Rising Storm: The Last Sanctuary: Book One Read online

  Everything appeared perfect—until she glanced down at the loading docks. The gangway was closed. Dozens of security bots patrolled several areas blocked off by old-school barbed wire fencing. Armed security dressed in black combat gear guarded a crackling plasma fence.

  Beyond the fence, a mob of people shook their fists and raised signs and holo projections that were too far away to read. Surveillance drones zoomed over their heads, a silent but menacing warning.

  When the transport had brought them to the terminal, several people had banged furiously on the vehicle’s windows, shouting curses before a dozen cop bots shooed them away with blaring cautions and tactical pepper spray. Willow had felt sick to her stomach.

  She understood their anger. She felt it herself. Food and jobs were scarce. The Second Great Depression had dragged on for over a decade. The Grand Voyager’s gaudy, grandiose extravagance was garish in the face of such hunger and hopelessness.

  This fourteen-day cruise promised an unforgettable trip, the extravagant fulfillment of every lavish desire and dream one could imagine. But only for the elites, only for those rich and powerful enough to thumb their noses at the suffering of everyone else.

  She didn’t belong on this ship. She belonged with the outraged mob below—exhausted and overworked just like her mom, consumed by worry and forever trapped in survival mode.

  For Willow, the Grand Voyager was a glimmering dream that would only slip through her fingers, a reminder of everything she didn’t have—and never would.

  3

  Gabriel

  Twenty-one-year-old Gabriel Ramos Rivera followed the hover cart loaded with the last of the suitcases. From the outside, he looked the part perfectly—a tall and handsome Puerto Rican with a charming smile. His white security uniform accentuated his broad, muscled shoulders. The elites saw what they wanted to see: a charismatic ship’s officer always ready to serve their every beck and call.

  They couldn’t see what lay within him—the burning anger barely contained, the explosive hatred just waiting to be unleashed. Gabriel clenched his jaw. Soon. Soon, the truth would be revealed to the whole world. Soon, this glass monstrosity would topple, this decadent symbol of greed and corruption brought to its knees.

  He took the cart from the laundry area below deck to the Oceanarium, which was still under construction; ladders, cans of paint, and tarps were strewn everywhere. The artist hired to paint the underwater seascape mural was ill, so the theater was dark, silent, and empty. The perfect location.

  Gabriel directed the hover cart down the middle row of stadium seating, the newly installed plush chairs still sheathed in plastic. He loaded the suitcases’ contents into unlabeled cardboard boxes and shoved them against the wall beneath a ladder. No one would think to check them.

  He closed the lid over the rows of gleaming assault rifles and pulse guns. After months of preparation and planning, everything was almost ready.

  Gabriel made his way through the narrow crew corridors and metal stairwells. Thick veins of exposed piping snaked along the ceilings, the lighting harsh and flickering. Traveling from below deck to the main passenger areas was like emerging from a cave into paradise. If only that paradise was the real thing, and not a glittering façade hiding the rot beneath.

  His mentor, Simeon Pagnini, waited for him at the entrance to the Coral Gardens on Deck Eight, located between the plasma art gallery and the designer boutiques featuring photo-luminescent and smartwear clothes. Four stories above them, shafts of sunlight streamed through the transparent roof.

  “Is it done?” In his late forties, Simeon gave off the air of a favorite uncle, with his soft cheeks, slightly receding chin, and amiable expression. It was easy to miss the dark gleam in his eyes, the sharp, thin-lipped smile.

  “The supplies are safely stowed.”

  “Excellent. And the room numbers I requested?”

  Gabriel pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Simeon. Paper never left a digital trail. “What else do you need me to do?”

  “Walk with me,” Simeon said, gesturing toward the garden. Subtly shaded topiary bushes were trimmed into the shapes of different coral, from purple fans to elkhorn to sponges. A path inlaid with shifting, shimmering mosaic tiles wound through the tall shrubbery.

  They strolled past men dressed in expensive chinos and button-down dress shirts and glamorous women, shimmering dresses swirling around their slim, tanned legs.

  “Well-dressed maggots, aren't they?” Simeon asked grimly.

  Something inside Gabriel shifted, a thrum of hatred beating in tandem with his pulse. “Their fancy clothes won’t save them. What else can I do?”

  “I’m pleased you’re so eager.”

  “Of course. I’ll do anything. You know that.” Gabriel had known Simeon for years. An old friend of his dad’s, Simeon had stepped in when his dad died six years ago. He took an interest in him, making sure Gabriel’s cold, indifferent aunt actually took care of him and his little brother, Micah. It was Simeon who paid for years of specialized tutoring and training, who taught him how to hack government servers, how to shoot and fight.

  “The security agent, Jericho, could be a problem,” Simeon said. “Shadow the target, figure out his schedule, find out when the bodyguard is otherwise engaged. We may need you for certain security surveillance tasks, in case we run into any issues.”

  “Consider it done.” They exited the Coral Gardens and walked past the Italian bistro. A metalhead bussed a newly vacated table, stacking plates left nearly half-full of real linguine carbonara and caramelized quail.

  Gabriel’s stomach twisted in revulsion. So much wasted food, each plate worth three hundred dollars or more. These rich bastards simply trashed anything they didn’t like. Or the gluttons ordered two or three meals at a time, only to eat a few morsels. The food on that table alone could feed a family for a week. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Give me another task. I can handle it.”

  “Let’s put those handsome features to good use,” Simeon said. “You might be able to get some valuable information out of the daughter.”

  Gabriel grimaced. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It may be beneficial.”

  Gabriel was used to groveling to the strutting elite, pandering to their every whim and desire, a forced smile always on his face. It was his job as a ship security officer. But the daughter of Declan Black? Black was a New York senator, owner of BioGen industries, and the chairman of the corrupt, powerful Unity Coalition. He epitomized ravenous corporate greed and government malfeasance. He was the man Gabriel was here to destroy. A hot spark of rage ignited inside him. “What for? What possible purpose could it serve?”

  “We don’t always see the entire board before we begin to play. The more pieces we have, the stronger our position. When our friends arrive, we want to be ready.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I don’t need to babysit some rich bitch. I’m here for the mission. To actually do something.”

  “I need you to trust me for just a while longer.” Simeon’s voice was firm and commanding. He expected obedience. “Do you trust me?”

  Simeon had never let Gabriel down, had never lied to him or disappointed him. Simeon was the one who gave him a purpose, who’d brought him into the cause. Gabriel trusted Simeon with his life. “Of course.”

  Simeon paused, turning to face Gabriel. He placed his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Remember why you’re here. Remember your reason.”

  Gabriel never forgot, not for one minute of one single day. His hatred was always with him, his anger a live wire, sparking and dangerous.

  “Do not let yourself become distracted,” Simeon warned. “A pretty façade is their weapon, their disguise. Remember who these people are. Remember what they've done.”

  Gabriel remembered.

  Soon, they would all pay.

  Outside on Deck Five’s jogging track, the sky was clear, the sea blue and rippling like silk.

  Th
is high, on a ship like this, on a bright, pure day like today—Gabriel could almost believe the world was beautiful and whole. Could almost believe the ugliness back home was just a bad dream, a nightmare he would wake from.

  Almost.

  A metalhead brushed past Gabriel. “Excuse me,” it said as it swept the jogging track. The service bot was eerily realistic, with poreless skin made of silicone, synthetic hair, and metallic ferrofluids that allowed its smooth, humanlike movements. Pretty soon, these metalheads would take over every ship position. They’d already stolen half the jobs in the states.

  Gabriel gritted his teeth and pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind. He only had to be patient a little longer. Soon.

  He waved at his younger brother, Micah, who was leaning against the glass railing, waiting for him. They walked the track at least twice a week. Most people ran on the virtual courses on Deck Seven, but they both liked reality over tech. And it was their time to check in and catch up. They saw each other most days in the crew lounge, but it wasn't the same.

  “I've been messaging you,” Micah said, adjusting his glasses.

  “Sorry. Too busy with Teresa Velasquez in the Oceanarium.” A girl was always an easy excuse, and one Micah never hesitated to believe.

  “Is there some magical aphrodisiac in that place that I don’t know about?”

  Gabriel grinned. “That’s a trade secret.”

  Micah rolled his eyes. He and Gabriel shared the same dark curly hair, full lips, and bronze skin, but where Gabriel was sharp and intense, Micah was soft and sensitive.

  Gabriel tilted his chin at the tattered paperback in Micah’s hand. He was the only person Gabriel knew who still read books you could hold in your hand. “What’re you reading this time?”

  “Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.”

  “You ever read anything fun and lighthearted?”

  Micah shrugged. “Hey, it could be worse. I also have Moby Dick.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Okay, you win. How's work?”

  “The same. Good.” Micah wasn't one to complain. He was good-natured and steady, the type to welcome the good and try not to think too hard about the bad.

  As they walked, a girl in a colorful sarong glided toward them, graceful as a swan, a small violin case dangling in her right hand. She was beautiful, with delicate features, milky-white skin, and long white-blonde hair swaying to her waist.

  Gabriel recognized her. Amelia Black. The Coalition chairman’s daughter.

  “I hope you’re having a wonderful day,” Gabriel said to her, pushing aside his loathing to flash his trademark grin with the dimple in his left cheek, the one the girls all seemed to adore. He'd never had a hard time getting girls. But he didn't care about any of that. He couldn't afford to.

  She paused, her expression coolly reserved beneath her blue-tinted sunglasses. “I am, thank you.”

  Before he could crack a joke or compliment her, she’d sidled elegantly past him and slipped away.

  Gabriel ran his hand over his scruffy facial hair as he watched her duck into one of the side doors. He fought down the resentment swelling inside him. She was a mission. If that was what Simeon wanted of him, he would put everything into it, whether he saw the purpose or not. He’d have to find a way to wedge his way in, and soon. “Be careful of beautiful things, brother. They're not what they seem.”

  “Is that why they’re helpless to resist you?”

  Gabriel’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Not all of them, unfortunately.”

  Micah laughed without a hint of resentment or jealousy. He was loyal to the core. An Indian couple strolled past, their boisterous twin girls scampering ahead of them. Gabriel gave them a nod and a wave.

  “Gabriel,” Micah said hesitantly, his voice growing serious. “This afternoon, I thought I saw—Is Simeon Pagnini a passenger?”

  Gabriel's shoulders tensed. He quickened his pace. “I told you he had connections in high places.”

  Micah hurried to catch up. “I know, but he never seemed the type to enjoy something like this, with people like this . . .”

  “You don't know anything about him.”

  His brother had never liked Simeon. Normally easy-going, Micah became incensed when Simeon invited only Gabriel into his exclusive New Patriots association two years ago. It was the only thing they’d ever fought about.

  It would’ve been better if Micah hadn't noticed Simeon at all. Nine months ago, when Simeon had helped push Micah's application through, Gabriel hadn't known Simeon's plans. He never would’ve allowed his brother on the ship.

  But it was too late now. Their plans were already in motion, only days from playing out. Only days from changing everything.

  “But—”

  Gabriel whirled on him. “There's nothing to talk about. He's on the ship. So what?”

  Micah stared at him, hurt and confusion in his eyes. They waited in silence as a middle-aged couple jogged by in matching black and lemon-yellow athletic wear.

  Gabriel rubbed his goatee and sighed. Micah didn’t understand what Gabriel needed to do. He’d always been more concerned with being good than doing what was necessary to right the wrongs of the world. It was better to keep him in the dark—for now. It was Gabriel’s job to keep his brother safe. It’s what he’d been doing since they were little kids. He pushed away his irritation. His brother was everything. “I'm sorry. I'm just stressed right now.”

  “No problem,” Micah said. Gabriel knew it was. Micah would forgive him anything.

  He made his voice light and teasing. “You always worry too much.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Micah’s brow still wrinkled slightly. But he would get over it soon enough.

  “Just us?” Just us. You and me. The phrase they'd used since they were kids, when they took turns keeping watch at their mom's hospital bed, making sure she was still breathing. And still later, when their grief-stricken, drug-addicted father wouldn't drag himself off the couch anymore, not to throw a ball around the backyard or to make breakfast before school. And still later, when it literally was just them.

  They had each other's backs.

  Micah smiled. “Always.”

  4

  Amelia

  For eighteen-year-old Amelia Black, the decadence of the Grand Voyager was nothing new. She was used to luxurious opulence. What never changed was the pressure, the expectation, the anxiety always snarled in the pit of her stomach. People only saw the beauty and the glamor, the illusion of a perfect life. They didn’t see the cracks—or what lay beneath them.

  Amelia stood next to her mother as she preened in front of the mirror of their executive suite, preparing for the evening’s dinner at the captain’s table. Behind them, her sixteen-year-old brother Silas sprawled sullenly on the ivory settee, his bare legs slung over the tufted arm.

  Her father, Declan Black, slid open the glass doors of the veranda and strode into the suite. She noted the furrow of his brows, the hunch in his shoulders. The conversation he'd just ended hadn't gone well. She tensed. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Just confirming the last few details of the Safe and Secure Act. Nothing to concern your pretty little head about.” Declan tapped off the platinum earpiece curved around his right ear and slipped it into the pocket of his tuxedo. Her father’s presence was regal and commanding, drawing all the energy in any room he entered. His dark brown hair and spade-shaped beard were threaded with silver, his magnetic, iron-hued eyes dark and brooding.

  Declan Black was the founder and CEO of BioGen Technologies as well as the chairman of the Unity Coalition, a conglomerate of powerful biotech, communications, and defense contract corporations that advised the government on all things related to the health, prosperity, and security of the nation.

  Declan’s gaze swept over his wife and daughter, his eyes narrowing as he appraised them, searching for imperfections. Her gut tightened as she smoothed her dress, the shimmering scales shifting with her every movement. She stood taller, forcing a
smile. It didn’t matter how perfect they looked. There was always something wrong.

  “Not the pearls.” Declan fingered the array of necklaces, earrings, and bracelets spread over the vanity. He pushed aside the vase of fresh orchids delivered by their personal butler that morning and picked up a white-gold necklace with a half-carat, benitoite gemstone haloed with diamonds. “Blue is her color.”

  Amelia stared at herself in the mirror as her father replaced the pearl necklace with the benitoite. He was right, as always. It glistened at her throat, bringing out the ice blue of her eyes.

  Declan turned to his wife. “Wear your hair down. That up-do ages you.”

  Her mother flinched. She was half-Portuguese, beautiful, and elegant, from her sculpted cheekbones and arched brows to her flawless posture. Obediently, she unpinned her mass of auburn curls. She always did what Declan wanted. They all did.

  Amelia glanced back at Silas. He stared at them impassively, his gaze flat, revealing nothing. When they were younger, he would stick his tongue out or make hideous faces when things got tense. Not anymore.

  A headache pulsed at the back of her skull. She'd endured these types of political dinners a hundred times, charming government officials, senators and representatives, judges and CEOs, a few times even Vice President Sloane. She’d never said no. She always did exactly what was expected of her, even when she hated it.

  She focused on the room behind her in the mirror. The Infinity Suite was the most extravagant stateroom on the ship, with state-of-the-art sleep pods, heated marble floors, and sleek floating furniture. But the thing she really loved was the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Ten feet tall and spanning the width of the suite, the expanse of glass made it seem like the ocean itself was at her fingertips. The sky outside was fading to indigo blue.