Uninvited

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  “You have to go. Don’t come here again.” I pause, take a breath, and swallow.

  He looks up at me and just stares. “I can’t pretend you don’t exist for me.”

  I stop just short of jabbing him in the chest. Something about him, so large, so close, the aroma of night and wind still upon him, makes me keep my hand to myself. I make a small sound, part laugh, part moan. “Sure you can.” I step past him to open the door for him to leave, but I don’t get that far.

  He grabs my arm and whirls me around, smacking me right against him. I strain to get away, arching my body. His eyes hold me again. It’s always his eyes. The gray-blue so seductive, like smoke weaving its spell on me.

  One of his hands cups the back of my head, fingers weaving into the wet strands. Everything inside me stills, locks tight as his palm curves around the back of my skull. I can only look into those eyes. Watch him watching me. Stare helplessly when his gaze drops to my mouth.

  His head moves down swiftly, stopping just a half inch from my lips. Our breaths merge, mingle. His hand flexes in my hair, as if testing the wet texture.

  Then he closes the space between us. Kisses me finally. Sensation explodes inside me when his lips touch mine. It’s not tentative or shy like most first kisses. The ones I’ve had anyway.

  It’s urgent and full of need. Hungry and desperate. The perfect force and pressure. I slide my hands around his neck, twine my fingers up through his hair.

  I stretch onto my tiptoes. His hand on my arm moves to wrap around my waist, lifting me, plastering me against him.

  “You smell so good,” he mutters against my mouth. Feelings and sensations rush me, killing the misery, temporarily ridding it from my system. Later is soon enough to remember what I am, what I’ve become.

  I make a small mewling sound, kissing him harder as he carries me to the foot of the bed. I’m glad for the small room. Glad to reach the bed so quickly.

  His body settles over mine. I fist my hands into his shirt, clutching the fabric, hating it, wanting to tear it, shred it from his body as his mouth devours mine.

  His hands move like the wind, soundless and sudden. Warm and caressing. His fingers slide over my skin, stroking, brushing everywhere. My hair. My face. My neck. Under my shirt. Against my stomach.

  Wild pants break from my lips, spill into his mouth as his kiss consumes me. I let go of his shirt and slide my hands under the fabric, letting my palms test the expanse of his back and chest, touch skin.

  With a groan, he pulls back, his hands going to the hem of his shirt. In one smooth move, it’s up and over his head.

  Then he’s back. His mouth on mine. His bare chest pressing hotly over me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, reveling in the moment—in him. Desire. Need. Connection to another soul again. In this, in him, everything else fades. The horror of earlier, a distant, faraway dream. Another life. Another girl. Another killer . . . not me.

  Gradually, other sounds penetrate. The ding of the elevator, footsteps, doors opening, closing.

  He says my name against my mouth, that deep voice vibrating against the sensitive flesh of my lips. “Davy? I have to go.”

  I drag my mouth away from his, my body limp, boneless on the bed. Everything inside me quivers with emotion . . . with longing and desire for another. And not just anyone. Sean. A carrier who can be the opposite of all predictions. Good. Principled. Heroic.

  His eyes glitter, making the darker outside ring more prominent. “I have to go.” I drink in the sight of him as he pulls his shirt back on over his head.

  “Yes.” I nod and suck in another breath, remembering myself. A proven killer. I have to beat this place. Survive it and get out. “You can’t come here again. No more—”

  He cuts me off. “Not that again.” His gaze drills into me.

  I hold silent, my heart palpitating to the point of pain inside my chest.

  His thumb strokes down the side of my face, tracing the small cut there. “Let’s leave this place.”

  “What?” My voice escapes in a croak.

  “You heard me. Let’s run.”

  The wild suggestion tempts me. My hand drifts to my neck, brushing the imprint there that forever brands me as the killer that I am. I’ll have no way of getting rid of it if I run.

  Sean continues, “I don’t want to become what they’re training us to be. I don’t want what happened today to happen again, and it will. It doesn’t matter if we ignore each other. They used me once to manipulate you. They’ll do it again. Maybe next time, they’ll use you to get me to do something.” His eyes look pained. “And I’ll do it. God knows I will.”

  Of course, he would. He volunteered to kill for me today—so I wouldn’t have to do it. Not that Harris let him.

  I moisten my lips. “Even if we could get away, where would we go? How would we not get caught?” My gaze skitters to the door, knowing we only have minutes before my door gets locked.

  He angles his head. His hair strokes his shoulders with the motion. I doubt he’s cut it even once in the months since we first met.

  “Can you trust me? Gil has been looking into it during independent study, and I’ve heard things, too . . . before we came here. There’s an underground group out there offering shelter for carriers, helping us get to safety. There are places we could go.”

  We. He wants me to go with him. Run away into the dangerous unknown. My stomach does a flip. “Gil’s going, too?”

  “And you . . . I hope.” His gaze searches mine.

  “I don’t know, Sean. If we’re caught escaping . . .”

  We know what would happen. Today taught us that.

  “How can we risk it?” I finish.

  “How can we stay here?”

  His head dips and he’s kissing me again, persuading me with lips that make me melt. It’s unfair of him, but I clutch him close again.

  A door slams nearby and I jerk in his arms.

  Sean lifts his head. We wait, listening to the sound of receding steps.

  I sag with relief. “Go. Now.”

  He climbs off the bed. “Think about it. We’re working on a plan. Gil is waiting to hear back from a contact. It’s gonna happen soon. This week.”

  This week? Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “You didn’t just decide to do this today. How long have you been planning this?”

  His expression hardens. “Let’s just say after today I decided to put a rush on things.” And I can see it in his eyes now. His pain. I’d only thought of my misery, but now I realize today destroyed a piece of him, too. I might have pulled the trigger, but he’s the reason I did it.

  “I won’t be anyone’s pawn again,” he vows.

  But he will. Or I will. Maybe next time the gun will be on me. As long as we’re together, we can be twisted and manipulated. I could hurt him, Gil . . . to say nothing of myself. Some wounds are deeper than death. If nothing else, I’ve learned that.

  He watches me, waiting.

  “I’ll think about it,” I promise, trying to convince myself that out there we have a chance. That just maybe we could make it.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  * * *

  Correspondence from director of Camp 4 to Dr. Wainwright:

  The conditions in the camp have reached crisis-level proportions. Disease, infighting, attacks on the guards. Escapes are more frequent, and we haven’t the manpower to give pursuit. We request immediate relief . . . more guards, more supplies, more temporary buildings. Perhaps the dismantling of the camp altogether is necessary. Something needs to be done or I fear the carriers shall soon overrun us. . . .

  Reply from Dr. Wainwright:

  We haven’t the supplies or manpower to spare at this time. Your foremost priority is to maintain control of the camp. I cannot stress how crucial this is. Exterminate any agitators that threaten your command and do no
t waste food or medicine on the gravely sick.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I WORK EXTRA HARD THE NEXT DAY. EVEN STILL sore from my sparring match with Tully, I push through the discomfort, ignoring the twinges in my ribs.

  I avoid Sean and Gil, needing time to think, to process. I feel them looking at me several times throughout the day. I’m sure Sean recapped Gil on our conversation in my room—leaving out the make-out session. I know I left Sean with the impression that I would consider running away with him, but in the light of day I’m not sure of anything. I can hardly think about that. Flashes of that carrier falling to the ground play over and over in my mind. The weight of the gun in my hand. The recoil as I pull the trigger. A living nightmare.

  My feet pound the earth. Sweat trickles down my spine. I breathe through my nose as I follow the winding jogging trail. I push myself until my lungs start to ache, welcoming the punishing pain, deserving it.

  Sean lies in wait at the water fountain stationed in front of the gym. It’s my second pass in front of the gym on my run. I’ve been jogging with a half dozen others through the dirt path snaking through the buildings and looping around the woods. I’m sure there are kids in front of me and in back, but I’ve been solo for a while now. Sometimes, Sabine keeps me company, even though she’s a lot faster than me, but she’s nowhere around today.

  “Hey,” he calls.

  Immediately, my face burns, thinking about all the kissing we did last night. I pause for a quick drink at the fountain, wiping at the icy water dribbling down my chin, gathering my composure. “Hey.” I bend down for another drink. It’s hot and I’m thirsty, but I’m also desperate to look casual in his presence. I can’t just stand and gawk at him with my heart in my eyes.

  “Give any thought to what we talked about?” He stares at me, his eyes intent, pinning me where I stand.

  I swallow, my throat now cold from the water. “I don’t know. . . .”

  He glances left and right before looking back at me and leaning closer. “You can’t want to stay here.”

  Staring at his face, at that earnest gaze, I want nothing more than to go with him. I want to believe there could be something better out there for us. For a killer like me. A place I could go with him and be safe. A place where the world is safe from me, too. The thing is . . . I can’t imagine that place really exists.

  “Sean, I . . .” My voice falters and I step back, putting more space between us. My gaze dips, and I get distracted looking at his mouth, remembering the taste of it. The shape and pressure of it against mine. Maybe that’s why he kissed me. To addle my thinking and get me to go with him.

  Shaking off the thought, I snap my attention back to his eyes. “I can’t do this right now. I’m supposed to be running.” I step around him.

  “Tonight then?” He grabs my wrist, stalling me. “We’ll talk then.”

  I look down at the long, tan fingers wrapped around my wrist. His voice curls around me, too. Just as enticing. And I don’t deserve that. I shouldn’t feel anything good after what I did yesterday. “I can find you after dinner.”

  His hand reaches for me like he’s going to touch me. My breath hitches. With a quick glance around, remembering himself and where we are, he drops his hand back to his side. The air deflates from my chest, and I know then how much I wanted to feel his hand on my face. It’s the only thing—he is the only thing—that eclipses the horror of yesterday for me.

  Sadly, wrongly, I do want to see him again. I want him to come to my room, but not to talk about his crazy plan. I want to forget about that and just be with him again. Like before but more. More of his lips. More of his hands . . . his warm skin against mine. I want to hold his face and look into his eyes and see compassion and caring and empathy . . . all the things I haven’t seen, haven’t felt in far too long a time. Those things that remind me I’m a human and not just the killer I’ve become.

  Edging away, I say, against my better judgment, “Yes. Come.”

  His lips stretch in a slow smile.

  I’ll explain my position to him then. That it’s too risky. How far can we get with imprints on our necks? My best chance is to stay here until I’ve earned the right for them to remove my imprint. Then I can slip away.

  I set out again, the image of his smiling face etched in my mind.

  But it’s not long before yesterday returns to haunt me. Shame sinks its teeth into me. I pump my arms harder. I wish I’d said no. Seeing him again, being with him, tasting his kiss . . . I don’t deserve that.

  My feet pound the trail, legs working fluidly. I’m so busy with my thoughts that I don’t even feel the ache in my body anymore. Running has just become automatic, the simple repeat of my steps as I wonder at the man I killed—who was he before the Agency showed up to drag him away? Did anyone mourn him? Would they even know he died?

  I catch a blur of movement to my left and think it’s another runner joining me on the trail. It’s only a split second thought though. It flees the instant a body rams into my side like a vehicle butting another one off the track.

  Caught off balance, I fall onto my side. Hard. My shoulder throbs. Wincing, I roll onto my back, wondering if I might have dislocated it. I don’t make it to my feet. I don’t have time to examine my shoulder. I don’t have time for anything.

  Someone grabs my ankles and drags me off the trail and deeper into the woods. I open my mouth to scream, but another body is suddenly there. He slides his arms beneath my armpits, slamming one hand over my mouth. I’m mute. I bite down on salty fingers and am rewarded with a sharp cuff to the ear.

  My vision blurs, graying for a moment. Dizziness swamps me. The world jerks and heaves as I’m carried. I blink, fighting past the light-headedness.

  We squeeze through thick brush. Branches and leaves scratch at my arms. Suddenly, I’m unceremoniously dropped to the ground. I take the brunt of the fall on my hip and I cry out, certain a bruise will form there within an hour.

  Swallowing my wince, I look up. Jackson stands over me, and I know true fear. Two boys I don’t know hover behind him—I’ve seen them, of course, but don’t remember their names. I’ve never spoken to them. Jackson probably appealed to their interests . . . torture, sadism. I don’t have to have done anything personally to them to make them want to hurt me. They’re carriers. There doesn’t have to be a reason for them to inflict pain on others.

  Everything in me tenses, ready and alert for the first chance to break away.

  I eye the three of them, trying to assess them. Jackson is fast. I’ve seen him sprint. I doubt I can get away from him, especially after already running for nearly an hour now. He’ll be on me in a flash. The lanky one beside Jackson doesn’t look necessarily intimidating. The third one is thickset, reminds me of Tully. He’s one of the few I outrun in the mornings.

  Still, there are three of them. And one of me.

  “That was easy enough,” the stocky one pants, his face glistening with sweat. Yeah. I could definitely outrun him.

  “Not so tough now, huh?” Jackson rests his hands on his narrow hips and leans closer. “Where’s your boyfriend? He hardly ever lets you out of his sight.” Jackson smiles slowly. “It’s just us now.”

  I swallow. My gaze flicks to each of them. I feel like prey crouching beneath them. Any moment, they’ll pounce and devour me. Simply because they can. It’s what predators do. Hunt and destroy.

  “You think you’ll get away with this?” I ask.

  “Who’s gonna find out it was us?” Jackson smiles. “And if they do, so what? The weak don’t make it in here.”

  “Yeah.” The lanky one nods in agreement. “Like Tully. He’s out of here.”

  “What are you talking about? He was here yesterday—”

  “They came for him last night thanks to you and your boyfriend.” Jackson looks annoyed about this for a moment, but then he smiles again. “After we’re done with you, they’ll ship you out, too. Assuming there’s anything left of you.”

  My stom
ach sinks. He’s right. If they don’t kill me right now, I’m gone from here.

  Gone from Sean.

  This realization hits me hard. I don’t want to lose Sean. To never see him again . . . It’s worse than the fear of ending up in a detention camp. It’s almost as bad as I felt when I pulled that trigger on the carrier. I shiver and Jackson’s smile deepens. I hate that he sees this weakness in me. That he’s getting to me. That I’m terrified.

  I scan the crowd of trees, the thick brown-and-green tangle of brush, the outline of mountains rising in the distance. The foliage will only muffle my screams.

  We move simultaneously. Jackson starts for me as I bolt. I take off. Laughter rings in my ears as he catches me and lifts me off my feet, his arms steel bands around me, trapping my arms.

  He hugs me tightly, crushing me, squeezing my ribs and pushing the air from my lungs. A strangled cry escapes me.

  “That’s right,” he goads. I feel his face nod alongside of mine, his hair brushing my cheek. “Scream.”

  And that’s when I know it excites him. He gets off on my fear. My pain.

  I arch my neck, straining from him. My gaze sweeps the sky. Leaves sway above. The two other guys call out encouragement.

  I lower my head and bring it back up. I don’t make contact with his nose, but I hit him, knock him somewhere around the eye. He howls and his arms loosen around me. I drop, stagger to my feet, my hands briefly scraping the ground.

  I don’t wait. I don’t look back. My feet pound the leaf-draped ground. I dodge limbs, bushes, trees. I run wildly, zigzagging. I’ve lost sense of my location, but I’m convinced I’ll hit the joggers’ trail or one of the buildings soon. The instructors aren’t going to let them brutalize me right out in the open. I just have to make it out of the woods.

  The things they could do to me if they catch me race through my panicked thoughts. I run, keep moving, thrashing through the woods. Instinct drives me.

  “Davy,” one of them calls nearby in a singsong voice.