Chosen Ones (26 page)

Kale stepped closer. At first, an insane part of my brain interpreted this to mean he was protecting me from Dad. It made sense somehow. According to him, Dad was the enemy, and I, the one who helped him back by the stream—the one who gave him my shoes and lied to those men—was a friend.

But then Kale spoke; his menacing words were delivered in a cold, harsh tone that obliterated the crazy theory.

“If you do not move aside and let me leave, I will kill her.”

Some friend.

Despite Kale’s threat, Dad remained in the doorway, blocking his path. “Deznee, I’m going to say this one last time. Step away from the boy.”

Everything Kale said about my dad rushed bounced in my head like a bad trip, churning in my stomach like sour milk.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, glaring at Dad. “Do you know him?”

Dad finally made a move. Not the kind of move you’d expect from a father fearing for his teenaged daughter’s life, but a simple, bold step forward. One that screamed
I dare you
.

He was playing chicken with Kale.

And he lost.

Kale shook his head, and when he spoke, he sounded kind of sad. “You should know I don’t bluff, Cross. You taught me that.”

His hand shot out, lightning fast, and clamped down on my neck. Warm fingers brushed my skin and curled around my throat. They were long and callused and wrapped more than halfway. He was going to snap my neck. Or choke me. In a panic, I tried to pry his fingers away, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice. This was it. I was a goner. All the stupid stuff I’d done and survived, and a random, almost-hookup was going to do me in. Where was the fair in that?

But Kale didn’t crush my windpipe or try to choke me. He just turned toward me—staring. His face pale and eyes wide. Watching me as though I was a fascinating first-place science project, mouth hanging open like I’d presented the cure for Cancer.

On my neck, his fingers twitched, and then he let go. “How—?”

Movement by the door. Dad reached into his pocket—and out came a
gun
? Things had gone from really weird to
I-fell-down-the-rabbit-hole-
surreal. My dad didn’t know how to shoot a gun! He lifted the barrel and aimed it at us, hand steady.

Then again, maybe he did.

“What the hell are you doing, Dad?”

He didn’t move. “There’s nothing to worry about. Stay calm.”

Stay calm? Was he crazy? He was pointing a gun in my general direction! If anything about that situation said calm, I was missing something.

Thankfully, my normal catlike reflexes saved our asses. Yeah. More like dumb luck. Dad squeezed the trigger and I dropped to the floor, pulling a very surprised Kale with me. I nearly ripped his arm out of its socket in the process, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He wasn’t concerned about the gun either, his attention still fixated on me. We hit the ground as a small projectile embedded itself into the wall behind us with a dull thud. A dart. A tranq gun? Somehow this didn’t make me feel any better. I could console myself with the fact that the dart hit the wall closer to Kale than me, indicating I hadn’t been the target, but still. Bullets or not, a gun was a gun. And guns freaked me the hell out.

“Move!” I hauled Kale to his feet and shoved him through the door and into the kitchen. He stumbled forward but managed to keep himself upright. Impressive considering he still had on my ill-fitting, soggy sneakers.

“Deznee!” Dad bellowed from the living room. Heavy footsteps pounded against the hardwood as he chased after us. No way was I stopping.

Dad had a specific tone he used when mad at me—which was like, ninety-eight percent of the time—and it never fazed me. In fact, I found it kind of funny. But tonight was different. Something in his voice told me I’d gone above and beyond and it scared me a little.

Something shattered—probably the half-full glass of Coke I’d left on the coffee table last night while watching “SNL” reruns. “Get back here! You have no idea what you’re doing!”

What else was new? Truthfully, even if the gun hadn’t freaked me out, it was obvious Kale, despite the badass vibe, was afraid of my dad. He’d been through something brutal—and Dad had somehow played a part in it. I wasn’t sure why this guy’s past was so important, but I needed to find out.

I propelled him out the back door and into the cool night air. We didn’t stop—even when we came to the property line. And even as we put distance between Dad and us at a breakneck speed, I could still hear my father’s angry words echoing in the cold night, “This isn’t one of your goddamn games!”

3

“We’re almost there,” I said. We’d stopped running a few minutes ago so we could catch our breath. Kale hadn’t spoken since he’d threatened to kill me, only continued to stare as though I’d grown a second—and third—head. I was full of questions, but they could wait for now.

We finally reached the mustard-yellow Cape Cod on the other side of the railroad tracks and followed a small stone path around the back, to a set of bilko doors that had been spray painted black. Written across the front in bulbous white graffiti was
Curd’s Castle
. I kicked the hatch twice, then waited. Several moments later, with an ear-piercing clatter, the doors opened, and a spiky, blond- and purple-streaked head popped out. Curd. With a nod and a too-eager smile, he waved us inside as if we were expected.

We descended the dark cement staircase and stepped into a dimly lit room. It was surprisingly clean—none of the typical staples you’d expect to see when walking into a seventeen-year-old guy’s room were visible. No half-eaten plates of food or empty soda cans. No scattered piles of video games or magazines. There weren’t even any posters of skanky women in obscene poses on the wall. Not that Curd wasn’t a dog. The place may have looked clean, but it smelled of sex and pot.

Kurt Curday—Curd to his adoring public—was the go-to guy for all your partying needs. Kegs, pot, X, Curd could get it all. A big name on the raver scene and fellow senior-to-be, Curd was one of the organizers of Sumrun. The party, one of the biggest raves in four counties, was a week away, so Curd was a busy guy.

“Dez, baby, I’d be much happier to see you if you weren’t towing along a little pet.” He ran a finger up my arm, then curled a lock of my hair around his thumb, “But hey, I’m up for whatever.”

“This isn’t a social call, Curd.” I glanced at Kale. He stood stiffly by the door, eyes fixed on Curd’s finger running along my skin. His gaze lifted to mine, and I felt a shiver skitter up my spine. Shaking it off, I shuffled away from Curd and into the room. “I got into some trouble with my dad again. I need a place to lay low. You were the closest.”

He shot me a disappointed frown and flopped onto the futon, kicking his heels onto a small, rickety table. “Not to worry, baby. What’d ya get caught doing this time?”

I forced a sly smile and shrugged. “Oh, you know, the usual.” I hitched my thumb back at Kale. “What Dad is thrilled to find a half-naked guy in his daughter’s bedroom?” I hoped that would explain the clothing Kale wore—clothing that obviously wasn’t his.

“Such a little hellcat.” He blew me an exaggerated kiss. A grin that told me he was picturing himself in Kale’s place slipped across his face. “Tell me again why we haven’t hooked up yet?”

I sank into the chair across from him. “I don’t like dealers?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. How could I forget?” He nodded in Kale’s direction. “Who’s the mute?”

“Curd, Kale.” I waved in Kale’s direction. “Kale, Curd.”

“I touched you,” Kale interjected after a moment of silence.

Curd snickered. “If you were in
her
bed, I certainly hope you weren’t touching yourself.” He turned to me, right eyebrow cocked. “Is he
special
?”

I glared at him.

He shrugged. “You guys thirsty? I’ll go find some soda—or something a little harder?”

I sighed and said, “Soda’s fine.”

Kale watched Curd disappear up the narrow staircase leading to the first floor and took a step forward. He repeated his previous statement. “I touched you.”

“Yes,” was all I could manage. His blue eyes pinned me to the chair. A mishmash of emotion raged inside my head. I was torn between checking the exits for men in weird suits and checking out Kale. And then I remembered Dad and the gun…

“You’re still alive.”

“Should I not be?” There was that look again. Like he was standing in the presence of some mythical creature and had been granted a year’s supply of wishes. It made me uncomfortable. It’s not like I wasn’t used to being stared at, and to be fair, I’d done my fair share of staring tonight, but this was different. Intense in a way I’d never felt before.

He took another step forward, head tilted to the side. “That’s never happened. Ever.” He reached for me, hesitating for a moment before pulling his hand back. “Can…can I touch you again?”

I probably should have been weirded out by a question like that. Any other day, I would have been, but Kale’s eyes sparkled with wonder and curiosity. Gone was the cold expression he’d worn back at my house. His voice was soft, but there was a fierce longing in it that made my mouth go dry. I pushed my discomfort aside, nodded, and stood.

For a big guy, he moved surprisingly fast, darting around the coffee table to stand in front of me. Close. Breathing-the-same-air kind of close. I expected him to grab my wrist, or maybe my arm, but instead he brought his right hand up to cup the side of my face.

“You’re so warm,” he said in awe as his thumb traced whisper light under my eye—like wiping away tears. “So soft. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Neither had I. His thumb, barely skating across my skin, left a trail of warm tingles in its wake that spread throughout my entire body. His breath, puffing out softly across my nose and forehead, was warm and sweet, almost dizzying.

A loud clanking rang from upstairs—Curd must have dropped something—snapping me out of it. I cleared my throat. “Um, thanks?”

“You helped me escape Cross,” he said, stepping back. “I tried to kill you, and you helped me escape. Why?”

I shrugged. “My dad’s a dick. Pissing him off is a hobby. ’Sides, you didn’t really
try
to kill me. You were scared.”

“I don’t get scared.”

“Everyone gets scared.”

Now wasn’t the time to argue. I needed answers. Things started churning in the back of my brain. Strange, late-night phone calls. Oddly timed trips to the office. All things that, had I been paying attention, might have popped up as red flags. “You said my dad was a killer. That’s some kind of euphemism, right?”

“I’m one of his weapons.”

“Weapons?”

“He uses me.”

The way he said it gave me chills. The creepy kind, this time. “To what? Like, spy on the other side’s clients?” Even though I knew it was likely crap now, my subconscious was desperate to hang onto the belief that Dad was a lawyer.

“No.”

I folded my arms, getting irritated. “Then give me a hint here. What is it you do for Dad?”

Taking two steps forward, blue eyes bright, he spoke softly. “I kill for him.”

I blinked and tried to visualize Dad as the big bad. Couldn’t do it. Or wouldn’t. Sure, he was a tool and we hadn’t really talked in years, but a killer? No way.

Turning his palms upward, Kale raised both hands and flexed his fingers. “They bring death to anything I touch.”

I remembered the ground he walked across at the stream had looked wrong. Discolored.

I passed it off on the beer at the time, but…

He jerked away each time I got close enough to touch him…

He wouldn’t take my shoes off…

The air caught in my lungs and the room began to shrink. “Your skin…?”

I would’ve called bullshit, but I of all people knew first hand crazy shit was possible. Plus, there’d been rumors floating through the raver scene for years now, ever since a local boy was arrested during Sumrun seven years ago. Rumor had it, the guy shorted out the electricity with a single touch of his fingers after being chased to the party by police. After they took him away, no one ever saw him again.

“Is deadly to anything living. Except you. How am I able to touch you? Everyone else would have died a horrible death.”

I took a step back. It was hard to concentrate with him staring like that. “Let’s focus here for a sec. You’re trying to tell me that my dad uses you as a weapon? A weapon against what exactly?”

His face fell. “Not what, who.”

“Who?” I really didn’t want to hear his answer. Either my mysterious hottie was crazy or Dad was… Well, either way his answer was bound to throw another bird at my building.

“People. He uses me to punish people.”

“My dad has you touch people? To
kill
them?”

“That is correct.” The shame in his voice was like a vacuum, stealing all the air from the room. Eyes rising to meet mine, he reached out and ran his finger along the line of my chin and to my cheek, letting his touch linger for a few moments. I found myself wanting to take it all away. The heavy, sad look in his eyes. The pain in his voice. I could do it, maybe. Tell him something about myself that might make him feel less alone. Less isolated. A secret I’ve never spoken aloud before.

I opened my mouth, but when the words came out they weren’t what I’d expected. “You’re wrong. My dad’s a
lawyer
.” The walls that had been in place for as far back as I could remember stood strong.