Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Hattie narrows her eyes at me.
But I narrow mine right back. And then I make my last threat. “Kill me and you people will be looking over your shoulders until he finds you. And he will find you. Mark my words on that. Collin Creed will hunt you to the ends of the earth and you will die for your sins against me.”
Hattie holds my gaze, unflinching and, apparently, unmoved by my warning. “I’ll take my chances.”
Then she gets up and walks out.
CHAPTER 24 - RIGGS
After toppling over and knocking my head, I must’ve feel asleep because I slowly wake up to the sound of someone clearing their throat. Immediately, and without opening my eyes, I know who it is.
“You’re awake. Don’t be a coward, Riggs. Open your eyes and look at me.”
My father’s voice is low and commanding. Like his words are law, leaving no room for discussion.
An old urge to rebel manifests inside me. Like muscle memory, the need to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing is nearly overpowering.
But I control it. To give in like that is weak. And it reminds me of when I was a prisoner in the tunnels. When I had no power and no other choice but to react.
I refuse to react. I might be a prisoner again, but I’m done bending to these people and their tyrannical ways. It should not be a crime to want something else. It should not be a crime to crave freedom. It should not be a crime to leave.
I open my eyes. Not because he commanded me to, but because I will not play the role of petulant child just because that’s how he sees me.
I’m in a bed. Rather, I am strapped to a gurney. Hands and feet tied to the railings that run along my body. I’m also wearing clothes now. Gray scrubs. Prison garb.
Well, I guess I didn’t fall asleep. Someone drugged me. It bothers me that I don’t remember this. Do I have a concussion? Probably. But it’s more probable that my lack of memory is due to some kind of drug cocktail, so I take a breath and let it out, studying my surroundings.
The room is small and square and General Russell is in the far corner to my right, sitting in a chair. He’s leaning back and he’s got one leg propped up on a knee.
He’s in full dress uniform, which isn’t out of the ordinary. One only needs to look at history books—fake or not—to discover that all tyrants love the dress uniform. The general’s chest is adorned with medals and ribbons that tell a silent story about his past.
If you buy in to what the Colonies are selling, that past is filled with valor and decades of patriotic service.
But if you’re me, well. It’s just another lie.
His hair is nearly white, which contrasts his short, neatly trimmed beard. He’s over sixty now, but the color of his hair is the only thing that gives it away. His face is surprisingly devoid of wrinkles, his shoulders are still broad enough to fill out the perfectly tailored uniform in a way that makes him look much younger, and his blue eyes haven’t yet gone blurry. They are cold, calculating eyes that miss nothing. As he stares at me, his lips form a flat line depicting something between indifference and disgust.
“Where am I?”
That flat mouth lifts up, but in a sneer, not a smile. “Not in the tunnels.”
“Then where?”
“No ‘hello,’ Riggs? No ‘how are you, Father?’”
“You set me up. You set me up.”
He shrugs up one shoulder. “We all knew you would fail. I needed the evidence.”
“Oh, I get a trial this time? How generous.”
My father laughs. It’s kind of a loud chuckle, which is completely out of character for him and makes the muscles of my stomach clench with dread. “A trial? That’s quaint. Your treason is showing, Riggs. Trials are for up-tops. You know very well there’s no such thing down here.”
“So why? Why set me up like this? Was Hattie watching me the whole time?”
“Yes. But from afar and from the other side of a screen. As was I. And I’m not going to lie here, Riggs, I had money on you.”
My eyebrows go up. “You bet on me to win?”
“No.” His laugh, again, conjures up a sense of dread inside me. “Hattie had money on you to win. She hunted you down and brought you back, but she was a firm believer in your reeducation down in those tunnels. In fact, she’s the one who put you there. I was going to have you hanged. She talked me out of it, insisting—bless her heart—that more than half a decade in the dark would rehabilitate you. She had picked out a house and everything. And, though she would never admit it, she was planning the wedding.”