Zero's Return by Sara King Read Free Book Online Page B

anguish.  It had been one of the few things he’d hoped for, one
of the few things he’d allowed himself to look forward to in the damned
prophecy that had come to rule his life.  Those five simple words.  You will
have a soulmate.
    He’d ushered in
a new Age.  He’d had a Jreet rip out his still-beating heart.  He’d befriended
an assassin.  He’d even shown mercy to a Geuji.
    And he was still
alone, twenty turns later.  He hadn’t seen any dragons or any innocents. 
Though he was well on his way to dying in shame, he was pretty sure that wasn’t
what the patch-wearing, two-faced bitch was talking about.
    And while you
shall die in a cave, shamed and surrounded by dragon-slaying innocents, your
deeds will crush the unbreakable, and your name will never be forgotten.
    Congress.  She,
the Trith, the Huouyt—they all wanted him to crush Congress.
    It gave Joe a
little bit of comfort that he could screw up the entire pretty picture they all
had painted for him just by pulling Jane out of hiding and pulling the
trigger.  The satisfaction, however, was short-lived.  Because he was still
alone.
    Joe took another
shallow breath and wondered what it would be like to be a Huouyt.  To be able
to shed his face and live someone else’s life.  To become a different person.
    That’s what he
wanted.  To be a different person.  He hated the monster that Zero had become. 
He hated the constant flash of the cameras.  He hated the fake smiles and
starry-eyed awe.  He hated the power-struggles, the vying for his favor.  He
hated the posters, the motivational vids, the documentaries with his name
splayed across the front cover in bold letters.  He hated the random gifts, the
desperate attempts at seduction, the awed stares.  Lying there, staring at the
ceiling, an unregistered plasma pistol within arm’s reach, Joe would have given
anything to be a Huouyt.  To be able to take on a different face for a week. 
Or a lifetime.
    Reluctantly, he
pulled himself out of bed.  He stared at the floor between his bare feet for
several minutes, just breathing in the smell of his own stink.  He hadn’t
rinsed his mouth after vomiting last night.  His clothes were the same ones
he’d worn the last six days.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.
    Like any
woman in her right mind would want me now , he thought, miserable.  You
probably scared her off already, you greasy-skinned furg.
    But that was the
problem.  It didn’t matter what Joe did—the Congies loved him.  If he wore his
shirt untucked, the next week, it became the latest fad.  If he stopped rolling
his sleeves, the whole Human Ground Force stopped rolling theirs.  He’d become a
mascot.  A figurehead.  A shiny, gilded god that they could prop up in front of
everyone and make smile for the camera.  He could have literally any Congie
woman he wanted—Human or not—just by twitching a brow of interest.
    Joe dropped his
head into his hands and stared at the floor.  Beside him on the dresser, the
alarm went off.  He ignored it, studying the dirt and old clothes scattered
over his mats.  He had more than enough money to hire someone to take care of
it, but he didn’t bother with a maid anymore because the last one had hidden a
camera in his bathroom to get pictures of him showering to sell on the net.
    Alone.  He was
totally goddamn alone.
    Joe twisted to
turn off the alarm.  Jane called to him again at the motion; a sweet, seductive
melody in the back of his mind, begging him to twist a little further, to pick
her up, to caress her deadly body…
    Joe got out of
bed and stumbled over to the bathroom entrance, catching himself on the wall. 
He took a deep breath, let it out in a shudder, then, fully intending to
straighten and walk into the shower, Joe lowered his forehead to the doorframe
and cried.
    Alone.  His
every move studied, watched, and analyzed.  Never had he been known by so many
people, his face on every billboard, his