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

33. Mel

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MEL

I don’t turn left, toward the stairs and the echoing footsteps of the guards. Instead, I spin to the right, sprinting for the large office at the end of the hall. Thankfully, Lisa’s maintained control of the security system. The scan pad outside the office door is green. Unlocked.

I hurtle into the dark room. A large mahogany desk faces me, a laptop and a binder stacked on the surface, along with several loose papers. Behind the desk, a glass wall reaches from floor to ceiling, with the orange glow of the quad visible far below. A couple chairs squat in the far corners, a wide bookshelf covers the right-hand wall, and several filing cabinets line the left.

The guards are in the hall now. I make for the bookshelf, heart hammering against my ribs. With an almighty crash, I send the heavy structure tumbling to the floor. Books sail in every direction as I dive behind the desk and yank the gun from my hip. I listen with bated breath, praying the guards will investigate the noise and leave the rest of the team alone.

Come on. Come this way. Come get me.

They do. The air scrapes up and down my windpipe as they spill into the room.

But getting them here isn’t enough. I need to hold their attention, or my team won’t have time to escape. With no time left to plan, I do the first stupid, reckless thing that comes to mind.

Leaping to my feet, I fire my weapon indiscriminately above the crowd of guards, hurling myself backward with as much force as I can muster. My legs buckle when I crack my head against the smooth glass behind me.

Stars explode in my vision, blinding pain lancing through my skull. I stumble sideways, the room unstable around me. I thought I could go through, that plunging out the window would be distracting enough to hold the guards’ attention. But life isn’t like the movies.

A shimmering mirage of shadowy faces swim behind the forest of guns around me. My stomach rolls and the room sways as I slide down the glass wall. I try to focus, to count the guards.

Eighteen, I think.

Two are missing. Securing the stairwell?

“Get up,” a man’s rough voice commands.

The words spear through my rattled brain. I swing my face toward him, vision blurred.

Buy them time.

“No,” I slur, sending him an insolent grin. Not that he can see it beneath my mask.

The man grips the front of my vest with both hands and yanks me to my feet. My head spins.

“You don’t want to start off so disrespectfully,” he snarls in my face. His breath reeks of coffee. “Things will be worse if you do.”

Fear electrifies my blood, my parents’ broken bodies too bright in my mind. My breath comes in short gasps.

The others are closing in now. They pat me down and take my weapons. All eyes are on me.

My team can make it out.

Now! I yell at them in my head. Go!

The man still clutching my vest is in my face again. “Where are the others?”

Disarmed and vulnerable though I am, defiance rises like a storm in my soul. I will not betray my fear.

Chin up, I glare malevolently at my questioner. “What others? You must be quite an idiot to think so many could infiltrate a place like this. Obviously, we could only send one or two. Today, it was one.”

I hope the lie isn’t obvious.

“Don’t play with me, girl.” He runs a thick finger along my cheek, peeling my mask down as he does, so it hangs around my neck. His putrid breath washes over my face, lust clear in his dim blue eyes.

My skin crawls, acid stinging the back of my throat.

Please, no. I hadn’t counted on this.

“Edwards wants them unscathed,” someone barks from the back of the room. “Get her in the van. The rest of us will finish the sweep and find her team.”

Wide-eyed, I stare past the thug in front of me toward that voice. So familiar.

A balding, middle-aged man stares back, the gun twitching in his hands. Mr. Greene, my old supervisor. I suck in a startled breath.

The revolting guard gives me an expectant look that curdles my blood. “Soon enough.”

“No,” Mr. Greene says sharply. “Now. I’m not taking the flak for your inability to follow orders. I’ll take her to the van. Brad, you’re with me. The rest of you, get out. We’ve been here too long already.”

Baring yellowed teeth, the gross thug drops his hand from my vest and strides from the room. My knees wobble as most of the others prowl out in his wake.

Mr. Greene.

For the short time we worked together, I thought he was a nice guy, but here he is. An Organization thug. Does he remember me?

A brown-haired man with ruddy cheeks and a paunch—Brad, I guess—is quick to twist my arms behind my back and cuff my wrists. Mr. Greene grips my shoulder, his gun poking into my side below the protection of my vest. Brad grips my other arm hard enough to bruise.

They march me down the hall in silence. Guards are moving through the offices, but there’s no indication they’ve found my team.

No gunfire. No fighting. No shouting.

We emerge into the stairwell, where two sentries lie limp on the ground, their throats pouring out in a lake of gore. Even as my stomach pitches, my chest loosens.

They made it.

Brad and Mr. Greene don’t stop, though Brad radios the other guards to report the bodies. They rush from all over the third floor to congregate at the scene behind us as I’m dragged down the stairs and out through reception into the employee lot. My heart pounds so fiercely I feel it in my fingers and toes, and my mind scatters as fear surges, obliterating every thought.

I glance back, desperate for confirmation my team is safe, but the quad is completely hidden from here.

Halfway across the lot, four loud pops echo behind us. Three more. Five.

Shouting. More gunfire.

My stomach clenches, Sam’s face hanging in my mind.

“Go help,” Mr. Greene snaps at Brad. “You’re not needed here.”

Straight-faced, Brad nods and takes off, running full tilt for the barrage of shots. Mr. Greene watches him go, then leads me toward a windowless white van. Levett Tech’s logo is splashed across the side. Professional. Clean.

Hideous fear claws in my lungs and drags up my back. You’d never know the van’s purpose is to carry victims.

Mr. Greene drops his grip and leans against its side. He crosses his arms, gun loose in his hand.

There’s no point in trying to run, so I lean against the van too, doing my best to ignore the sickening, gnawing panic.

After a tense minute, I whisper, “Thank you. For stopping that man, I mean.”

Mr. Greene glances at me sidelong. I’m surprised to see sorrow in his eyes. “Melanie, right? The nosy receptionist.”

So he does remember. I nod, wary.

Mr. Greene’s mouth tilts down. “So young,” he sighs.

He pities me, I realize with a shock. Mr. Greene feels bad for me.

My muddled brain stutters, whirring into action. I think back to the time I spent with him on the campus tour, combing through the memories for anything I can use to my advantage now. Mostly, I remember his pride in Levett Tech’s mission. But there was more. It was in the way he spoke to me, how he treated me.

Kid , he called me.

“Why?” he asks. “Why are you mixed up in this? You’ve got to be about my daughter’s age. She has no idea what goes on in the world, couldn’t give a shit. But here you are, facing … facing…”

He falls silent, his lips going pale. Turns his face away.

Like a pair of curtains have opened before me, I see what I must do, my ticket out of this. The problem is, I’ll have to tell the truth about who I am, and Mr. Greene is a member of the Organization.

My heart pounds faster. Honestly, I can’t see how the information could hurt the Resistance. The Organization already knows who Reyna and Max Snow were. My being their daughter won’t affect anything, all this time later. I’m no one of consequence.

I chew my lip, cuffed hands squeezing into fists. I could escape the horror that hangs in my path, sure as death.

And I picture Tommy’s tormented face, the agony in his lovely eyes.

I could make it back to him. I don’t have to add to his nightmares.

Not today.

Taking a deep breath, I go for the jugular. “My parents were tortured and killed five years ago by the Organization.”

Mr. Greene’s mouth tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you mixed up in all this? What about your daughter? Zuri, right?” I let the smallest trace of sorrow leak into my tone.

Mr. Greene licks his lips, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Sometimes, a person has to choose between two evils.” His words sag with revulsion, and sympathy stirs in my heart.

Maybe I was right, all those weeks ago. Maybe Mr. Greene is a nice guy.

Only one way to find out.

I tilt my head, pinning him with an intense stare. “And if you were killed? What would she do? Would she go after your killers, do you think? Would you want her to?”

The questions are part of the act, but I find myself eager to hear his answer. Would Mom and Dad be happy with my choices? Would they be proud?

“No, I wouldn’t want her to,” he snaps, and the words are a fist to my stomach. “Your parents wouldn’t want you to, either. Trust me.”

My eyes sting. I try to push the disappointment back, to hold his bitter gaze, but I can’t. My control slips, and I know he can see the awful fear writhing below the surface.

The hate in Mr. Greene’s eyes sinks slowly into horror. Color leeches from his face.

I drop my eyes, and the tears and gasps that start to escape are no act. “What are you going to do to me?”

Mr. Greene’s head wags from side to side, his posture rigid. His attention darts over the parking lot, then lands back on me. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

“I don’t want to die.” A full sob strangles in my throat.

Beads of perspiration pop out on Mr. Greene’s shiny forehead. His hands tremble.

I curl in on myself, the cuffs biting into my wrists.

“Let’s go. Time to get in the van.”

My stomach plummets, and I start to hyperventilate. I’m not going to make it out.

Grabbing my forearm, Mr. Greene drags me around the back of the van. He throws the rear door open and shoves me roughly behind it. I cringe away as he reaches for his back pocket.

When his hand comes back into view, there’s nothing in it save for a small silver key. He stretches around me, unlocks the cuffs, and presses his gun into my limp hand.

Still leaning into me, he breathes in my ear, “The cameras can’t see us back here. The van’s in the way. Shoot me and run straight into the woods, understand? Get across the highway. You won’t have long, so disappear fast. Then, do your parents a favor and get the hell out of New Hampshire. For good.”

I gape, torn between running now and trying to convince Mr. Greene to come with me. “I won’t shoot you.”

“You must! If it looks like I let you go, my daughter …” He gulps. “They’ll kill her.”

With a frown, I tuck his gun away in my holster. “I’ve got an idea. Turn around.”

Confusion flashes across Mr. Greene’s face, but he complies. Leaning up on my toes, I wrap an arm around his neck and grab my opposite bicep, placing his windpipe in the crook of my elbow. With my free hand, I gently apply pressure to the back of his head. “This will stop the flow of blood to your brain and knock you out. Not for long, but it’ll be enough.”

That is, if I remember Tommy’s training right.

“You have to squeeze harder,” Mr. Greene chokes out.

I apply more pressure, flexing my biceps to tighten the chokehold. Within seconds, Mr. Greene’s shoulders tighten. His muscles twitch. He goes limp.

He’s too heavy for me to slow his fall much, and I wince at the sound his head makes when it smacks the pavement. I hope he’s okay, but I don’t have time to check.

I scan the empty lot around me, then I’m running as I’ve never run before, straight into the woods behind the van.