Into the Fire (Flame in the Shadows Trilogy #1)

16. Mel

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MEL

Thank God for coffee.

Last night, I tossed. Turned. Paced. Screamed into my pillow. Did it all again before sitting down at my desk at three in the morning to write out my horror. The short story that emerged was dark and twisted, but it bled some of the toxicity from my soul and allowed me to nab a little sleep.

I take another sip of the scalding, delicious liquid, then return to doodling in my notebook, pen scratching over the lined page. A hooded figure with a scythe and evil eyes emerges, a perfect personification of the knot curdling in my stomach as I wait for Tommy to arrive.

No guard stood outside my door when I went to bathe and grab breakfast earlier. I assumed this was an oversight, that someone would show up looking for me while I was gone, but the hall was still empty when I returned a few minutes ago with a steaming mug cradled in my chilly hands. Hopefully it’s proof Tommy meant what he said last night, and he’s done icing me out. Life will be so much better around here if we’re friends, but more importantly, I need to find out what else he knows about Mom and Dad.

Three sharp taps sound on my door, and as I hurry to wrench it open, anxiety and anticipation hum in my chest.

There he is, leaning against the frame, loose curls falling over his forehead.

Ugh, but he’s hot. His simple black tee doesn’t hide the sharp cut of his chest and shoulders, and the way those fatigues hang from his hips sends a thrill flaming through my blood. His eyes are gorgeous, especially when he smiles…

Wait.

For once, he’s not glaring. He’s smiling. At me.

I grin in response, the nerves in my stomach turning to butterflies, but his smile falls a fraction.

“Good morning. You all right?”

I smooth my hair and glance down. No amount of showering or coffee will have erased the bags under my eyes from the sleepless night. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. Does this mean you’re actually done being a dick?”

Tommy snorts, but I catch the guilt that touches his expression. “Dick is kind of a strong word, don’t you think? I’d say I was more of a dumbass.”

“Dumbass is better?”

“It implies stupidity versus intentional assery, even though ass is part of the word. Follow me.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Assery? You are definitely not a writer.”

He salutes, a corner of his mouth tugging up. “Why do you think I paint?”

I shake my head and walk with him out of the housing wing and around a few corners, past the mess hall and the kitchen. Neither of us say anything else, and the longer the silence drags on, the more awkward it gets. I need to keep him talking.

“So, what am I doing today? I thought I was with Chef Ari all week.” Might as well start out easy.

“We’re headed for the shooting range. I’m going to teach you to handle a weapon.”

Woah. They’re trusting me with a gun.

Satisfaction winds through my chest. He’s really, truly dropping the antagonism. Maybe now I’ll get my answers. A little bit of freedom.

Friends.

I beam, and he does the slightest of double takes before returning my smile.

“Believe I’m done being a dick now?”

“I’ll believe you more if you tell me what else you know about our parents.”

His face falls, the light in his eyes snuffing out, and guilt bites at the edges of my joy. He’s traumatized, and I keep bringing up the cause. Selfish, but I can’t ignore the fact he’s my best lead.

“I already told you everything that matters.”

My fingers brush the back of his wrist, and I pour all the gratitude I feel for what he shared last night into the tentative smile I give him. “I know how hard that was. Thank you. But I have questions.”

“You don’t want to hear details, I promise.”

I swallow back sickness. He’s right, but details aren’t what I’m after. I need explanations.

“Can I ask other questions?”

Tommy studies me as he opens a door and leads the way into another huge room I’ve never been in. Fluorescent panels in the ceiling flick on when we enter, illuminating a tunnel approximately twenty feet wide made of compact dirt, with roots twisting through the walls and targets scattered down its length. The industrial lighting is strange in a space that smells of fresh soil and feels more like an animal’s burrow than anything else.

I walk to the low wall that cuts the front of the range off from where the targets are located and stroke a hand over the rough wood. Behind me, Tommy clears his throat. “I guess I owe you that much.”

“Thank you.”

It feels gauche to jump straight into my most burning questions, so I avoid those for now and start with an easy one, something that doesn’t even touch on his trauma. “Why does Cait hate me so much?”

I peek back at him in time to catch his eye roll as he pulls two pairs of protective glasses and earmuffs down from a shelf on the wall. “She thinks you’re a spy for the Organization.”

Sam told me as much, but it’s hard to wrap my head around. “Even though they killed my parents?”

“She’s not exactly being rational. She has her reasons, but don’t worry. She’ll come around.”

“Will the others talk to me now that you’re done with your assery? ”

He snorts. “I think so. They’re not the asses here, but you have to understand, we’ve been betrayed before. It’s hard for them to trust a stranger, even someone whose parents were loyal.”

My heart sinks a little as Tommy hands me my safety gear before tugging on his own. I’m right to continue digging if I can’t expect the others to open up. Who knows whether I’ll ever earn their trust.

“Based on what happened when you tried to murder me in your kitchen, I’m guessing you’ve never shot a gun before.”

Tommy’s eyes shine behind his glasses, amusement playing on his lips. I smack his shoulder, then don my own gear. “Who says I didn’t spare your sorry life on purpose?”

He laughs as he takes his weapon from its holster and holds it out. “All right. If you’re so skilled, show me what you got.”

I take it from him gingerly and extend it in front of me, aiming for the nearest target. When I pull the trigger, nothing happens.

“Safety,” Tommy says, his voice laced with laughter.

Heat flushes up my neck. I feel for the switch he showed me back in my kitchen and flick it.

“Now widen your stance, one foot in front of the other. Yes, like that. Grip the handle with both hands.”

I do as he says, my skin prickling as his eyes travel over my body, checking my form.

“Arms straight. You need to be ready for the kickback. Hold strong through your wrists, arms, and shoulders, and ground through your legs and core. Good, but your grip needs some work. You don’t want to lose control on recoil. Like this.” Tommy holds up his hands, placing one over the other in front of him, as though aiming his own invisible weapon.

I study his grip and adjust my own, but he shakes his head. “Can I show you?”

“Sure.”

He steps behind me, my back against his front, and wraps warm, calloused hands over mine. The heat from his muscled body sinks through my clothes, and I swallow, a buzz building, spreading through my stomach. Every inch he touches tingles. Burns. He might as well be five hundred degrees.

“Like this,” he says, helping me cover my dominant hand with the other. I shift, and he freezes for a moment, then lets go and steps back.

“Yep. You got it now. Aim down the sights, line them up with the target. Both eyes open.” The words are lower, huskier than before, and heat stings my cheeks.

Nope. No way. Not letting him distract me, no matter how sexy he is. I didn’t give up my whole life to indulge in a subterranean fling.

I line the little dots up with the bullseye, shoulders square, and pull the trigger again. This time the gun explodes, wrenching my wrists and jolting my very bones as the barrel flips up toward the ceiling. A new hole rips through the target, third ring from the center, as tears burn in the corners of my eyes and excitement flares in my chest.

“I hit it!”

Tommy stares, a glimmer of pride in his shocked expression. “That … was really good for a novice. Good job.”

I raise my chin and smirk. “You expected less?”

“That was unusually good. Have you handled a pistol before?”

The way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip. “Nope.”

“For real? Huh. Bet you can’t do it again.”

The challenge is clear in Tommy’s cocky smile, and determination surges as I take careful aim and fire. The kickback is more manageable now I know what to expect, and even better, I hit the target again. Fourth ring this time.

“Hah!”

Tommy’s whole face lights up, and my breath catches.

Not going there.

“Damn. We have to hone your technique, but you’ve got a shit ton of potential.”

I bow with flourish.

“Try not to move too early. You’re anticipating the shot, moving a fraction of a second before you pull the trigger.”

“Got it.” I step back into position, line up the sights. “There’s something I don’t understand. If the Organization killed our parents at your house, then how do the police have footage of them at Levett Tech right before the explosion?”

Tommy sighs. “Those weren’t our parents. They were look-alikes.”

Shock wipes out the lingering thrill of Tommy’s closeness, and of my success with the pistol. That’s why Dad was using a right-handed mouse. It wasn’t him.

Tommy’s still talking. “Did you notice they never faced the cameras?”

I didn’t, but it makes sense. I flick on the safety and lower the gun.

“Why were they targeted? Why them?”

Tommy looks down, fidgeting with his bracelet. “I don’t know, beyond them working for the Resistance, but the Organization didn’t ask a single question about that. They talked a lot about a chip. I have no idea what they meant.”

“A chip?”

“I assume a computer chip.”

“You never asked Lisa? Or heard any details from the others? They must’ve mentioned something after it happened.”

“No. The information’s beyond my clearance.”

My face falls, and he glances back up, apologetic.

“Didn’t you want to understand?”

“I just wanted to forget.”

Guilt nags at my conscience again, but I can’t let it stop me.

“What did our parents do for the Resistance?”

The slightest tinge of relief softens Tommy’s gaze. “I don’t have many specifics, but my parents were spies. They gathered information for Lisa from within Levett Tech itself. Yours did too, from what I’ve heard. After they died, Lisa pulled back, stopped sending agents out undercover. She’s deeply committed to preventing the Organization from harming innocents, but her highest priority is always to protect us.”

Everything Tommy’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know as much as I hoped. He’s never pushed, never investigated. “Do you think Lisa would share more if we asked?”

Tommy’s fidgeting again. “She might have before, but it’s not something we should press into now.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve seen more arms deals go down over the last few months than we have in the two years before that. The acceleration of Organization activity has leadership worried, and now you’re here, asking questions. I’m not sure what will happen if Lisa decides you’re a security risk, but it sure as hell won’t be pleasant. You need to lie low, show everyone you’re trustworthy.”

Damn. Why can’t it ever be easy?

He’s still talking. “The Organization is backed by domestic extremists hell-bent on destroying capitalist society and the rise of advanced technology, which they believe to be a cancer to humankind. The people in the Resistance were all targeted at one point or another—we’re victims with little choice in whether or not to stay here. For us, the caves are a sanctuary, the only place we’re safe. It’s different with you, and that’s enough to cast doubt on your motives.”

Okay, so openly asking is out. But that’s not the only method available to get information.

I bite my lip, unsure whether I should try and convince Tommy to take a more active role in my search. He’d know where sensitive records are kept, would know when and how to sneak access, yet asking him to do something like that could compromise not only my safety, should he feel honor bound to report me, but his. Plus, it would force him to continue to relive his horrific past.

The atmosphere shifts as we lock eyes, my pulse quickening as the air thins.

“Tommy. I need to know why. I just … I can’t move past it. Please, help me piece it together. I promise you can trust me. I’d never hurt the Resistance.”

He stares, a frown turning down his perfect mouth.

“Look,” he finally says. “I get it, I do. But answers won’t make the pain go away. If you don’t quit investigating, leadership will come down on you. You’ll end up hurt, imprisoned, maybe even killed. Try to drop it, at least for a while.”

Anger tightens my chest, my fist clenching around the handle of the gun. He’s the second person in twenty-four hours to tell me that.

Mom and Dad deserve better.

“No.”

His gaze softens as he reaches out and takes my free hand, a pulse of heat feathering up my arm.

“I promise to answer your questions, and to tell you whatever you need to know, if I have it in my power to do so. I can help you work through this, but please, find another way to heal.”

Warmth glows in his eyes, and they soften further. He’s looking out for me, like he has since I arrived. Even so, I won’t take his advice. He wants to protect my body, but I know what my heart needs.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Try the shot again.”

I lift the gun with steady hands, release the safety, and take aim, my stance solid, rooted to the ground through my boots. Tommy’s already told me all he knows. As great as it would be to have his help investigating further, it’s clear he wants to leave the horror behind. So, I’ll let him. I can do this on my own.

My finger tugs the trigger, and the gun fires. But I hold strong, controlling the kickback as a new hole rips through the center of the bullseye.