Toxic (Denazen #2)(33)

Or it might’ve been me.

“Hello, Deznee.”

Determined to play it cool even though my heart rate had jumped to about three beats past critical, I nonchalantly said, “Dad. Love to say it’s good to see ya, but…”

“I’ll be happy for both of us. You’re looking well. I see life with your mother is agreeing with you.”

“I doubt you’re here to spew compliments. Flattery is so not your style.” I glanced around him and saw the dynamic duo climbing from the backseat of his car. One settled against the passenger-side door, while the other made himself comfortable on the steps just outside.

“I’d like to talk to you about Denazen.” Dad said, keeping his eyes front and center. “I think you and I got off to the wrong start.”

The only explanation for what I thought I’d just heard was insanity. That, or a supreme wax build up in the inner ear canal. “Wrong start? You’re an animal.”

Dad removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the inside pocket. “98 is more an animal than I am. I don’t think you quite understand what it is we do at Denazen.”

Was he serious? Trying that whole we’re out to help mankind bit? On me? “Kale, jackass. His name is Kale,” I snapped. I’d stayed on the other side of the double doors so no one inside could hear our conversation, but someone had joined the line behind Dad. The woman made an irritated noise of disapproval at my choice of wording and covered her small son’s ears.

Great. Now I was corrupting children. I pushed past the woman and her son, flashing her an apologetic smile, and hurried down the steps. “And I totally understand what Denazen stands for.”

As I passed, the twin seated on the steps rose and fell in step with Dad, who stayed right beside me. Ahead, the one by the car winked and pulled open the back passenger’s side door.

Oh, hell, no.

I changed direction, Ginger’s stupid package still in my hands, and veered to the right. Unfortunately, that put me around the overgrown, darkened side of the building. Out of view of the parking lot.

Dad flashed me his sweetest smile. One I once thought was constructed to put clients and judges alike at ease. “You may think you’ve tamed him, but it’s best to remember 98 is a killer. He needs to be controlled. You really have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“I think you’re confusing him with yourself.” Trying to be discreet, I surveyed the immediate area for something I could use as a weapon if need be. Ginger’s package was feather light and would be useless for defensive purposes.

“We’re not the enemy, Deznee. You have a chance to be a part of something monumental. Something that matters. If you come back with me, I can show you.”

Behind Dad, the twins stood, both with their arms folded and eerie smiles on their faces. That’s when it occurred to me the weapon wouldn’t be necessary—and why Ginger knew it’d be safe for me to come. They weren’t here to snag me. If they’d wanted to, it would have been easy to lie in wait beside my car and simply ambush me. This was something else.

And that didn’t make me feel much better.

“I’m not one of those brainless twits you have running around the building like trained mice.” I remembered the conversation with Flip, the guy I’d met in the cafeteria on my first day at Denazen. “I already know the truth. You can’t brainwash me into thinking otherwise.”

Expression cold, Dad stepped a little closer and said, “You may want to rethink your decision. Three members of the Supremacy group have already been put down. You might have heard about the latest on the news. Layne Phillips?”

“You’re telling me the girl in Morristown was a Six?” I’d already figured this out because of Brandt and the story we’d seen on the news, but I wanted to hear him say it.

He simply smiled. We were around the side of the building and standing under an overgrown tree. The small amount of light that got through made Dad’s features look almost inhuman. Fitting. “And you remember Fin, right?”

My stomach convulsed. “Fin is dead?” It was bad enough hearing about the others, but because I knew Fin—we’d gone to kindergarten and up through high school together—the whole thing seem more real. Closer.

“Not yet,” Dad said. “The others started showing signs four to five months out. First it was a surge in their gift. Several months before they were rendered completely irrational, they all showed signs of advancement. Then, as their eighteenth birthdays grew near, they became unstable. Violent. They saw and heard things that weren’t there. Grew paranoid and delusional. Fin’s birthday is in a week, and four days ago, he started showing signs. It’s much later than the rest—a week is the closest we’ve ever come—so we can’t be sure what will happen. We’re still hopeful, but only time will tell.”

A nagging thought stirred. I remembered the nail color change outside of Vince Winstead’s house at the beginning of summer. I’d mimicked it without pain—or even trying to. It hadn’t happened since, and it wasn’t what I’d considered a major surge, but it was enough to make me uneasy. “Has anyone survived?”

Seconds ticked by. Just when I was sure he wouldn’t answer, he said, “As a matter of fact, yes. One. A very unique girl with a gift I think you’d find very appealing. Especially in your current situation.”