Captives (38 page)

Bel’s footsteps pounded into the bedroom. “He’s
so
controlling. You’d think an enforcer would know all about a person’s rights, but
no …
Omar?”

“Here,” Omar said from the floor.

Bel’s steps pattered this time. She knelt at his side and pushed her hand back over his hair. “Oh, trigger, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

Just his pride. “These are really my task director’s pajamas?”

Bel rolled her eyes. “What’s it matter? They fit, don’t they?”

“Not really.” Omar took another drag, desperate to float again. “And are you and my boss …? Did you …? With him?”

Belbeline sat back on her heels. “Did I
what
? Spit it out, Omar.”

He took a quick puff on his vaporizer for courage and sat up. “If I’d known you were involved with Otley —my
task director—
I never would’ve pursued you.”

She raised her eyebrows and laughed. “You pursued me, did you?”

“Looking for a wife. I’ve got to be a better choice than Otley.”

She cackled now, the expression of amusement on her face like a knife to Omar’s bruised torso. “I see now why you never paired up in your outsider village.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“You’re delusional, Omar.
I
picked
you
up.
I
showed
you
how to have a good time. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be standing at the elevator staring at your knuckles.”

That wasn’t how it happened. “I had a good time before I met you.”

“With who?”

“Charlz and Skottie. We went to the Paradise Saloon and the Ginger Oak Club.”

Belbeline stood up and sat on the edge of her bed. “Those are tasked clubs, Omar. Those girls are credited to play with men.”

Omar shook his head. “No, they’re not.”

“Look, Omar. It’s been a party, okay? But we need to take a break.”

Omar’s head became light, but not in the way he’d hoped. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you. But it’s been two days, and you’re already way too gummy.”

He felt insignificant lying on the floor while she was on the bed. Though it hurt his head and the growing ache in his side, he forced himself to sit up, to stand. “You like Otley better?”

She pulled her curls back from her face and twisted them. “It’s not like that. Ollie does me favors, I do him favors. People say he’s going to be the next task director general, and I can’t afford to cut that tie.”

She wanted Otley for his position of power. Things here weren’t that much different from Glenrock after all. “Then how could you have betrayed him?”

Bel stood up and paced to the door. “Omar, you’re so caught up in the Old ways. Relationships aren’t exclusive here. We have fun. We pair up. We see someone else we like the looks of, we play with them. Ollie gets that. He does the same. He’ll get over his little jealous phase, and then maybe you and I can pair up again.”

“You’re really leaving me?” Omar hated the sound of his voice. The hint of a whine. He gritted his teeth.
Be strong
, he reminded himself.
You are Omar Strong now, not some sniffing little kid.

Bel sighed. “Why are you making this into a big deal?”

“Because it
is
a big deal! I want to marry you.” At her blank look, he said, “Be a lifer.”

Her laughter came so fierce and fast that she snorted. She held her hand in front of her mouth until she stopped, and her hair untwisted and fell loose around her face again. “I’m not going to fight over this. If you can’t accept it, fine. I won’t tap you again.”

How could she dismiss him so easily? “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she said, walking out the door. “Go home, but leave the pajamas.”

After his shift, Omar went straight to the Regal Lounge, which was a theater club in the Highlands. A woman holding a tray of shots greeted him. He took two of the little glasses and made his way to a table in front. He shrugged out of his enforcer’s jacket. Time to relax.

A man and woman were in the middle of the stage, singing about some kind of disagreement. The man had wanted the woman to dance exclusively for his cabaret, but the woman liked to work many clubs. Sounded familiar.

The song shifted into a big dance number, and a half-dozen dancers filed out onto the stage wearing skimpy, sequined outfits and doing high kicks. Omar swallowed his first shot and studied the women. One caught his eye.

Mia.

Elbows on the table, he held his face in his hands, watching her through his fingers. From the look on her face, she was enjoying herself. See? The people of Glenrock liked living here. But watching Mia made him feel ill. The way they had dressed her …

Relationships aren’t exclusive here
, Bel had said. Is that what Mia
would discover? Would she fall for some entertainer, then be cast aside when he became interested in someone else? Is that what Omar was supposed to do? Look for someone else?

He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Belbeline.

The Regal Lounge had a hitroom, so Omar went upstairs and set his PV on the counter. The barkeep was speaking with a blonde woman at the far end of the bar. She had skin that glittered like gold.

“Brown sugar four, plain,” the woman said.

The barkeep took her PV and paused in front of Omar. “Know what you want?”

“I’ll have the same,” Omar said, tossing his jacket on the stool on his left. “And a black velvet.”

The barkeep set a SimTag pad on the counter, and Omar tapped his fist.

The woman got up and moved to the stool on Omar’s right. “You a sweet tooth for brown sugar too, baby face?”

“Naw,” Omar said, clueless as to what she was referring to. “But it turns out I need to try some new things.”

The woman traced her sparkling gold finger up along the lines of his SimArt tattoo. “What kinds of things?”

He glanced at her and met a set of eyes that were golden brown. “All things.”

Omar and the woman, whose name turned out to be Lexanna, relocated to a set of pillowy chairs, reclining on either side of a small table where the barkeep set their PVs.

When Lexanna leaned over and kissed him, he wanted to cry. He didn’t know this woman, and he didn’t want to know her. He pretended she was Bel for a few minutes, but that just made him feel pathetic. Plus, she was getting gold glitter all over his uniform. He broke away and inhaled a long drag on his PV. Nausea gripped him. He held his breath and let his head fall back on the chair. What in all the lands was brown sugar, anyway? And why would anyone want to feel sick like —

A sudden rush of velvety euphoria sent tingles swirling over Omar’s body, a powerful, yet completely peaceful feeling. He was sitting on the
top of a hill in a white haze. He could see the silhouettes of people around him, and while they were unrecognizable, he knew it was Levi, Belbeline, and his father. They swam through the haze on the top of that hill, trying to reach one another but not really caring if they ever did. In fact, nothing mattered at all now. This was a safe place. Like being inside one of his paintings.

Lexanna spoke, but Omar didn’t comprehend her words. Or maybe he did but forgot what she’d said. All he wanted to do was be on that hill.

The feeling faded a bit, so Omar took another long breath through his vaporizer. His stomach clenched against the nausea, but this time he waited for it to pass, waiting for …

Euphoria drenched him again. He closed his eyes, doubting he could have kept them open even if he’d wanted to. He was standing on the roof of a building, the wind blowing hard against him. He leaned into it until he was parallel to the ground, the wind so strong it held him there.

Strong.

But he wasn’t on a roof. He was in the hitroom of the Regal Lounge with Lexanna. His body felt hot, melting almost, from the inside out. He felt his head droop until his chin nearly touched his chest. He must look asleep. And maybe he was, nodding in and out of sleep. It was a nice feeling. No guilt. No loneliness.

Until Lexanna started talking again, pulling on his arms, slapping him. He kept his eyes closed, wishing she’d go away, wanting to tell her to leave him alone.

There was a man’s voice and the sensation of standing. Someone shook his arms. Bright lights. Movement. More people he didn’t recognize, looking at him, talking to him.

Mason?

Omar awoke in a white room under glaring lights. He was wearing a
white dress. Something beeped. His arm itched. A small needle was taped just below the inside of his elbow. It had a hose attached to it that ran up to a bag of liquid hanging on a stand.

Was this the medical center?

His mouth was dry; his lips felt cracked; his body hurt all over, a dull, heavy ache in his nerves. He scanned the room for his vaporizer but didn’t see it. A quick taste would ease his discomfort. Why had they taken it away? He needed it.

Someone passed down the hallway outside the open door to his room.

“Hey!” He reached out and noticed that his hands were coated in gold glitter.

A woman stepped through the doorway. An angel, white and glowing with sapphire eyes. Eyes like Belbeline’s. “Good!” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re awake.”

Not Belbeline. A blonde. A medic. “Why am I here?”

“You OD’d,” the angel said. “And since you were in uniform, they brought you to me.”

Omar frowned. “OD?”

“Overdose. Too much. Your body couldn’t handle what you put in it.”

Omar bristled at the insinuation he was weak. “Really? It felt good.”

The medic gave him a one-sided grin. “It usually does the first time or two. If I were you, I’d quit while I was still alive. There are much safer poisons.” She glanced out the door. “Someone wants to see you.” She pushed off the doorway and left.

Let it be Belbeline, sick with worry and begging his forgiveness.

But seconds later, Mason appeared, looking clean in a turquoise medic outfit, hair neatly combed. “Hey, brother,” Mason said. “Glad to see you up. You’ve been trying the vaporizers?”

Mason tasking as a medic—figured. “Yeah, I have.”
And you can’t control me, Mason, so don’t try.

Mason walked up to Omar’s bedside and examined the bag of fluid. “Which stims? Do you even know?”

Mason’s tone filled Omar with a rush of anger. “Do
you
? I’m not stupid, Mason.”

Mason tipped back his head and smiled. “Right. I forgot how you planned all this and got half our village killed. Good one, Omar. Brilliant, really. My favorite part was when you almost killed yourself too.”

“Are you just going to stand here and lecture me?”

“A little, yes. So you’re trying the PVs and drinking. And what about women, Omar? Have you been intimate with women too?”

“Why’s any of this your business?”

“You have the thin plague, Omar. You’re infected.”

Nausea rolled in Omar’s stomach. He fought to keep his features even, calm. “So give me the cure.”

Mason coughed out a half laugh. “You know very well there’s no cure, brother. That’s why we’re all here. Thanks to you. But it’s a slow death, if that makes you feel better.”

“Why are you being so mean?”

Mason winced, as if thinking it through. “Papa Eli used to say, ‘A person becomes wise by watching what happens to himself when he’s a fool.’ I love you Omar, and I can’t let you do this to yourself. You’ve made some really bad choices. But now you have the chance to become very wise—if you learn from your experiences.” He patted Omar’s leg and left.

Omar lay back on the bed, exhausted, longing for the peace he’d felt last night in a breath of brown sugar. Especially now that he knew he’d contracted a death sentence. He cursed and wondered if the task director general knew his girl had the plague. Belbeline was so beautiful, and she used those body paints that made her skin smooth. But of course, she was infected. They all were. Their dying nation was the main reason they’d talked Omar into helping them. Well, as the
task director had predicted, he wasn’t very useful to the Safe Lands anymore, was he?

He never
had
been very useful.

Omar wanted his PV. Now. Would Mason return it when he left the medical center? If not, he’d just buy a new one. He was dying anyway. No reason to suffer more than necessary, right? In fact, the sooner he could numb himself, the better.