Unleashed, Page 20

  My eyes flare at his whispered me. Can he know how hard I have to fight myself around him? I stare at him, at those flecks of red-gold in his brown eyes. Everything he says is too close, too real, and the rawness that I felt before he carried me in this room is ten times worse.

  “But you care.” His eyes glow hotly. “I know you do.”

  “Why? Because I told one little lie for you? Get over yourself. It’s not about caring. It’s about doing the right thing.”

  “Such a little machine, aren’t you?” he taunts. “With no feeling? No heart?” The words fly fast, his teeth a snap of white in his tanned face. “That’s what you want me to think, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not trying to be anything with you—”

  “Yes, you are.” His voice rises, deep and hard like bullets flying. “You’re so busy trying to survive and not get hurt that you’ve built all these walls around you. You want to get to your friends, this Sean guy . . . but what happens when you find them? When you’re with them? I bet you can’t be around them, either. I bet you don’t let even this Sean touch you—”

  “Don’t! Please!” I hate how close to the truth he is. He’s right. God.

  I’ve been lying to myself. It’s not about feeling uncomfortable here at the compound or among these new carriers. I’m uncomfortable anywhere with anyone. With everyone. I can’t be around people because the girl who could relax and laugh and sing died the moment she took her first life.

  But then I realize that’s not entirely true. Because Caden makes me feel alive again. Being around him actually makes me happy. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I enjoy life around him.

  He keeps going as though I didn’t beg him to stop. “So you reunite with them, then what? You think you’ll be okay? Will you relax then and be able to forget that you’re a carrier? Will that giant chip on your shoulder disappear?” He’s squared me in, his arms on either side of my head, palms flat on the wall. “You think running from here, from me, like a scared little girl will fix what’s broken in you?”

  Words form on my lips. I choke on them and try to shove past him. Tears burn my eyes, and this is maybe the most humiliating thing of all. More humiliating than knowing he knows I’m broken and scared. Now he knows how weak I am, too.

  He doesn’t let me move an inch past him. He stands before me like an unbreakable wall. I knot my hands into fists and beat against his chest.

  “Davy.” His voice comes out soothing, and that’s worse than his caustic, mocking tone of before.

  “No! No!” I slap his chest at each word. “I don’t care what you say. I am leaving here and finding my friends and I am going to be okay. I’ll find . . . I’ll be me again . . . normal.”

  I gasp as this confession flies from my mouth. Even he looks stunned.

  Then he does the unthinkable. He laughs. “You think you can go back to before? That you can be normal?”

  God, did I just say that? Did I really think normal could ever happen for me again? I guess I did. I do. I think it’s out there still, waiting for me. And the first step to finding it is getting away from here and reaching the refuge. I’d built it up in my mind as a place where I could begin again, and it had to be.

  But the look on his face, and especially his laughter, wakes me to the fact that I’m delusional. That’s never going to happen. Running from here, I might as well keep running. Because I’m never going to find normal. I’m never even going to find something better. I can find my friends, but even they can’t give me that.

  His hands close on my shoulders. He gives me a small shake until I’m looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. So you can’t be normal. Screw it. Normal is overrated. You can make a new life, Davy, as someone who fights and demands change. It can be a good life. A life of purpose.”

  I’m panting and my cheeks are wet. God. I’m actually crying.

  “It can be good. It can be,” he says softly, closing the distance between us, the half inch separating our faces vanishing as he brushes his lips with mine, murmuring those soft words.

  I gasp. He pulls back. My hand flies to my lips, touching there.

  He holds my gaze, looking at me questioningly, waiting a moment before coming down again and claiming my mouth.

  He leans into me, his chest pressing flush against me, and I can feel every inch of him as his lips slant over mine. The solidness of his body, his narrow hips settling against me. His hands move from the wall, fingers tunneling into my hair.

  He nibbles at my bottom lip. “Kiss me, Davy. Kiss me back.”

  The plea works. Crushes the last of my resolve to dust. He’s been under my skin from the start. Pushing me from my self-imposed cage.

  My hands creep up his chest and wrap around his neck. The hair at the back of his head is soft and ticklish against my palm. I grab a fistful and deepen the kiss, surrender to the pull I’ve been fighting.

  With a moan, his arms wrap around my waist like steel bands, and he lifts me off my feet. Without breaking his mouth from mine, he turns us in a circle and walks us across the room.

  We lower ourselves side to side on the mattress. He lifts his mouth and we simply stare at each other, our breaths mingling. He combs his fingers through my hair, brushing it back from my cheeks, his expression intent on me. He tugs the end of one lock. “So you’re really a blonde, huh?”

  “Yeah.” My hand flies to the top of my head, where my roots show. “I was going for inconspicuous.”

  His thumb brushes my jaw, and he murmurs against my lips, “You want to know a secret?” I nod dumbly. “I’ve always had a thing for blondes.”

  I laugh lightly, a giddy sensation pulsing through me. “Lucky me.”

  “I never thought I’d have you like this.”

  “Like what?” I push back a dark wave of hair from his forehead.

  “So soft and sweet, full of laughter . . . letting me kiss you.”

  I feel the smile he’s talking about and try not to let it slip away even when his words give me a small taste of panic. Part of me wants to bolt, but I force myself to stay. I can enjoy this. Him. It doesn’t mean I’m weak. It doesn’t mean I’m going to get hurt.

  His voice continues like a deep purr, dragging shivers across my skin. “The last time I kissed you I figured I had nothing to lose. You were leaving anyway.” His liquid dark eyes with their fire underneath the surface suck me in. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  I hear something in his voice then. An echo of the same thing that tremors through me. “Me too,” I whisper.

  Then I’m kissing him, my hand cupping his cheek. It’s a heady and dangerous thing, but maybe it’s worth it. It feels good to feel again. To let emotion in.

  I unbutton his shirt and slip my hands inside, hungry for the feel of him. He pulls back and slides it all the way off. He comes down on me all warm skin and lean muscle. Life. Vitality. I don’t even recognize the sounds breaking loose from my lips. Sharp inhalations, contented sighs.

  He kisses my neck, my shoulders. His hand moves under my shirt and curves around my waist. I dig my nails into his back, revel in the flex of sinew under my fingers.

  I arch, putty in his hands as he works the buttons open on my shirt. The fabric drops with a whisper. Long fingers round my shoulder and caress my stitches.

  I wince.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. It’s just not . . . pretty.”

  “Everything about you is beautiful.” His dark eyes melt me, but his words . . . his words undo me.

  I smile, feeling shy. Except my hands can’t stop moving, stroking his warm skin.

  He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “You know you have to stay here with me.”

  My smile slips and my hands still against him. I don’t like those words no matter the sound of them in his velvet voice.

  He brushes a hand over my lips as if he can erase my sudden
frown. “Don’t. You’re not a prisoner, and I’m not trying to trick you into staying with me—even though I want you to. I think I’ve dreamed of you here, like this, ever since you brained me with that rock.” He smiles, and I feel my face heat.

  I swat his chest. “Be serious.”

  He catches my hand and holds it over his heart. “I love that you can still blush.”

  Because I’m a carrier. Someone who’s seen it all, done it all, and can still blush. I guess that is a rarity.

  He sobers. Looks at me intently. “Claiming you . . . you staying in my cell. It’s the only thing Marcus and his crew understand. That you’re mine.”

  That you’re mine.

  Pressed against him, his heart beating beneath my hand, it’s a far too tempting thought. That I’m his. That he’s mine.

  “Please, Davy, this way you’ll be safe as long as you’re here.”

  Stay here every night with him until the next crossing? In his bed. Wrapped up in his warmth and arms. Could I do that? And still leave? Without splintering apart?

  I sit up and push him back down with a hand on his chest. Leaning over him, I ask, “Does that work both ways?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does that mean you’re mine, too?” I try to keep my expression serious, but can’t help smiling.

  He looks startled for a second, but then he sits up suddenly on an elbow, sliding one hand to cup my cheek, fingers burrowing into my hair. Only he’s not smiling back at me. His expression is deadly serious as he utters, “I am yours. Completely.”

  And it’s my turn to be shocked. Peering into his face, what I see there robs me of breath. His eyes are deep and luminous, open and so full of life, so ready to embrace me. Love me. If I just let him. If I just let myself. It’s everything I’ve been running so hard from, and I feel so stupid to think I never wanted this again.

  I watch him, wondering at these feelings. He makes me feel like I can do this. That HTS didn’t end my life. For the first time I see that. I believe it. I believe I can still be someone. Not the girl I used to be, but someone else.

  Maybe even someone better.

  I pull a hard, bracing breath into my lungs. Maybe I’m eventually leaving this place—I don’t know anymore—but that doesn’t mean I can’t have this while I’m here.

  Sliding my hands around his neck, I bring my mouth back down to his.

  * * *

  Conversation between the president and the chief of staff

  PITT: Who’s in charge of the Resistance?

  SWITZER: Uh. I don’t understand, sir . . . I don’t know that any one specific person is.

  PITT: This isn’t happening without someone taking control and directing movements. They have to have a leader. Someone they all respect. I want to know who . . . Find him.

  TWENTY-ONE

  WE KISS THROUGH HALF THE NIGHT. FEVERISH kisses that leave me aching. He always pulls back just before things get too carried away, and that’s a peculiar thing. For a guy. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t remember that much. Zac had been a master at persuading and cajoling, getting in my head and twisting me around his finger. I just didn’t know it then. Manipulating me, wanting to possess me. I thought that was love. I wouldn’t have resisted him much longer. If my DNA hadn’t turned up positive for HTS when it did, I would have given him what he wanted, thinking it was what I wanted, too. And I guess my heartbreak would have been that much more crushing, because there would have been even more regret wrapped up in the crumbling bits of my life.

  It had never felt like this with Sean, either. Never so real. Sure, there had been butterflies in the stomach and heady kisses, but it had been me running from life, terrified and looking to hang on to something. With Caden I’m not running from life. I’m running toward it.

  My whole world turned on its axis when Caden dragged me into this room. I discovered that I can’t run from emotions, from feelings. It’s like hiding from the sun. And Caden is the sun to me. Warm and bright, he seeps into every pore.

  And since I can’t hide from the sun—or him—I might as well embrace it. I’ll hold him close for as long as I can. I may never get another chance. In this world, I may not even get another tomorrow.

  “Davy.” Caden says my name, but I hardly hear him. I’m kissing his jaw, his neck, the smell and taste of him making my heart race faster. The good kind of adrenaline. Not like getting shot or choked, which is all the experience I’ve had lately.

  “Davy,” he groans, his hands flexing on me. “Davy,” he repeats, his voice more insistent. He tries to sit up, but I push him back down.

  I hold his face in both hands and kiss his mouth again, silencing him that way. Kissing him is addictive. Like a drug. When my hands drift lower and brush his waistband, he seizes my wrists.

  “Davy.” He bites my name in a strangled voice, his chest quivering under me. “This isn’t a race. We have time.”

  I shake my head. Time? That’s the last thing any of us have. “Nothing lasts, Caden.” Everything I’ve ever cared about leaves. And then I’m alone. If I have this time with him, this experience, at least it’s one good memory to take with me.

  He brings my hands back up his chest. His heart thumps strong and steady beneath my palms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Everyone thinks that.” I search the hard lines and shadowed hollows of his face. No one thinks they’re going to lose everything. That when they wake up they’ll learn that they have a genetic mutation and poof! Everything and everyone that matters will vanish.

  He pulls me down and tucks me against him. “We’re going to take our time, because we have time.” His words gust against my ear, and it’s tempting to believe that deep, velvety voice. I know he means it. Somehow in the cesspit that’s become our world, he has clung to his optimism, his faith in mankind, in a world that’s good.

  I know better.

  Still, I cuddle against his chest and let his arms hold me close, listening to the thump of his heart and his warm exhales against my cheek.

  “Tell me more about who you were,” I say.

  “What do you mean?” His voice rumbles beneath my ear.

  I grimace. I made it sound like I was asking who he was for Halloween or something. “Before this,” I qualify. He was someone else. Just like I was someone else. No one plans for this. This just falls on you. Like a ten-story building.

  “I’m the same. Pretty much.”

  I tense, thinking about this . . . that he could be the same, that he thinks he is.

  “I mean, I guess I didn’t go to West Point like I probably would have. Assuming I got in, but I was a legacy. My dad and grandfather went there, so my chances were good.”

  “What about music? Singing? You gave that up, right?”

  “Nothing would have come of that anyway. I did it for me then, and I still do. No one stops me from singing or playing on my guitar when I want to.”

  I tap my fingers lightly on his chest. “You have a unique sound. You would have changed your mind once you started performing.” Once he saw how he could reach people . . . at his first standing ovation.

  He nods to his guitar in the corner. “It’s not anything I lost.”

  Lucky him. I wish music still lived inside me. “Sing,” I whisper. “Sing to me.” Like before.

  He’s silent for a long moment and I think he’s not going to, but then his chest purrs deeply beneath me as lyrics float over the air above my head. I press my lips to his skin, so grateful . . . even happy.

  It’s been too long since I let music inside my soul. Not since the last time I heard him sing.

  Caden is right about having time. A week passes while in lockdown, and it does seem like we have all the time in the world together. There was a brief hint of awkwardness the first morning we emerged from his room. Hand in hand we entered the main room. All noise died as everyone swung to stare at us.

  I might have fled if Caden didn’t pull me forward, his hand wrapped snugly arou
nd mine, his thumb drawing soothing circles inside my palm. We stepped into the line for breakfast, and soon activity resumed.

  For the first time people actually smiled at me. Maybe even better than that, Marcus didn’t look at me at all. No more threatening scowls from him or his goons.

  The only thing marring the misleading haze of perfect coloring our world is the fact that a traitor lurks in the compound. The moment we leave the safety of Caden’s room each morning, the tension is there, lining Caden’s jaw, guarding his eyes. I notice it because I know what he’s like at night with the door shut. The gentle smiles, the teasing, the easy sighs between our touches and kisses.

  He keeps me with him throughout the day. At first, I simply think this is because things have changed between us and he can’t get enough of me in the same way I can’t get enough of him. But it’s more than that, I soon realize.

  One afternoon, as Caden, Junie, and Boyce pore over maps and discuss the next supply raid after the lockdown is lifted, Terrence waves for me to follow him. Stepping from the room, he offers to show me the inner workings of the controls room.

  “Taking pity on me?” I ask.

  “You look bored.”

  In the controls room, Terrence gives a cursory nod to another carrier listening intently to whatever he’s hearing from his headphones while simultaneously scribbling on a notepad. Terrence gestures at the row of computers and equipment like a proud papa. “This is all military issue . . . we borrowed it when we first set up operation here. I’ve got it wired to connect to most of the US information networks,” Terrence explains.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “How . . .”

  “I worked on a system like this when I was in the military. That’s where I first met Caden’s father and the General. We’re able to collect intel and use it to help carriers, gather supplies, prevent raids.”

  But it can’t protect from everything. They didn’t hear anything to help save Tabatha and the others.