Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6)(47)

Warner reappears so close to my face I nearly scream. I take a sudden, terrified step backward.

“If you value your life,” he says, “don’t come near me.”

I’m about to point out that he’s being dramatic, but he cuts me off.

“I didn’t say that to be dramatic. I didn’t even say it to scare you. I’m saying it out of respect for Ella, because I know she’d rather I didn’t kill you.”

I’m quiet for a full second. And then I frown.

“Are you fucking with me right now? You’re definitely fucking with me right now. Right?”

Warner’s eyes go flinty. Electric. That scary kind of crazy.


“Every single time you claim to understand even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I want to disembowel you. I want to sever your carotid artery. I want to rip out your vertebrae, one by one. You have no idea what it is to love her,” he says angrily. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine. So stop trying to understand.”

Wow, sometimes I really hate this guy.

I have to literally clench my jaw to keep myself from saying what I’m really thinking right now, which is that I want to put my fist through his skull. (I actually imagine it for a moment, imagine what it’d be like to crush his head like a walnut. It’s oddly satisfying.) But then I remember that we need this asshole, and that J’s life is on the line. The fate of the world is on the line.

So I fight back my anger and try again.

“Listen,” I say, making an effort to gentle my voice. “I know what you guys have is special. I know that I can’t really understand that kind of love. I mean, hell, I know you were even thinking about proposing to her—and that must’ve—”

“I did propose to her.”

I suddenly stiffen.

I can tell just by the sound of his voice that he’s not joking. And I can tell by the look on his face—the infinitesimal flash of misery in his eyes—that this is my opening. This is the data I’ve been missing. This is the source of the agony that’s been drowning him.

I scan the immediate area for eavesdroppers. Yep. Too many new members of the Warner fan club clutching their hearts.

“Come on,” I say to him. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

Warner blinks, confusion temporarily clearing his anger. And then, sharply: “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s obviously bullshit.” I look him up and down. He looks good—he always looks good, the asshole—but he looks hungry. Not just the regular kind of hungry, either, but that desperate hunger that’s so hungry it doesn’t even feel like hunger anymore.

“You haven’t eaten anything in days,” I say to him. “And you know better than I do that you’ll be useless on a rescue mission if you pass out before you even get there.”

He glares at me.

“Come on, bro. You want J to come home to skin and bones? The way you’re going, she’ll take one look at you and run screaming in the opposite direction. This is not a good look. All these muscles need to eat.” I poke at his bicep. “Feed your children.”

Warner jerks away from me and takes a long, irritated breath. The sound of it almost makes me smile. Feels like old times.

I think I’m making progress.

Because this time, when I tell him to follow me, he doesn’t fight.





ELLA

JULIETTE





Anderson takes me to meet Max.

I follow him down into the bowels of the compound, through winding, circuitous paths. Anderson’s steps echo along the stone and steel walkways, the lights flickering as we go. The occasional, overly bright lights cast stark shadows in strange shapes. I feel my skin prickle.

My mind wanders.

A flash of Darius’s limp body blazes in my mind, carrying with it a sharp twinge that twists my gut. I fight against an impulse to vomit, even as I feel the contents of my meager breakfast coming up my throat. With effort, I force back the bile. Sweat beads along my forehead, the back of my neck.

My body is screaming to stop moving. My lungs want to expand, collect air. I allow neither.

I force myself to keep walking.

I wick away the images, expunging thoughts of Darius from my mind. The churning in my stomach begins to slow, but in its wake my skin takes on a damp, clammy sensation. I struggle to recount the things I ate this morning. I must’ve eaten poorly; something isn’t agreeing with my stomach. I feel feverish.

I blink.

I blink again, but this time for too long and I see a flash of blood, bubbling up inside Darius’s open mouth. The nausea returns with a swiftness that scares me. I suck in a breath, my fingers fluttering, desperate to press against my stomach. Somehow, I hold steady. I keep my eyes open, widening them to the point of pain. My heart starts pounding. I try desperately to maintain control over my spiraling thoughts, but my skin begins to crawl. I clench my fists. Nothing helps. Nothing helps. Nothing, I think.

nothing

nothing

nothing

I begin to count the lights we pass.

I count my fingers. I count my breaths. I count my footsteps, measuring the force of every footfall that thunders up my legs, reverberates around my hips.

I remember that Darius is still alive.

He was carried away, ostensibly to be patched up and returned to his former position. Anderson didn’t seem to mind that Darius was still alive. Anderson was only testing me, I realized. Testing me, once again, to make sure that I was obedient to him and him alone.