Free Red Handed by Gena Showalter Page B

fell over my face. I blew them back.
    With a quick jerk, my hands were free, and I was able to reach up and scrub. The action hurt. My shoulders screamed in protest, and my hands trembled wildly.
    I didn’t show a single ounce of my pain, though. I wouldn’t let these people see any hint of weakness after they’d stripped my past bare and made it fodder for everyone in the room. Only one person here seemed to want me. The only other time I’d felt this low was when I sobered and recalled the way I’d treated my mom that day at school.
    What I hated most, however, was that they were right. I could start using again at any moment. I always had in the past. I liked to think I’d resist no matter what, but…
    Finally my vision cleared. I was unable to control my reaction as everyone came into focus. I gasped, shock pounding through me.
    I was in the center of an all-white cell. There were no exits. Lights hung from the ceiling, glowing, illuminating. A table circled me, pinning me in except for a small gap by the door. At each section of the table was a human. And there were fifteen of them.
    Roses stood beside me. Ryan, who looked as sexy as I remembered, was watching me with grim determination and…admiration? His dark hair was rumpled, and his bright blue eyes were fringed by feathered black lashes.
    My stomach tightened at the sight of him.
    Allison, who looked prettier than ever, was seated next to him. She was frowning at me. Beside her was an older man with thick silver hair and lightly tanned (and slightly wrinkled) skin. He wore a pair of black glasses over his eyes.
    On his other side was Sweet Voice. She, too, looked upset.
    There were several people I didn’t recognize. A woman with long black hair and blue eyes that were so clear they were almost purple. She was beautiful, like a ballerina. Delicate. A woman with brown hair, hazel eyes, and physically perfect features was next to her.
    I’d never seen such loveliness in real life.
    The rest of the audience was comprised of men. All tall, all muscled, all fierce. All savagely handsome. It was as if everyone in the cell had come to life from a holophoto. And each and every one of them was now studying me as if they wanted to eat me for lunch and spit out my bones.
    One by one, they said, “Welcome.” Only a few sounded happy.
    Sunglasses splayed his arms and smiled. “They’ve all welcomed you to A.I.R. training camp, but allow me to do so, as well. Welcome to your new home, Phoenix. For the moment, anyway.”

6
    I wasn’t given time to react or learn the names of my interrogators. Immediately after issuing that eerie “welcome”—that wasn’t really a welcome with the “for the moment, anyway” attached—Sunglasses motioned for Roses to usher me into another all-white cell, this one empty, devoid of even the circular table.
    Roses did as he’d been commanded, the wall splitting open and leading into a hallway that lead into another cell. He deposited me there, leaving me alone and locking me inside without a word.
    I stood there, shock pounding through me. How had this happened?
    I’d just been recruited for A.I.R. Alien Investigation and Removal. Me. Phoenix Germaine. A troublemaker, a former drug addict, and a girl who was unwanted by her own parents. An agent.
    Me , I thought again. It was…it was…I didn’t know what it was.
    A.I.R. agents were the elite, the very best. They were tough and respected, immortalized in movies. And they wanted me to fight otherworldly crime, racing through the night and dodging laser beams and pyre-fire?
    A little dizzy, I leaned against the padded wall—padded for the crazies?—and slid to the floor. I anchored my head in my upraised hands. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. My mind frazzled with lightning speed, a whorl of thoughts and confusion.
    Did I really want this for myself?
    I was only seventeen. I hadn’t