Avenger: Book Eight in the Enhanced Series Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Next Up - Defender

  Author Notes

  Avenger

  The Enhanced, Book Eight

  T. C. Edge

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Next Up - Defender

  Author Notes

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017 T. C. Edge

  All right reserved.

  First edition: June 2017

  Cover Design by Laercio Messias

  No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  THE ENHANCED SERIES:

  The Enhanced (Book One)

  Hybrid (Book Two)

  Nameless (Book Three)

  Assassin (Book Four)

  Captive (Book Five)

  Renegade (Book Six)

  Invader (Book Seven)

  Avenger (Book Eight)

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:

  THE WATCHERS SERIES:

  The Watchers Trilogy:

  The Watchers of Eden (Book One)

  City of Stone (Book Two)

  War at the Wall (Book Three)

  The Watchers Trilogy Box Set

  The Seekers Trilogy

  The Watcher Wars (Book One)

  The Seekers of Knight (Book Two)

  The Endless Knight

  The Seekers Trilogy Box Set

  1

  I sit in silence on level 12, right up against the wall outside the lifts.

  The foyer is dim, lit by security lights that emit a soft red glow, the bustle of the world below unable to penetrate this far. It’s quiet, still, peaceful up here on this deserted floor.

  But not in my head. Inside, there’s a war raging.

  In my hands I hold the electronic tablet that holds the secret to my past. The file of Artemis Cromwell, who climbed to the summit of the city by using the City Guard as a ladder.

  The file glows white, still open on the page marked: Next of Kin.

  I stare at the details, transfixed and unable to look away, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to find some hidden piece of text that will refute the conclusion that my mind has quickly drawn.

  But I can’t. There’s nothing. The truth is plain and clear for me to see.

  Artemis Cromwell is my grandfather.

  My thumb hovers towards the bottom of the screen, sliding over the circular button to switch it off. Still staring, I press my thumb down and the glow of the white screen gives way to black, the details of my lineage fading away.

  I sit for a few more moments, before raising my eyes to the ceiling. Only a few floors up, she awaits. The woman who will give me the answers I need. The woman who has kept me in the dark for so long.

  The woman who is no longer just the leader of the Nameless, the old wife of Director Cromwell.

  The woman who is now my grandmother too.

  I stand on stiff legs, my head still aching from a lack of sleep and the little gash that cuts across the base of my skull. I feel a little disorientated, and pray for a moment that this is nothing but a dream.

  It’s not.

  It’s real.

  I live now in a nightmare that I cannot awake from.

  I steady myself against the wall, reaching out with my palm to stop from slipping back to the floor. I suck in a deep breath, and drag my weary limbs towards the lifts to my right. The first one I reach slides open with a hiss. I step inside, and for a moment do nothing but stand there in that little metal box.

  Then, from my lips, a croak comes.

  “Level 15,” I say.

  The doors slide shut immediately, and the elevator rises, passing floors 13 and 14 and reaching 15 before I can take another breath.

  The doors part, hissing like a sleepy snake, and a shadowy hall appears before me. I step out, guiding my eyes past the little atrium and down the main corridor ahead. At the end, the old office of the Deputy Commander waits, the frosted glass on the door showing a dull dash of yellow colour beyond.

  She’s awake.

  I walk forward, the file gripped between my fingers, my chest beating nervously. When I reach the door, I hear nothing but silence within. I reach for the handle, ready to step forward without invitation, but stop.

  Before I can, the handle drops down and the door is pulled open. I see the youthful face of Timothy, Lady Orlando’s aid, looking at me.

  I look right past him, and see the rebel leader sat in her chair. It’s still early, just past 4.30 AM, but she remains at work, unwilling to sleep for more than a few hours at a time when so much demands her close attention.

  “Who is it, Timothy?” I hear her voice come.

  The boy looks at me with the expressionless eyes of his people, before stepping to one side to allow her a good look at me.

  A small frown drops over her eyes.

  “Brie, I’m surprised to see you up and about this early.”

  I stand motionless, the electronic file to my side. Her eyes fall to it, and then lift once more.

  “Come in, come in,” she says. “It looks like you have something on your mind.”

  As I step forward, she asks Timothy to wait outside. He does so without question, slipping from the room and gently shutting the door. The place is quiet and empty but for the old lady behind the desk, the tech station now without Alfred and the likes of Beckett, Rycard, Freya, and her advisors either sleeping or tending to business elsewhere.

  And Zander…I wonder what he’ll make of all this.

  Lady Orlando is nothing if not perceptive. She’s adept at doing something most of her kind cannot – reading emotion. The flat demeanour I’m trying to portray clearly isn’t doing its job. Because behind my eyes, there’s a turmoil and rage that she’s able to easily make out.

  “Sit down, Brie,” she says, her calm just about maintained as her eyes once more find the tablet i
n my hand. “I suspected this day would come eventually.”

  I stop, before sitting, and cock my head. The impassiveness of my expression gives way to something else; a slightly surprised stare.

  “You know why I’m here?” I ask, still standing behind the chair in front of her desk.

  She nods coolly.

  “I think I have a rather good idea. Please, sit.”

  I pull back the chair, move round the side, and drop slowly into it, my eyes never leaving hers. I know I’m not supposed to read her thoughts, but right now it’s so tempting to nip inside and see what she’s thinking.

  I refuse the urge, however, and lay the file down on my lap, just below the desk and out of the view of her eyeline. She sits up a little.

  “Artemis’ file,” she says. “I should have had it destroyed…”

  My frown deepens.

  “To hide the evidence,” I say, shaking my head. I lift the file from my lap and place it on the desk in front of me. “Is it true? Is Cromwell my grandfather? Are you…are you my grandmother?”

  My voice has a pleading quality, begging perhaps for my assertions to be denied, my assumptions put straight.

  She reaches out with thin, arthritic fingers, sliding the file over towards her. Looking down at it, she presses the button to activate the screen, and it begins to glow white in the dimly lit room.

  “It’s true,” she breathes. “You are the daughter of the girl that was taken from me. You are my blood, Brie.”

  Despite already coming to that conclusion, her words have an impact on me. I draw in a heavy, abrupt breath, blinking more than I should and setting my hand to cover my mouth.

  My head shakes violently, and Lady Orlando inspects me closely. Then she stands, moves around the table as swiftly as she can manage, and hovers above me, her arms reaching forward to draw me into a hug.

  I recoil, leaning back.

  “Why…why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell Zander?!”

  I look up into her face and see the emotion, more than she has ever displayed. Her eyes are crinkled in a vicarious pain, a pool of shame and memory filling them.

  “I wanted you to know. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you both,” she says.

  I stand from the chair. I can’t be this close to her. Stamping off into another corner, I turn my back and shake my head. I need more. I need an explanation.

  I swivel on my heels and guide my Hawk-eyes right at her. I plan to drive straight into her mind and discover it all for myself, but find her gaze elsewhere, the web of wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she looks at her old hands.

  “My mother,” I say. “Cromwell…he killed her? He killed his own daughter?”

  She nods slowly, her posture coiling closer, shoulders hunching in grief at the memory.

  The delay in her answer forces the cool out of me. I lose it, my words rumbling from inside me, her incessant poise starting to grate.

  “TELL ME!” I shout. “TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!”

  My raised voice is enough to have Timothy re-enter the room. The door swings open and his pristine, blank face appears.

  “Is everything OK, Lady Orlando?” he drones.

  She doesn’t have a chance to answer.

  “Yes, Timothy, it’s fine!” I say, glaring at him. “Leave us alone!”

  He ignores me, still looking at Lady Orlando and awaiting a proper answer. Were I not in such a state, I’d consider his loyalty to his mistress admirable. But, right now, it just sends me closer to the edge.

  “I swear, Tim, if you don’t get out I’m going to throw you out!”

  He glances at me, the barest wrinkle of worry flickering on his brows. Then it’s straight back at the rebel leader he looks.

  She nods silently, and blinks slowly. He leaves the room.

  The exchange helps to draw back my anger a little. I fill my lungs slowly, before emptying them at about the same rate. Then, speaking again, I do so with my calm returned.

  “Please, Cornelia,” I say, using her first name. “Please tell me the truth.”

  Now, she looks right at me again, and I hold back from searching her thoughts. I see no lie or deceit emerge as she beckons me back to my seat, and she moves back to retake hers.

  I know that the need for secrecy is now gone.

  2

  “I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you,” she begins, her voice croaking a little. “I am, as you know, a private person. But this wasn’t for me. I kept the truth from you and your brother for your own good. I did it for the good of this city.”

  Her nerves appear to be a little frayed, such an unusual thing to see. A thing that proves how difficult she’s finding this, helping to calm my wrath further, endear myself a little to her own distress.

  Taking a bottle of whiskey from a drawer in her desk, she quickly fills a glass, just as my guardian would do. She gulps down a little sip, before setting the glass to the table.

  Then she speaks.

  “As you know, I had a daughter with Artemis. As you know, she was taken from me, just like all Savant children are…”

  I know this part of the story. She revealed it to me in private not so long ago, and again to the entire city only a couple of days past.

  “I know,” I say, urging her forward. “We all know now.”

  She smiles awkwardly and nods.

  “I…conformed,” she continues. “At first, that’s all I could do. But the pain, it built. I don’t know how or why, but eventually I sought my daughter out. I…I found her,” she whispers, a little smile rising.

  It falls away just as fast, and another drip of whiskey slides down her throat.

  “I used some contacts I had, found her living in the High Tower. I didn’t quite know how to introduce myself. It was so difficult after so long, and I knew I was breaking protocol. But I didn’t care. Just seeing her, my beautiful Elisa, was enough.

  “I followed her,” she goes on. “I used to follow her around, watch her from afar. Anything more, I knew, could get us both into trouble. One day, I followed her out of the High Tower. I saw her go to an apartment towards the outer spiral. She was meeting your father.”

  “Maxwell,” I whisper.

  She nods.

  “I learned of their relationship,” she says. “It was enough to have them both executed. But there was more, something even worse. She was pregnant. Pregnant with you and Zander. I found out that they were planning to escape, to flee the city. I had no choice but to help them.”

  Her story begins to draw tears to the corners of my eyes. A story of forbidden love and the inevitable tragedy that followed. I see her start to well up too as she recounts it all, her emotions running free much like with Adryan. Even without stepping into her mind, I see and feel the agony that the memory brings. An agony that’s reflected in me.

  “I spent some time with Elisa and Maxwell,” she sniffs. “I cherished it. It was happiness that I never knew existed, a feeling that changed me forever. It’s why the Savants have always had their children taken, to prevent such a bond, such love, developing. To ensure they work and conform. I had the longing to meet my daughter, and when I did, it was more than I could have ever hoped for.”

  The tears begin to drip down my cheeks now, silently crafting a path towards my mouth. I taste the salty brine, but don’t blink them away, don’t sniff or make a sound, don’t dare interrupt her now.

  “But…” she croaks, “it was all doomed. I had to help them escape, I just had to. I managed to get Elisa away, hide her in Outer Haven before her pregnancy was discovered. Max would visit her when he was on duty, feed back to me about how she was doing. I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t go to Outer Haven, not being who I was. But he could, and for a little while she was safe. And then…she had you, and Zander, two beautiful, healthy babies.”

  She looks at me like she never has before, and I think back to the times she’s been so relieved to see me safe. To only a couple of days ago when she sat r
ight here, thanking Mrs Carmichael so earnestly for raising me.

  That wasn’t only a proud rebel leader speaking about a soldier, but a grandmother, looking at her granddaughter.

  Just as she is now.

  “I thought – I hoped – that things might work out. I began to wish I could go and visit her, meet you and Zander, my grandchildren. I was…foolish. I made a terrible mistake. I tried to visit… and Artemis found out.”

  Her shivering hand scoops up her whiskey glass. It tightens hard, her grief imbuing with anger, her memory of pain joined by a fierce and undeviating ire.

  “I managed to get word to your father just in time,” she says, taking a gulp. “He was smart, Brie, so smart. He’d already figured out some contingency plans, made friends with Mrs Carmichael and Zander’s guardian, Linda. He took you to them, split you up. Only he and your mother knew where you were. He never told me for fear that someone would find out.”

  I look to the file, still sat on the desk before her. The tears on my cheeks begin to slow, drying as they fall.

  “But it’s listed in the file,” I say. “It says that my mother had children, that their whereabouts were unknown. They obviously knew about Zander and me. Why didn’t they look into my parents’ heads, find out where we’d been taken?”

  A smile of pride and memory takes hold of Lady Orlando’s face.

  “Your mother was a truly gifted Mind-Manipulator,” she says. “She hid the knowledge of where you’d been taken so deep it could never be found. It was only when I found Zander wandering the streets of the northern quarter that I knew who he was. But you…we didn’t know until so recently what had happened to you. Only Zander truly believed we’d find you. His connection to you is so strong.”

  I smile at the thought of him, but then the smile fades away. He doesn’t know any of this. He doesn’t know the truth of what happened. I’ve been in the dark for weeks only. He’s been kept there for many years.

  “So,” I say softly, “you were all taken to the REEF…”

  She nods, a wave of pain once more washing over her face.