by Wendi Wilson
“Will you persuade her?” I ask.
“If it comes to that,” Jett says, “but I don’t know if we’ll have to. She’s dedicated her life to helping people. She publicly renounces the pharmaceutical companies that offer drugs at exorbitant prices just to make money. Once her scientific creations are approved by the FDA, she offers them at low cost to clinics across the country.”
“Sounds like she likes to help people,” I muse.
Savanna nods. “She’s a philanthropist and a scientific genius. If we offer her a chance to experiment with my blood, to create something that will change the world for the better, she’ll jump on it. I know she will.”
I have doubts, but I don’t voice them. My experience with people in powerful positions has been mostly negative. People with power like to abuse it. The more they get, the more they want. My parents. Brother Earl. Other key members of the Purist church. President Worth.
Though the type of power they’ve had is different, they’re all the same. Power-hungry assholes who don’t care who they step on in their climb to the top.
I just hope Emily Sang is really who she seems to be, for all our sakes.
19
“I have to get to class,” I say, attempting to fend off Slade’s kisses.
“No, just stay in bed,” he says staring into my eyes as his body pins me down.
“Did you just try to persuade me?” I ask, my eyes narrowed with accusation.
He sighs and rolls off of me onto his back, throwing a bare arm across his eyes. “It was worth a shot,” he admits.
“Hmm,” I say rolling on top of him, my knees straddling his hips. “Good thing I’m unpersuadable.”
He uncovers his face, arching one brow at me in challenge. Placing his warm palms on my knees, he slowly smooths them up my thighs, his thumbs brushing the insides all the way up to the hem of my panties.
“You may be immune to Alt persuasion, but I think I could persuade you the old-fashioned way,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sexy.
He brushes his thumbs against the satin of my panties, teasing my sensitive spots. I somehow manage to stifle a moan, but my eyes drift shut and my hips buck against my will. At the sound of Slade’s chuckle, my eyes fly back open.
“Leave her alone, Slade,” Silas says, entering the room with one towel tied around his waist and another being rubbed against his wet hair.
I roll off of Slade and keep rolling until my feet land on the floor. He groans in disappointment, shooting his brother a glare. I saunter around the bed and sidle up to Silas, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Babe,” I say.
Slade groans again and I step up next to him, shaking my head. I point a finger at him and say, “You cheat.”
He rolls onto his side, the sheet draping low on his hips, barely covering the important bits. My eyes follow his blonde happy trail until it disappears beneath the cover. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, debating, then firmly shake my head.
“No. Nope. I have to go to class, and so do you. We skipped yesterday and we can’t fall too far behind, even if we are trying to save the world.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as my eyes rove across his bare chest. “But we will finish this later,” I add.
Arms wrap around my waist from behind, the bare, damp skin of Silas’s chest warming my back. His breath tickles my ear, sending waves of pleasure and excitement through me.
“Am I invited, too?” he whispers, his lip brushing against the shell of my ear.
I jump forward and spin, propping my hands on my hips. Silas chuckles and lifts the towel to his hair once more. The movement makes the muscles flex across his chest and abs, which makes saliva pool in my mouth.
“You’re just as bad as he is,” I say, pointing at Slade, who’s still stretched out in the bed.
I circle around Silas, careful to stay out of reaching distance, and head for the door so I can go shower. I pull it open and start to step through, then pause before turning back.
“But yes, you’re definitely invited,” I say, then sashay through the door without waiting for a response.
By the time I shower and dress, the guys are downstairs, ready to go. After a quick bite to eat, we gather our things and head out. They ride in my car with me, since we had to return their mother’s van when we got back to town on Sunday night. Slade rides shotgun while Silas sits in the back.
After one…okay, several kisses goodbye, we split up, heading to separate buildings for our morning classes. I duck into the business building for my economics class, a stupid grin stretching my lips as I think about all things the boys promised to do to me when we get home this afternoon.
Without warning, I’m jerked to the side by a painful grip on my bicep. Before I can react, a rough hand wraps around my head and seals across my mouth. I try to pull away from the body behind me, but the fingers on my arm dig in deeper as a muffled whimper tries to escape my bruised lips. The door bangs closed behind us, the only light coming from a single bulb swinging overhead.
“Shut up and be still, you little bitch.”
My body freezes up, stiff as a board, as realization dawns on me. I know that voice.
“Brother Jimmy?” I say, but the syllables come out muddled behind the pressure of his hand.
“That’s right, Sister Lizzie.”
I can’t see his face, but I can hear the sneer in his voice when he says my name. I can feel the hatred rolling off of him in waves. The confined space of the storage closet he’s dragged me into quickly grows stifling with the heat of his rage-filled panting.
I shake my head, attempting to loosen the seal of his hand over my mouth, but he just presses harder, jerking my head back painfully in the process. I think I taste blood where my teeth are cutting into the inside of my lips.
“You don’t need to talk. You just listen. I want the blood you stole from the lab. All of it. Now.”
I shake my head again, but he doesn’t relent. His grip on my arms eases, but before I can appreciate the loss of that pain, his hand snakes around and grabs my right breast. I try to fight him, using my butt to try to buck him away from me, but he only tightens his grip on my breast to a painful degree.
“You like this, don’t you, slut? I know you’re having relations with both of those demons. Probably at the same time. I can show you what a real man feels like.”
He presses his pelvis into my ass, rubbing his erection against me. I shudder with revulsion as his fingers pinch my nipple through the material of my shirt and bra. His tongue leaves a wet trail from my jawline, to my ear, to my temple. I begin to struggle harder, screaming behind his hand, hoping some sound will travel through the door, out into the hall.
“I’ll show you real good,” he says, then abruptly releases his grip on my breast and puts an inch or two of space between our bodies. “But first, the Lord’s work must be done. We must finish immunizing our flock against the demonic powers of the Alts. Where is the blood?”
Tears I can’t hold back are dripping down my cheeks as he loosens the hand against my mouth a miniscule amount. I know he expects me to speak, to answer his question, but all that comes out is a keening wail. My whole body is shaking with revulsion. I feel dirty and nauseous and afraid and powerless.
Jimmy gives me a little shake. “Where is it?” he demands, his voice scratchy with anger.
“I-I-I d-don’t have it,” I stutter out.
“You’re lying,” he accuses. “You came to Savannah and that idiot Rosemary left you in the lab by yourself. After you left, the lockboxes were gone. Now, I’m going to ask you again. Where. Are. They?”
“We d-d-dumped it,” I say. “It’s gone.”
I try to draw on my inner strength, to forget how he violated me and just get through this conversation so I can escape. I need him to believe me. Maybe if he thinks the blood is gone, he’ll go back home and I’ll never have to see him again.
“You stupid whore!” he shouts, then looks over h
is shoulder toward the closed closet door, like he just remembered where we are.
He takes a deep breath, then another, and I can feel the tension ease out of him. His grip on me loosens slightly before he begins to speak again in a calm, conversational voice.
“It doesn’t matter, Sister Lizzie,” he says, as if we’re having polite conversation instead of him holding me hostage in a storage closet, his hand, once again, sealed tightly over my mouth. “You have access to the source. You, my dear, sweet Lizzie will replace everything you tossed out. Just ask your best friend, Savanna James. I’m sure she’ll help you out.”
“I won’t do it,” I say against his hand, feeling some of my strength coming back with a good dose of anger.
“You will,” he says, pinching my arm and twisting the flesh cruelly. “Or maybe I’ll pay a visit to your sweet little sister, Grace. I wonder if she’s as freaky in bed as you are.”
At the mention of my sister, I begin to fight, struggling against his hold on me. I force my mouth open, then chomp down, feeling the flesh of his fingers between my teeth. He howls and snatches his hand away, holding it against his chest.
I open my mouth to scream, but before any sound comes out, I see the flash of a fist. Pain explodes in my cheek and then I’m falling. Pain explodes in the back of my head as it bounces off the tile floor.
I try to sit up, but I can’t. I’m dizzy and, for some reason, the light from the swinging bulb is fading in and out.
“Get me that blood, Lizzie. Your sister’s safety and well-being depend upon it.”
I hear the words and see his boots move away just before the darkness drags me under.
20
“Miss? Miss? Are you okay?”
The words pull me out of a black void and I crack open my eyes, only to squeeze them closed again when the light intensifies the staccato rhythm of pain beating in my head. I groan as I push myself up to my hands and knees, swallowing against the bile making its way up my throat.
“Can I call someone? A friend? Family?” the voice says, and I lift my head to search for the source with squinted eyes.
An older man in a gray jumpsuit stands in the doorway, holding the handle of a mop. His dark skin is smooth except for the creases around his eyes and mouth. He kind of reminds me of my father. Maybe I should call my dad. I haven’t talked to him since…
I shake my head to clear the random, nonsensical thoughts, but the action makes the pain intensify to an almost unbearable degree. My stomach heaves, but I bite it back until the feeling passes.
“What…is…wrong with me?” I ask, like this random custodian has all the answers.
“Let’s get you up off the floor,” he says, reaching toward me.
As soon as his fingers graze my arm, I jerk away, twisting so that I fall on my butt. Pushing myself up on my hands and feet, I crab-walk backwards until my back is pressed firmly against the far wall. My vision is blurred by pain and fear, and I have no idea where I am or what’s going on.
“It’s okay,” the man says, holding his palms up, as if in surrender. “I’ll stay over here. I only want to help.”
I brush my hair behind my ear, flinching as my fingers brush the skin of my cheek. The custodian’s eyes widen as they land on that side of my face.
“Who did that to you? Should I go call the police?”
“Wh-what?” I stutter.
“Lizzie!”
Suddenly, Silas and Slade are pushing their way past the custodian to crowd into the small space in front of me. My eyes burn at the sight of them, tears spilling over and running down my cheeks, though I’m not sure why.
“Oh my God, Lizzie. What happened?” Silas asked, his gaze skimming over my face. “Who did this to you?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” the custodian says from behind them. “Did one of you boys hit her?”
Hit—what? What is he talking about? My guys would never hit me. Where the hell am I, anyway?
I can hear Slade’s voice, talking to the custodian, telling him to forget this all happened and go clean some toilets somewhere. I can hear the man’s footsteps fading away. I can hear Silas, calling my name and begging me to focus on him.
But I can’t. My vision is narrowing, everything becoming blurry as memories dance across my mind. Being pulled into the closet. Hands on me, hurting me. Jimmy O’Connor touching me in way I would never allow.
“Grace,” I mumble. “Protect…Grace…”
Then I’m swallowed by the dark oblivion once again.
Pain. A pounding in my brain beats in time with the beat of my heart. I groan as my eyes flutter open. A tiny crack of light seeping in along the lower edge of the blinds makes the pain in my head multiply, so I slam my lids back down.
I roll over onto my side, and the motion makes my stomach rebel. I bite back the nausea, remaining perfectly still until the feeling passes. I slit my eyes open a crack to check the clock on my night stand. Blinking a few times, I refocus on the red glowing numbers again and again, trying to make sense out of it.
It’s almost two o’clock, and I can tell by the light behind my window blinds that it’s afternoon, not the middle of the night. Why am I still in bed? What day is it?
And why does my face hurt so badly? I feel like I got hit by a bus.
“Lizzie?”
The whispered question comes from the general direction of the bedroom door and I try to shift to see who it is, but pain rockets through my head and all I can do is groan and close my eyes.
“She’s awake,” the voice calls out, then the sound of light footsteps comes closer. “Lizzie? It’s Silas. Can you hear me?”
“Si-las,” I croak out, the sound catching in my dry throat.
“Here,” he says, and I’m thankful for his gentle volume.
I open my eyes to see a blue plastic cup in front of my face with a bendy straw sticking out over the rim. I open my mouth and Silas pops the straw inside. I suck in the cool liquid and swallow in big gulps, moaning with satisfaction. I don’t know why I’m so thirsty, but that’s the best water I’ve ever had in my life.
“That’s enough,” Silas says, pulling the cup away. “The doctor said you’ll probably be nauseous and throwing up will only make the pain worse.”
“Doctor?” I ask, my voice still weak.
“Lizzie.”
Slade hurries into the room and comes to a stop beside the bed. His expression is equal parts relief and revulsion as he stares at my face.
“What?” I ask in my tiny, frail voice. “What happened to me? Why am I in bed and why am I in so much pain?”
“You have a concussion,” Slade answers. “When we found you, we took you straight to the hospital and persuaded the doctors to check you out. They gave you an MRI to diagnose the concussion, since you were unconscious.”
“A concussion?” I ask, but I’m really just thinking out loud. How the hell did I get a concussion?
“Do you remember what happened?” Silas asks, dropping to his knees beside the bed so he’s on my level.
“No, I don’t,” I say. “What happened?”
“We’re not really sure,” Slade says, dropping down beside his brother so I can see them both. “You drove us to school this morning and we split up to go to class. You didn’t meet up with us afterward like you usually do, so we went looking for you.”
When he doesn’t continue, Silas picks up the story, saying, “We found you in a storage room in the business building. Actually, a janitor found you first. We heard him asking someone what happened to them and if they were okay, so we ran in to make sure it wasn’t you.”
“But it was?” I ask, and they both nod.
What the hell was I doing in a closet? And how did I get hurt?
Sensing my unspoken questions, Silas says, “Someone hit you, Lizzie.” His voice cracks with emotion—fear and anger and pain and remorse—as he continues to speak. “We weren’t there and someone. Hit. You.”
Slade rubs a comforting hand
over his brother’s shoulder and says to me, “Apparently, you hit the back of your head pretty hard on the floor when you fell. That’s what caused the concussion.”
That explains the tympanic symphony beating across the back of my skull in time with my pulse. But, who would hit me in the first place? And why?
“You woke up for a minute,” Silas says, his voice back under control. “In the closet, you woke up and just before you passed back out you said a name.”
“Whose name did I say?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
“Grace,” Slade says. “You said something about Grace.”
“Grace?” I mumble, feeling an unexplainable panic race through me.
Why would I say her name? Surely, I didn’t think she was the one that hurt me. She’s my little sister, for God’s…sake…
Images rush through my mind, drowning me in their intensity. A painful grip. A demand for blood. A disgusting, lecherous fondling. A threat. An ultimatum.
I remember everything.
“It was Jimmy O’Connor,” I breathe. “He did this to me, and he threatened my little sister.”
I tell them everything. Every detail I can remember, even his violent sexual battery. I don’t hold anything back and by the end, I’m a snotty, slobbery mess and the boys both have silent tears tracking down their faces.
“I’m going to kill him,” Silas says, his voice certain with deadly promise.
“Not if I kill him first,” Slade says.
“Please,” I beg, “don’t leave. Stay with me.”
Some irrational, concussed portion of my brain thinks they meant they’re leaving right now to go kill Jimmy O’Connor. I can’t let them leave me. I need them.
“We’re not leaving you,” Slade says, climbing to his feet. “Can you move to the middle?”
I carefully roll back over onto my back and scoot to the center of the bed. Slade sits on the edge of the bed and stretches out next to me, his movements slow and measured as to not jostle me too much. Silas, rounds the mattress and lays down on my other side.
