The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series)

by Tricia Wentworth

  “Regs. Regs, you need to wake up for a minute.” He nicely tries to wake me up by squeezing my hand and tracing his fingers on my palm.

  “Mmmm,” I roll my head and try to flip over to my side to get comfortable. Hopefully, that is as awake as he needs me to be. I’m getting really sick of this waking up every few hours business.

  “Regs, you need to say something other than grunts and groans so I know you’re okay,” he says and although it’s dark, I’m certain he’s at least half-smiling.

  “You really know how to make a girl feel special,” I groan as I sit up and glare in his direction.

  “Mission accomplished. Thank you.” He keeps my hand in his and sits down in the chair he and Henry have set up beside my bed. Their whole taking shifts thing is freaking me out and making me feel despicable. I hope the rest of the candidates don’t know they are here doing this. It would make me some enemies I’m sure. Marisol would have a heyday.

  “Don’t you have something more important to be doing, macho man?” I ask, sounding annoyed.

  “Macho man, huh?” He seems amused.

  “What’s your military rank, anyway?” I ask, feeling more awake now. He bosses most people around, even men older than he, so I’m assuming it must be high.

  “Does it matter?” he deflects. Knowing him, the little that I do know him, I understand that he doesn’t like to brag about himself. He doesn’t need to; he just has that air of importance about him.

  “Yes. You said I should get to know you. This is me getting to know you.” I’m rather impressed with how strong willed I sound coming out of a deep sleep. It helps that it’s dark and I can barely see him.

  “Lieutenant Commander.” I can almost see him shrug.

  “Wow.” I pause. “You’re only 21. Sarge is a Sergeant, and you’re a Lieutenant Commander? Impressive.”

  “Well let’s just say I have a certain skill set that makes me valuable.”

  Like his broad shoulders and dangerous eyes? Or the way he is a natural predator?

  “Sarge would be higher than a Sergeant too, but he has a family and chose to stop climbing the ranks a while ago,” he explains.

  I don’t even hesitate to ask, “What is your valuable skill set?”

  “Tactical Special Forces.” He uses the politically correct term, the same one that is in the packet of information we receive on the candidates. So really, he isn’t telling me much.

  “Which means?”

  “Which means I’m good in combat. Some would say ruthless. I started out as a sniper, but am more useful in hand-to-hand combat. I’m too aggressive to be a sniper. I want to be up front instead of sitting in wait.”

  This is a bit confusing. What is there to combat against anymore? Most of the population was wiped out with Trident. What exactly is he defending us from? Or who?

  “Have you ever had to kill a person?” I can’t help but be curious. Annnd now we are getting into the serious stuff.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I yawn. Worst possible time to yawn but whatever. It’s honestly not that surprising.

  And at least he was honest. I picture him punching Grady in the face. I know he is dangerous and a bit aggressive, but I don’t really think he would hurt someone unless they deserved it. That look he had in his eye while doing it made me think it wasn’t his first time either.

  “Okay?” he asks, concerned about my reaction to that news.

  “I just wanted to know is all. I trust your judgment,” I offer.

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me the story sometime?” I ask sleepily, knowing that this is not the time or place.

  “Another day. You seem a little tired, sweetheart.” He gets up to give me a kiss on the forehead then sits back down.

  “Nonsense,” I say sleepily, but as he rubs circles with his thumb on my palm, I start nodding off.

  “Just sleep, Regs,” he commands me. His bossiness should irritate me and normally would, but I can hear the clear concern in his voice so it has the opposite effect.

  I close my eyes. I’m exhausted and sore, but knowing he is here just watching me with those intense eyes makes it hard to give in to the sleep.

  “It’s hard to sleep when you smell so dang good,” I mumble.

  When he laughs I’m horrified to find out I said it out loud and not in my head.

  ****

  Hours later, I feel a warm hand brush across my cheek. I move my head away from it. I just want sleep. More sleep! What is with these two and waking me up so often? Wouldn’t I have had other symptoms by now if it was a severe concussion? And why are the powers to be even allowing this whole thing to happen? Isn’t it improper for not only one boy, but two boys, to be in my hospital room all night? I take a deep breath and know from the fresh manly smell that it is Henry. Last time he was here, he woke me up but shushed me and told me to go right back to sleep when I tried talking to him. At least he’s trying to let me sleep.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me and leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey,” I respond groggily, “Whatsittaketogetsomegoodsleeproundhere?” I hope he understood me because I mumbled it all together.

  “Doctor’s orders. Don’t kill the messenger.” He squeezes my hand.

  “Fine,” I say annoyed.

  “At least I get to see you more often,” he offers affectionately but it infuriates me instead of pleasing me. He knows Lyncoln is here when he isn’t. Doesn’t that irritate him? That his “girlfriend” has another “boyfriend”? I know we are all encouraged to date around, but this is just weird.

  “Yeah. And now I get to feel like a horrible person every time you two switch shifts,” I snap, definitely feeling awake.

  I immediately feel guilty about it though. He has never snapped at me or treated me like I am treating him. Lyncoln and I spend half of the time arguing and fighting with one another, but not Henry. He’s like the male version of Attie. He’s the best of us.

  “Reagan,” he says softly in a disagreeing tone.

  “What?” I fire back, still crabby but not as angry.

  “Reagan, this situation is anything but normal. If it were, I would be punching Lyncoln in the face for so much as laying a hand on you or looking at you in that way. Don’t take my indifference to mean I’m happy about it. I am anything but. I’m jealous. But I also know that we aren’t here to just find our wives. We’re here to find the next presidential couple and our country needs it now more than ever. Lyncoln and I both see that it should be you. Not only that, but in getting to know you and how you react in certain situations, we both became drawn to you.

  “How am I supposed to be mad at him for something that I did too? How am I supposed to tell you to not talk to him when he is one of the best men I know? The situation is messed up. I have faith that you’ll do the right thing, whatever it is, even if it isn’t me. Right now, I just want to enjoy the time that I do have with you. Since we have to spend time with other people, be it projects or what-not, I’m glad it’s Lyncoln who is also with you a lot. I trust him with my life,” he gently rubs my cheek with the hand that isn’t holding mine as he finishes his diatribe. I’m glad it’s dark enough that he can’t see the tears in my eyes, just the outline of my face.

  “I don’t like feeling like this,” I whisper. His kind words were a knife stabbing into my heart. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Well, I don’t like having to talk to Katie instead of you all the time, but I do it anyway,” he shakes his head for emphasis.

  “That’s different,” I respond, thinking of my first kiss. I don’t think Henry is kissing her. And I would be pissed if he was. Especially like that.

  “No. It isn’t. Do you like it when I talk to Katie as much as I do?”

  “No,” I respond honestly.

  “But you allow it to happen anyway?” he asks, already knowing my answer.

  “Yeah, but--”

  “No buts.” He
puts a finger to my lips stopping me from arguing. “It’s the same thing. Even if we win this thing and are the next presidential couple, we owe it to the others to get to know them and give them a shot. It is what we have to do. It’s how this works. Like I said, it’s just a messed up situation, especially since we can’t even officially couple up yet.”

  I sigh. I haven’t even really gotten to know Lyncoln that well, and we have already kissed. Guilt eats at me for that. I think of my mom and what she would say or do about this situation I find myself in. She would be livid! But the only thing worse than feeling like a bad person over all this is thinking of what it would be like to say goodbye to Lyncoln. I just can’t do that yet. I have to figure him out. He is full of so much pain, but he hides it behind a mask of macho confidence. He is a puzzle that I have to finish. I hope that once I do, once I figure him out, I can say goodbye and move on fully with Henry.

  “You are better than I deserve.” I squeeze Henry’s hand and try to go back to sleep.

  ****

  I wake up to a light on in the bathroom of my hospital room and sounds of a toothbrush. I am sleepily trying to figure out which of my two men is in the room with me now and why they would be brushing their teeth of all things when Lyncoln comes confidently strolling out of the bathroom…without a shirt on. It must be dawn already because there is enough light in the room and coming from the bathroom that I can see every last muscle of his chest and abdominals.

  Holy crap.

  My breath catches and stops altogether. Other than Ashton, I’ve never seen another man shirtless before. Although I have fantasized about what Lyncoln’s muscles would be like, it is sooo much better in real life. I notice a scar runs about six inches from beneath his right pec down across his six-pack of abs. It just makes him look all the more amazing and adds to his dark and mysterious persona. I’m not sure how he got it or if I even want to know, but he doesn’t even seem to notice or care that it’s there. He has a body that is perfection with his shoulders, neck, and chest bulging in all the right places. What sort of workout does he do to maintain all this?

  “Careful, sweetheart. If you keep looking at me like that, you’ll find out how dangerous I really can be.” He half-smiles and grabs a black v-neck shirt off the chair and pulls it over his head.

  Did he really just say that? He was kidding, wasn’t he? And why is he half-naked in my hospital room anyway? Did he just threaten me and flirt with me at the same time? Was that a threatening flirt or a flirtful threat?

  “Feeling ok?” he asks, slowly rubbing my arm upwards and stopping at my shoulder to massage it. It feels so darn good on my achy body. He sits down on the bed beside my feet and plops one of his legs up, resting his elbow on his jeans.

  “Ummm…yeah.” I am such a big fat liar. No, I am not feeling okay. He was just half naked in my room and then made that threat, empty or not. My pulse is going crazy and I’m feeling sweaty. I am anything but feeling okay! I am vexed. Hormonally vexed. Hormonally hormonal.

  “Glad to hear it, babe,” he half-smiles again.

  It’s way too early in the morning for this much blatant flirting. Can’t a girl get some breakfast first?

  “Sorry about all that,” he explains to me, “I had a meeting before coming to check on you and have to go to another quick meeting before breakfast so I just brought my stuff down and changed here.”

  Before I have time to think of anything clever to respond with, a man, obviously military, walks in with a clipboard.

  “Sir, the morning report is ready,” he says all-business.

  “Bring it on over, Langly,” Lyncoln commands.

  Does this man ever ask? For anything? Knowing the way he kissed me, I’m pretty sure not. I wonder how etiquette class is going for him. The thought makes me smile.

  “Sir,” the man says, looking to me and hesitating.

  “What?” he fires back while squinting his eyes at him.

  “With all due respect, sir, Ms. Scott does not have clearance,” he switches his weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Langly. Just bring me the dang report,” Lyncoln snaps at him and squints his eyes again in disapproval.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He hands it over and tries to leave the room as quickly as possible.

  “Langly,” Lyncoln barks as the other man gets almost to the door.

  “Yes, sir?” he turns nervously, awaiting what Lyncoln has to say.

  “It doesn’t piss me off you were trying to protect this information. What does piss me off is that you assume I am so feeble-minded that I would share its contents with Ms. Scott. She may be remarkably attractive, but I won’t risk our national security because of that. You don’t know her so I understand your hesitation, but you do know me. You should know me better than that.” He is scolding him, but somewhere in there, I get the feeling that Lyncoln genuinely cares about this man too.

  “Yes, sir. You’re right, sir. My apologies.” He looks truly sorry for disappointing Lyncoln before he turns back around and exits.

  Lyncoln sits reading the report, flipping through pages. Whatever this report I don’t have clearance for says, it isn’t good news. He runs a hand through his short hair and sighs.

  “I don’t mean to pry since I don’t have clearance, but rough day?” I try to comfort him without making him feel obligated to tell me. Of course I’m curious and want to know what is in the stupid report, but since he made it clear earlier that he won’t tell me, I don’t want to beg or even ask. He did call me remarkably attractive though, so I guess that will make up for the fact that he keeps telling me I don’t have clearance for things.

  “Not good news, that’s for sure,” he sighs then brings my hand to his lips and kisses the palm of my hand before looking at me in the eyes. “I want this to be over quickly. We need new leadership in place in a hurry, but at the same time, I want it to last awhile.” He doesn’t release my hand and rubs circles with his thumb across it.

  “Why? Wouldn’t the Culling getting over quickly actually be detrimental to finding the right people?”

  “This Culling will more than likely go faster than all the rest have due to necessity. I wish I could tell you more today, but you’ll soon find out what I’m talking about.” He shrugs. “Plus, there has been far more monitoring this Culling than any of the past Cullings.”

  “Why would you tell me that if I don’t have clearance?” I’m confused by his statement. I’m also doing some quick math with what I now know about the Cullings. If this one is less than three months, which is the shortest Culling length, that means we are a very short time away from being done with this whole thing. And I feel like we just began. We are only a month in.

  “I know you already figured out we were monitored. One of the first girls to do so I might add.” He winks at me.

  I ignore the heat my body feels from just a stupid wink and try to gather my thoughts. “How do you know that? Is it because of your rank?” I feel like he has such an advantage with what he knows. Is it just him or is it everyone? When will I quit feeling like the last to know things?

  “Uh...” He never hesitates about anything so this is interesting to see. He doesn’t want to answer this question.

  “Am I not cleared for it?” I demand.

  “Not exactly.” He shrugs.

  “Then spill it. How do you know?” I use the same tone he used with Langly. Demanding but caring.

  “Easy, Regs.” He puts his hands in the air in surrender and then picks up my hand again to continue rubbing the invisible circles on my palm. He sighs before beginning. “I know because the guys were shown highlights of the girls. They wanted us to have an advantage before we met you so that instead of just getting to know you, we would already know the ones we wanted to approach. That way, all that was left to do was test compatibility with one another. It saved a huge chunk of time. We were given much more about you than all of you were given about us.” His explanation is the longest I have
ever heard him talk, but it doesn’t help the immediate rage I feel.

  “What?!” I am furious. FUR-I-OUS. I try to yank my hand away from him but he holds it in place, his eyes drilling into mine. It may have saved time for the men, but not for us. They know our true colors while we still do not know theirs. I would have loved to see what Henry, Lyncoln, and the others were up to before the ball. To say this is not fair is an understatement.

  “It really isn’t that big of a deal. It’s not even the first time in a Culling they have pulled that move.” He tries to make it better, but I am instead angrier at even more information he has that I don’t.

  “If it isn’t that big of a deal, then why weren’t we shown the guys’ highlights?” I say haughtily.

  “Because.” He looks uncomfortable but doesn’t look away from me, just takes one long blink.

  “Because we are women?” I ask, dangerously close to punching him in his beautiful face.

  “Pretty much.” He looks at me like I’m a bomb about to explode and I’m not sure he’s wrong. “Look at the bright side though, all of us saw what Marisol has been up to this entire time. We didn’t know ranks, but we knew enough about some of you to know who you were and what kind of leader you would make.”

  “How can you know that much about us from just some highlights?” None of this is making any sense.

  “Because we were shown highlights of each day.” His words make me even madder if that were possible. I push my head against my propped up bed and close my eyes. I try to tell myself that it wasn’t Lyncoln’s fault.

  “I feel lied to. When we met wasn’t really when we met. Or not when you met me, anyway.” I think back to my fall at the Candidatorial Ball. He already knew a lot about me at that point. And he knew Marisol was conspiring against me, which is why he said what he did about keeping enemies close. I always think that he looks at me like he knows me. Well, turns out, he actually kind of does. And I still don’t really know him!