“Honey,” my mother bites her lip. “He’s right. It’s not a good idea. I don’t think I can let you accept that kind of gift. I don’t care how old or beat up it is.”
“And who’s going to pay for insurance?” Tad cocks his head. “It’s bad enough we need to fit Drake on our policy.”
“What?” I look over at Drake shoveling in his cereal.
“I found an old hatchback for like two thousand bucks,” he mumbles through a mouth full of food. “Plus, I already have my license, so it’s a no brainer.”
“So Drake can get a car, and you’re going to pay for the insurance, but I can’t?”
Tad shakes his head with exasperation. “Look, you don’t need a car. You don’t have anywhere to go that you can’t have that giant of a football player take you.”
“Oh, so now you want me to use Gage for a ride? He’s suddenly become economically convenient to you?” My blood races through my veins, amping me up to the point I could knock a wall out if I wanted.
“You’re always with him, anyway.” My mother stirs the leftover pancake batter trying to sound impartial.
“My situation is totally different,” Drake interjects. “I got a job doing paperwork for Brielle’s mom.”
I glare over at him. We both know damn well the only thing he’ll be doing is Brielle.
“I’m paying Mom and Dad back for the loan they gave me with interest,” he continues.
Mom? Since when did he start calling her Mom?
“You gave him two thousand dollars?” I place my hand over my mother’s in an effort to stop her frantic mixing.
“We’re lending,” she corrects.
“I’ll get a job and pay for my own insurance,” I offer. I can feel my heart drop when I say it. If Drake isn’t paying for his own insurance, it doesn’t seem fair that I have to. I don’t ever remember my mother treating me like a second-class citizen before Tad came along.
“If you can get a job and pay for your own insurance,” my mother starts off hesitantly, exchanging glances with Tad as if asking permission to continue. “I don’t really see the problem.”
“Still don’t like the idea,” Tad breathes. “The island is not that big—you can catch a ride with friends or Drake to get around. Besides, now that there’s some serial killer on the loose, I don’t know if I want you driving places alone.” Tad flexes the paper in front of him.
“Serial killer?” I can barely get the words out.
“They think there’s a link between that kid that died and that girl who was killed before we got here.” Tad casts a sharp look. “You two watch where you’re going. I don’t want to be the one to point out the obvious, but you’re right smack in this lunatic’s demographic.”
Drake’s face smoothes over with fear.
“I’d better keep Gage around just to be safe.” I give a sly smile in my mother’s direction.
And I’ll get that car and a job. I’ll gladly spend more time away from this place. I’m sure Logan will be more than happy to employ me.
“Guess we’re going to have to start locking our doors again.” Tad says before losing himself in an article.
I wonder what he would think if he knew the raging lunatic, so-called serial killer, were standing within five feet of him.
“It’s all going to be fine.” My mother wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know, Lizbeth.” Tad moves his gaze over to me and grips me in a fixed burning stare. “You never know who they’ll go after next.”
15
Get a Job
Marshall insists we begin our first tutoring session at four-thirty, right after I finish up with cheer. I know exactly what kind of tutoring goes on in his classroom at four-thirty, ever since I accidentally exposed myself to Michelle Miller’s boobs after walking in on one of his sessions.
I shake out my umbrella and leave it by the door. I find Marshall hunched at his desk, pouring over his laptop. The glow of the screen is the only light available, so I flick the switch and illuminate the classroom.
“Ms. Messenger.” He straightens. “You’re punctual—precisely the reason I think you’d make a great employee. Are you willing to reconsider the position?”
I look around suspiciously wondering why Marshall bothers to act so strange with no one around to entertain.
“I do need a job, but I’m gunning for something with a little less of you in it.” I head over and slide a chair up beside him. The ad for the equestrian school is displayed on his laptop, complete with the picture of me looking very, well, almost naked with the exception of angel wings while lying on a horse.
“I’m inviting the community over in a few weeks to celebrate the opening. Fifty pupils have already singed up.” He closes the lid to his laptop. “I stood outside the grocery store with flyers and shook the hand of every mother I could.”
“I bet you did.” I pull out my Algebra Two book. “My sisters are among the throngs. Don’t you dare touch them.” I’ll find a way to torment Marshall if he even so much as offers a wayward glance.
“I wouldn’t dream of such vile things. Besides, the equestrian school comes equipped with competent instructors, none of which include yours truly. I need a stream of real income—teaching provides just enough to keep me on a steady diet of cat food, and I prefer quality meals such as sushi.”
“Sushi is cat food, glorified as it may be.” I say flipping the pages of my textbook. God, I miss sushi. I haven’t had any since I moved from L.A. “You know, I just realized, I don’t know all that much about you.”
“That’s where the disconnect is. Tell you what, I’m going to introduce you to my world. Once you see how wonderful it is, it’s doubtful you’ll want to leave.”
“What’s doubtful is the fact I’ll be going with you. Besides, isn’t death some kind of prerequisite to getting in?” I close the book over my hand and lean into him. “Did you hear about the boy that was killed out by the falls?” I study the blank expression on his face. “It was me…I killed him,” my voice shakes when I say it, and suddenly I find myself fighting tears.
His features sharpen. “It was made known to me.” He gives a hard blink. “Skyla, it’s not your strength or your blood that will ultimately usher your downfall, it’s that pit in the center of your face you insist on vocalizing with.”
“Then I’ll keep it shut.” Obviously, I shouldn’t have said anything.
“You’re incapable.” He presses into me with a hard look. “It’s your mortal flaw.”
I open my mouth to say something, but can’t find the words. I’ve already told both Logan and Gage he’s a Sector. If Marshall finds out, he’ll hand me over to the Counts. I don’t like where this runaway train is headed.
He reaches over and touches my face gently with the back of his hand. That sweet rush I anticipate ripples through me—makes me ache to keep him there just a little bit longer.
I’m so much trouble in this world—maybe it’s not the one I really belong in. Maybe, before I kill another human being, I should weigh all my options.
“Does the thought of bringing back your father still intrigue you?”
“Always.” But not enough to eternally unite with a Sector.
“Look beyond your hormones, Skyla, before you rack up a body count. You will kill again, and the list grows rather rapidly. If you knew whose blood you were ultimately responsible for, I don’t think you’d sit here with that look of indecision on your face.” He pauses to clasp my other hand. “I could end this war for you. It’s better to decide now than wish you could take it all back once you’ve fed the grave. There will come a day that you’ll wish it were you supine in a casket rather than the ones you put there.” He studies my face with an underlying look of malice. “Especially, one in particular.”
***
After the faux tutoring session is over, I convince Gage to drive me to the bowling alley in hopes of seeking employment. Of course, he tries unsuccessfully to talk me out
of the idea.
We arrive just as a group of construction workers are taking off. Two of them leer at me openly. Maybe hanging out with a bunch of construction workers for a five-hour shift isn’t the greatest idea.
Logan’s kitchen remodel is well under way. The floors are done in chalky orange tiles, new stainless appliances are in place with the plastic wrap hanging partially off, and a giant brick oven looks ready to be filled with pizza.
“Nice!” I beam over at Logan. “Guess you’ll be needing an extra pair of hands.”
“You signing up?” He tilts his head thoughtfully, flirting with me ever so slightly with those sundrenched eyes.
I give a quick nod.
“You’re hired.” He lets out a smug grin of satisfaction directed at Gage. “Of course, employees aren’t allowed to date, but I’ll make some allowances.” Logan doesn’t bother hiding his sarcasm.
“Let me guess, they have something to do with scheduling,” Gage says, nodding me over to the table.
“You’re a bright boy. That’s why I keep you around.”
The three of us take a seat.
“He’s my ride.” I have to work with Gage, besides I want to.
“I’ll still bring you, pick you up,” Gage offers. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slits a quick glance at Logan.
Must change subject.
“Marshall keeps burrowing into my life. How am I going to get rid of him?” I don’t tell them that I’ve added being captured by him to my growing list of paranoia.
“Request a transfer,” Gage suggests.
“No… don’t.” Logan looks lost in thought. “See if you can get him to tell you how to bind a Fem. I’m not getting far with Lexy.”
“I guess I can. I just don’t like the thought of him wooing me. His words not mine.”
“I don’t either.” Gage picks up my hand and entwines our fingers right in front of Logan.
A distant smile curls the sides of Logan’s lips as he glares over at Gage.
“I don’t like the thought of anybody wooing you.” He doesn’t waver his stare from Gage. There’s a blackness in Logan I haven’t seen before as he intensifies his discontent. His chest rises and falls at a quickened pace. “Celestras are known for erratic behavior when provoked to anger.” He leans in a little toward Gage. “We’re often justified and rarely caught.”
“So you’re saying I should watch my back?” Gage clenches his jaw at the idea.
“I’m saying you shouldn’t justify my anger.”
I wonder how far Logan would take this—if he could do to Gage what I did to Holden. Doubtful. Although something unfamiliar boils deep behind his eyes, and it makes me think just maybe he could.
16
Worlds Collide
Paragon’s landscape is dotted with pumpkins—bodies are strung up in trees like Christmas ornaments, and miniature graveyards have cropped up on every other front lawn. There’s something about filling this island with all of the glory and horror of wickedness that just feels right.
“You mind if I drive?” I ask Gage on the way home.
“You have your license?” He knows full well I don’t.
“No, but I will.”
“It’s against the law.”
His sudden sense of loyalty to law enforcement amuses me.
“Look, this is a tiny island with like two lanes. It’s not like I’m asking you to let me zip down an L.A. freeway with a blindfold on. Who’s going to care?”
“I’m going to care, and you’re going to care when things go wrong.”
“Nothing is going to go wrong.” I place my hand over his and bat my lashes.
Gage pulls over, and we switch seats.
“Just straight home,” he says.
OK, so he’s not that enthused with the idea.
“Home—got it.” I drive to the intersection where we would usually make a right, and turn left instead.
“Skyla.”
“What? I’m taking the long way.” I stop abruptly as the light turns yellow.
“Geez,” he says, bracing himself against the dashboard. “Ease into it, will you?”
“You wanna go to Devil’s Peak?” It feels so freeing to be behind the wheel. I can go anywhere—do anything.
“No. You might accidently drive us over the edge.”
“Then let’s go to the beach.”
The light changes, and I pump the gas a few times, sputtering the truck forward in a series of staccato jerks. Then something loosens in the pedal, and it’s almost like the car is driving itself.
It takes about three good miles before Gage looks over with a mischievous half smile.
“I don’t know what happened,” he starts, “but you’ve improved drastically. I think I might actually start to breathe again.”
“Told you it’d be fine. I’m totally getting the hang of this.”
The pedal depresses beneath my foot, and the truck slides into the opposing lane. The truck speeds up unnaturally, and I pass up three minivans in a row and glide right in front of them and back into the proper lane.
“Holy shit!” Gage digs his fingers into the dashboard. “That was an incline, Skyla! There is no way you could have seen if there was a car coming.” He lays a hand over the wheel. “Pull over.”
My heart races feverishly as the gas pedal sinks beneath my foot again. The light at the intersection turns yellow and I try to pump the brake, but the accelerator is sticking.
“Something is wrong.” I try to steady the wheel, but it twists and turns, rotating powerfully beneath my fingers as though its got a mind of its own. “Oh my, God!” I close my eyes as the car sails into the intersection just as cross traffic begins to speed into the street.
“Skyla!” Gage takes off his seatbelt and tries hopping over on top of me to gain control of the wheel.
I look up in time to see the whites of someone’s eyes just as a dark green Hummer slams into the corner of the hood and sends us spinning out of control. I grab a hold of Gage by the shirt and try to hang onto to him. Another car plows into us just behind the passenger side and stops all movement. Gage explodes through the windshield, through a million tiny fragments of pebble-sized glass, and rolls over to the hood of the Hummer. A trail of blood fills the interim.
“Gage!” I scream, as I snap off my seatbelt. I try to open the driver’s side door, but it’s jammed. Blue bits of glass litter the seat as I crawl over and get out of the passenger side. “Gage?” It comes out a startled cry as I try to reach his bloodied body.
I’m numb—the world feels as though it’s shaking. A light rain begins to pelt me, and I can’t feel a thing.
His face…oh God…his face!
Splinters of glass glitter off his forehead, his cheeks. Blood trickles from a thousand different places, covering his flesh completely, despite the rain’s best effort to wash it all away.
“Can you hear me?” I say it quieter than intended.
Gage lets out a soft moan and tries unsuccessfully to sit up, only to land back on the hood with a hard thump.
“Don’t move!” I hear somebody shout. A woman pulls me to the side.
Sirens cut through the air, as a steady pulse of red and yellow flickering lights blink through the night like a seizure.
I move toward Gage as the air around me turns an ashen shade of grey. I can feel myself falling. The asphalt comes in quick—then the world, and everything in it, disappears.
***
I struggle to open my lids, the shock of commotion around me is drowned out by a banging headache that pulsates through my ears—it all floods back to me.
“Gage?” I sit up fighting a wave of nausea.
“You OK?” A lady wearing purple-rimmed glasses and a worried expression tries to stop me from getting up.
Gage is being lifted onto a gurney. I can see his eyes moving around frantically.
“Gage!” I bolt over, filled with relief. His face is still covered with pink swirls of blood that dilute with
the rain.
“I’m OK.” He groans as they load him into the ambulance. I don’t wait for anybody to ask if I want to come along, I just hop inside and take a seat near the back where they position his head.
“I’m so sorry. I swear I lost control.”
“Incoming!” shouts the EMT as he flexes another body on a gurney into the ambulance.
“I’m not hurt.” A boy around our age raises his hand. His face is cut, and there’s blood all over. “You driving that car?” His expression darkens as he bores into me with an accusing stare.
I don’t say anything, just sit there wondering how many ambulances are going to be filled and if I’ve managed to kill anybody in the process.
“This is my girlfriend,” Gage hitches his thumb at me. “She was just learning to drive.”
“Female drivers, no survivors.” He swipes the blood from his mouth. He looks back at me and runs his eyes up and down quickly. “Pierce Kragger.”
Gage and I exchange glances.
Oh my, God. I almost killed another one.
“My dad’s a lawyer. He’ll fix it so you’ll never want to sit behind the wheel again.” He gives a little laugh before lying back down. “He’s good at keeping idiots off the street.”
The fact that I killed his brother sails through my brain and I excuse his rude behavior.
Gage reaches back and touches my hand as the ambulance begins to wail down the street.
Did you say you lost control of the wheel? He asks.
“And the gas and the brakes,” I say out loud. I don’t care how insane I look to Pierce or the EMT sitting at the far end.
I’m starting to think this wasn’t an accident, Gage says.
I look over at Pierce lying there—Holden’s brother.
Just what are the odds?
17
Survivor
Celestra Series Books 1-3 Page 44
