The Scarlet Dagger (The Red Sector Chronicles, #1)

Chapter 7

Every head in the room swiveled toward us. Time froze as at least one hundred pairs of eyes locked on my wrist, absorbing what the tattoo meant.

Off in the corner, someone shrieked, and the room erupted into chaos.

People were screaming and tripping over themselves as they scrambled to get out the door. It wasn't long before a siren went off, wailing through the air much like a fire alarm. Dezyre had vanished, dropping my wrist the moment the crowd began to panic.

"Bitch," I growled under my breath, scrambling to my feet. I looked around, debating on the best move.

Great. How on earth am I going to get out of this mess?

Some civilian girls were so wild with fear that they nearly knocked me over in their frenzy to get out the door. I searched the faces flying by me, hoping to see Aden or Rook, but recognized no one. Something slammed into my back, and I cried out as I was tackled to the ground. I caught myself right before I fell, but my face slammed into the tile anyway when two soldiers yanked my arms behind my back and cuffed them. Immediately, my wrists began to burn, like the cuffs had lain over fire. Excruciating pain spread through my arms, shooting arrows of white hot lightning straight to my heart. I screamed, trying to wriggle free, but the soldiers hauled me to my feet. "Scarlet Steel," one hissed into my ear. "Doesn't feel very good, does it, hunter?"

Part of me was still in shock; they had already dragged me out of the mess hall and across most of the main lobby before I could collect my thoughts. "Where are we going?" I demanded through gritted teeth, but neither responded. My question only made them quicken their already blistering pace.

Cacophony filled the air: the terrified screams of the crowd mingled with the sirens. In a way, it surprised me how out-of-control the civilians were. I supposed I expected them to be calmer somehow, seeing as they lived on a military base. Back home, my mother had a detailed plan for everything, which was to be followed in strict accordance. Anyone who acted out of line during an evacuation, as in "going completely crazy," would have been shot by the Scarlet Guard without warning. It gave scary new meaning to the whole "no tolerance" policy.

Through the noise, a gunshot rang out. The guards threw me to the ground as everyone ducked, covering their heads while more shots fired, chipping away at the walls.

"Hold your fire!" Aden screamed through the guards' headsets, and the gunfire died away. The soldiers jerked me to my feet, and we resumed our breakneck pace through the throng, pushing people aside if they didn't move quickly enough.

In no time, we had cleared the main area and entered an elevator. They shoved me inside, taking up positions alongside me, and we began to move, though I couldn't tell if it was up or down.

"Where are you taking me?" I snapped, but they refused to answer. The pain was so intense, it took every ounce of strength I had left to form a coherent sentence.

The door chimed a few seconds later, and we stepped into a more secluded part of the base. I say "secluded" because there was no one in sight, and the corridor looked akin to a dungeon, with stone walls and a chill in the air that suggested few visitors. About fifty feet ahead, there was a single black door with a name plate I couldn't read. The closer we drew upon the door, the more cameras I counted. Wherever we were going must have been either top secret or placed under additional security for a reason.

The diagram of the base – the one by the stairwell – came to mind. This has to be the top floor, the only part that wasn't labeled.

We paused while one of the guards punched in a security code. A door swung open, and they ushered me inside. I felt like I'd stepped back into the 1800's. Old Victorian furniture dotted the room, which had no windows. Rather, it was dimly lit by several gas lamps with stained glass shades. Red and gold striped wallpaper clung to the walls, and an old-fashioned record player – a phonograph, I think – sat in the corner, freshly polished as if it was still frequently used.