. In other words, die as their servant, but by our hands. Because we had one rule: no witnesses.
After, we were to spread out in small groups and leave Ilasall through different gates to avoid raising suspicion as one large group marching through the city. The majority of us were masked as soldiers, guards, government servants, and civilians, and the minority were the green-banded adolescents, as well as a few men, whose assigned partners had expired and they had entered the auction for new ones. Because that was how the city viewed you: a resource with an expiration date.
In the meantime, the four of us had to wait. We were the clean-up crew that had to make sure no one was leaving the auction site alive but us and any young women left. Members of Zion’s so-called catch-and-play team were already inside the building, disguised as soldiers tasked with ensuring the Matching’s security, but instead awaiting our arrival and the signal to unleash the chaos.
A couple hours of surveying the street below ticked by, marked only by the citizens rushing to cross the road without getting hit by city transportation or hurrying past the entrance to the auction site. All kept their eyes pointedly fixed on the sidewalk, respectfully keeping distance from the four soldiers flanking the double-glass doors, oblivious they were not from their military forces but our own.
A faint click of the rooftop door marked Eli’s return.
“It’s time. Almost all women have been assigned, and the couples taken away, but no one has sounded the alarm so far.” Eli scratched the jagged scar connecting his right lip corner to his jaw, the end of the raised skin forked, and inspected hispristine soldier’s uniform, his shoulder-length blond hair hidden under a black helmet clasped under his chin. “We should move in.”
I caught Ryder by the door. “Do notdie. You have one job. That’s it. No straying from it. Stay near one of us at any point from now on. Do not wander anywhere by yourself or Sadira will rip you a new asshole if we bring you back all bloody.”
“I know. I’ll need access to one of their computers and presumably half an hour to break in and find the records. We developed some software to help matters along, but I can’t say how long exactly it’ll take.” He pulled a flash drive out of a pocket and zipped it back up inside his pants, immediately tapping on the fabric to see if it had not dissipated into thin air. “We also want to plant some things in their systems that will allow us to access them remotely later on.”
Clapping Ryder’s shoulder, Zion outlined the previously agreed-upon terms, “Ava, Eli, he’s your responsibility once inside. Get him where he needs to be and out after he’s done. We’ll take care of the rest.” Ava and Eli nodded in acknowledgment. “Now let’s move. I want some blood.”
Divided into two groups, we left the rooftop and crossed the street in the rehearsed formation. Out of habit, I inspected the two knives strapped across my chest and the handgun fastened to my thigh. A standard set of soldier’s weapons. But the blade in Zion’s top sheath was older. Clean from the blood that had gushed out of his sister’s stomach. Yet he seemed to pay no attention to it.
He silently navigated around me and climbed up the fire escape ladder to the second floor of the auction building. Two soldiers marching through the main entrance at this stage of the Matching could be considered odd and worthy of attention, the opposite of what we sought to be—invisible.
Perched on the sparkling metal balcony, Zion peered inside the room through the window, half-opened by someone from our team, and waved me over.
It grated on my nerves, but I let him take the first position. There was a reason why he was my second-in-command and took care of our operations. He was good at these things. I could not deny it.
But those shavings of my nerves were shriveling into microscopic pieces. I despised putting others in danger for the sole fact I was supposed to stay alive to lead them.
We jumped inside someone’s office, empty besides a glass desk and a white leather chair, and quickly made our way to the vast hall on the first floor, the space identical to the office in style: sharp lines, gleaming surfaces, and projections of smiling faces on the walls.
Ringed pendant lamps hung from the ceiling and cast reflections to dance on the mirrored standing tables surrounded by auction participants. Their tentative smiles were a stark contrast to the wide ones the organizers were showcasing as art. Or more like a false promise about the Matches futures, if Ilasall was truthful.
Exchanging barely-there nods with our people posing as security staff along the walls and exits, we took positions at the four stairs leading up to the stage where the Head of Ilasall had stood two hours earlier, preaching about doing your duty to the city. Peter was lucky we had missed him. I seriously doubted my ability to withhold from shattering his skull and then jabbing the shards into his eyes.
The auction neared its end, but eleven girls and four young women remained in the room. Of the latter, three sat waiting in the corners like Malaya had mentioned, and the rest were chatting with unpaired, young, or much-older-than-them men.
Half an hour. That was all Ryder had. All I would give him.
Once the digital clock projected above the stage indicated thirty minutes had passed, Zion leisurely scratched his nape—a sign for our teams to pick their targets. The more we could silence in the first seconds, the faster this would be over.
A security guard who was not one of us frowned at my tattoo crawling out from under my sleeve.
My hand automatically strayed to my holster.
“Who are?—”
The handgun’s recoil tested my muscles as a bullet struck him between the eyes, effectively silencing his question.
All hell broke loose.
Yells and shouts rang in my ears as our people charged Ilasall’s actual security. Their staff ran around, trying to herd the green-banded participants out of the hall, but their attempts were doomed. We had all exits blocked. No one was leaving the building.
I ducked an uppercut from a guard and drove a combat knife into his gut, twisting it and yanking it up until the blade hit his ribs. Unfortunately for him, his death would not be instant.
His eyes widened as I kicked his stomach, the sole of my boot sinking into his flesh, and he fell backward, sliding off my knife with a wet slurp.
Something hit my back hard, and I stumbled forward, crouching and spinning around just in time to sway from the target line of a gun pointed at my chest.
Leaping aside and catching the soldier’s wrist and elbow, I drove his forearm into my knee. The crunch of both bones fracturing emitted the most satisfying sound. My foot connected with his kneecap, dislocating it, and in tandem with his next howl of pain, I shot him in the head.
