by Wendi Wilson
Beckett, riding shotgun, turns back to give me a nod. “I know a good spot,” he says, then turns back and directs Jett where he wants him to go while looking at a map app on his phone.
“I don’t like it,” Silas murmurs. “I don’t like any of it.”
“I know,” I mumble back, keeping my voice as low as possible. “But we have to go through with it. We need to know what he wants and how far he’s willing to go to get it.”
Slade nods in agreement, but Silas just huffs out a breath. I squeeze his fingers, still tangled in mine, and he returns the gesture. Slade pulls his arm from behind me and takes my other hand, applying a comforting pressure.
Warmth fills me. These boys know just what I need and always strive to give it to me. I don’t know how I ever got so lucky, and I hope I never do anything to screw it up.
The restaurant is crowded, the dim lighting making it near impossible to make out individual faces in the sea of people. A barrage of heavenly scents fill my nose. Garlic and oregano being the most prevalent. My stomach grumbles in response.
A teen girl, even younger than me, approaches from my left, her face a mask of professionalism and competence. Her blonde hair is twisted up into a neat bun and she’s wearing a black pencil skirt paired with a white blouse.
“Lizzie Williams.”
It was not a question, but I nod anyway. She knows who I am. I wonder if she has a manila file filled with photos and personal information, like in the movies.
“Follow me, please,” she says, jerking me from my whimsical imaginings.
She turns and heads toward the back of the dining room, pushing through a swinging door with no windows. I follow closely behind her as a boy in a black suit catches the wood panel and holds it open for us.
I stare at him as we pass through, but he doesn’t make eye contact. He’s a baby. He can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Disgust and pity war in my chest, but I push both emotions back down.
I need to stay focused.
“Ms. Williams.”
My eyes chase toward the voice, and I see him, rising from his seat at a table in the center of the room. A quick glance around confirms he’s the only diner in the private room, alone save for the black-clad guards stationed around the perimeter and the young woman who led me here.
“Please, have a seat,” President Worth says, motioning toward the chair across from him. “I assume you’ve met my assistant, Sarah?”
His eyes move to the young woman, and I look over at her. She holds out a hand, and I grasp it, giving it a firm shake before I slip into my seat. I realize I’ve seen Sarah before, in the president’s office when we stormed the White House to save my sister. Neither of them remember that encounter, thanks to Savanna’s persuasion, so I keep my lips sealed and pretend it’s the first time I’ve seen either of them.
He nods in her direction and she says my name. I look over at her and her gaze snags mine. She speaks clearly, her words laced with authority.
“Pick up the knife and stab your thigh.”
I just stare at her, incredulous.
A loud clap startles me, my ass coming off the chair as I jump and look at President Worth. He chuckles, rubbing his hands together in a pleased fashion.
“Please, order anything you’d like,” the president says, his voice friendly as he changes the subject and hands me a large menu with one hand. He gestures to someone behind me with the other.
I glance over my shoulder and see a waiter heading toward us. I clench my teeth as I turn back to my menu, staring at it without actually seeing any of the words. Though I am hungry, I’m afraid whatever I eat is going to come right back up. I’m too nervous.
“Just water, please,” I croak out.
“You’re not hungry?”
Worth’s question sounds concerned, but when I meet his eyes, they shine with amusement. He’s enjoying my anxiety.
What a dick.
“Actually,” I say, straightening my spine, “I’ll have the lasagna with a side of garlic bread.”
My eyes narrow as I speak, and President Worth hoots out a laugh. “Feisty. I like it.”
His attention leaves me for a minute as he places his own complicated order. I watch Sarah make her way across with room, her black pumps clacking against the tile floor. I mentally check her off my list of possible allies. It’s obvious there’s some serious hero-worship going on there.
And she tried to make me stab myself with a steak knife.
“You two have a lot in common,” Worth says, pulling my attention back to him as our waiter leaves the dining room.
“We do?” I ask, honestly intrigued.
He looks over at Sarah, and my gaze follows his. Sarah slides into a chair at an empty table, seemingly oblivious to our conversation, though I know that’s not true. She’s an Alt and can hear every word we say. She pulls out her phone and starts tapping at the screen as President Worth starts to speak again.
“Her parents are devoted members of the Divine Church of Purity,” he announces.
I suck in a sharp breath, my gaze flitting back to her. A slight wrinkle in her forehead is the only indication that she heard him.
“They tried to control her, to pray the Alt out of her. When she fought back, they kicked her out on the street.” His voice deepens, imbued with emotion. “They turned their backs on their own daughter, a fifteen year old girl, because she has Alt DNA.”
I’m a little surprised. He’s gone to great lengths to disguise that fact that he’s using Alts, forming the youth outreach program and having his closest guards and assistants wear contacts to hide their silver-rimmed eyes. I assume he knows that I know, that Brother Earl told me about his use of Alts.
“My parents didn’t kick me out,” I say, looking back at his handsome visage.
“I’m aware,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You left, ran to Connecticut to be with your Alt friends. Were you trying to escape the clutches of Earl Patton?”
His question sounds almost comical, like he’s narrating a bad action movie. My only response is an arched brow as I maintain eyes contact. Our staring contest is broken as the waiter approaches, gingerly placing our drinks before us on the table.
He promises to bring our entrees soon and strides away. I take a sip of my water, feeling President Worth’s stare burning into me. I raise my eyes, meeting his gaze once more.
“He wanted to kill them. All of them,” I say, jerking my head toward Sarah and the guards against the wall.
“I know,” he says. “He tried to convince me to help him. To pass laws that would make the genocide legal. He was a madman.”
“I don’t disagree,” I say, taking another sip of water. “The question is, what do you want with me?”
“You don’t pull any punches. I like it,” he says, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I want you to join my team.”
“But I’m not an Alt,” I say, feigning surprise.
“You’re unpersuadable,” he says, his voice almost reverent. “If you’re with me, you can tell me if these Alts try to persuade me. You’re like the perfect insurance policy. You can keep them honest.”
My eyes flit to Sarah, catching the pain on her face before she smooths it out. She worships him and his lack of trust hurts her. I file that fact away for later.
“How do you know you can trust me?” I ask, looking back at him.
He opens his mouth to answer, but naps it shut as the door swings open and our waiter enters, followed by a burly guy with a large tray. Steam rises from the plates perched on it, the glorious scent of Italian seasonings making my mouth water.
I take a bite of my bread, the garlic butter flavor bursting on my tongue. President Worth takes a bite of his own food before nodding at the waiting server. Once confirming everything was to our liking, the waiter leaves us alone.
“I’d pay you handsomely, of course,” Worth says, picking up our conversation around a mouthful of shrimp and pasta.
; “I don’t want your money,” I say, my voice firm.
He sets down his fork with a frown. “Okay. That’s disappointing, but I understand.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised he gave up so easily.
“You have your life. School. Your friends. Your boyfriends,” he says, stressing the fact that he knows I’m dating the Madsen boys. “You want to keep your life at the status quo. I get that.”
“Thank you,” I say, not sure how else to respond.
“But,” he says, “I do need something from you.”
“What?” I ask, unable to keep the suspicion from my tone.
“I need the immunity serum Dr. Patton created.”
“I don’t have it,” I say, suddenly nervous.
His tone changes from understanding to menacing in a split second.
“I know you don’t, but you can get it. Before he died…”
He smirks, indicating that, at the very least, he’s happy Brother Earl was killed.
“Before he died,” he repeats before continuing, “Dr. Patton told me he made you his successor and gave you access to his lab. To the serum.”
“He lied to you,” I bluff. “He stripped me of that privilege,” I snarl, “after I betrayed him and warned my friends about his plans.”
He tilts his head back so he can look down his nose at me. Measuring me up as if he’s trying to determine whether or not I’m lying.
I’m not. Not exactly. I assume Brother Earl took away my access to his lab after my desertion. The only reasons my fingerprints would still work on those lockboxes is if he was too busy and forgot to wipe them, or he thought he could somehow reel me back into the fold. I snort quietly at the thought.
“I don’t think so,” President Worth says, taking a large bite of pasta and chewing it slowly before he continues. “He was begging for his freedom, his life, when he offered me that little tidbit of information about you. He had to know that, if it worked and I pardoned him, and he didn’t uphold his part of the bargain, I’d throw him right back into prison. Or worse.”
He says those last two words with a ghost of a smile. That slight upward turn of his lips sends a shiver of fear through me. He looks almost maniacal.
“Did you have him killed?”
I have no idea where I got the nerve to ask that question. I’m not sure if I really want to know, but I need to know. I need to know who, exactly, I’m dealing with. What kind of man he really is.
He drops his fork and presses a hand into his chest. “Of course not!” he exclaims a little too loudly. “I am the president of the United States, commander-in-chief, leader of the free world. I don’t have people killed like some common street thug.”
His insincere overacting tells me everything I need to know. The man is a murderer. I’m sure he didn’t give the order himself. He would have used one of his Alts to command it and wipe the memory of those involved so it could never be traced back to him.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says, pulling me back to the present. “I’m not an unreasonable man. I’ll give you some time to think about my job offer. You, and your gang of friends across the street—yes, I know they’re there,” he says at my sharp inhale, “can talk about it on your trip to Savannah.”
“Savannah?” I ask, confused.
“To get the serum,” he says.
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a palm to silence it before it starts.
“I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Ms. Williams. What will it hurt? I’ll give myself a dose so that I can’t be persuaded. There’s no harm in that, now is there?”
I hate to admit it, but he’s kind of right. If giving him a dose of Savanna’s blood will get him out of our lives, isn’t it worth it?
Then I think of his Alts persuading the reporters at the press conference, of Brother Earl telling me he does the same thing at meetings of Congress. I know he’ll do those things whether or not I help him become immune.
The few bites of lasagna I’ve eaten start to churn in my stomach. I need to get out of here, away from this vile man. I need to think.
“Okay, I’ll go get it,” I say, sliding my chair away from the table and standing.
He leaps to his feet, a smile lighting up his face. He holds out a hand for me to shake, and I take it, willing to do anything to get out of here faster. Even touch him.
“Good girl,” he says, reminding me of Brother Earl and how I used to bask in his praise when he’d say that to me.
I nod and yank my hand back, reflexively wiping it against my thigh. President Worth notices, his smile growing even bigger. He’s getting a kick out of my discomfort. As I turn to leave, he calls out to me.
“Lizzie?” he says, and I turn to face him, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.
“Yes?”
“Don’t take too long. I want the serum in my hands by the end of the weekend.”
I nod once, then hurry away. Through the swinging door and across the crowded main dining area, I’m nearly sprinting by the time I push through the exit. I burst out onto the sidewalk, taking in huge gulps of the brisk night air. I close my eyes and brace my hands on my knees, trying to get my breathing under control.
My name is shouted from across the street and before my next breath, I’m wrapped in a strong, warm embrace. I body pushes in behind me, sandwiching me in.
“Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
Silas and Slade fire off questions and, without giving me a chance to answer, they lead me down the block. I see the minivan pulled up along the curb, the sliding door standing open and Savanna’s blond head poking out.
I hurry my steps, and she barely has time to move aside before I’m practically diving inside, taking my seat in the middle of the back. Silas maneuver’s around my knees to sit on my left and Slade squeezes in on my right.
I wait until the van is moving down the street before I speak, breaking the expectant silence.
“We’re going home,” I say, my voice resigned. “We’re going back to Savannah.”
11
The plane dips, turbulence making my stomach jump into my chest as my hands grip those of my boyfriends on either side of me. Jett insisted on buying us plane tickets, rather than taking days to make the drive. It’s my first time on a plane, and I have to say, I don’t care for it much.
The others wanted to come, too, but I convinced them that it didn’t take seven people to retrieve a syringe of blood. Instead, they flew to Washington, D.C. to keep an eye on the Davilas as they settle into their new positions with the president’s security team.
The thought of Gabe and Rafe sends a shiver through me, and I’m suddenly glad the flight is rough so the boys won’t notice. Or if they do, they’ll chalk it up to nerves over the shaky ride.
I haven’t spoken to the Davila brothers since their proposition that I date them. I’ve tried not to think about them at all. But, if I’m being honest, they keep creeping into my thoughts, despite the seriousness of our mission.
“We could have avoided this whole trip. All we need is Savanna’s blood, right? We had the source right there with us.”
Slade’s words jerk me out of my own head, away from swirling images of being wrapped up in dark, tanned arms and running my fingers through black, silky hair. Guilt roils through me, making my body heat and my eyes burn.
“We already talked about this, Slade,” Silas says, leaning forward so he can whisper. “If, for some reason, the president will has the ‘serum,’” he says, using air quotes, “tested before he injects himself with it, he’s going to find out it’s actually blood. If his lab tells him the blood is fresh, he’ll know we got it straight from the source, rather than flying to Savannah to get the stash from Earl’s lab. He’ll be determined to figure out who it is.”
“And I’m sure he has someone watching me,” I say, “making sure I actually make the trip. There could be an Alt on this plane, so please, stop talking about it.”
<
br /> They both go quiet at my reprimand and I instantly feel bad about my harsh tone. I squeeze their hands in apology and they each return the gesture.
Of course, they forgive me. They would forgive me anything, do anything to make me happy. Does “anything” include adding two more boys into our relationship?
A jolt of red-hot guilt shoots through me once more, as it does every time Rafe and Gabe creep into my thoughts. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Lizzie,” Silas whispers, leaning in close, “what’s wrong? Are you feeling airsick?”
I shake my head and give him a twisted smile that has no hope of convincing him I’m okay. With a sigh, I lean in, bringing my face close to his.
“I’m not nauseous,” I assure him. “I’m just stressed out with everything that’s going on. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
He rubs his nose against mine before pecking my lips, then leans back in his seat. Slade tugs my hand and I turn my head to face him. He leans in close. So close, his lips brush lightly against mine as he speaks.
“My turn,” he whispers, then presses his mouth full against mine before pulling away.
I can’t suppress my smile. These two boys are everything I need. I love them and, though they haven’t said as much, I’m pretty sure they care deeply for me. I mean, they hopped on a plane with me to go steal my best friend’s blood from a dead preacher. If that’s not love, what is?
I resolve to close the door on my fantasies of the Davila brothers. Out of sight, out of mind. I’ll get what I came for and get out of this mess with the president, then I’ll deal with any unresolved feelings I may have for the baristas-turned-secret-service-agents.
Images of Rafe and Gabe in slim-fitting black suits with gel-styled hair flit across my mind’s eye and I push them away with a grunt. Gripping them hard, I pull first Silas’s and then Slade’s hand to my mouth and press a kiss against their skin before resting them in my lap.
We ride in silence as the plane starts to make its descent into Savannah.
“Do you want to try to see your sister while we’re here?”
