Trained by Sansa Rayne

Chapter 8

According to dental records, none of the human remains at the Waterston ranch belonged to Jacquelyn and Chris Waterston, or Malin and Astrid Thor. However, no one has heard from them since their Timo and Lincoln were killed. So, where are they? Are they, in fact, being held hostage? If they are, for what purpose?

A week after the attack, the world continues to speculate. Anarchy, Inc. hasn’t struck yet, leaving everyone in a sense of limbo: knowing it’s coming but not having any clue when.

“It’s like walking through a minefield,” says Ann Parada. “You try to be careful but at any moment you feel like you could explode.”

She has no fucking idea.

“I’m not suggesting I’m worried for myself,” she continues. “But every day you wake up and immediately check the news, expecting to see some big, red Breaking News header. Like, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Have you seen the online gambling sites? Vegas bookies are giving odds on who will be their next target,” says Michelle Cross-Yarrow.

Well of course they are. That’s not surprising. I wish I had a phone so I could look up who’s on it. Is Anton on the list? Jamison Hardt? Evo Griekin? Franco Silvestri? I’d love to know.

“People are frustrated,” adds Michelle. “They want to know why the people from Anarchy, Inc. haven’t been found.”

Probably because all the evidence burned, you fucking idiot.

Apparently fires started in multiple locations from around the ranch, almost as if a half dozen small bombs detonated at more or less the same time. All of the security recording equipment was destroyed, leaving no witnesses to what transpired.

The only good news was that Waterston’s eight horses were found wandering the grounds, staying away from the fire. None were harmed.

If only they could talk.

It’s almost kinda funny to think that I could, in five seconds, set the world on fire: Lincoln Waterston and Timo Thor belonged to a powerful cabal called the Masters. I’d die, obviously, but for once I’d be telling the world the truth. Sadly, would anyone believe me at this point? I doubt it.

What’s disturbing to me is the fact I haven’t heard anything from Anton lately. Has he accepted that I have no idea who’s behind Anarchy, Inc.? He could just be busy dealing with the fallout of losing two members of his organization. How many plans of his did that ruin? I imagine he had planned to kill off Thor and Waterston eventually, but not until he was ready. Someone has to take over their organizations — Anton would want people he could control. Maybe he hasn’t recruited replacements yet; he could be doing it right now. That would explain his absence.

“I called a few private security outlets,” says Parada. “They’re all completely booked. Anyone wealthy enough to think they might be a target has tightened their circles. They’re canceling travel plans, holding key meetings remotely — they’d never admit it, but they’re scared.”

She’s right.

I do a better job now of hiding how much I’m enjoying the news. Maybe Anton’s just leaving me alone because I’m complying with what he wants.

“Well,” I say at the end of the show, “let’s just hope that whoever these people are, the authorities find them and stop them.”

The post-show routine goes by so fast I hardly notice it. I don’t know how long I’m going to ride the high of Thor and Waterston’s deaths, but it’ll probably be a long time.

Two of my regular guards ride the elevator with me; I’m not paying them any attention, still lost in thought, when the fire alarms go off.

“Report,” one of the guards barks into his com. After a minute, he says, “Understood. Meet us out front.”

“What’s going on?” asks the other.

“Car fire in the loading dock. They say it’s under control.”

“Whatever.”

I haven’t gone out through the lobby, like a normal person, in months. It would feel refreshing if I wasn’t flanked by Anton’s goons, but at least they aren’t dragging me away like a prisoner. For once, I smile and wave at people, putting on an act I think Anton would like.

The car is waiting at the curb, engine running. We’ve almost reached the door when the first shot rings out. At first I think what everyone thinks, that it’s just a car’s clogged exhaust system, but then the guard on my left crumples to the ground.

Blood blooms like a rose across his gray suit and white button-down shirt.

My brain breaks. I freeze up, wondering how he could be shot when I know they wear armor underneath their suits. Then the next shot takes out my other guard, this time with a bullet to the head that sheers his sunglasses in half.

Now people are screaming and running, racing for the entrances to stores and the subway, taking cover behind cars and just running as fast as they can.

The driver of my limo rolls down a window.

“Get in!” he shouts.

Something cracks through the windshield, punching the man back into his seat. He slumps over, eyes still open — blood leaking from his lip.

What the fuck?

It’s Anarchy, Inc. It has to be.

But me? Why me?

I turn to run as a dark van screeches to a stop. Before I can take two steps, men decked out in all black leather jackets and motorcycle helmets grab me from behind and drag me to the van.

“Help!” I shriek as the door shuts behind me and the van speeds off.

“Stay calm,” growls one of my abductors. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

He holds my hands behind my back as the other man cuffs my wrists.

“Please, I’m just a reporter,” I say, taking in the interior of the van. Several monitors hang from the wall, showing satellite views of the city, noting our location and that of other vehicles. Radios play signals from police scanners and live camera feeds from around the city. A weapon locker holds a handful of pistols, but it’s mostly empty. However, two massive chain guns sit on a platform that takes up half of the back of the van.

What the fuck…

“Cops inbound! Turn right!”

I nearly fall as the van rolls over a curb; we land with a thump that shakes everything inside. If these men don’t kill me on purpose, their driving might.

“You have to let me go!” I shout. “You’re going to have every fucking cop in the city after you!”

I say it to scare them into freeing me, but once it’s out, I realize it’s not a bluff. Anton’s going to call on every government agency, every private contractor, anything he can.

Or… he’ll trigger my implants and kill me right now, before I can say anything.

“Please, you don’t understand! I could die at any second! If you wanted me alive, it’s not going to work.”

“Trigger the decoys,” says one of the men, his accented voice catching my ear.

“Understood.”

Somewhere outside the van, gunfire erupts, followed by screams.

“Don’t worry, Kate,” says a man up front, his voice scrambled by a synthesizer. “We’re not killing any innocent civilians, and we’re not going to hurt you. The decoys make a lot of smoke and noise. It should keep the police busy. We don’t have much time.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

My heart pumps; I look to the guns, wondering if I can grab one. But with my hands cuffed, it’s not going to work.

“I think we’re clear,” says the driver. “Heading to the rendezvous.”

Rendezvous?

“What do you want from me?” I ask. The reporter in me can’t help looking to get an exclusive, even as a hostage to terrorists.

The man with the synthesizer, who seems to be the leader, slips from the front seat to join us in back, trading places with the man who cuffed me.

Then the leader takes off his helmet and my world explodes.

“Hi, Kate,” says Ingram. “Sorry it’s been so long.”

My head floats like a helium balloon. Heart bouncing in my chest, I stare.

It’s impossible. This is stress; I’m in shock from being kidnapped for the second time in my life. My mind is creating a delusion to deal with the trauma.

“Is it really you?” I whisper, as if my hallucination wouldn’t lie to me.

He unbuckles his pants and pulls them down; at first I question what the fuck sort of bad dream this is, but then I get it: he has a scar on his thigh from where Anton shot him.

“I wish I could have come for you sooner,” he says. “My recovery took months, and I’ve needed time to make a plan — one that Anton won’t figure out.”

Tears slide down my cheeks.

“I never gave up hope that you were alive. I wanted to. I tried, but I couldn’t. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going.”

“I knew you’d stay strong,” he says. “I’ve seen what Anton’s made you do. I’m so sorry.”

Ingram pulls me into a hug, kissing me and cupping my head in his hands. His lips bring back a thousand memories of our kisses, and it’s all I need to know that this is real: he’s here, with me.

Alive.

We spend an eternity together in this moment; I have a million questions, but they can all wait. Except, my fear that Anton will kill me hasn’t gone away.

“Ingram, my implants. If he thinks I’m going to talk he’ll…”

“He won’t,” Ingram replies. “Kate, there’s a lot you don’t know right now. Anton wants us all dead. He’s tracking us all through your implants. He needs you alive to catch us. I’d take you away from him if I could, but I can’t. Not yet.”

“What?” I say, swallowing down acid.

“We know how to remove the implants, but it takes time we don’t have right now. Anton will be here soon.”

I guess he’s right.

“Kate, I need you to listen very, very carefully. You’re going to be okay, I promise. We’re coming to get you. It will be soon. But when Anton finds you, I need you to tell him something.”

—

“Remember to stay still. You’ll be safe in here,” he says at the end. “And, Kate, I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, blinking away the tears.

Ingram kisses me one last time before pressing a length of duct tape over my mouth. He ties a cloth over my eyes to blind me.

“I’ll see you soon, I swear. We’re going to end this. We’re going to make everything right again.”

I hear their footsteps, followed by the van doors closing.

Then I’m alone.

But not for long.