Page 101 of Seasons of War
833 P.C. [Post-Collapse]
Fire danced along the divider and lit the room in a subdued glow. Zayne leaned against the brass bar and looked at the bartender. “Water is fine.”
“I'll take a double of whatever costs the most,” Brock said. “Put it on Captain Garrison's tab.”
“We're working,” Zayne said. “Don't get drunk.”
“I know how to work. Don't lecture me.”
“Sure.” Zayne accepted his water when the phone behind the bar rang.
The bartender answered, speaking for only a moment before extending it to Zayne. “For you.”
“Sergeant Riven,” he said into the phone.
“Hold for the High General,” said the voice of one of his father's executive assistants.
Kira better not have gotten herself into troublewhile he was away.
Though Zayne expected her to find a way to fight back, especially considering her abilities with PXI and tech—and that he left the electronics in the house—he really needed no one to find out.
Relinquishing control to Kira without warning her about the dangers to look out for churned Zayne's insides in a maelstrom. As a civilian and without his inside information, Kira lacked key understandings of security at his parents' house and in the capital. However, he never interfered in Kira's work before. He trusted her abilities. Captivity as the Phaedra's most valuable prisoner was like nothing she'd ever encountered, though.
So, Zayne also needed to trust his mother to safeguard Kira and remember the warnings he gave her. While Kira may think she did her work alone—if she did attempt anything—his mom was there to look after her.
“Christopher failed,” his father said without a greeting. “The United intercepted his contact with Becka Rogers.”
The relief made it incredibly challenging to force himself to look disappointed by the news. Zayne carefully guarded his expression in front of the bartender, a loyalist who worked for the Phaedra.
“This is why we should've kept it in the family,” he said. Between Reinard and Ashantae, they placed multiple redundancies to ensure that United intercepted the communication with Becka. If the Phaedra established a way to receive information from her, then untold numbers of Followers died with no hope of saving them. Now that the United knew the Phaedra held Kira hostage, they'd imprison Becka Rogers so no one could reach her.
“Agreed,” his father said. “The Phaedra trusted the boy. Now you'll clean up his mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Becka Stiles is already on lockdown. We need a way to communicate. Use all our resources in Caspador and tell that captain not to fail again.”
“My pleasure.” Truly, it was. He hated Christopher Garrison and took great joy in sabotaging such a vile motherfucker.
After hanging up, Zayne leaned over to Brock. “It seems Christopher blew his most important job.”
His friend downed his shot, cutting a look to Zayne. Their first victory with Kira.
Now, to help her escape before the Phaedra found a back-channel to Becka. While Zayne bought himself time, the Phaedra wasn't patient. He'd assign Luketo the mission if it took too long, and his brother was never easily fooled. Say what he wanted about Luke, he was one of the best at what he did.
The clicking of heels tapped out a sauntering drawl behind him. A waft of citrus followed a woman who squeezed between Brock and Zayne, brushing against them on her way to lean on the bar.
“My usual, please.” Dark lips flashed in a smile that melted the bartender, who looked like he nodded with his entire body.
“Coming right up, miss.”
“Thank you.” Another moment of eye contact, just enough to surely make him hers forever, and she turned to rest her back against the bar, arms anchored on either side of her. Arching her back, she opened her posture to them, obviously inviting any amount of attention they wanted to give.
“Gentlemen,” she said with a meandering look down at Zayne and then Brock.
Not happening, ever.
Zayne recognized an attack when he saw one. This woman looked like she'd been plucked from the movies the Phaedra spent so much money on, with eyes as dark as night and endless curls framing her shapely face. Her sapphire dress clung tight as skin to every contour of her willowy form. She wanted to distract them. Manipulate them. And she didn't hide it.
