Phoenix13: Redemption (Phoenix13 Book 2)

Part #12: The Thirteenth Hour: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"There's no way, Jason. That goddamn hunk of metal barely made it over the pass." Bree stood beside Jason as he ran his fingers over the sleek, curving silver hood of his new Viper 3000 sports car. Bree looked on, her face drawn into an expression of mild disbelief. "I mean, c'mon. Look at it. It's meant for city streets. Not half-eroded pre-War country roads."

Jason straightened up. Brushing his hands off on his jeans, he opened the driver's door—it opened upward, sticking up and out like a swift's wing--and slid in behind the wheel. "She's fine," he said, slamming the door behind him. He leaned across the middle console. Rolling down the window on the passenger's side, he gestured for her to join him. "C'mon, get in. Don't be a bitch."

"Oh no you didn't." Bree wrenched open the door. She slid in before Jason could retreat back into his own space. Putting him in a headlock, the warrior girl lowered her lips close to his ear. Her voice was a dangerous growl. "You wanna take that back, Captain?"

Jason saw stars. Her wrist pressed hard against his trachea. He choked, gasping for air. "No fuckin' way." He managed a cocky grin. His eyes began to water. "You'll have to kill me first."

Bree released him with a dramatic sigh. Rolling her eyes, she said, "You'd rather choke to death then apologize? Sounds like a bitch move to me."

Jason chuckled, rubbing his throat. "Ah, shuddup, Redd. You know, I could accuse you of High Treason for that. Any attempt on the king's life is seriously uncool. And I'm technically Nathandria's king."

"Only technically." She tipped her head. The teasing light in her eyes lessened. "You should really make it official, you know. When we get back, that should be the first thing you do. Otherwise, if you die—and I'm sorry for having to say this, but given your flawed sense of personal responsibility and track record of reckless incompetence, that's a serious possibility—Rosetta takes the throne. And I mean, I know you love Rosetta like a sister, but I'll be damned if she's not just a little power-crazed. She just wouldn't make a good queen for Nathandria. You can't deny that."

Jason sank against his seat. The momentary lightness he'd felt a moment before melted. It felt as if the weight of the universe had just been unceremoniously dumped into his lap.

"Oh look." Bree sat up straighter, pointing out the window. Her voice lifted. The atmosphere in the car lightened noticeably. "Sterling and Morgan are coming. About time."

"Yeah, that was a long-ass bathroom break," Jason said. He turned around, facing the back seats as Sterling and Morgan slid into them. "Hey guys." He smirked at them. "How was it? I've heard park bathrooms are super shitty these days. Not enough maintenance. Let me guess: the toilets were overflowing, right?"

Morgan leaned forward. Seizing the Outlaw Prince by the throat, she pulled him in for a violent kiss. "Stop spewing shit, McKinley," she whispered, pulling back, "before I start confusing your mouth with your ass."

Behind Morgan, Jason caught a glimpse of Sterling's expression. Nathandria's famous tracker was scowling openly at Morgan, his silver eyes narrowed to slits. "Why is she even here?" he complained. "There's no point in having her along. I'm a much better tracker than she'll ever be. You don't need both of us. And as I'm obviously the superior tracker, I would strongly suggest..."

"She helped us get this car without showing any IDs or permits." Jason cut Sterling off. He settled back into his seat. Placed his hands on the steering wheel. "And she knows this part of the nation better than you do. She's staying. I don't wanna hear anything else about it."

"Can we please just get on the fucking road?" Bree's voice was dangerously calm.

"Yeah." Jason turned over the engine. Throwing the car into gear, he peeled out onto the rough, uneven road through the arid Channeled Scablands of mid-southern Nathandria. The Viper 3000 purred under his hands, vibrating as it flew over potholes and wide cracks in the crumbling asphalt.