Milo’s eyes widen. Then, with his free hand, he reaches up and wipes tears from my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure it is. I promise.”
I suck in a startled breath. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “That’s a pretty big promise …” More tears spill from my eyes. “You were always so nice to me. Probably too nice.” I’m cracking apart, rupturing open, about to burst into pieces.
Don’t utter a word, Madelynn.
Don’t you dare.
“I don’t know about that.” He frowns. “Remember those fights we got into?”
“Huh? We got into, like, three fights ever, and they only ever lasted for about an hour.” I sniffle.
“I know, but we were pretty mean to each other for that one hour.”
“You’re such a liar. Our fights were barely fights.”
“I called you a bitch once.”
I snort a laugh through my tears. “When?”
“When you didn’t show up to one of my games after you promised you’d be there.”
My lips part in shock. “I never missed any of your games.”
He holds up a finger. “The final game my senior year, you weren’t there.”
I have to think about it for a moment, and then I suddenly feel like the biggest jerk that’s ever existed. “That’s when I was dating Logan.”
He nods. “You missed a lot of stuff when you were dating Logan.”
That’s because Logan was in college and hated going to high school functions, which was fine; except, he never wanted me to go to them, either. And like a stupid, naive girl, I did whatever he asked because I believed I was falling in love.
“Well, I’m sorry I missed your game,” I tell him truthfully.
I want to hug him, fold my arms around him, and sink inside him. Disappear. Go back to the days when he was my best friend and life was simple.
But life isn’t simple anymore.
Maybe it never really was.
Maybe everything before that night was just the calm before the storm.
From the clips of memories that have been emerging over the past week, I worry that night wasn’t the only time I’ve done something terrible.
Who am I?
That girl standing in front of that warehouse in rags?
The girl with the mixed-up name that half the world seems to get backward?
Milo’s lips start to part to ask who knows what, when Zhara appears at the bottom of the stairs.
“Jessa, I know you’re busy, but”—her gaze briefly flickers to mine and Milo’s interlocked hands, and curiosity crosses her face—“it’s starting to rain, and the window needs to be covered.”
Rain.
Rain.
Rain.
Through all the chaos, I almost forgot about the potential storm blowing in.
I need to take care of the window then text everyone to make sure they stay safe, just in case the little storm turns into a full blown one.
I slip my hand out of Milo’s and turn to Zhara. “Shit. I forgot about that.”
Her tone and smile convey insinuation. “Yeah, you seemed pretty distracted by other stuff.”
I shoot her a warning look as I reach for the doorknob. “I’m heading to the garage now. You and Nik meet me upstairs. I’m going to need you guys to hold the plastic while I staple it up.”
She nods then jogs up the stairs.
“Is everything okay?” Milo asks from right behind me.
I open the door and frown at the rain splattering against the ground. Memories of that night wash over me like a river, and I nearly collapse.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I shudder as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky. “Nik just broke a window, and I need to put some plastic over it.”
You can do this. You can do this. Just run out there and get the damn plastic. Then check the Weather Channel and see if you need to start texting everyone you know.
I inch forward, but then jerk back as thunder booms.
“Let’s play a little game, Madelynn. Starting with you telling me when the next storm is.”
I blink from the memory. Huh? Why did he think I could predict storms?
Milo folds his fingers around my arm, causing me to flinch.
“Relax.” He gently draws me back into the house. “I’ll get the plastic. You wait here.”
“Are you sure?” I eyeball the rain. “You’re going to get wet.”
“I’m fine.” He leans in, puts his lips beside my ear, and lowers his voice. “I remember how much you hate storms.”
I don’t know what overcomes me. If perhaps I’ve lost my mind or if his nearness brings too much warmth, heating the constant coldness that’s been living inside me. Whatever it is, before I can even think about what I’m doing, I press my lips to his.
He stiffens for a raindrop of a second before he starts kissing me back, our tongues tangling together as he moves his hands up and down my sides. Then we both groan in unison as he spreads his palms across my lower back and presses me closer to deepen the kiss.
As quickly as the kiss started, he pulls away.
“Fuck,” he pants, eyes wild with panic.
I open my lips to sputter an apology when he dips and kisses me deeply, breathlessly. My toes curl as I melt into the kiss, clutching the front of his shirt.
I can’t think. Can barely breathe. And part of me wants to stay this way forever, while the other part screams that this is wrong. That Milo isn’t the person I’m supposed to be kissing.
I shove the doubt aside as he parts my lips with his tongue. I let out a throaty groan as the taste of him floods my senses. Good God, this is what I’ve been missing? This spark. This overwhelming connection, as if we were meant to be right here all along.
This feeling, this blazing, scorching, electric connection makes me regret that night on the tailgate with him even more.
After kissing me breathless, he finally pulls back again, a bit of reservation in his eyes. “That was better than I ever could’ve imagined.”
I start to open my mouth to tell him … well, I’m not sure, when a sleek, black car rolls up to the curb in front of my house. Milo’s eyes enlarge as he spots it, and then he steps outside and hurries over to the car.
The driver’s side door opens and a tall guy with heavily inked arms and short, cropped hair, dressed in black jeans and heavily studded clothes gets out.
The two of them exchange words, and then Milo goes rigid as he turns toward me. When our eyes lock, I immediately know something’s wrong.
Every part of me screams to run, but my feet remain glued to the doorway as Milo and the stranger cross the lawn and approach me. When they reach the stairs, Milo stares at the street instead of me, while the stranger stares at me.
“Madelynn Jessamine,” the tattoo guy says. “It’s so nice to meet you again. It’s been too long.”
“That’s not my name,” I choke out. “And we’ve never met.”
Ignoring me, he reaches into his pocket, digs out a card, and hands it to me. “Your presence is requested at that address tomorrow night for your Reclaiming, Madelynn.”
“Reclaiming …? My name’s not Madelynn.” I stare down at the address on the card. “This is by the railroad tracks.” When I flip over the card, my breath lodges in my throat at the ink staining the black and red stock paper.
The Unveiling. An international underground community.
Come play the game where anything goes. That is, if you dare.
“I was told to remind you that if you don’t show up, a certain photo will be turned over to the police.” The stranger looks almost apologetic as he backs away from me. “Tell no one of this.” Then he turns and motions for Milo to follow him.
I look at Milo in confusion. “What’s going on?”
A drop of remorse flickers across his expression before he turns and follows the stranger to the car, leaving me standing there in the rain, utterly stunned and comple
tely terrified.
What’s going on?
What’s happening?
How is Milo a part of this?
I start to back inside the house when I note a silver car parked just a ways down the street. A silver car with extremely tinted windows and a ridiculously long antenna. The car I thought was following us back when we left the airport.
Why the hell would the car be here? Honeyton is a small town. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence.
I rake my fingers through my hair, my mind racing a million miles a minute. “What’s going on? Am I’m losing my mind?”
“It might be better if you were, but unfortunately, you’re completely sane.”
I whirl around at the sound of a familiar male voice, my fear going through the roof.
Standing in the foyer, dressed in the same black attire, is none other than Zane.
Chapter Fourteen
I open my mouth to scream, but he slaps his hand across my mouth.
“Don’t,” he warns, his stormy-eyed gaze boring into me. “You’ll scare your brother and sister.”
I jerk back and hiss, “Why are you here? Wait. Is that your silver car out there?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You were following me from the airport?” I hiss. “Why?”
He shrugs again. “To make sure you were okay.”
I blink at him. “Why? And how did you get into my house?”
His gaze skims the framed photos on the wall. “I told you I’d be in touch, and making sure you’re okay is part of that deal.”
I back away from him. “I thought that meant you’d call or something. Not fly to America, follow me around town, then show up at my house.”
“Well, you thought wrong.” His gaze settles on me. “I’m actually from here, so technically, I’m only returning home.”
“You’re from Honeyton? How is that possible? You look around my age and everyone around here knows everyone, and I …” I’m so confused, amongst a million other things.
What on earth is Milo doing with that guy? What the hell is The Unveiling? And who the fuck is this Zane guy?
He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Unlike you, I wasn’t lucky enough to be placed with a good family after I was released from the warehouse. I got stuck with some people who had all sorts of beliefs about not leaving the house …” He winces at some distant memory then swiftly clears his throat. “Anyway, yeah, hardly anyone around here knows me.”
“Wait … Warehouse?” My heart slams against my chest as I recall the photo I found in my parents’ closet and the photos I found on the internet. Is that what he’s talking about?
He studies me curiously. “So, you really don’t remember any of it?”
“Any of what—”
I nearly jump out of my skin as thunder booms from outside.
He thrums his fingers against the sides of his legs, studying me even more closely. “You’re afraid of the storm. That’s understandable, considering your curse.”
“What the hell do you know about my curse?” I snap, breathing ravenously.
“As much as I know about my own curse.” He sighs as I continue to gape at him. “All right, since it’s starting to become clear you’re not pretending about not knowing any of this or who you really are, I’ll give you a recap of your life before this.” He gestures at the foyer. “Your real name is Madelynn Jessamine. Real last name, unknown. You were rescued from an experimental drug facility when you were seven years old. The experiments done on you left you with a lot of side effects, most of which have faded, except for your curse of being able to feel omens through storms and occasionally hearing voices. And apparently, you have memory loss. I pretty much assumed that when I saw you at the police department. Although, I sort of hoped I was wrong.” He blows out a breath, seeming disheartened over something.
“Anyway, during your time at the warehouse, you were often forced to participate in an activity call The Unveiling, a name that might sound familiar to you. The rules are pretty basic. They put two experimental drug subjects into a ring together and threaten to kill them if one of them doesn’t kill the other.”
“But I … I don’t …” My mind is racing so swiftly I can barely speak, and my legs threaten to buckle. I shake my head, feeling sick to my stomach. “You’re lying. I couldn’t be part of something like that. There’s no way.” Memories flick through my mind, warning me that I’m trying to live in the land of denial. That I was. Deep down, I know I was.
He crooks a brow. “So, you’re saying you didn’t get dragged to The Unveiling a couple weeks ago and are now being threatened by the people who run it?”
“No … I don’t know.” I massage my temples. “Maybe I was at some sort of thing called The Unveiling, but I can’t remember much about that night. And that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of experimental drug subject. I would remember if I am.” Yeah, like you remember everything else.
“Were,” he corrects. “You haven’t been one since you were rescued.” He hesitantly steps toward me. “For the last couple years, the people who run The Unveiling have been tracking down the kids who were in the drug experimental facilities and forcing them to return to the game.” He takes another step toward me, so close the tips of his boots clip my bare feet. “You are one of those kids. So is Zoe.”
I don’t know what to think of everything he’s saying, but the one thing I hope carries some truth. “Is?”
He nods. “She’s still alive.”
Tears burn my eyes. Tears of relief. “Where is she?”
Hesitation crosses his face. “The people who run The Unveiling still have her. Neither of you would kill each other that night, so they want a rematch—or a Reclaiming, as they call it—or else they lose a lot of money.” He points at the card I’m holding. “That’s what’s going to happen tomorrow if you show up.”
I don’t want to believe him. Well, except the part about Zoe being alive. But I can’t get past the photo I found of myself in front of that warehouse and the memories that have been haunting my mind for weeks now. And then there’s Zoe’s past, or lack thereof. Maybe this is why I knew hardly anything personal about her.
What really makes me question if Zane is telling the truth is: he knows about my gift.
“Who are you, exactly?” I question. “And why are you here, helping me?”
“Because it’s my job.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, the movement carrying a hint of familiarity.
I’ve met him before … and not just at the police station.
“I work for an undercover agency now. My division helps old test subjects like you,” he continues, lowering his hand from my face.
“But I thought you said you were one yourself.”
“I was.”
“Then what’s your curse?”
He glances at my lips then looks away, staring at the wall. “That’s my secret. Not yours.”
“Yet, you seem to know so much about me,” I grit out, my fingers curling around the card. “Seem being the key word.”
He glances at me with his brow curved upward. “You think I’m lying?”
I shrug. “You have no proof.”
He rolls his eyes. “Other than I know everything about you.”
“Maybe someone told you all that stuff.”
“Does anyone know about your little curse?” he challenges.
Milo. But he wouldn’t tell anyone. Then again, he did just walk off with that guy who handed me this stupid card.
“Yes. And maybe he told you.”
He eyes me over then snatches ahold of my hand and tugs me toward the stairs.
“Where are we going?” I trip after him as he hurries up the stairs and toward my parents’ room, which is thankfully in the opposite direction of Nik’s room.
The last thing I want is for Zhara or Nik to see me with some strange guy who thinks I’m adopted and was experimented on.
He’s crazy. He must be crazy, right?
&
nbsp; When we reach my parents’ bedroom, he goes straight to the trunk in the back of the closet.
“Hey, you can’t just go through their stuff …” I trail off as he takes out a lock pick from his pocket and picks the lock within a second flat.
He steps back and gestures at the trunk. “You need proof. There it is.”
I almost don’t budge, fearing what’s inside. However, the need to know makes me step toward the trunk.
Kneeling, I start going through the papers, photos, and documentation of a life I spent locked up in a warehouse. Medical records prove that I had drugs injected into my system and that I was used for testing. The test results reveal I was in tune with storms, but as a side effect, I heard voices. The doctor couldn’t figure out where the voices came from. And like Zane said, I left the warehouse around the age of seven and went to live with the Bakers, who eventually adopted me and became my parents. There are also medical records that state I suffer from memory loss and fear of storms.
“I don’t … I can’t …” Tears veil my vision. “How did you know this was in here?”
“I work undercover. It’s my job to know about secret stuff.” Zane crouches beside me and places an unsteady hand on my back. “I know this is a lot to take in, but it’ll get easier. I promise.”
“What about Zoe?” I whisper, hugging my knees to my chest.
“The agency is currently working on saving her.” He traces his fingers up and down my back, the movement again ringing with familiarity. “But we need your help.”
I nod, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I want to help.” More tears spill from my eyes as something occurs to me. “Zane, this guy named Milo … He’s an old friend of mine. He was here earlier, and he—”
“You need to stay away from him,” he warns in a clipped tone.
I twist around to meet his gaze. “Why?”
“Because he’s dangerous.” His jaw muscles twitch as he grits his teeth. “He works for the enemy now.”
“No, I don’t believe it.” I shake my head, refusing to believe Milo could be part of such a horrible thing.
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth.” He pushes to his feet and offers me his hand. “Now, come on. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Or, well, re-meet.”
Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1) Page 11