Deviation (4 page)

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.

I slip my hands under his shirt and run them up the hard planes of his abdomen and chest. The curve of his hip is smooth and beautiful. He shivers underneath my touch and it sends a ripple of pleasure through me to know I make him react that way.

I lean closer, offering him more of my mouth and my body.

Without removing his mouth from mine, he whispers, “I need you, Ven.”

My body heat spikes at the pleasure of his words and his kisses. “I need you too,” I manage. The euphoria of simply touching him is overwhelming. It’s been weeks since I’ve touched him this way. Since he’s touched me.

His mouth is hot and feverish against mine. My chest heaves with the need for oxygen—but, given the choice, I’d rather hyperventilate if it means feeling his tongue run along the edges of my lips.

None of our kisses before compare to the fire building between us now. My body strains. My muscles liquefy. I’m positive there’s more to it but I have no idea what should come next. I have the urge to remove my clothes. My fingers fumble with the buttons on the front of my dress.

His hands wander over the exposed skin above my collar. The pressure of his palm against my bruised neck is too much. Reflexively, I wince and pull away. It’s only for a moment, and then I’m searching again for his mouth, but it’s enough to break the spell.

“Hell, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” he says, his breath labored and warm on my face.

I nod, my chest rising and falling with my racing pulse. I don’t care about the pain or the fact that he’s looking at me like he’s just mortally wounded me. “What is it?” he asks, his brows crinkling as he tries to decipher my expression.