I brushed my lips against hers once, twice, waiting for her to accept. Please, please, I thought. Let me kiss you.
She sighed and pushed away. “I can’t.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she skirted around me and rushed down the hallway.
I couldn’t blame her from running. We barely knew each other. “Cara,” I called.
She made a beeline for the front door. “This won’t work.”
Her ponytail danced as she strode away. The sway of her hips—even under the cover of her baggy jumpsuit—blazes. How much of a piece of shit was I? I’d spent the past two days obsessing over Sammie’s death (I still don’t believe it! I can’t. I won’t. I’m still gonna stake Alex, though, if I get a chance, for all the hell he’s put me through.), and as soon as Cara returned, I tried to kiss her?
I caught her by the waist at the front door, intending to apologize. She didn’t pull away. Just the opposite. She turned to face me and pressed her lips against mine. All at once, I felt her body soften, tasted the sun on her skin, and melted from the heat pouring off her. Her mouth opened, and I…
…yelped from the pinch of her teeth on my lower lip.
“Ouch!” The rusty tang of blood dusted my tongue.
“I’m so s-sorry.” She yanked her gloves off and tossed them on the floor.
“What happened?”
“Why did Alex have to bring you here?” She groaned, grabbing my shirt. She leaned closer for a moment, stared at my lips, and then shook her head, taking a solid step back.
What the hell? “Do you want to kiss me or not?”
She dragged her fingers over her hair and tightened her ponytail. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Alex’s trance.”
She touched a finger to my lip. “I want to kiss you. I do. But…” A blush crept across her cheeks. “I can’t tell if it’s me or him. It’s all so confusing. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I’m sorry about a lot of things. About losing Sammie. About Martin and Zack dying. About being here. The one thing I’m not sorry about is kissing you.”
She licked her lips slowly, thinking. I’d gotten to her, maybe, past the trance. Heck, if I was the Bringer of Death, it could be possible. Right?
“I have to go,” she said.
I exhaled, deflated. In my head, I imagined snatching her by the wrist, pirouetting her around, and enveloping her mouth with mine. I imagined holding her so tightly that I stole her breath away.
Instead, my feet stayed rooted to the ground, and my hands hung by my sides. I let her go.
The lock engaged.
I spread my palms against the door, aching over losing something I never had.
My mind wandered as I lathered my bowl with soap. Nothing I did mattered. No matter how hard I tried, I ended up making things worse. All my rules to keep Sammie safe. I lost her. My deal with Martin and Zack. They got killed because of me. My trying to connect with Cara. I got shot down. My negotiating with Alex. I was still trapped with no end point in sight.
The bowl slipped from my fingers. It hit the sink just right, chipping the rim. “Blazes.”
Alex’d freak out.
I rinsed and dried the bowl, then tucked it far behind the others stacked in the cupboard to hide it.
I slammed the door shut.
Here I was, imprisoned in a Vie apartment, worrying about him finding a broken bowl? The guy killed people. He experimented on Anemies.
Worst of all, he acted like a saint for letting some of his test subjects go. As if bringing them dried food made everything okay.
It was only a matter of time before Vie raided the safe house. I wondered if Alex would end up taking part in it. Oh, the irony.
And—and—who was he to manipulate me by taking me to the pier?
The clotsucker.
I whipped open the cupboard door and pawed at the dishes within, letting them fall. Crash! A mass of them fell on the counter. Thwack! A pile slipped to the floor. Crunch! Bits ground under my heel.
Bam! The next cabinet door ricocheted off its neighbor. All the glasses and mugs tumbled down with a single sweep of my hand.
Panting, I eyed the fridge. Alex’s sacred collection of fresh, not synthetic, blood.
Dragging out containers by twos, I lined them up on the counter, pushing shards of shattered china out of the way. So much blood. How many people supplied it? Had they hung from the hook in his office/torture room?
I ripped off the lids and dumped every drop down the drain.
Dark red coated the sink. The scent of copper tainted the air.
I had a special idea for the last two liters. A final statement to crown my protest.
A sardonic smile warped my mouth as I unscrewed the caps. Oh, yeah. He deserved this.
One liter in each hand, I strode to the living room. Calm. Collected. Crazy. I whipped the gloppy liquid on the couch, all over Alex’s favorite chair, and drizzled the final drops into the carpet. The piece de resistance? Setting the empty containers on the coffee table.
Panting, I circled the room, hands on my hips.
Was I satisfied? No. Why? Because poor Cara would probably have to clean it up.
Now that I’d made a mess I started having second thoughts, even third. Then I had the mega-thought I should’ve had a long time ago.
Mega-thought: Why the hell had I given up on trying to escape?
For lack of a better plan, I crouched by the front door and waited. My heart sloshed, spreading icy tangles of anxiety through my body. I desperately needed the element of surprise for this to work.
Even if I had to stand here all day, nothing would budge me from this spot.
Ages passed before the lock disengaged. The door opened. Alex blew in like a thunderstorm, tumultuous and chaotic. I dashed into the corridor in his wake and ran for the elevator, praying it hadn’t already begun its descent to the main level.
“Justin! Come back!”
Alex’s shout smacked into me a millisecond before his body collided with mine. With me in a bear hug, he somersaulted us in mid-air and landed underneath me on his back and with me belly up, completely unharmed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, not even slightly winded.
I kicked at his shins and smacked his arms.
“Relax or I’ll end up snapping bones,” he growled.
“I’m sick of being a prisoner. Either kill me or let me go.” I elbowed him in the gut, pain flaring in my joint as if I’d hit solid concrete. The blow bounced off him without any worthy impact. As usual.
His laughter shook us. “Kill you? I’m not going to kill you. I might break your legs for trying to escape, but I won’t kill you.”
He stood, unencumbered by my weight and carried me inside his apartment. The door slammed behind him thanks to a shove by his foot. He halted next to the couch.
The blood soaked couch.
“What did you do?” Alex’s voice was low. His fingers dug into my side and leg.
“I was bored.” I squirmed. Got nowhere.
“Ruined. It’s all ruined.” He tossed me in the air and caught me by the collar. “Why?”
I stretched out my toes. Couldn’t reach the floor. “It sucks when people mess with your life, doesn’t it?”
He bared his teeth. “A lesson I don’t need to learn.”
“Okay, then think of it as part of your atonement.”
His gaze softened, and his jaw relaxed. He dropped me. “I want you to clean this up.”
“I don’t know how to get bloodstains out of fabric.”
He hooked an eyebrow at me then headed toward the kitchen, shaking his head. “Guess it’s you who needs a lesson,” he called.
Oh, crap.
“Justin!” Alex’s bellow shook me to the core. “You won’t stop until you destroy everything, will you?”
I peeked into the kitchen.
He bent to pick up a shard of a dinner plate. “What psychosis got into you?”
Snark balanced on the tip of my tongue, knees bent, arms out, ready to leap into the air. I could point out the obvious—a confined prisoner had nothing else to do but go crazy. I could make some self-hate comment like Anemies are pigs anyway. Maybe I could say I wanted to watch Cara work extra hard. The truth was I wanted Alex to suffer. Really, wrecking his stuff was the best way to get back at him, since I didn’t have a stake and I failed to kill him whenever I did have one. Or so I’d thought in the moment. Now, none of it sounded adequate.
He held the broken plate out to me. “Well?”
I shrugged. “I thought you liked ruining things. How many planets have you used up again?”
With a swing of his arm, he launched the piece across the room. It shattered—more like pulverized—against the wall. He gathered more pieces and smashed them too. It sounded like a machine gun.
Bangbangbangbangbang!
I ducked instinctively, covering my head with an arm. Bits flicked along my back and head, fallout from his rage. “Stop!”
A sudden silence took over, almost more terrifying than the racket of destruction.
“That felt good,” he said.
“Huh?”
“You smashed everything as a cathartic exercise, yes?” He squeezed his hands into fists then stretched out his fingers again. “It’s invigorating.”
“And you think I’m insane.” I lowered my arm. “What’s a ‘cathartic exercise’?”
“Something that releases pent-up emotions.” He straightened his collar. “Better than keeping them bottled up inside.” Brushing past me, he said, “You can get started cleaning this up. I’ll have to replace the furniture. Again.”
“I didn’t break the couch last time. You and Margaret did. Besides, you can’t boss me around.”
He halted. Spun around to face me. “So, you’d leave this for Cara? Not very nice of you.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean I had to let him know that.
While he called for new living room décor and a fresh supply of blood, I retrieved a broom and pan and swept up the powdered remains of ceramic and glass.
Cara arrived after Alex went to bed. She took one look at the couch and gasped. “What happened?” Her wide eyes shot to me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s not my blood. I got bored and poured Alex’s fridge supply on the furniture.”
“Why?”
“I hate being here.” I retreated to the kitchen, where only a small pile of bits littered the floor. Once that was picked up, I’d need to get mopping.
She followed me. “Is that a reason to make such a mess?” She frowned at me as I collected the dustpan. “What’s this?”
“I broke all the dishes and glasses.” After a moment I added, “And Alex threw the pieces against the wall.”
“You’re kidding.” She knelt next to me, easing the dustpan out of my hand and holding it steady so I could do a more thorough job.
“Nope. He called it a cathartic exercise.”
She sucked in a breath. Bet she hadn’t expected that response.
“I thought he was going to throttle me.”
“He should have.”
“Thanks.” I dumped the swept up stuff down the incinerator chute.
“Bet this was quite a mess.”
“The living room is worse.”
“You could’ve left this for me to clean up.” Before I could respond, she left to fetch a bucket and mop. She filled it with water and added some cleaner.
“No, I couldn’t have.” I curled my fingers around the mop handle. “Give me that.”
She yielded the mop to me. “I should really…”
“I’m cleaning this up. It was my mess.” In broad strokes, I wiped the floor clean, erasing all the evidence of Alex’s and my smash-and-crash party. “Alex told me to.”
Cara watched, her arms folded across her chest and feet shoulder-width apart. “He tranced you?”
The intensity of her stare burned like the sun at midday. Heat rushed around my neck, over my ears, and across my cheeks. “No.”
“Making fun of me?”
I almost dropped the mop. “No. God, no. I’d never.”
Her forehead wrinkled with confusion.
“Okay. You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Um… I…” She unfolded her arms. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
I did drop the mop this time.
“I was thinking how awful it must be for you, staying here, alone. I mean, not alone, but alone, you know, without your sister, other Anemies…”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the same strand that never stayed in her ponytail. It wanted to be free. Like me, and, I suspected, like her, if she could let herself admit it.
“Clots, and Margaret,” she said. “She’s vicious. But I don’t understand why you do everything in your power to piss Alex off.”
“He’s Vie.” A simple, absolute fact.
She picked up the mop and handed it to me, closing the distance between us.
“Yes, but he’s different from the others,” she said.
I wanted to shake the foolishness right out of her. Vie couldn’t be trusted. At all. It blew my mind that she, a slave destined to be drained by her master when he decided her valuableness ran out, could really say such a thing.
“Why do you believe him?”
“I help him.” She brushed the hair out of my eyes.
I didn’t want her to stop.
“I gather dried foods and water pellets for him to give to Anemies. Sometimes I deliver goods myself,” she said.
So he used her for his dirty work. If she ever got caught getting supplies for Anemies… “Isn’t that dangerous for you?”
“No.” Her hand lingered on my cheek. The heat from her skin warmed mine. “He brought me to the pier a few weeks ago. It was amazing to see him with the kids.”
I reached up to cover her hand. Pressing my face into her palm, I replied, “He’s a murderer.”
“But he let you go.” Her thumb caressed my skin, hovering at the corner of my mouth. “And then he rescued you.”
“He should free you.”
“Justin, he already did.” Her eyes shone like glass.
I tightened my grip on her hand, matching the tethers surrounding my heart. “How?”
She squeezed her eyes shut then impaled me with her stare. A tear slid down her cheek. “I was a test subject in the lab.”
“Cara.” I touched my forehead to hers.
“I broke a vase by accident while cleaning at my previous mistress’s home. She was so angry that she sent me to the lab. I was there for a couple of months when Alex found me. He freed me and took me in.”
“He brought you out of the lab, but you’re not really free. He still trances you and gives you orders.”
She trembled. “You’re wrong. I’m as free as a human can get, and I’m safer with him than with any other Vie. It’s the best situation anyone could possibly have.”
“Best situation?” His torture room came to mind. “You give him a lot of credit.”
“And you don’t give him enough.” She stared up at me. A small smile flitted across her face. “I have some cleaning to do.”
“Let me help you.”
She laced her fingers with mine. “Okay.”
Year 75, Month 6, Day 5, evening
lex’s new furniture looked exactly like the last set—without blood dribbled all over it, of course. I didn’t want to touch the sofa, let alone sit on it, so I sat on the raised fireplace hearth, flipping through vidscreen channels.
At sunset, Alex had taken Cara with him to the lab. That was hours ago. Seemed she’d worked a ton of extra hours since I arrived. Then again, I didn’t know her routine before me. Maybe Alex usually called on her day and night and anytime between. I wondered if it bothered her returning to the lab, the place she was experimented on. I wondered what happened while she was a test subject. Kind of awkwar
d bringing it up in conversation, though. She’d tell me if or when she wanted.
With each click of the remote, the vid channels collapsed and expanded like a pop-up book on acid. Some images didn’t have a chance to fully form. After a while, I got bored and stopped surfing.
A band played on the music channel. They stood on the stage bathed in strobe lights. Bursts of flames rose from stacked chimneys on either side of the drummer who set a steady beat, counter-played by the bassist, while the lead guitarist strummed out the melody.
Speakers, planted throughout the room, made it sound like a live show. A personal concert. My body vibrated with the tune, and soon my foot tapped in time with the rhythm.
The lead singer, dressed in leather pants and a floor-length duster coat held the microphone against his mouth. He crooned away, making love to the mic, bemoaning the fact he had to continually chase his first high. None other compared to the virgin hit, the first intoxication so pure in those precious minutes he’d spend eternity searching to recreate it.
I bet Alex would love this song. He found a way to guarantee his access. As a raid specialist, NCAAR member, and scientist, he had a limitless supply of drugs. Then he met me. My blood quite possibly gave him the best high he’d ever had. Of course he’d want to keep me a secret. And once he convinced all Anemies I was the Bringer of Death, he’d secure their trust. No more chasing. His drug would willingly go to him. They’d sign up for it.
I got so focused on my thoughts I didn’t hear Cara come in.
“You like this band?” she said.
I rubbed my eyes, unsure if I’d imagined her. “Dunno. I don’t listen to a lot of music.”
“Alex sent me. Thought you could use some company. These guys are depressing.” She sat next to me on the hearth. “But I like the beat. You know, the feel of the drums, like it’s shaking your soul.”
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
She giggled, a light, carefree sound. The sunshine I so desperately needed. Gooseflesh erupted on my arms.
I stood, offering her my hand. “Dance with me.”
She tilted her face up to me. “D-dance?”
“Yeah. Come on.” Taking her by the hands, I guided her to the open area behind the couch.
“I don’t know how,” she said.
Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 21
