Touch (Denazen #1)(8)

I took a step back. It was hard to concentrate with him staring like that. “Let’s focus here for a sec. You’re trying to tell me that my dad uses you as a weapon? A weapon against what exactly?”

His face fell. “Not what, who.”

“Who?” I really didn’t want to hear his answer. Either my mysterious hottie was crazy or Dad was… Well, either way his answer was bound to throw another bird at my building.

“People. He uses me to punish people.”

“My dad has you touch people? To kill them?”

“That is correct.” The shame in his voice was like a vacuum, stealing all the air from the room. Eyes rising to meet mine, he reached out and ran his finger along the line of my chin and to my cheek, letting his touch linger for a few moments. I found myself wanting to take it all away. The heavy, sad look in his eyes. The pain in his voice. I could do it, maybe. Tell him something about myself that might make him feel less alone. Less isolated. A secret I’ve never spoken aloud before.

I opened my mouth, but when the words came out they weren’t what I’d expected. “You’re wrong. My dad’s a lawyer.” The walls that had been in place for as far back as I could remember stood strong.

“A lawyer kills people?”

“Are you serious?” This so wasn’t happening. Dad wasn’t part of some super-secret conspiracy theory. He was a stick-up-the-ass control freak workaholic. With weird hours. And, for some reason, a gun. Not a killer.

Kale’s face remained blank.

“Of course they don’t kill people! They put the bad guys away, get rid of ’em so they can’t hurt anyone.” Not the most accurate description, but the simplest I could come up with.

“No, that’s definitely not what your father does. That’s what I do. The Denazen Corporation uses me to punish those who have done wrong. I’m a Six. Does that make me a lawyer?”

Ugh. So much for simple. “What the hell is a Six?”

“It’s what we’re called.”

O-kaay. “And punish those who’ve done wrong? Who says what’s right and wrong?”

“Denazen, of course.” He frowned and turned away. “And I belong to them.”

“Where the hell are your parents?”

Voice barely a whisper, he said, “I don’t have any parents.”

“You’re a human being, not a weapon. You don’t belong to anyone,” I hissed. “And of course you have parents, even if you don’t know where they are.”

Fuming, I ripped the little leather cardholder from my back pocket and tugged out a picture. My mom. I’d found it years ago in Dad’s bottom desk drawer. I’d only known who she was because of her name written on the back in scrawling blue ink. Dad refused to talk about her—he told me her name, gave me a brief, watery description—and that was it. As I got older, I’d started looking more and more like the woman in the picture, which was probably why he hated me. I’d catch him watching me once in awhile. Like he might have been imagining it was her sitting there, and not me. Like he wished it was her instead of me. It made sense. It was my fault he’d lost her, after all. She’d died having me. Sometimes I hated myself, too.

“My mom is gone—that doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” I shook the photo at him.

Kale closed the gap between us and took the picture from my hands. He purposefully let his fingers brush my wrist, giving a quick smile. “This is your mother?”

I nodded.

“You don’t visit her?”

“I can’t visit her, she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead. She lives at the complex with me.” He wandered away, picture still in his hands, and picked up a pair of Curd’s worn boots. Leaning back against the wall, he kicked off my Vans and slipped on the boots. The sneakers fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

The world stopped. The air, the four walls, everything, it all fell away. “What?”

He held up the picture. “This is Sue.”





4


I snatched the picture from him, gaping. “What did you say?”

“I said, that is Su—”

“I know what you said!” I snapped.

“But you just asked me—”

“You’re sure?” I held up the picture, jamming it close to his face. My pulse pounded and I was feeling dizzy again—though not in a good way. My buzz, so happy and peaceful, was totally gone now. “You’re sure this is the same woman?”

“I’d know her anywhere.”

“And you’re saying she’s alive? At Denazen?”

He nodded.

“Her name is Sueshanna. Are you sure it’s the same woman?”

“I am sure. She is alive. Why do you seem upset?”

I grabbed the side of the chair—it felt like the ground was going to swallow me whole. I couldn’t help the shakiness. Dad was a tool, but to lie about Mom being dead? That was a dick move that transcended epic.

A noise came from upstairs, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose in warning. It was taking Curd way too long. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and looked over at Kale. Putting a single finger to my lips and hoping he knew what the heck that meant, I crept to the base of the stairs and listened. Silence. Gesturing for Kale to watch me skip the first step—I’d been at Curd’s enough in the past to know it squeaked—I started up.