by David Estes
“The same,” she says. “I’m just glad my brother’s okay. Check, Rod, and Gonzo, too. And you and your family, of course. I’m sorry about your father though.”
Benson grimaces. “Thanks. I’m sorry, too, I think. It’s hard to know what to feel right now.”
“I know what you mean.”
“What do you think of my brother?” Benson asks, trying to change the subject.
“You mean your clone?” she says, grinning. “Well, other than how insanely weird it is seeing two of you everywhere, he seems like a good guy.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too, and if you think it’s strange for you to be seeing two of me, how crazy do you think it is for me to be seeing myself everywhere?”
“True,” she says, kicking his foot again.
The few inches between them seem as wide as the Mississippi and all Benson wants to do is swim across the gap.
Electricity seems to buzz between them, so real that Benson lifts his hand to see if it’s sparking. Luce grabs it and leans into him, but then stops, so close he can feel her soft exhalations on his lips. He can see her entire body trembling. Despite all her strength, conquering her past is her biggest challenge. And he won’t force her to run before she can walk.
“I’m okay,” she says, almost more to herself than to him. “I can do this.”
“Luce…”
“I want to do this.”
She touches her palm to his chin, as if guiding him closer. Words are meaningless and unnecessary. All he needs is her touch. He runs his hand through her long blond hair, not pulling, just holding. Where’s the boy who was too scared to hold her hand? he wonders as their lips approach. Closer. Closer. And it’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe, as her lips touch his, so much more tender and less forced than the first time, when it was all an act. This time it’s real, her lips like an artist’s brush on canvas as they caress his own.
His other hand moves to her hip, where he holds her firmly. Her tongue slips inside his mouth and he feels explosions through his body, curling his toes and setting his nerves on fire. Despite the engineered chill in the air, he feels warmth through his entire being, seeming to spread all the way to his soul.
She traces a path of hot kisses to his chin and then down his neck, lingering on the last one, her soft lips wonderful against his skin.
When she pulls back, she says, “I feel so stupid for being scared to kiss you.” He’s surprised at how similar her words are to his thoughts. But then he remembers the story she told him. The awful pervert trying to force himself on her.
“Nothing about you is stupid,” he says.
She smiles and he smiles and their smiles touch in a delicate kiss that’s the complete opposite to the forced fiery passion of their previous embrace. More perfect. More real.
“I’ll never leave you,” Luce says against his lips.
“Even if I’m the most wanted criminal in the entire RUSA?” he jokes. Except it’s not a joke.
“Especially not then,” she says. “Somebody’s got to protect you.”
He cradles her head against his chest and breathes into her hair, pretending for just a few precious moments that they can stay like this forever, that the beats of their hearts will never have to live apart, not for one second.
The Slip melts away, once more becoming just Benson Kelly, just a boy holding a girl.
And that’s enough.
Chapter Forty-One
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The racket wakes him up from an empty sleep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He tries to open his eyes, to move his arms, to find whatever device is making the noise and crush it between his fists. But he can’t move, can’t open his eyes. Reality rushes back. The so-called Destroyer was destroyed by a couple of teenagers. It doesn’t matter that he’s only seventeen years old himself; time has a different meaning for someone made of metal parts.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Dammit! “Uhhh,” he hears himself say. Say something normal! Say something intelligent! Say something scary! “Uhhh.”
Rage explodes inside him. Rage with no outlet, so boiling hot that he can almost feel it eating his insides alive. Almost. But he can’t feel anything anymore. No pain. Not even the slightest tingling sensation to tell him he’s still alive.
Where’s the beat of my heart? he wonders, panicking.
“Beep. Beep. Beep,” is the only answer he gets.
And then: “Oh, hello, sir. I didn’t hear you come in,” a voice says. The doctor.
I’m still alive, he thinks. If he was dead he wouldn’t be able to hear the doctor or the beeping.
“Status,” a familiar voice growls. The Voice He Needed To Hear. Corrigan Mars. The man who’s always believed in him.
“Uh, well, the good news is that the procedure is complete. He’s going to survive.”
“And the bad news?” Corr asks. If Domino Destovan could even tell whether he was breathing, he’d be holding his breath.
“What?”
“You said ‘the good news,’ implying you had some bad news, too.”
“Well, not bad exactly. Like I said, he’s going to be just fi—”
“Spit it out, Doctor,” Corr says sharply.
“Yes, of course. The only uncertainty left is when he’ll wake up. Could be hours, could be days, could be months. It’s impossible to predict these things.”
I’m awake now, you freaking moron! Domino screams in his head. “Uhhh.”
“He’s making sounds. Does that mean he might wake up sooner rather than later?”
“No,” the doctor says. “They’re more likely just random reactions to the shock his body’s been through.”
Idiot! I’m freaking trying to talk to you! If he could only feel his fingers he’d wrap them around the nitwit doctor’s throat and squeeze him until he got it through his pea-brained head that Domino Destovan is not some comatose vegetable. He’s ready to get the hell out of this bed.
“What percent human is he?” Corr asks.
“Well, depending on what measure you use, and whether you count—”
“Doctor, your incessant babbling is growing tiresome,” Corr says, cutting him off.
“Sorry. He’s fifteen percent human.”
“Christ.”
Fifteen percent? Domino’s sure he must have misheard, some problem with his ears. More likely fifty percent, down from sixty. Or he could have said forty percent, since that starts with an F, too.
He hears a thud that sounds suspiciously like a fist hitting the wall. “Dammit, Doctor, I need him awake now! Isn’t there anything you can do to speed it up?”
“Well, yes, there are various drugs but there are considerable risks associat—”
“Do it. Give him whatever might get him up.”
Yes.
“Sir, with all due respect it could kill hi—”
There’s a crash and a loud scraping sound, followed by a series of muttered curses. “My arm! I think it’s broken,” the doctor wails.
“If you want your other bones to remain unbroken, I suggest you give the Destroyer the drugs.”
Yes. He still thinks of him as the Destroyer. He still needs him.
“Okay. Okay. Please, give me a second. Everything’s scattered on the floor.” There’s some rustling, considerable grunting, and then the doctor says, “This one should do the trick. But remember, he might wake up confused, or out of sorts.”
Domino wonders if a punch to the head would prove to the doctor that he’s the least confused person on the planet right now. He waits. And then—
Finally—
Freaking finally—
He feels something.
A pinch. A spot of cold somewhere. His arm, maybe? His leg? No. No. His face. His left cheek. The cold grows, grows and then sends a shockwave of pain through his skull like a thousand angry hornets are stinging his brain.
With a roar, he sits bolt upright, feeling tubes and wires tangli
ng around him.
And he opens his eyes.
“Welcome back,” Corrigan Mars says.
~~*~~
Check out the thrilling sequel in The Slip Trilogy, Grip, out NOW! And keep reading for a sample of Grip, as well as Brew, the first book in David Estes’ action-packed witch apocalypse series, Salem’s Revenge, available NOW!
A personal note from David…
If you enjoyed this book, please, please, please (don’t make me get down on my knees and beg!) consider leaving a positive review on the major book review sites. Without reviews on the major sites, I wouldn’t be able to write for a living, which is what I love to do! Thanks for all your incredible support and I look forward to reading your reviews.
Acknowledgments
This book is a long time coming! As many of you know, I had originally planned to publish this in June of 2014, but at the last minute I delayed it because of interest from a major publisher. Although that interest eventually fizzled, my agent Andrea Hurst, Amazon White Glove, and my incredible readers were there to support me in setting a new release date later in the year. I received only positive encouragement along the way, which was extremely motivating during a challenging time. Thank you all for your kind messages and patience!
A huge thank you and hug to my wife, Adele, who’s been my first fan, my biggest supporter, and my toughest critic, all at the same time. My books are exponentially better because of your help. And I’m so honored that you’d say Slip is my best book yet—that means the world to me.
To my agent, Andrea Hurst, who I mentioned above, you rock! You’ve stuck with me for a long 18 months, supporting me every step of the way and never doubting that I had something to offer. Thanks for sharing your time and experience with me!
A special thanks to my friend, beta reader, and Street Team member, Karen Benson, for loaning me her last name for the first name of one of my main characters! Love it!
A massive thank you to my friend and uber-talented cover artist, Tony Wilson at Winki Pop Design, you’ve once again provided the perfect cover for the series, one that stands out among the crowd! Also a noteworthy thank you to Jen Wesner and her daughter, Emma, for providing helpful feedback on early drafts of the cover to ensure it fit the book and genre. You two are also extremely talented!
Thank you to my beta readers, you’ve stuck with me for a long time, through a lot of drafts, through an unbelievably aggressive publishing schedule that means you have to dedicate A TON of time to me and my books. I am forever in your debt. So thank you Laurie Love, Alexandria Theodosopoulos, Kerri Hughes, Terri Thomas, Brooke DelVecchio, Rachel Shade, Kat Mellon, Sheree Whitelock, Karen Benson, and Anthony Briggs Jr.
Did anyone notice how MASSIVE the Slip release was? I know I did, and a huge amount of credit goes to Lolita Verroen, who planned, organized and executed the release, not once, but TWICE, because of the delays. Thanks for sticking with me and for doing a fantabulous job!
For the rock stars who are my Street Team, Estes’ Angels, gah! You people are the best of the best, and I wouldn’t have a career without your support. Keep on kicking butt the way you do and I might just be able to do this whole writing thing for a while!
Lastly, to each and every person who has ever read one or more of my books, THANK YOU. Four years ago I hadn’t sold a single book, and now I’ve sold more than thirty-thousand books and given away thousands more. It’s all of YOU who created my career. I especially want to thank all of the thousands of members of my official Goodreads fan group, David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite! Love you girls and guys!
The saga continues in other books by David Estes available through the author’s official website:
http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com
or through select online retailers including Amazon.com.
Young Adult Novels by David Estes
The Dwellers Saga:
Book One—The Moon Dwellers
Book Two—The Star Dwellers
Book Three—The Sun Dwellers
Book Four—The Earth Dwellers
The Country Saga (A Dwellers Saga sister series):
Book One—Fire Country
Book Two—Ice Country
Book Three—Water & Storm Country
Book Four—The Earth Dwellers
Salem’s Revenge:
Book One—Brew
Book Two—Boil
Book Three—Burn (coming January 2015!)
The Slip Trilogy:
Book One—Slip
Book Two—Grip
Book Three—Flip (coming in early 2015!)
The Evolution Trilogy:
Book One—Angel Evolution
Book Two—Demon Evolution
Book Three—Archangel Evolution
Children’s Books by David Estes
The Adventures of Nikki Powergloves:
Nikki Powergloves—A Hero Is Born
Nikki Powergloves and the Power Council
Nikki Powergloves and the Power Trappers
Nikki Powergloves and the Great Adventure
Nikki Powergloves vs. the Power Outlaws (Coming soon!)
Connect with David Estes Online
David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite
Facebook
Blog/website
About the Author
David Estes was born in El Paso, Texas but moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania when he was very young. He grew up in Pittsburgh and then went to Penn State for college. Eventually he moved to Sydney, Australia where he met his wife and soul mate, Adele, who he’s now been happily married to for more than three years.
A reader all his life, David began writing novels for the children's and YA markets in 2010, and has completed 18 novels, 16 of which have been published. In June of 2012, David became a fulltime writer and was able to travel the world for two years with Adele, while writing his books. They’ve now settled down in Hawaii, where David hopes to create many more books for his readers.
David gleans inspiration from all sorts of crazy places, like watching random people do entertaining things, dreams (which he jots copious notes about immediately after waking up), and even from thin air sometimes!
David’s a writer with OCD, a love of dancing and singing (but only when no one is looking or listening), a mad-skilled ping-pong player, an obsessive Goodreads group member, and prefers writing at the swimming pool to writing at a table. He loves responding to e-mails, Facebook messages, Tweets, blog comments, and Goodreads comments from his readers, all of whom he considers to be his friends.
A sample of GRIP, the thrilling sequel to SLIP by David Estes, available NOW!
PART 1
REFUGE
Chapter One
Destiny’s been running for a long time. Her entire sixteen years of life, actually. That’s what Slips do. They have no choice. Run or die.
Even now, she doesn’t know how she’s managed to stay a step ahead of the Hunters. An old drunk homeless dude who let her hide in his tent once said her name might have something to do with it. At the time, the alcohol fumes were so strong on his breath that she didn’t take him too seriously. But now…
She doesn’t know what to think.
Not ten minutes ago they had her. “They” being agents of Population Control, or Pop Con. The Hunters were closing in on her from three sides, no doubt guided by a Hawk drone hovering invisibly high in the sky. Momentarily forgetting her empty stomach, she bolted from the convenience store, nearly crashing into a teenage girl about her age. A girl who was carrying a shiny new pair of hoverskates.
Like fate. Or, well, like her name. Destiny.
They’re the same hoverskates that are now on her feet, propelling her safely away from the Hunters, who tried to scramble back to their aut-cars to pursue her. Some of them fired shots, but there were no direct hits. At least she doesn’t think so. She’s never been shot before, but the pinprick of pain she felt in her back didn’t seem nearly bad enough to be a bullet ripping through her flesh
. More like a ricochet—a shard of shrapnel spitting from the ground beneath her.
Destiny can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. Maybe the drunk dude was right. Maybe her parents had a premonition when they named her. Could they have known she would survive far longer than she was supposed to, dodging bullets and Hunters with remarkable success?
She shakes off the thought and tries to concentrate on guiding her skates down the thin alley between the row houses. Hovering a meter over the glass-speckled cement she pushes off against the air, each thrust speeding her up, until she almost feels out of control.
As she flies past a toppled-over garbage can, she narrowly misses clipping the metal frame, which is crawling with rats. Out of control. Almost. Just missing the garbage can is like a metaphor for her entire insane and unauthorized life.
Directly ahead, a group of ruffians plays baseball in the alley with rocks and sticks. Slashing past them, she steals one kid’s cap right off his head. She slaps it on her scalp and ignores the protests from the kids. She doesn’t feel bad about stealing. How can you feel bad about something you’ve done your entire life? How can you feel bad about something you have to do to survive?
Hunger claws inside her belly, and Destiny wishes the kid had a bag of food pills on his head instead of the cap. Habitually, she clenches her abs and pretends that being hungry is the best thing in the world. The uncomfortable pang slowly ebbs away, leaving her feeling just empty again. Empty but not hungry.
She pushes herself harder and harder, cutting a sharp turn down another alley, this one free of ruffians. Her dark skin is sheened with sweat and her muscles are tight, but she knows she’s still too close to the store where she almost got caught.
Almost.
That word seems to be today’s theme, she thinks wryly. Almost caught. Almost out of control. Almost safe again.