Page 101 of Breaking Isolde
I slowly strip off his sweater, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
He groans, his eyes tracking the lines of my body, “Get your ass to the bathroom right now.”
Our “war room” is the kitchen table, and it looks like the FBI raided a kindergarten. Campus maps cover the surface, scarred with red circles and angry notes, coffee rings eating away at the legend.
There’s a mug full of highlighters and a dented thermos that leaks every time Bam tries to pour from it, which is often. The wall by the fridge is a graveyard of sticky notes and blurry surveillance photos, Board members caught off-guard at thegym, the wine bar, some at the goddamn nail salon. A few have mustaches drawn on. That’s probably me, but I honestly can’t remember.
Bam and Rhett lean over the table, hunched like vultures around a roadkill buffet. Bam is restless, always tapping, bouncing his leg, fidgeting with a knife even when it’s not his turn to talk. Rhett is the opposite—motionless, every muscle in his body locked in like he’s holding the planet in place by sheer spite.
They argue, but quietly.
Bam slams his palm on the map, stabbing at a circled building. “We hit ‘em here, they’re not ready. You said yourself, that’s where the files are kept, right? Knock it out, fuck the whole system. If they can’t access their assets, they can’t run shit.”
Rhett runs a thumb down the side of his nose, not looking at Bam. “And get half the Kings on our asses before we even start? No. The point is to make them scramble, not get ourselves dead.”
Bam grins. “Thought you liked chaos.”
“I like winning,” Rhett sighs. “The Board has cameras on every exit. You set one foot out of line, it’s over.”
Bam opens his mouth, but I cut him off by dumping two mugs on the table. The coffee is old and bitter, but it’s hot, and right now that’s as close to love as I get.
“Ophelia called,” I say, sitting across from them. “Caius and O scouted the new perimeter. They’re using cadets from the ROTC program as security. It’s all in the notes.” I nudge the folder over, fingers grazing Rhett’s. He looks at me, and there’s a heat in his eyes that almost hurts. But it’s not for now.
Bam snorts. “Fucking jocks. Figures.”
“More like fucking pawns,” I mutter. “They don’t know who they’re working for. They just like the uniform.”
Rhett ignores the coffee, flips through the pages. “Ophelia say anything about the new Finance Officer? Valence’s replacement?”
“She says it’s an interim thing. But the word is, Board wants to consolidate our deflection. More direct control. Less delegation.” I watch as Rhett’s mouth goes tight. He’s on the Board now, technically, but he hasn’t played his hand yet. He’s still gathering, still plotting, still pretending he’s just another piece on the board.
He wants to be the hand that sweeps the pieces off the table.
Bam drinks, then spits into the sink. “Tastes like shit.”
I shrug. “Add sugar.”
He glares, but the truth is, we’re all addicted. Caffeine is the only thing keeping us upright. That and revenge.
I lean back, stretching my legs under the table until they hit Bam’s. He doesn’t move. If anything, he pushes harder. His whole deal is pushing. I never liked him much at Westpoint, but since the night Rhett killed Valence, he’s changed. Feral, sure, but loyal in a way that’s almost religious.
Maybe that’s what trauma does—it sorts the world into two kinds of people: the ones who leave, and the ones who bite.
I’m the second kind. Always have been.
Rhett traces a line on the map, fingertip pausing at the north gate. “This is our shot. The next Hunt, Bam gets his girl and then we lobby for him to take Valence’s seat.”
Bam cracks his neck. “Then what? Colt and Jules are too drunk half the time to bother coming out and being a part of this. They’re apathetic. I can’t say for sure if they’re going to join us, or go against us, but seeing Cai and you with your girls, and knowing the way I am, there’s no way I’m letting mine become a part of the Academy.”
We fall silent. That’s the most Bam has said all at once.
I stare at the mess of printouts, the annotated security schedules, the thumbtacked photos of Board members and their families. I think about all the girls before me, all the Casey Greenwoods and O’s and future girls. One’s who are sent as debt payments, one’s who just have the right bloodlines. I think about the future, the baby growing inside me, and what kind of world it’s supposed to inherit.
I wrap my hands around my mug, trying to bleed off the shaking.
Bam sniffs, stands, and stretches. “Gotta do my rounds. If I see anything weird, I’ll yell.” He doesn’t say goodbye, just walks out the back door, slamming it so hard the maps flutter on the table.
Rhett and I are alone.
