Being Emerald. Sylvia Ryan

      Rock knew that sound. Knew it wasn’t good. “What?”

      “He’s putting you in a position to have to protect another woman. He has to know it would crush you if you failed.”

      “You think Morgan’s going to try to kill her?”

      “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d be completely absolved of any wrongdoing if the mission just never returned. Plus, I think having the people’s focus on the freedoms this country was built on is the exact opposite of what he wants. You have to wonder why he’d bring so much attention to the retrieval of documents that will so blatantly undermine his rule in New Atlanta.”

      Rock hadn’t considered that. “You think he’s counting on us not to come back?”

      “Well, in your case, isn’t he always?”

      He weighed his father’s words. “Maybe this time he’ll plant someone to make sure of it.”

      Normally, being killed outside of New Atlanta wasn’t a worry because he trusted his team, but his usual team wouldn’t be with him this time. “Shit.”

      “Some people think this Washington trip is a suicide mission.”

      “Every mission is a suicide mission, but I get what you’re saying. I have to find out more about the program and the woman running it before I get a good sense of what fucked up scenario he’s throwing me into. Whatever it is, I’ll handle it.”

      “I don’t doubt it, son.”

      “I’m getting tired of this bullshit. I’m done, Dad. I can’t anymore.” Months ago, his plan to leave New Atlanta permanently had come to him like a lightning bolt of divine inspiration. The Onyx Zone recovery missions had given him a sense of freedom that, over time, had grown to an almost uncontainable need. He was more alive in the dilapidated and overgrown places he’d traveled than he ever was in New Atlanta. Often, he walked off by himself and enjoyed the absence of restrictions, and the relative safety of being away from the Gov’s eyes and long-armed reach. Ironic. When he’d first started working in Onyx, Rock had hoped to die in there. His general aversion to being alive had diminished over the last year, but not his aversion to life inside Emerald Zone walls.

      “All right, son. I suppose I knew it was coming.”

      Rock ran his fingers through his hair again and stopped the motion, gripping a fistful of it on top of his head. “You need to visit with Xander.” His mention of the Amber Resistance leader’s name caused several seconds of dead air. His father didn’t know it yet, but Xander held a letter for him. It outlined the plan. They would meet at the drop house and disappear together.

      “All right.”

      “I’ll talk to you soon.” He disconnected the call. The man was his lifeline. He’d been waiting for the right way to break the news he was leaving. Now that the tunnel from Amber to outside the walls was completed, his father could leave with him. They would be together under one roof again soon. Most days, that knowledge was the only thing that kept him going and kept him sane.

      It had been almost a year since he lost the woman he loved and the companionship of his father, friends—every important relationship in his life. A year since the devastating removal of the physical touch he needed. For twenty-seven years he’d been wrapped in the soft comfort of another’s bare skin brushing his countless times a day.

      Then it was gone. He’d never get used to the deprivation of it, the hollow feeling in his belly that seemed like a permanent part of him now.

      He was dead inside. He still drew breath. He still had thoughts, though he tried as hard as he could to eradicate those causing him to feel anything, but he wasn’t the same man who’d lived and loved in the Amber Zone. He’d constructed layers of protection around himself. That shell, like the bark of a tree, shielded the ever-hemorrhaging wound with a rough, dark barrier. He rarely allowed himself to acknowledge his raging anger and desperate need for human contact. If he allowed himself to feel all the emotions that crowded him every day, he’d have probably killed himself, or somebody else, by now. Every waking minute held potential for Rock to totally lose it, to explode in a dangerous fit of pent-up fury. He was like a diamond created under immense pressure, becoming something hard and cold.

      This next mission would be his last. He was going to walk away. He couldn’t wait.

      Chapter 2

      Laila Lewis stood in the hallway, just outside the door of the conference room. This initial briefing marked the beginning of the final two months of training and preparation before the mission. The Fine Arts and Artifacts Recovery Program was her baby. The trip to DC was the culmination of thousands of hours of specialized education, apprenticeships and the ultimate goal of her life’s work.

      For years, the anticipation had been practically overwhelming. But today, facing the sea of Black Guard uniforms, her excitement was muted by fear. She had no interest in engaging in polite conversation with any of the people here. Rock was the exception. No uniform, but still in black. He was a goliath, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Two hundred pounds of badass, standing there with bulging arms crossed over his chest. Armed men in camouflage stood at attention against the white walls, no expression, no movement, like pieces of furniture. Nobody sat at the massive conference table yet.

      A high-level crowd attended, and her heartbeat jumped when she spotted General Morgan. His scar bit into his upper lip, making him appear as if he sneered whenever he spoke. “Fucking hell,” she said under her breath. She had a difficult time staying in the same room with the man for too long. His evil overwhelmed her.

      Laila took a deep breath and locked her defenses into place. She strode into the room and sat in one of the rolling, black leather chairs surrounding the dark-wood conference table.

      Someone called for everyone to take their seats.

      She was not the only woman present. Sydney Parr, an Amazon—tall, leggy and muscular—would be riding in the other truck with Garret during the mission. She was a legend in her own right because of her rank and reputation in one of the Onyx Zone Recovery Teams. Recently, she’d received the distinction of being the first woman accepted into Morgan’s National Guard.

      She sat across the table from Laila, next to Rock. She was close to him. Laila scrutinized them, the distance between them, the general air of formality. They didn’t seem to have any kind of relationship. She was relieved. The first time she’d met Sydney, the woman had spared her a disinterested glance before returning to converse with someone else. She seemed like a bitch, and Laila had steered clear of her since.

      General Conrad Morgan rounded the table and sat on Laila’s right.

      She tensed, and her anxiety spiked.

      He nodded. “Miss Lewis.”

      She returned his nod with a well-practiced smile. “General.”

      They focused on Garret, National Guardsman, mission head, and navigator in charge of getting the four of them to Washington DC. He was tall, like Rock, but his coloring was Sapphire all the way, with sandy hair and green eyes. He had a clean-cut boy-next-door kind of look. He appeared to be the polar opposite of tall, dark and hostile directly across from her.

      While Garret ran down the list of significant dangers they would face during the trip, General Morgan slid his finger over Laila’s thigh. Her stomach twisted. She steeled her expression, hiding the cringe she so much wanted to be there, and shored up her barriers.

      Morgan’s energy, slimy and demented, slithered like a snake over her skin.

      Adrenaline raced through her veins. She moved only her eyes and looked at his profile. His good side. During meetings, he’d always seated her to his left so his disfigurement was hidden.

      Morgan glanced across the table.

      Rock’s singular gaze zeroed in on the spot Morgan touched her.

      Putting