Forbidden Fire (Forbidden #2) (4 page)

Drake's arm tightened around me, avoiding the not-quite-healed bullet wound on my arm, a souvenir from our escape. I scooted closer to him. Even without our mental link, he felt the shift in my energy at this news.

"We'll just have to go to plan B," he said.

We didn't have a plan B, and everyone knew it.

Brad rolled his eyes but remained silent.

This level of hopelessness wouldn't get us far.

"There's got to be another way to bring our story to the world," I said. "Look at how much we've already done. Drake and I escaped Rent-A-Kid. That, in itself, is a miracle. Granted, we had some major setbacks in the process."

My hand rested on my bulging belly. My baby.
Our
baby, Ana.

Our baby's namesake consumed my thoughts. My best friends never even knew they had a mom until moments before her death, let alone one who loved them so much. Now they'd never know her. She died helping us escape the clinic....

***

Ana lay against me, pinning me to the floor.

I screamed. A crimson gash covered her abdomen. I tried to move my arm and flinched. Blood covered my right shoulder. Two bullets—one in her, and one that just grazed me. She must have moved at the last minute, threw herself in front of me.

She'd saved my life.

This plan was supposed to be simple. How could this happen?

My hearing returned as I choked on my sobs. I held Ana and rocked her, stared at her, willing her to wake up. I waited for that movie moment when she would open her eyes and tell me it was okay, that it was best this way. When she would make me vow to help her children and all the other kids in this hellhole.

That moment never came.

I was robbed of those last words, that final connection.

***

...I pushed those thoughts away, before I spiraled back into the pit of depression I had been living in for the last two weeks. No time to dwell on the dead. I had to stay focused on the living, and on how to keep them that way.

Drake squeezed my hand.
'We'll keep our baby safe. I promise.'

"I hope so. It's just hard to believe it when I don't see a way out of this. We don't even exist to the rest of the world. At least I don't. How are we going to protect our daughter if we can't even take care of ourselves?"

'First, you need to fully recover. Then we'll make a plan.'

Brad cleared his throat and ran a tanned hand through his hair. "Hey, guys, it's great that you two lovebirds have the whole telepathic connection going on, but maybe you could talk out loud for those of us who
don't
have para-powers?"

I smiled. "Sorry. Bad habit."

"I know. I just feel like the third wheel around you guys sometimes." He stood up and paced on the grass in front of us. Both Brad and Drake were tall, but where Drake had bulk and major muscle, Brad was a lanky beanpole topped with unruly brown hair.

He continued. "What do we do now? I still think the best way to stay safe is to get the story out—to let the world know what's going on and get some support and protection on our side. I thought, after working at the paper for a year, they would've at least heard me out. But they said if I want to write fiction I should dump journalism and become a novelist."

I reached out to pat his hand. "Ouch. I'm so sorry, Brad. That sucks."

"Yeah, Bro," Drake said, "I know how important your job is to you."

I squeezed Drake's hand. "I still think we should go to the police. It's not like we live in a third world country. The police are the good guys, right?"

"In theory," said Brad. "But you're talking about paranormal powers and secret organizations. They could just as easily put you in a mental institution."

"But we can
prove
we have these powers. They don't have to take our word for it. They can test us. Then they'd have to at least listen to our story."

"Then they'd just put you in a lab."

Drake nodded. "I don't disagree with you, Bro, but I think it's worth a shot. I'm not a fan of the system, but maybe we can get some support. If not, we leave. We haven't committed a crime and we're not a danger to our selves or others, so they can't keep us against our will. If all else fails, I get us out and no one remembers we were there."

I shifted under Drake's arm. "You know, Brad, I thought Drake would be the cynical, can't-trust-authority one. Not you."

Brad frowned. "If you guys really want to risk it, I have a contact in the department from my Crime Watch days. We can talk to him tomorrow."

A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. If we could get support from the authorities, we had a chance at success. "In the meantime, I still think we should get our story out there. And I have an idea. Brad, you could use your blog."

"Sam, my blog gets all of twenty hits a day, if I'm lucky. That's hardly enough to gain us huge support."

"But anything can go viral at any moment. We just need a little luck and an interesting story."

We stood and walked down the sidewalk littered with displays, homeless people, street performers and shops.

Brad fidgeted with his phone as if it held the answer to reaching the masses. "I have been working on building my social media following, and this
is
a compelling story. I guess it can't hurt, and there's nothing else I can think to do at this point."

He searched his phone for something then smiled. "It
does
have a recorder app. Want to do a quick interview right now?"

"Um, sure, I guess."

He clicked the record button. "What's the first memory you have of your childhood, Sam?"

Drake's body pressed into me—or mine into him, I couldn't tell—as I thought back to my earlier years. "I don't know if this is my first memory or not, but I was young, four or five years old, and my teacher was asking me a question...."

***

"Hello, Sam, what are you drawing?" Mrs. Rosewood asked.

"It's a mommy and a daddy with a little girl."

"Are you the little girl?"

"No. I don't have a mommy and daddy."

"That's because you are a very special little girl, with very special gifts."
'So awful that these kids are taken so young... no family... alone... breaks my heart.'

I touched her hand. "Don't let your heart break, Mrs. Rosewood. I'm okay. I'm not alone. I have you."

"Sam, did you just read my mind?" Mrs. Rosewood pulled her hand away.

"I don't know what that means. You said it was awful, that I was alone and your heart was breaking. Don't be sad. I'm not."

***

"...Mrs. Rosewood rushed out of the room, and the next day I was moved to a different class. Looking back, I don't understand. I was already at Rent-A-Kid—that's what we called it. They knew I could read minds. I guess this teacher just wasn't prepared for it. It freaked her out. After that, I learned to tell the difference between thoughts and speech. I only responded to what people
said
."

Brad nodded. A mime started to follow us while we walked. He pantomimed swinging one arm while holding his phone up, then mimicked Drake's arm around me. At another time, I might have laughed—he captured the nuances of their body language perfectly—but my mind was too distracted. He shrugged dramatically and moved on to another group when we ignored him.

"No wonder you and Drake bonded. He's had similar experiences."

Catching Drake's eye, I smiled and blew a kiss at him. He leaned down to make it real.

"What experiences did you have?"

'There's a funny story about a Bishop that I'll tell you later. But there was other stuff too, like that time I beat up one of my foster dads when he was beating on his wife and the other kids. It's impossible to live a normal life with power like this, no matter how hard you try.'

Brad nudged us, and we nearly toppled over like dominoes. "Get a room, guys."

Drake punched Brad's shoulder, though I could tell he held back considerably. After all, a true punch would send Brad flying across the sidewalk and would probably break his arm.

Brad retaliated with his own punch, and the boys were suddenly running around me like toddlers.

"Hey, guys, you're making a scene."

They straightened themselves and lowered their heads. "Sorry, Sam," they said in unison.

I laughed and swatted each of them in the arm. "Back to the questions now?"

Brad cleared his throat and reset the recorder that he'd dropped. "Right. So, Sam, you can read minds, and you just recently learned to control minds. Which power do you like best or find more useful?"

"I don't like using the mind control, but reading minds isn't as fun as it sounds either." Drake tensed next to me, but I refused to acknowledge the discomfort inherent in this topic.

"Why don't you like being able to control minds? I think everyone would want that power."

"It makes me feel dirty. When...." I looked at Drake, then looked away. "When it was done to me, I realized how it felt to be powerless. I'd never want to make anyone feel that way."

But I had, just a few minutes ago, and for the pettiest of all reasons. What did that make me? Self-loathing clawed at my soul. A part of me would always be tainted by this immoral power. A power Drake also shared—and embraced. If I hated myself for what I could do, then what did I feel for the man I loved?

Drake caught my eyes, and I could see him waging his own internal war. Neither of us said anything about our run-in with Kylie, but it weighed heavily on us both for different reasons. Drake, I knew, wanted me to embrace my new powers and use them to protect myself and our baby. I wanted him to find other ways of handling conflict. I feared we would never resolve our differences, and it worried me. This power had always been a part of him; by rejecting the power, was I also rejecting the man?

Brad broke the uncomfortable silence. "Okay, what are some of your friends' para-powers?"

"My best friend, Lucy, is a human lie detector. She's a pain in the butt to be around sometimes."

Brad laughed. "I can't imagine what that's like."

I stuck my tongue out at him, then continued. "Her twin, Luke, is also my best friend. He walks through walls, or anything solid. There are teens and kids with all kinds of powers—super strength and mind control like Drake, fire starting, the ability to freeze things, seduction."

Brad's eyes perked up. "Seduction, huh? Is this a sexy girl, by chance?"

"You are such a man. Yes, she's sexy. No, you can't date her. She's a bitch."

"Okay, what else?"

"Hmm... teleporting, floating in the air, levitation—just about anything you can imagine."

"What's the worst thing you ever had to do for Rent-A-Kid?"

Five years of assignments, of spying on people with my "gift," rushed through my thoughts. The worst thing? How do you pick out the worst from a sea of awful?

Images of Tommy flooded my mind. Poor, sweet, innocent Tommy, stuck with a father whose thoughts alone had plagued my nightmares for months. The things he did to those little girls.... I shuddered.

"I was once sent to get dirt on a guy's business partner. Turns out the dirt was dirtier than anyone had imagined."

I told them about that last assignment, how I'd stood up to a client and gotten a black eye for my efforts. My thoughts drifted to Tommy and his family. Tommy's father now served time in prison, but the money had all been his mother's. Their wealth was intact but their family had been destroyed.

Now that I was free, I wanted to check on him as I had promised.

The sun beat down on the back of my neck and arms, and I could practically feel the vitamins soaking into my pale skin.

We walked past a large table with ceramic art pieces on it. I held up one of the sun and moon interlocked. "I've always loved this symbol. Wouldn't this make a cool tattoo?"

Drake raised his eyebrow but said nothing. I winked at him and we continued our walk.

"Hey, check it out." Drake laughed and motioned to a man with a sign hanging around his neck. Kick My Butt for $1.

I couldn't help but grin. "Seriously? He lets people pay him to kick him?"

"Yo, Drake, you should do it. It'd be the last ass-kicking he ever asked for." Brad eyed the guy and clicked off his recorder.

I was all talked out, and I wanted to enjoy at least some of this mostly miserable day.

"Leave him alone, you guys. Must be hard enough being him." Something else caught my eye. "Oh, let's go in there." I pointed out a big sign that read, "Venice Beach Freakshow, featuring a five-legged dog, a super tall man, a tiny little woman, a show in which another man swallows a flaming sword, and more."

We crammed into the small room and watched each "freak" demonstrate their unique abilities. The guy who shoved an entire sword down his throat impressed the boys.