Strike by Delilah S. Dawson Read Free Book Online Page B

just let her leave? What if she takes this knowledge to Valor? It’s kind of scary to realize that I’d feel safer if I’d heard gunfire that signaled a problem put to rest. Ifshe’s not on our side after hearing Leon’s speech or doesn’t get that his offer isn’t really a choice, she’s definitely a threat.
    I chew my lip as people leave the tables and head out into the other hallway, Leon’s well-lit hallway, laughing easily. That hallway doesn’t lead to where our cars are. So where are they going? When Wyatt stands, I stand too. We’re about to find out.
    Wyatt leads, and I slip my hand into his. Something about his size is comforting, and even though I’ve killed more people than he has this week, his physicality is still a shield. We’re the last group to get to the table, and the small blond girl I noticed earlier trails us like a ghost. Her eyes seem dead, and something about her feels wrong to me, but everything is wrong now.
    Before we get to speak to anyone, they’ve handed each person a clipboard and a pen. The first line is ALIAS (NOT YOUR REAL NAME. WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW.) I have no idea what to put. I’ve always been Patsy. I skip it and start marking off the other answers—age, prior work experience, skills. I feel like I’m filling in a job application to be James Bond. What kind of weapons can I use? Am I a computer hacker? What languages do I speak? Have I been in the army or the Police Academy? Do I have martial arts training? What is my size and build, and do I have a face that blends in? Do I have rock-climbing experience or institutional-cooking knowledge? Do I do cardio? Ugh. My answers are bland and totally forgettable, right up until it asks me how many people I’ve killed. Then I really have to think back.
    Robert. Eloise. A rapist thug. Ashley. Dr. Belcher. Sharon. Three more rapist thugs, give or take. Alistair, kind of. That was more Wyatt. Amber. So . . . ten? Jesus.
    Chance grabs my clipboard while I’m trying not to cry. “Ten? Dang, Zooey. You’re a beast. I only have eight. But if Kevin dies, you get one more. Dial it up to eleven.” He writes something and hands it back. In the space for my name, it says ZOOEY GODDAMN KARDASHIAN . I scribble out the last two parts, then, after a moment of annoyance, the first part. In my own writing, I put in Zooey Hemsworth and hand the clipboard to the sweet-faced blond girl at the table. Any wrong name is as good as another, right?
    She scans it and turns the full force of her whitened teeth on me. “Hi, Zooey! How’d you find out about us?”
    I try to remember how to smile. “Oh. Um.” I look for Wyatt, for answers. But he’s busy answering his own questions. “I found a flyer.”
    â€œDid one of our members approach you, or did you see it on a wall downtown, or . . . ?” She blinks, so unnaturally perky, and I suddenly don’t want to tell her anything. She looks like she’s maybe in her twenties—like a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys.
    â€œI just saw it.”
    â€œThat’s great, Zooey. So did you like what you heard tonight? Leon’s pretty amazing, right?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œAnd it looks like you brought friends, so that’s great.”
    â€œUh-huh.” I look away to see how Wyatt is doing. It’s starting to feel like a cult. “So what’s through that other door?”
    She smiles, blinks, blinks again. Her face changes completely, and suddenly she’s all business. “Show me your gun.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œYou said you killed ten people, and that means you got tapped by Valor or Second Union, and that means you have a gun. Probably around front, in case things got dicey tonight. You can pull it out, nice and slow, and put it on this table, or I can have Tuck and Hartness frisk you.” Two big guys materialize out of