Toxic (Denazen #2)(12)

“I do,” Kale responded coolly. “Because if you try to do it again, I’ll touch you. Then the only thing you’ll be touching is the wind as you’re scattered across this world.”

Alex didn’t reply. He did, however, have the intelligence to back away a few steps.

I wrapped my arms around myself and tried not to shiver. This had been a perfect ending to the worst day in history. The only thing that could make it worse was an alien invasion sent to gather probe victims. “Get out of here, Alex.”

“Are you sure? I could—”

Kale growled.

“Go!”

He gave me a quick nod and started backing down the sidewalk as one final, roaring crack of thunder split the air. With a wink, he said, “I’ll see ya soon, Dez.”





5


There was a spring out of place. It protruded through the couch cushion, jabbing me in the back of the thigh. Kale sat on the small love seat across the room. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me since Mom brought us into the common room.

“You know you’re not supposed to leave the hotel after dark,” she said. Sitting on the edge of the coffee table between us, she kept looking from him to me. She played with a pen left over from the dental convention that met here last week. Flicking the point. In and out. In and out. It reminded me of Mercy, the stuffy Denazen interviewer that tricked me into thinking she was on our side.

I responded with a wordless shrug and glanced toward the ceiling. There was a hairline crack that started right above my head. I followed it down the wall and saw that it pretty much cut the room in half. Right between me and Kale. Wasn’t that ironic? If I were superstitious, I’d consider it a bad omen.

“You’re both all right?” she tried again. There was a twinge in her voice that I’d come to associate with stress. Mom didn’t deal with everyday situations as well as Kale.

I wanted to scream. Hell, no, I wasn’t all right. The worst possible thing that could happen just happened. There was no way to make it right. Instead, I nodded.

“You’re sure?” she prodded. I couldn’t blame her. One look at either of us, and anyone with eyes would know it was a lie.

Kale looked like a guitar string ready to snap. His right hand wrapped around the arm of the chair, while the left clutched the edge of the cushion, knuckles white. The only sound coming from his end of the room was the soft dripping noise the rainwater made as it ran from the hem of his jeans and plopped to the floor.

I probably didn’t look much better. My muscles ached from touching Kale, and my head pounded like a heavy metal drum solo. Every inch of me was soaked, and already a dark patch on my left arm—a souvenir from crashing into the rooftop—had started to bloom. By morning, it’d be one hell of a bruise. My right shoulder hurt where Able’s hand had been, and the left one felt…odd. Not sore, but tingly. Kind of a mix between that pins and needles feeling you get when your leg goes to sleep and sunburn.

When Mom realized she wasn’t getting either of us to talk, she settled for shooting nervous glances between me, Kale, and the door. It was probably no more than five minutes—even though it felt like three hours—but by the time Ginger, Kale’s biological grandmother and the Granny Don of the Six Mafia, as I liked to call her, came through the door, I was about to crack. She was usually flocked by a horde of young, shirtless men, but tonight her entourage was a little different. This escort, with springy red curls, dangerous curves, and a smile made for an Orbit gum commercial, was considerably curvier than the others.

Ginger stopped in the middle of the room, plastic cup filled with the usual red liquid—fruit punch—in hand, and smiled. “I have a gift for you, Kale.”

The redheaded girl strolled from behind Ginger, head held high. Her eyes immediately found Kale. And stayed there.

I didn’t like her.

“This is Jade.” Ginger drained the contents of her cup, then pointed to me and said, “This is Deznee Cross, Sue’s daughter. And this,” she said, nodding to Kale as he rose from his chair, “is Kale. He’s the reason you’re here.”

“Okay, stomp the brakes and back the hell up,” I said. “You’re giving my boyfriend a redhead as a gift? That’s uncool—not to mention illegal.”

Kale looked from Jade to me, frowning. “You don’t like her.”

It wasn’t a question—he was stating the obvious. Or, what he thought was the obvious—which in this case just happened to be the truth. We were still working on the right and wrong times to say things. It was one of the bigger hurdles. Kale didn’t believe in hiding anything. If it was on your mind, you said it. If it was the truth, you went with it. Social acceptability was a lost cause with him.

“I don’t know her, so I can’t dislike her.” There was an overwhelming urge to add yet, but I kept my trap closed. My personality made me easy to get along with—unless you were looking at my guy like he was a big, juicy slab of prime rib with a side of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Which, just in case there was any confusion, she totally was.

“I’ve brought Jade here to help Kale learn to control his gift.” Ginger frowned. “And considering tonight’s events, it isn’t soon enough.”

Jade came forward and, while I tried to pick up the pieces of my jaw, reached for Kale. He stumbled away, knocking over the small card table beside the love seat in an attempt to put some distance between them. With a panicked look in Ginger’s direction, he said, “Is she trying to kill herself?”