For the Clan Page 17

  It was more than Jace could have hoped for.

  "Let's move some of this stuff to get this in the back," Jace said as the men placed the generator on the ground.

  The moment they started pulling containers from the truck, Hart ran up behind them.

  "What the fuck?" Hart yelled, swatting two men in the shoulder. "Took us long enough just to get this junk in there, Jace. Now you're pulling it out?"

  "Not really a good time to be a perfectionist," Roan added, joining them. His unhidden gaze teased Jace, one eyebrow arched. "And you're being cruel to Hart. Really sure you want to give your driver a coronary before you leave?"

  Jace almost froze, unable to tear his gaze from Roan's. Part of him had hoped Roan would be too occupied with the other clans to notice what he was doing. He couldn't stop now.

  "We need to get this to Windsor." Jace pointed at the generator. "For negotiations, just in case the clans need something worth the agreement. Cay's good, but she needs every chance to make it work. If we're going to save everyone else, we've got to give them everything."

  "We don't have space for this." Hart crossed his arms.

  "Sure you do," Jace argued. "We'll put it here in the back corner and strap it down. We'll just move this other stuff to the front."

  Hart gaped at Jace as though Jace were an idiot. "We don't. Have space. For this," he repeated slowly.

  In the silence, all of the men waited for his next command.

  Jace did not answer.

  Realization clouded Roan's expression. "You don't intend to get in, do you?"

  Jace stared at Roan, hoping it said enough.

  Roan's expression cascaded through a dozen emotions before his face contorted. "Fuck it all, Jace," he yelled, slamming his hand on the side of the truck. The other men jumped back at the loud bang. "You two-faced, lying bastard." He jabbed a finger at Jace. "You told her you were going. You said you'd be there."

  Growling, Roan stepped forward. "You told both of us you'd go where you'd be safe. So what the fuck is this, Jace? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because that's what this'll be: you dead and she'll be screwed left, right, and centre. I can't even guarantee I'll get out of this, and I can do some pretty horrid shit." He jerked open the passenger door and pointed inside. "Get in the goddamn truck or so help me, I'll pitch you in headfirst."

  Hart cleared his throat. "We're just going to go… do something." Hart led the men away, saying nothing more.

  Good plan, Hart. Run before he can get you. Self-preservation is your forte… just like disappointing the people I love is mine. Jace leaned against the truck. He would not be intimidated by Roan. Never have been, and I don't intend to start now.

  "Jace," Roan warned.

  "No, not on your life," Jace refused. "Go ahead. Threaten me. No matter how many times you do, there's no way I'm running and letting you handle this on your own."

  "But you told Cay—"

  "Yeah, and she's going to hate me. I know that. I'm a big boy—I can take it. But I won't run with my tail between my legs like I've got something to be ashamed about."

  "It'll keep you alive!"

  "So I can live every single day knowing I ran like a coward again?" Jace snorted. "I've spent enough of my life living with regret." He pointed at Roan. "You said you couldn't stand returning to the governtary. Well I won't stand for being a defenseless loser. I'm done. It's over. I'm doing what I should've done all those other times."

  Despite Roan's ragged breaths, Jace cupped the back of Roan's neck. "I'd ask you to let me do this, but it isn't about permission. So I'm not asking—I'm calling the shots for myself and what I do. But I need you, and I need you to let me make choices I know are right. This is my decision. It comes with the job I accepted."

  Roan slumped forward. "I can't stand here and say nothing. I didn't try saving you just to watch you run straight into death."

  "I know." Jace pried Roan's fingers from the cool doorframe and closed the door. "If there's any time to prove my worth as a leader, it's now. If I don't, I shouldn't even bother with being Teach's leader. I should just hand it to someone willing to fight for the right to live. Otherwise, we're no better off than the Vens living in captivity. It's just our cells have invisible walls and bars. It'd be nothing but the same old illusion I've been forcing people to live. The same illusion my father wanted us to believe."

  "And again, it kept you alive. Not the same as Vens. At least you got to keep your sanity."

  "Fine, it's not exactly the same, but you get what I'm saying." Jace leaned back against the truck, pulling on Roan until their faces were close enough for Roan's breaths to warm Jace's cheek. "We've run enough. Look where it's gotten us. They'll just keep coming. At least this way, they'll have to think twice the next time. And they'll really have to think about how much they want you. I won't give you over. I want to hand them their asses on a detonating platter and tell our kid it was the best decision we could've made."

  Pressing his forehead to Roan's, Jace winced. His chest felt heavier than it should. Maybe he was doing too much too quickly. He didn't have time to sleep it off. "Don't rob this from me," Jace whispered, slicking back Roan's hair. "I don't need or want your permission—just don't take this from me. Let me do what I have to do. Then you can bitch me out, beat me up, and let Cay tear me to shreds. Just let me do this. Let me stand up for you the way I should have."

  In the moment that should have been Roan's response, Jace stole a kiss.

  Instead of fighting, Roan surrendered with a whine. Tense despite the passion flowing from their lips, Roan pushed Jace against the truck, trapping Jace with both hands on either side of him.

  So that's how to tame the beast. Guess I'll count this as a win. Cayra won't be half as easy. Jace pulled away, sucking in a breath. A piercing, burning sensation filled his chest. I can't tell him I'm not totally fixed, or he'll literally throw me into the truck, conscious or no.

  "Hey, Hart," Jace called, "time for your sorry ass to be leaving." He returned his gaze to Roan's. "You should go rest."

  "But—"

  "No. At least lie down. You're no good if you're tripping on your face." Jace pushed Roan gently. "Go on. I'll see to the other clans then I'll join you. I should probably lie down, too. You did heal me, after all. Maybe we should come up with a plan to protect that investment." He teased Roan's lips with his own. "Can't have either of us dying. Otherwise our girl will torture Satan just to have at us. I don't fear her while we're alive, but down there, in the world of the dead… she'd make us beg for deliverance."

  13

  It came down to this. All his life, he'd believed he was a lesser being. Now it would save the people who had given him refuge twice.

  Nice to know the gods still have a sense of humour because I'm tapped. Roan gripped his JK00 and glanced at Jace standing beside him. Gin and Dixon stood on the other side of Jace, cursing and spitting on the ground as if in competition over who hated the governtary more. Beside Roan waited the leaders of the two other clans in the region: Cheyenne of Clan Huron and Keho of Clan Killjoy, both quiet but poised in brown bulletproof vests and camo gear, ready to attack.

  While they stood close to him, watching the trees, the clan leaders were still as tense as they'd been when they heard what Roan was. Even now, Cheyenne peered at Roan every few seconds, her cynical expression suggesting she expected him to betray them. Whenever he looked at her, she diverted her glance and hid behind long black hair held down by a twisted red bandana.

  He could have found a way to make her say something, but he didn't. No point in wasting energy I don't have. If I get through this, it'll amaze me more than the rest of them. I wouldn't mind passing out right here, face first into the dirt.

  Dirt that would explode with any measure of pressure or movement.

  He wasn't that desperate.

  Shifting his feet on the settlement side of the field, Roan gazed over the stretch of vegetation before them. Charges lay scattered beneath the dirt. If
the military wanted to do battle, they would have to get through the minefield first. If they managed that, he wanted to see what they would do against the strategically placed blocks of C4. If anything, the result would wreak havoc and buy time to take shots.

  Whispers from behind them made Roan turn. Through narrowed eyes, he searched for the people who were talking. The clan fighters were well hidden, crouched down behind tents or lying under tarps and dirt. Only the clan leaders stood on the edge of what remained of the settlement, openly presenting weapons and a defiant attitude. They'd agreed it best for the rest of the clan fighters to lie in wait. They had few advantages, though surprise in numbers was still helpful. Gin and Dixon had brought a few dozen fighters each. Keho and Cheyenne had provided almost four dozen between them.

  It was a better army than he could have expected, small and angry.

  Finally speaking a language I understand—

  In the distance, engines rumbled, breaking the silence.

  On instinct, Roan peered up at the midday sun and followed the string of clouds towards the trees. He couldn't see the helicopter, but he sensed it. The air pressure was changing, not just around them but also beneath his skin.

  "Roan?" Jace knocked Roan's elbow with his. "What is it?"

  "Visitors," Roan answered. "Trucks and air strikes. Expect them in five minutes, give or take. They're making their way around."

  "I can't hear a thing," Keho muttered, slicking back his shaggy, dark hair.

  "Good thing you got me, ain't it?" Aware of the clan leaders staring at him as if he had more than one head, Roan avoided their gazes and fussed with the carrier at Jace's waist. Stuffed inside was a black gas mask, its thin material and fresh twin filters protection against dozens of gases, toxins, and nuclear agents. Like the other masks the clans possessed, Jace's was old with canisters that needed to be replaced and impaired voicemitters. It wouldn't protect him from everything the military could use in an attack.

  "Don't hesitate," Roan reminded Jace. "We won't get much time to pull our masks on if they set something off."

  Jace slapped Roan's hand away. "Worry about your own. I'm not exactly a virgin."

  Dixon choked and sputtered.

  "'Kay, boys," Gin said, hoisting her rifle to her shoulder. "We're supposed to be keeping it bloody and dirty, not porno."

  "Yes, mom," Roan and Jace replied in unison.

  Gin held up her middle finger. "Call me 'mom' again, and I'll forget I'm not supposed to shoot you."

  Jace chuckled, but Roan looked away, his stomach unsettled. Mom: one word loaded with a world's weight in significance.

  Ever since his mother was captured, he'd hated himself for not saving her. She'd left him to draw the governtary men away, believing she could save his life. But the soldiers took her, leaving him to die. Had he not been such a scrawny, useless child, he could've fought back. He could've at least bought her time to flee. Instead, he'd curled up in the filthy cave and surrendered to the elements, wanting them to take his life because he couldn't end it himself.

  After the governtary caught him, he'd wished he could see her. He didn't need a sappy family reunion—just a few moments to hug the one person who'd loved him enough to fight. His mother hadn't wanted to condemn him to the Ven life, something she'd told him dozens of times, but she'd given her life to give him his.

  Now he understood how she could've done it and why. Soon someone would call Cayra 'mom', too.

  A dozen imaginary knives stabbed his heart. To think he wasn't happy about the reality even though he wanted to be hurt more than he would've expected. A fluttering feeling crept into his chest the more he thought about the child, but it wasn't happiness. Hope, but not necessarily joy. And screw the world for teaching me there's a difference. I'd kill just to be that ignorant again.

  Roan peered at Jace. Does he even realize what he said earlier? 'Our kid'… he didn't even stumble or choke on the words, just said it like it wasn't anything unusual. We still haven't gotten the chance to discuss it. And now we're out of time.

  But not out of chances.

  Roan dug his heels into the dirt. The trucks continued to get louder, the engines close enough to fuel his throbbing headache. He could hear the helicopter more clearly—just the one, to his relief. Any minute they'd appear and make their demands—his life, regardless of how they took it.

  Over my dead body. If they wanted to continue owning me, they never should've trained me. They're going to get exactly what they've earned. So what if the clans hate me? I've got Jace again. And Cay… she's doing something to our futures I can't wrap my head around yet. But I don't care. They don't fear me or treat me like the proverbial leper. I want them to know none of this has been a waste. I don't want her thinking she's given up part of her life for nothing. So I get it now, gods-I-don't-believe-in, universe, whatever. This is where my life's been leading this whole time. It's now or never, and I'm choosing now.

  The moment black trucks appeared from around the forest, Roan turned to Jace. You weren't supposed to be here. Damn you for being so stubborn and clever and a good talker. If you die… If I die…

  Roan kissed Jace's temple. "Stay close. I'll make sure you get out alive. And I'll do my damnedest to get out, too."

  Roan pulled away and whistled, signaling to the hidden clan members, interrupting any response Jace could have made. He didn't need to hear anything in return.

  The trucks sped closer, jolting back and forth, their black canvas covers obscuring the number of soldiers within. A couple dozen trucks, at least a dozen soldiers each. Fair fight.

  Dark blades swept through the sky above the trees. The helicopter adjusted course towards them, two snipers aiming down from the open side.

  And then there's that.

  Roan prayed the grenade launcher in Dali's possession would dispose of the helicopter. Snipers weren't the biggest problem on board. The bombs they'd drop would do the most damage, especially if they contained one of the several potent mixtures the military kept in healthy supply.

  The clan leaders tensed, their weapons unwavering. Despite their fortitude, Roan wished he could end the fight before it began. If he hadn't already spent most of his energy on preparation and the protective field around Jace and himself, he would've intercepted the military caravan with the same spell he'd conjured to escape. The lethal cloud would have found something in the trucks' mechanics to make a large enough explosion to take out most of the soldiers.

  Could've really used the generator. Not a big show; just enough to spark something interesting.

  But instead of being used for death, it was being used to secure lives.

  And I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere. If we get through this, maybe I'll actually care.

  The trucks screeched to a halt on the other side of the field. Soldiers in black combat gear jumped out of the trucks and surrounded the vehicles, each falling to the ground on one knee and aiming rifles at the clan leaders. The soldiers wore flexible, full-body armour.

  "I guess this makes it easy," a man's voice said, filling the air from speakers on the trucks. "We've got your answer." Hisses and crackling noise followed, alternating with the silence in short bursts as if signaling through telegraphic codes.

  Codes Roan had never been taught.

  Roan cringed with the feedback assaulting his inner ears. The noise grew louder. The code patterns switched, the static almost deafening him.

  The driver's side door of one of the trucks opened. A man slipped out.

  Roan stiffened. Even with the space between them, he recognized the man's build and stance: the driver from the night before who had returned Jace to the settlement. An army Major, according to the man's insignia on his dark uniform.

  "Suppose I should thank you," the Major continued, speaking into the concealed microphone in his raised hand. "I was told to ask for his sorry ass to be handed over and tell you we'd be real friendly. But I didn't buy into that nice crap, and you wouldn't have, either. Nice to
see we've got something in common. So what the hell, let's just get wasted."

  More coded noise broke the silence.

  The soldiers moved quickly, pulling on black masks similar to the clans' gas masks. Manufactured with better, tougher materials, the military's masks were the best and most effective anyone could obtain.

  When they reached behind their heads, Roan stopped breathing. A faint, electrical whine zipped through the air. A bright blue shimmer swept over each soldier. As the light covered them from head to ground, it faded, cascading into shades of dark purple before disappearing.

  Fuck! Those bastard engineers said the masks weren't ready for the field. Lying SOBs. We're screwed.

  "This is bad. Real bad," Roan warned, stepping back. The blue shimmer meant technology and magic had fused together. After the touch of a disk on the back of their masks, each soldier was covered in an electromagnetic field laced with magic that would stave off even the smallest offensive particle. Now the military could attack using any agent possible—any chemical, form of radiation, or biological weapon—and the soldiers wouldn't be affected by any of it.

  Instead, they could throw everything they had at the clans then watch the people burn and writhe with outdated, ineffective masks and secondhand combat gear.

  "Yeah, I know," Jace muttered. "Just give them another—"

  The noise stopped.

  Four soldiers jumped up and threw small black canisters into the field.

  Screw you, Roan almost shouted. He sucked in a breath and pulled on his mask quickly. Around him, the clan leaders did the same. Releasing his breath, he prayed their masks were enough.

  The canisters hit the ground, exploding into dense white clouds and shrapnel.

  Roan hit the ground and rolled away, covering his head. Every charge the clans had set exploded, shooting dirt and plants through the gasses and smokescreen. Debris pelted him. The smoke spread across the field quickly, filling the air with a thick, sickly brown-yellow haze.

  Good thing we've got everyone else pushed back. Roan crawled towards the dark figure nearest him.