When Cym had finally sorted himself, the seatbelt, and his backpack into their rightful places, he looked up and realized they were almost to the warehouse, so he dug through his bag and put on the tattered pair of Converse he found at the bottom. They were tight over the now-dirty bandages Fourteen had wrapped around his feet, but they still fit.
It seemed silly, but with shoes on, Cym felt more capable of dealing with the garbage life was throwing his way.
Once they were inside the warehouse, Cym made a show of looking around for a moment, then asked, “Um, is there a bathroom here I can use?”
Fourteen nodded and gestured for Cym to follow him toward the opposite side of the building they’d stayed in last night.
“Your bathroom is that far from where you sleep?” Cym imagined getting up to go pee in the middle of the night and having to go down two flights of stairs and across a creepy, drafty warehouse.
Hard pass.
Fourteen shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”
“Says the soldier,” Cym whispered under his breath.
Fourteen snorted and said, “Right through there, cupcake,” proving his sense of hearing was better than it had any right to be. He ushered Cym towards a shabby closet in the back of a small office. “I’ll be upstairs when you’re done, and we’ll talk.”
Cym needed to change his clothes ASAP. He should have done it in the car to throw off potential tracking spells, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get undressed in front of Fourteen. His face burned at the very idea, and he rubbed at his cheeks furiously. What the heck was going on with him?
Cym dug through his bag and was glad to see a pair of jeans, but the pink tank top made him wince. It might be spring, but in New England that could mean anything from snow in the morning to a toasty seventy-five degrees in the afternoon.
It looked like a visit to a thrift shop was going to be in order so he could get some warmer clothes. He would have to get as much as he could afford to buy—the more clothes he had, the longer he could avoid detection.
Cym shucked off his torn hoodie and sneezed when the dust and debris from the destroyed building filled the air. His pants followed, making even more dust for him to choke on, and he jammed his dirty clothes hastily into his bag. Tattered as they were, in a pinch, they could still help him throw off a tracking spell. As he was stuffing them in, he found the small tin containing money. It was every dime he had left.
When Cym opened it, he was pleasantly surprised to find a hundred-dollar bill instead of a fifty. Past Cym had been very generous when packing this bag. Now he could afford an actual jacket.
He straightened and caught his reflection in the mirror.
Cym had never thought much about his appearance. Having no contact with the outside world made worrying about what other people thought of him seem silly. He examined his face in the dingy, spotted mirror. His hair was thick—something fashion magazines harped about constantly—so that was a point in his favor. He brushed a chunk of plaster out of his hair and finger-combed through the tangles.
Most of his features were delicate enough to appease even the harshest celebrity critics, with the exception of his square jaw. It gave him the appearance of being stubborn—something that had gotten him into trouble a lot when he was little. It was currently streaked with soot, so he wet his fingers from the faucet and did his best to clean it off.
He looked back up to gaze at his sky-blue eyes and wondered if Fourteen liked the color blue.
Realizing what he was doing, Cym backed away from the sink and jerked his bag up off the floor. It was long past time for him to go.
As he opened the window to the bathroom, he thought about how to use the money he had left after his shopping trip. He could use it to gain distance and improvise once he got far enough, or he could see how far he could get walking, maybe even hitch and use the money to make himself look presentable enough to find a job he could tolerate.
Hoisting himself over the windowsill, he decided on the latter. But first, he had to go check on something.
Chapter 6Fourteen
His equipment bag was a mess. He always made a point of checking all his equipment after a mission, so it didn’t take long for him to discover Cym had systematically vanquished any semblance of order he once had. Everything was going to have to come out so he could fix it.
He appreciated that Cym had gone through all his options during the time Fourteen had been compromised, but it was his equipment bag. As far as he was concerned, the guy might as well have rifled through his underwear while Fourteen was still in them. He was going to have to talk to Cym about it.
Though the underwear idea had him pausing for a moment. As long as consent was involved, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…
Nope, he wasn’t going there right now. Fourteen was so exhausted he was about to drop.
After their talk, Fourteen was going to sleep. Steve and Frank had been adamant that he stay awake and stand guard while they slept, so he had been awake for over forty-eight hours by the time he met Cym. Then, of course, Fourteen had been too wired to sleep after being confronted with the mystery he’d been presented with.
Fourteen hadn’t been thinking clearly then; he could see that now. The first few times Cym had touched him had been a blur. He had known something important was happening, but he couldn’t have said what it was. It wasn’t until the battle at the cemetery that he’d understood what was happening. The unexpected and prolonged contact with Cym had done something to the blocks The Company had put on Fourteen’s mind.
Instead of the prison they once were, they were crumbling, brittle things now, with gaping holes that allowed him access to things and people long forgotten. While Cym was fighting for their lives, Fourteen had been swamped with repressed memories filled with horrors no human should have to face.
He also remembered the faces of his parents. And equally as clear, he remembered the face of the man who had sentenced his father to death. It was a face he was well acquainted with. He—the Colonel—would be expecting to debrief Fourteen any minute now.
Fourteen’s fingers tightened painfully around the clip he’d been about to stow in his bag. Slowly and deliberately, he loosened his grip and placed it in a side pocket with the other clips. He couldn’t think about it right now. Any of it.
Inside his mind, there were thousands of memories battling for his attention, and he knew if he gave in to any of them, he would become useless. Memories and emotions were so far outside his wheelhouse that he wouldn’t know what to do with them. So he dug into his training and stilled his mind, forcing the memories behind those crumbling walls and back into the cold, frozen space his training had gifted him.
Fourteen shook his head ruefully. If he could call such a thing a gift. He could go a lifetime without receiving more gifts like that.
Once he was certain the walls would hold for the time being, he hunted down a pair of black leather gloves to cut down his chances of accidental exposure, because he had no idea what would happen if Cym touched him again. There was a tentative lid on his mind at the moment, but if they encountered more surprises like the one at the cemetery, Fourteen could become a liability. He couldn’t do that to Cym. Whether the guy knew it or not, Fourteen owed him.
With that in mind, he threw some tear gas into his bag so he could show Cym how to use it in case Fourteen became compromised again.
Now that his bag was repacked to his satisfaction, he paused, reaching into his pocket to finger the flash drive he’d retrieved from Steve’s jacket. It was Fourteen’s operating system. He had been programmed to recover it if he lost his handler and report immediately to The Company.
Was Cym’s effect on him responsible for his ability to resist succumbing to the compulsion?
Fourteen frowned. He had chosen to ignore orders and follow Cym before they had touched. Was it possible he was capable of resisting his conditioning without help? When Fourteen got a chance, he would have to explore the thought further, but, for now, he would put it in the cold with all of his other confusing thoughts and emotions.
His phone chimed, letting him know that a window had opened downstairs.
