Silenced Read Free

waves the Wrangler off. “Very good.”
    He leans over to help me up. I throw him off, but he just wraps his arm around me and guides me to the door.
    Nothing homo. He’s just letting me know he owns my ass. That he owns all of us. Then I realize I don’t know how many of us are left.
    I trudge beside him through the stink of unwashed flesh and decay. I try to keep my eyes forward and hum music in my head to shut out sound. But it’s hard to black out wails like this. High pitched. Desperate. A symphony for all things inhuman. I swallow down what feels like gravel in my throat.
    I hate how my blood rushes in response to it—the need to call out to them—to give them what they need. Doing nothing about the misery makes me weaker, forcing me to lean into a motherfucker I hate just to stay on my feet. At the end of the hall, I breathe relief, and topple into an elevator. I pay no attention to the buttons or lights, or to how many seconds it takes before the ding sounds out, signaling we’ve reached whatever floor.
    I just let Jax pull me along. Stumbling behind, I snap myself back awake. My gaze waves in and out of focus. We’re in a room lined with small, silver boxes on either side. They look like high tech phone booths. Bodies enter and exit, crossing one another all busy and blank faced. At the far end of the hall, I spot two cream colored double doors. My eyes are locked on a petite woman rushing beyond those doors when Jax shoves me into one of the booths.
    With a gasp, I crash onto a hard, cool bench.
    “What the…” I scrunch up in the small space, and Jax slides the door shut. I glare out at him through the smoky glass. He’s poking at something I can’t see. I only hear the beeps. Like he’s dialing a telephone.
    A low hiss fills my ears. Then, a small drawer shoots open in front of me. A gleaming, red hand imprint blinks off and on. My head tilts onto my shoulder as I study the rest of the booth. There is a small screen embedded in the wall before me with a keypad at the left side.
    Another drawer shoots open, this one with metallic headphones. I jerk my head back to glare at Jax and mouth, “What the fuck?” He mimes for me, covering his hands with his ears, and pointing at the headset.
    I’d laugh at the bastard if my blood weren’t ripping at my insides. But it is, so I roll my eyes and turn around to put on the headset.
    A robotic, feminine voice drones in my ears. I only catch every fourth word or so. Something about a contract I’m entering and something about a team and a mission.
    My eyes start to droop. The words run together in my skull until they don’t make sense. Then, something searing clamps around my wrists. It jerks me awake in time for she-bot to ask for my handprint.
    I blink at the silver cuff as it forces my hand to the blinking surface. It heats under my fingers, then a gust of air shoots into the booth, blowing out my dreadlocks and making my ears pop.
    I scream, ripping off the headset. I start to turn to glare at Jax again, when more machine parts clamp on my neck. The headphones are forced back on my ears. Another metal restraint secures itself around my waist.
    “What the…”
    “C6 Soldier Pike. Scan incomplete. Please resume,” she bot says, then my hand is forced back into the mold.
    “Pike Richards identified. Tagging.”
    I let out a stupid, jock-like grunt. “Say what?” Another low hiss fills the cramped area. Then, something sharp and white-hot stabs into the back of my neck.
    “Ah! Fuck me!” I pull away from the pain, but whatever the hell is slicing into me doesn’t want to let go. It actually wants to see how deep it can go. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I slam my free hand into the sides of the booth. The bitch whirls and vibrates. There is a low pop. Then, whatever is in my neck retreats.
    As soon as I’m free, the metal restraints let me go and I collapse to the floor. My face smashes into the side of the glass before the doors slide open, and I topple