Read Online The Future Without Hope by Nazarea Andrews - Free Book Online Page B

boots of Kenny's personal guards. I
wonder, listening to him move closer, if he thinks they are like us. Like the
ones who followed Kelsey into hell and back out again, damaged because we came
out the other side without her to keep us whole.
    Even the
survivors died, in ways. None of us were the same, after.
    And isn't that
the fucking theme song for this world.
    Kenny and his
guards walk past me, into the room. I swallow the curse raging in me. I don’t
want to do this shit with his people in the room. I want it clean and quick—but
that’s why I’m here. Because Omar knew it wouldn’t be clean or quick.
    The Black Priest
had never been good at either. Messy was his specialty.
    I wait until I
can hear the voices from the other room settle into conversation, and then I
slip from the empty hall.
    This isn’t how I
would have chosen to do this. I’d have slipped into his room at night, opened
his throat and vanished.
    That would be easy and clean. And for a
moment, reaching for my knife, I hesitate. Because the whole setup rubs me
wrong. Killing is one thing, and necessary. Making Omar’s statements—that’s
another fucking thing entirely.
    But this is his
price, and I’ll swallow just about anything to find Nurrin. I pull my knife and
slink out of the shadows.
    There is a guard
at the door, his back to me as I slip it open. Omar’s eyes flick over to me and
then back to Kenny, his expression never changing. I slip in behind the guard,
and I feel him stiffen, a heartbeat before my hand clamps down on his mouth,
and I jerk him back, dragging my knife across his throat. The man makes a
startled, muffled noise, and Omar shifts, speaking over Kenny as blood sprays
in a wet arc. His body goes limp and I lower him slowly, keeping my hand tight
to his mouth as I do.
    I’m good at what
I do. The man’s eyes are already drifting closed as I lay him out. Without
looking away from the table, I stab him again, high in the thigh. The answering
spread of blood is deep and red—I hit the femoral artery I was aiming for.
    He’ll be dead
before his boss.
    I shift, coming
to my feet silently. There is still one guard, at Kenny’s back, and I prowl
forward, pulling my bow silently around. It will happen fast—so fast. And I’m
not stupid enough to think Kenny is unarmed.
    I crouch a few
feet behind them, and release a breath, focusing myself. And release the bolt.
The quarrel whistles through the air, and embeds in the guard’s skull. He’s
dead before he hits the table.
    “What the fuck!”
Kenny shouts, jerking away from the table and I pull her gun, rising smoothly.
My bow clatters against the ground, forgotten as I advance on the president.
    I’ll be executed
for this. Not even exiled—treason is still an offense punishable by death. An
assassination is about as treasonous as it gets.
    There is a smile
on my lips, a sick certainty that I’m signing my own death warrant as I lift
the gun and press it to Kenny’s temple.
    “Where the fuck is she?” I growl.
    I hate Kenny.
And he has always hated me. Because I was the one Kelsey chose, every time
there was a choice. Because I was the one in Columbus with her. Because when it
all ended, I was the one who grieved, and the one the world—what was left of
it—saw grieve.
    Kenny was
forgotten by me, and Kelsey, the world—his father. And he never forgave me for
it.
    “She’ll be dead
before you get to her, O’Malley. My people will have her killed before you
reach the fucking Walls.”
    I punch him, and
he stumbles into the table. I could shoot him. Put an end to all of this
shit—but hitting him feeds a visceral need in me. I grin, and Kenny growls, lunging
at me. I catch his weight and bring my elbow down into his kidney. For a
moment, he freezes, and I grab him by the hair, slamming his head down on the
table. I hear bone crunch, and Kenny shouts, a grabled noise as I pull back and
slam his head down again.
    Hands pull me
back, and I snarl at Omar. “What? You