Disruption (18 page)

There were so many ways I could take that comment. None good.

‘Dad,’ Quentin said in a warning tone that Garrett completely ignored.

‘The dance commences in a few minutes. I expect to see you there with Genevieve. There is little point in the entire room watching you stumble through the steps, Maggie, and I’m sure you’d rather not endure the embarrassment.’

I didn’t respond.

‘Quentin?’ Garrett waited.

After a few beats, Quentin responded, his tone stiff. ‘Of course, Dad. We’ll head downstairs now.’

Garrett nodded and a sly smile formed on his lips that I was quite certain was intended for me.

Quentin turned me carefully, his body shielding mine.

We made it to the door and paused when Garrett spoke again. ‘I expect your Phera-tech to be active when I come downstairs. We are a family, Quentin. A united front. The world needs to see us that way, always.’

Quentin didn’t turn around to face his father, he just nodded and we walked out.

‘W
hat the hell was that?’ I hissed as Quentin ushered me down the hall and into another room. A bathroom. The size of my entire garage room.

‘Which part?’ he hissed back.

Excellent question.

I felt like my lips were still burning from his kiss, not to mention the whole getting-caught-in-the-office part, the mouse or the damn dance.

Quentin ran the tap and filled a glass with water, gulping it down before refilling the glass and passing it to me. I took a sip, but put it down before he noticed my trembling hand.

He shrugged out of his jacket, quickly putting it over my shoulders, covering the blood that had now seeped out to the size of a fist. Charming.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that this was just like any other job and that I had to look at things practically. As in, getting whatever needed to be done, done, so that I could get the hell out of there. I reached into my small clutch, jostled aside my taser gun and pulled out one of Quentin’s small vials. I handed it to him, lost for what else to do at this stage.

He took it, his fingers brushing mine in the transfer.

‘Thank you,’ he said, quickly downing the contents and slipping the empty vial into his pants pocket.

I nodded. ‘We should go.’

We headed back out to the hallway and took the stairs. Halfway down I stumbled. He caught me by the elbow and kept me on my feet. ‘How are you holding up?’ he whispered.

‘Not so great,’ I admitted. Each step felt like torture and I was starting to lose perspective. My orientation was slipping and my vision had dark spots in it.

He nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘I have to get through this dance, or it will cause too many questions. Can you last?’

No. ‘Yes. Just put me near a wall.’

He hesitated. ‘Maybe we should just get you into my car.’

‘No. That will look like I can’t hack it – you dancing with someone else. I’m not doing that.’ He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he also agreed.

We re-entered the ballroom. Quentin’s parents, along with his brothers and their partners, were already gathered on the dance floor. Given that the only person without a partner was a very attractive, tall blonde resembling Ivy Knight, I gathered that was Genevieve. I wondered fleetingly if she was Quentin’s typical type. Quentin stopped with me just near a pylon, giving me a good spot to stand while having some support to lean against.

He put his hands on my shoulders as I looked anywhere but at him.

‘You should wear your jacket,’ I suggested, moving to take it off.

He shook his head, and his hands encircled my wrists, bringing them back down to my sides. ‘Keep it,’ he said. Then he leaned closer, speaking into my ear. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be jealous.’

I bit my lip and looked him in the eye. ‘Good thing you know better.’

His smile was small and twisted as he glanced down, activating his Phera-tech. Then he walked towards the dance floor. When he came into Genevieve’s range, I noticed they both glanced at their M-Bands. It was obvious by the look of pure delight on Genevieve’s face that they had rated very well. She all but started humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’. I couldn’t see Quentin’s face, so I didn’t know if he was smiling too. But when he took her hand in his, and spun her out away from him, he took the opportunity to glance in my direction and roll his eyes. I couldn’t help smiling, even if my happiness did fade just as quickly.

He didn’t take his rating with her seriously because he believed it wasn’t real, that the disruption had fabricated it. He believed he was a neg. What would he think if he knew he wasn’t? That he actually did rate well quite often. And with the likes of Genevieve?

And why wouldn’t he? He really was the complete package. And he could seriously dance.

Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. It was mostly from the pain, but I knew a part of it was from the knowledge that everything was coming to an end. One way or another, I would find my dad and set Quentin up with a fake dosage that he would believe permanently released him from his neg status. Then we’d go our separate ways. Simple.

So why did the thought rip me in two?

Finding my dad had been everything. Even now … I still had to get to him. I needed answers and I was going to get them. But that didn’t stop me from wishing that I had taken a damn moment somewhere along the line to learn the freaking waltz.

My hands started to shake and I leaned more of my weight against the pylon, my thoughts drifting in and out as my vision played tricks on me. But the instant I heard the gunshot, I was bolt upright, my eyes darting straight to Quentin, my breath returning to me only when I saw he was unharmed. His eyes had found me too, and I watched as his chest deflated, mirroring my own.

The guests panicked. Screams echoed through the large space, music screeched to a halt, ridiculous bundles of wide colourful skirts pushed towards the Mercer Estate front doors.

I moved to the side and slid along the wall towards the sound of screaming coming from the end of the hall. I reached the open door in time to see the man who’d rated as a true match with the pregnant woman drop the gun in his hand and stagger back. The pregnant woman was sitting on the ground, cradling her motionless husband in her arms, a large patch of red spreading over his white dinner shirt.

Garrett Mercer flew into the room, closely followed by Sebastian, Zachery and Quentin, an impressive number of security flooding in behind them.

‘What happened?’ Garrett demanded.

The pregnant woman looked up, her eyes moving from Garrett to the man who’d just dropped the gun. ‘I … I … don’t know. I didn’t see,’ she sobbed.

Bullshit.

Garrett looked at the man, who was now standing in the corner. ‘Did you just arrive here?’

The man swallowed, his petrified eyes still on the woman. He was frozen.

The woman glanced up again, tears streaming down her face. ‘He just ran in a second ago!’ she blurted. She started sobbing and I wondered if her tears were more about her husband or her awful deception.

I couldn’t believe it. A three-year-old could work out what had happened.

Garrett nodded to the woman, some kind of understanding passing between them. He turned to one of his security team. ‘Call the police and let them know we had an intruder. Zachery and Sebastian, could you please help Mrs Henley out of the room and settle her in one of the front sitting rooms.’

The brothers nodded, moving forwards.

‘Wait! What?’ I said, earning myself every set of eyes in the room.

‘She shouldn’t be in here,’ Zachary said, casting a stern look in Quentin’s direction.

I held up my hand in disbelief. ‘Are you seriously going to just let this happen?
He
,’ I pointed to the man standing statue-still in the corner, ‘just killed that woman’s husband. I walked in here in time to see him standing over the body, gun in hand! There was no intruder. He did it!’

Garrett Mercer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Quentin, take your friend out of here and calm her down. Mrs Henley is in a state of shock, and by the looks of your date she’s helped herself to more than a few drinks tonight. The last thing we want is a bunch of kids in here messing up a crime scene.’

‘But Dad,’ Quentin began, taking a step towards me. I wished I could stand a little taller, but I had to keep my hand against the wall to stay upright. ‘Did you just hear what Maggie said? She wouldn’t say it if it weren’t –’

‘Do as I say!’ Garrett ordered, cutting him off. ‘Now, Quentin!’

Quentin bristled at his father’s verbal attack. Then he dropped his head, shaking it. He took my hand and settled his arm around me as if he just wanted me close. In reality, he was the only thing keeping me standing. Sweat rolled down the side of my face, onto my neck. If anyone cared to take a close look at me at that moment it would have been obvious I was not in a good way. Luckily no one cared.

He walked me back out the door, stopping near his father to say in a low voice, ‘You know he did it.’

‘Take your friend home, Quentin. And get her under control,’ his father said, equally as low, but sterner. Garrett Mercer’s piercing eyes fixed on me and I knew that I had become an enemy of his tonight. Guess it was only fair since he’d been my greatest enemy for the past two years. I might’ve actually tried to say something more, cause a bigger scene … If only I could’ve caught my breath.

Quentin half laughed. ‘It’s because they’re a true match, isn’t it?’ he asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before leaving the room with me. He didn’t need to. Negs were sent underground and true matches were given a free pass to everything.

Even murder.

Slumping into the passenger seat of Quentin’s car, I heard him curse.

‘We should get you to a hospital,’ he said.

‘No,’ I responded. ‘It’s fine. Just take me home.’ My eyes drifted open and closed as he jumped in beside me and took off down the driveway.

‘Whatever you say, Maggie,’ he said, anger pouring from him.

The whole night. The pressure of being at the Mercers’ home and seeing Garrett Mercer’s corrupt activities in play. In a wedding dress no less! It was all too much. ‘That’s right, Quentin.
Whatever
I say and don’t forget it!’ I snapped, needing to distance myself from him and refocus on my objective.

His jaw clicked to the side. ‘As long as you get what you’re after, right? You don’t care about anything – or anyone else – do you? Just your father. Forget about the rest of us.’

By ‘us’ I knew he was grouping himself not with his family, but with other negs.

His words hit hard. As intended. Anger boiled now and I welcomed it, directing it at Quentin. ‘Absolutely. I don’t care who I have to mow down on my way.’ I half laughed, though nothing about this was funny. ‘But don’t point the finger at me like I’m the bad person here. I wouldn’t have to be doing any of this if the system
your
family so proudly developed and stand behind was in any way fair or honest. You all make me sick.’ The last words tumbled out before I could catch them, before I allowed myself that split second to acknowledge that they weren’t true. Not where he was concerned. But it was too late.

Quentin’s hands gripped the steering wheel. ‘Understood,’ he said with a tight nod. He did not look at me again.

My stomach turned. I hadn’t wanted to say those things to him. I’d just been so angry. So tired of feeling reduced to cruel tactics. So tired of the nightmares I knew would always remain.

Now I was stuck in uncomfortable silence, reliving the events of the night, which only caused my regret to multiply. I should have been more thoughtful. I knew Quentin was in a bad place himself, struggling to come to terms with his father’s actions. I was well aware that he had to be thinking about what would happen to him if his father discovered that he was a neg. And, of course, during my recap of the evening, I couldn’t avoid the constant replay of that kiss, and how it had seemed so … right.

Unable to muster the right words, I rested my head against the window and watched the trees and houses whip past. Eventually I gave in to the heaviness and let my eyes close.

I opened them when I heard the click of my car door, and Quentin crouched down beside me. ‘Can you walk?’

I nodded.

He helped me out of the car and then put an arm under my armpits to help me into my room above the garage.

When we made it, I moved towards the bed, about to tell him that he didn’t have to stay. After the things I’d said, I figured he’d want to get far away from me.

‘Wait,’ he ordered.

I paused, but before I could turn back to him he was behind me, undoing the bodice at the back of the dress. I started to protest, but he just shushed me and proceeded. After a while, he disappeared briefly.

When I heard the sound of scissors opening and then the cold metal at my neck, I stopped breathing.

‘Relax,’ he said, his voice flat and not reassuring at all.

Then I heard the sound of material being cut and saw the edges of the halter drop from around my neck.

‘Hands up,’ he said. His voice was low. Sad. And yet, it was as if he was pleading with me not to rehash the earlier conversation. Not now.

Feeling strangely compelled, I did as I was told, and felt a T-shirt being pulled down my arms and then over my head. Quentin, still behind me, took the weight of my arms and gently brought them back down to my sides.

I looked down, noticing he had chosen a huge T-shirt – one of Samuel’s that had somehow ended up in my drawer. It came down to my knees.

I heard him kneel and then my dress was coming down as he gently removed it, cutting again into the back of the bodice to make sure it came off easily. I hadn’t seen the price tag on the dress so I didn’t know the exact figure, but I knew it was worth more than my entire wardrobe put together. I felt like I should say something, commiserate somehow, but neither of us dared any more words.

When I stepped out of the dress, Quentin stood, kicking it to the side of the room.

‘Lie down,’ he ordered.

Still at a loss for words and knowing he must be mad at me, I did as he instructed.

He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to wonder what exactly was going on. Before long he returned, sat on the edge of the bed, and without another word cleaned and redressed my wound. The reopening of the wound wasn’t as bad as I had feared and, now that I was off my feet, I was already feeling better. It had just been too soon to be moving around so much.

It felt like a small eternity passed as I waited for him to say something. I wanted to apologise, but every time I tried, the words got stuck in my throat. What good would an apology do anyway? It wouldn’t change what I’d done. What I was
doing
. As more time passed his silence became louder. After he sat me up to take some more painkillers, he refocused on finishing with the dressing. I watched his face as he concentrated on the bandages. He did not look like the Quentin Mercer I had followed and studied for the past two years. The air around me thickened, each breath increasingly impossible as the realisation settled.