Pawn. Aimee Carter
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Daxton noticed me staring, and he chuckled. I pulled myself together and stood as straight as I could. I might never have been in a car before, but that didn’t give him the right to laugh at me.
A guard opened the door, and Daxton gestured for me to go first. I was halfway inside when I heard it.
Bang.
My heart leaped into my throat. “What was that?”
“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” said Daxton, and another pair of hands pushed me into the seat. I struggled to see, but Daxton slid in next to me, blocking my view, and the car door slammed shut. “It’s a long trip to our destination, so I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty of making arrangements to ensure that your stomach doesn’t get the best of you.” He winked. “Leather seats. You understand.”
I didn’t understand, since Somerset couldn’t have been more than twenty miles away, but I didn’t care, either. I craned my neck so I could see around him and into the alleyway.
Through the weak light, I made out two men leaving the club, dragging the body of a girl behind them. We were too far away for me to see her face, but her long dark hair was unmistakable.
“Tabs?” I choked. “What—”
“Shh,” murmured Daxton, brushing my hair aside. Before I could push him away, a needle pricked my neck, and everything went black.
III
Celia
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groaned. It couldn’t be morning already. The need to sleep weighed me down, and my head pounded. Maybe Nina would let me stay home from school today.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I tried to turn over, but something held me in place. With monumental effort, I opened my eyes. As my vision swam into focus, I made out a small crystal chandelier hanging above me, casting rainbows across the white walls.
This wasn’t the group home.
Everything that had happened the night before slammed into my consciousness. The auction. Daxton. The VII.
Tabs.
I struggled to move, but I couldn’t so much as wiggle my fingers. I searched the unfamiliar room for anything that might help, squinting against the bright overhead lights. No visible windows. One door. Lots of open space. If anyone came in, I’d be trapped.
The beeping caught my attention again. It wasn’t an alarm clock; a machine sat beside my bed, measuring my pulse with a green flashing light. Someone had stuck a plastic tube in my arm, and it was connected to a bag of clear fluid.
A hospital room, maybe? If it was, it was the strangest hospital I’d ever seen. If anything, it looked like a bedroom. A very large bedroom with a fireplace in the corner and white everything with gold trim, but still a bedroom.
“Ah, I see you’re finally awake.”
My heart pounded, and the frequency of the beeping increased. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Daxton sitting on a white sofa, holding a drink in his hand. I gritted my teeth. Whatever they were giving me through that tube, it clouded my mind and made my vision blurry, but no amount of medication could make me forget what I’d seen driving away from the club.
“You killed Tabs.” It was hard to speak. My voice sounded deeper and hoarse, and I tried to clear my throat without success.
“No, I didn’t,” said Daxton, walking around the bed until I could see him without straining. “My guards did.”
Again I told my body to move, but I was stuck. If something held me down, I couldn’t feel it, and horror spread through me. Was I paralyzed?
I swallowed. Panicking wouldn’t help. “Why?”
“Because she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong.” He took a sip from his cup. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. She was nobody.”
“She was my friend.” He was lucky I couldn’t move, else my hands would have been wrapped around his throat, treason or not. “And she was a IV.”
“She was a prostitute,” said Daxton, but that was a load of bull. Prostitutes on the streets, desperate to make their family a little extra money, were sent Elsewhere when they were caught. But in the clubs, especially clubs frequented by government officials and the ministers themselves—
“Would you like to see your new mark?”
I didn’t answer. This was my fault. Tabs had been killed because she’d seen me with Daxton. There was no other explanation.
Pulling something from his pocket, Daxton held a small screen a foot away from my face, and with his other hand he slid something cold between the pillow and my skin. It must have been a camera, because the back of my neck appeared on the screen, and I could clearly see the new letters.
VII, marked in black ink that stood out against my pale skin. I looked away. It wasn’t worth Tabs’s life.
Daxton sighed. “It is a tragedy, what happened to your friend, and because it hurt you, I am so very sorry that it was necessary. But she knew the dangers that came with her profession, and she chose to do it anyway. You cannot blame me for upholding the law.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. As much as I hated to admit it, Daxton was right. Tabs knew the risks. We all knew stepping one toe out of line could mean a bullet to the brain, yet instead of accepting her perfectly normal IV, Tabs had turned to prostitution. I’d tried to steal that orange. Benjy had offered to run away with me.
We all dodged bullets from the moment we turned seventeen. Sometimes they caught up with us, and there was nothing I could do about it. Feeling sorry for myself and for Tabs wouldn’t bring her back, and if she’d known what was happening, that I was getting a VII—
She would’ve smacked me upside the head for risking it all because of her, especially when nothing I did would change what had happened.
People died and were sent Elsewhere all the time. It hurt like hell when it happened close to home, but what made Tabs any different from the others who were punished for breaking the law? I hadn’t cried for them. I never thought twice about the articles Benjy read to me about executions. People were there one day and gone the next, and they were the ones who’d risked it.
It was different when it was my friend, but at the same time it wasn’t. Life still went on. Daxton still ruled the country, and I was nobody. At least now I was a nobody with a VII.
Tabs shouldn’t have opened that door. And I shouldn’t have talked to her.
A lock of my hair on the screen caught my eye. Instead of dirty blond, it was the color of wheat and blended in with the pillow.
“What did you do to my hair?” I said. The small mole