He doesn’t answer right away and there’s something different in his expression now that he’s close. Something that wasn’t there during our last encounter. For a moment, he is just a boy. Torn and broken and in love with a memory of something he can’t quite grasp. In that instant, the memory has won over the villain, and I exhale in relief. I am unafraid, even when he leans so close I can smell his breath and I recoil from the stale odor of personal hygiene forgotten.
“You are you,” he says.
My brows knit as I try to understand his words that are perplexing in their simplicity.
He raises his hand and I flinch away, but he only slides his fingertips over my collarbone. His hand brushes my hair aside and traces a trail around the side of my neck to my tattoo—the tree that is the symbol of Twig City and my seven-digit identification number, a mark that proves I am something not quite human.
“Four-two-six-six-two-five-six,” he reads in a soft voice. “You are most certainly you.”
My skin tingles with goose bumps where he touches. I shiver and he removes his hand, the tips of his fingers hovering so close I can sense him even after his touch is gone. I tip my head so that I can see into his eyes and my stomach rolls with nerves and the intensity of the moment. This is not the Daniel I knew. This Daniel is compassionate and caring. This Daniel is lucid.
“He hurt you,” he whispers.
It’s not a question, but I dip my chin once in a nod. When I raise it again, he hooks a finger underneath my jaw and tilts it up so that he can inspect my throat. A deep frown creases the edges of his mouth. It is the first sign of unhappiness he’s shown. My breath slows and I am completely on edge as I wait for his next move. He tips my face back down so that we are eye to eye again and leans in, his lips near my ear.
“I won’t give them up. No matter what he does to me, their secret is safe,” he whispers.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask.
“For you. For all of the yous there are. But especially for her.” He presses his lips to my neck and before I can answer or react to the gesture, he straightens and steps back.
The odd sparkle in his eye returns along with a crooked smirk on his lips. Fear curls inside the pit of my stomach. The Daniel I knew is back.
“What I can’t figure out is whether you’re here as a punishment or a reward,” he says loudly. The innuendo is clear and I shiver again, this time with more trepidation than before. It dawns on me that his kiss from a moment ago felt a hundred times more harmless than the tone he is using now. I can’t figure out why. Or what he’s playing at, because it’s clear he’s playing. Only, I don’t know the game. Or the rules.
“Are you here to interrogate me, little Ven?” he asks with laughter in his voice.
“No,” I say. Not because it’s true but because I know I have to say something. Titus is watching. And Daniel just made a whispered promise that I don’t want to give away just yet. My thoughts race at the “her” he meant. Was it his mother? Or the other Raven? The one that came before me? The one he swears he loves? It doesn’t matter. He’s promising silence and in exchange, I allow our game to continue.
I force myself not to glance at the mirrored wall over Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m here to offer comfort,” I say.
Daniel laughs. It is a harsh sound, promising something even harsher to come, but for some reason, I am not afraid like I was before. “Mmm, is that what we’re going to call it?” he asks. “Tell me, what exactly are you willing to do to make me feel better?”
I swallow hard. What am I willing to do? He whispered a promise. But I can’t trust him. He tried to—
“Are you going to warm me up?” he presses. “Because it already feels pretty hot.” Without waiting for an answer, he yanks on the hem of his shirt and pulls it off. His chest and abs are a patchwork of half-healed wounds. Most of them are red and raised like burns but many are covered over in angry scratches and deep cuts.
My stomach jumps into my throat. I cough and immediately regret it. The searing pain in my lungs shoots all the way to my knees.
“Daniel, stop,” I warn. I would back up if I weren’t already pressed against the wall so hard my spine aches.
“Why should I?” Daniel sneers, his expression suddenly twisting into something ugly and angry. “He doesn’t.” He takes a step toward me again, his fingers fumbling with the button on his pants. “He never stops. He’s here every day, twisting the knife. First it was physical, but—” he pauses and makes a sound like being hurt is no big deal, “that was nothing. When he realized that, he tried going after the things I love.” He laughs and it is the farthest from humor I’ve ever heard. “Guess the joke’s on him.”
He is in my face again, this time staring down at me with jutted chin and fiery eyes. He presses a hand against the wall on either side of my head, trapping me there. “I love nothing,” he hisses. His breath washes over my face, sour and acidic like his words.
“Not even Melanie?” I ask quietly. Because I have to end this. Even if it means risking his silence. I won’t let him touch me.
He blinks. “She is nothing to me,” he says, but it’s not true. We both know it. The hesitation was subtle but it was there. I feel better, knowing he cares about her after all. Knowing he’s capable.
I don’t sugarcoat it. Daniel isn’t the type for slow build-up. He’s the type to rip the bandage off all at once. “She’s dead, Daniel,” I say.
“What?” He blinks again, as if uncomprehending of my words—or unwilling to accept them as quickly as I said them.
“Titus sent me to see her first. Her wounds were … extensive,” I explain, my voice cracking and repairing itself every other word. “She got upset with me. She was coughing and screaming and she wouldn’t calm down.” Tears burn my eyes as I talk. I am giving him the shortest version I can and still, it’s like re-breaking the same bone over and over again.
I see her there, lying with her knees in the air and her hands trapped behind her. Red hair turned dull and spread around her like the ashes of a waterlogged fire. I swallow my own sob and continue, “She kept screaming at me and rocking the chair and—she tipped the chair and hit her head on the floor. It was instant. I’m … I’m sorry.”
His eyes search mine, for what I don’t know. I can’t hold his gaze long enough to find out. Tears course down my cheeks. I only know it because I see a puddle between my high-heeled feet where I stare at the ground. I wait for the crazy, but Daniel just stands there. Soaking me in.
The silence stretches until I can’t stare at my pooling tears, nor can I shed them any longer. Not yet. It’s too much like him winning. Again.
Slowly, I raise my head and brush my hair back from my face. Daniel studies me, still searching and soaking. And I don’t mind because he doesn’t look like he’s deciding how best to kill or kiss me.
“He brought her in here every day to show me her wounds. I don’t know what he used but I could hear her—” He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they aren’t focused on anything in this room. “I could hear her screaming. He used her screams in place of mine. But she never told him anything. Not a single detail. So I didn’t either. I knew what it did to her, but she took it anyway. And every time they carried her in here, the times she was conscious, she would just look at me and shake her head no. So I honored her wishes. I thought—” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. It sticks up in the center, too oily and unwashed to fall back into the haphazard disarray he wore it in before.
“What?”
He walks back to his bed and sits, slumped over, staring at his hands. I wait, not wanting to rush him. I don’t know why or even when it happened, but at some point I became willing to forgive Daniel for what he tried to do, if only he continues to behave forgivably.
When he finally speaks, there is too much defeat in his voice for him to be evil. He is only a boy. And he is beaten. “It was all for nothing. He wins. He always wins.”
Chapter Three
> I spend dinner in my closet. The closeness of the garments encroaching around me is a comfort. I never had such wide living space in Twig City. Everyone and everything pressed together. Not quite touching—that would be too personal—but not quite far enough to dismiss either. I need that now. Between my guilt of Melanie and Daniel’s perplexing behavior, I am overwhelmed with the need for closeness.
Tears fall unchecked until my face and my insides are numb. I can’t cry anymore. It’s not what Imitations do. It’s not what Raven would do. Besides that, I made promises. If I can’t keep my word with Melanie, all I have left is Morton—and the others. They need me.
I need Linc.
I heard two of the men talking as they walked me back. They spoke about a new guy on their team. I didn’t bother listening after that. I only want Linc. He’s the only thing that makes me finally push to my feet and leave the closet.
The drawn curtains throw shadows across my spacious room when I finally emerge. It’s evening. I’ve spent the day watching death—and almost experiencing it. I didn’t see Titus again when the door to Daniel’s cell opened and they let me leave.
No one told me where Titus went and I didn’t ask. I still can’t believe he let me live. I wonder why, but I know better than to ask that either. My hands shake at the memory of how badly I’d wanted to hurt him, to kill him. It’s not a natural thought for an Imitation.
Protect. Obey. Sacrifice.
These are the words, the mantra, of my existence. I’m not sure if it’s Titus inspiring the desire to go against what I am or my own DNA deviating, but all I can think is how disappointed I am in my own ability to execute my utmost desire. It trumps even my wish for freedom. In this moment, I want nothing more than to watch the life bleed from Titus’s body. And I want it at my own hands.
I stare at my palms. Strength aside, I wonder if I’m capable of taking a life. A human life, one with a soul. And I wonder if that isn’t easier than taking the life of an Imitation. At least humans have souls that live on. What do I have after this? Where will I go? Back into a syringe? Will Titus recycle me? Or will I be lost forever down a lab drain?
Titus. The Creator.
An image comes to me, unbidden. An image I didn’t even register at the time, but now it makes me smile inwardly as it surfaces from my subconscious. My nails scraping down his cheek, leaving behind a trail of pink that turns quickly to a line of red, pooling before it runs toward his chin. Titus didn’t walk away from my attack unscathed. It is a small consolation, but for reasons I can’t explain, it makes me happier than walking away with my own life. I hurt the Creator.
If I did it once, I can do it again.
Power surges through me. Adrenaline fills my veins and pushes bravery into my heart. I set my jaw and march out of my room and into the hall. If Titus wanted me to stay in my room, he should’ve locked the door. Or killed me.
The house is quiet. Far down the hall I can hear dishes clanging as the cook washes up from a meal I didn’t bother to attend. I am not hungry when my stomach is so full of determination. I take the east hall, away from the mysterious office Titus likes to sit in and smoke his cigars. I don’t know if he’s home or not but I don’t care. I head for the security office on the other side of the apartment.
I turn a corner and slow my step when I see Linc walking toward me. My lips start to spread into a smile but falter when I see his expression, burning and dark as he stares at my neck. I stop short, unsure what to say. My physical injuries are the least of my own concern but they are the singular focus of his.
Before I can utter a word, he takes my wrist and pulls me through the library doorway. He keeps the light off and closes the door with a soft click, pushing me gently into the corner until my back brushes the wall. His hands are on my neck, gently stroking and weaving into my hair. His lips brush my cheek, my jaw, my ear.
“Are you all right?” His voice is quieter than a whisper.
I hesitate before answering, afraid this room is bugged. They almost always are. Time alone, time like this, is scarce. “Relax, we’ve got five minutes,” he says, assuaging my anxiety.
I snuggle closer. “I’m fine,” I assure him.
“He hurt you.” His lips stop their grazing along my skin only long enough for him to form the words at my ear.
I cling to Linc’s shirt and inhale his scent—wind and musk mixed with a hint of gasoline. To me, it smells like freedom. I know it’s foolish to feel so safe inside the circle of his arms, but I do. Even here, in a room bugged with voice recorders and video cameras, in a house full of men more than willing to kill us for a paycheck and a pat on the back. Being held by Linc is like coming home.
“I hurt him too,” I say, and I can feel his surprise and then his shoulders stiffen with worry.
He pulls away and, despite his assurances, does a quick sweep of the room. I watch him remove two devices, flip a switch too tiny to see, and put them back where he found them.
“Tell me,” he says, folding me into his arms once again.
In a low voice, I tell him what happened with Melanie and how I attacked Titus. I tell him how I drew blood and how he threw me into Daniel’s cell rather than kill me. His shoulders tense even more when I recount my visit with Daniel.
“Did he touch you?” Linc asks, and I know if I say yes, there will be absolutely no stopping him from going downstairs and committing murder. I don’t tell him about the kiss. Not yet. For the second time today, something in me is willing to spare Daniel. Instead I tell him about Daniel’s response to Melanie.
Linc nods, his cheek brushing against my hair. “I heard about it from some of the men. It was … I’m glad it’s over for her. She should never have given herself up.”
“We let her,” I say, swallowing the rest of my words along with the sob that wants to escape. I can’t do that here. Not now.
“It was her choice. She would’ve done it with or without us.”
“We were supposed to get her out,” I say in a desperate whisper.
Regret flashes across Linc’s features, creating lines around his mouth where there were none before. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way before … before it was too late.”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
He kisses me again. “It’s not your fault, Ven.” I nod, my lip trapped between my teeth.
His arms tighten around me and I let him pull me close, pressing my face against his chest. I don’t want empty words right now. The truth is, it is my fault. For being too helpless. Anger surges and I shove it away, concentrating on Linc’s attempt at comfort.
A few minutes pass. Linc doesn’t pull away. I’m grateful for his patience even though we both know we’re overstaying our welcome in this stolen space. Finally, I take a steadying breath and straighten.
“Do you think Daniel will keep his word?” I whisper. “About not giving them away?”
“I think he’s tougher than he looks,” Linc says, slowly, and I know he’s measuring his words. “And smarter.”
“He was different this time. At least for some of it. More … I don’t know. Normal. Or Daniel’s version of it, anyway.”
“He knows something,” Linc says and I know we’re both thinking how impossible it will be to find out what, at least while he’s in that cell.
I take a deep breath and then say the thing I’ve been thinking all day. “We have to get him out, Linc.”
He scowls, but doesn’t argue. “We need to get you out,” he says instead.
I shake my head. “I can’t. Morton, Anna, all of them need me.”
“They need to stay hidden. You already found a new home for them. You don’t need to be here any longer. Not if he’s going to put his hands on you.”
“He could’ve killed me,” I say.
“Exactly.”
“No, Linc. He could’ve but he didn’t. What does that mean?”
Linc grunts. “He was in a good mood? I don’t know.”
“I�
�m serious. I think he needs me. He won’t kill me.”
His eyes blaze. “You really want to test that theory?”
“I want to make a difference,” I shoot back.
“So far, the only people you’ve made a difference with are the paparazzi and the dressmakers.”
His words, the severity and the truth, shock me into silence. Linc’s shoulders droop. “Sorry,” he mutters. “That was harsh.”
“You’re right,” I say quietly. He looks at me. “I’ve talked a lot of crap but I haven’t backed it up.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“What?”
Linc’s brow quirks. “Talked a lot of crap?” he repeats.
“Oh, that. Obadiah.” I wave him away. “The point is I need to take action. I need to step up and be proactive.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ven.”
“It’s the truth, though. I need to—”
“No, you don’t. You need to be safe. I just wanted to prove my point so you’d go.” His eyes flash in a flare of temper, or passion, or something else that includes all of those. He clutches me harder and I understand.
I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re scared of losing me, or letting me take too many risks. But existing is a risk. I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to. But the truth is, I don’t want to. And I know you don’t either. Not really. You want to help, to matter for good. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
He sighs and his lips press against my temple, holding there for a long moment. “No fair. You can’t use reasons for loving me. It’s cheating.”
My mouth curves. “Give me a little longer to figure something out. If I don’t, you can take me away from here.”
“Fine,” he says. “We’ll stay. But only until—”
“Thank you.” I press my mouth to his to cut off the rest.
His lips curve and then I’m lost in the moment. His mouth moves over mine, softly at first and then harder, more insistent. I am pressed against the wall and pulling him ever closer with handfuls of his shirt in my fists. The kiss goes deeper—until my awareness includes only the taste and smell and feel of him.
Deviation Page 3
