Shatter Me (Shatter Me, #1)(63)

Adam is breathing hard. He grips the gun in his hand. Pops his head out for a split second and fires. Someone falls to the floor, screaming.

“KENT, YOU SON OF A—”

Adam uses the moment to run. We jump out from behind the desk and fly toward a stairwell. Gunshots miss us by millimeters. I wonder if these two men are the only ones who followed us inside.

The spiral staircase winds into a lower level, a basement of some kind. Someone is trying to aim for Adam, but our erratic movements make it almost impossible. The chance of him hitting me instead are too high. He’s unleashing a mass of expletives in our wake.

Adam knocks things over as we run, trying to create any kind of distraction, any kind of hazard to slow down the soldier behind us. I spot a pair of storm cellar doors and realize this area must’ve been ravaged by tornadoes. The weather is turbulent; natural disasters are common. Cyclones must have ripped this city apart. “Adam—” I tug on his arm. We hide behind a low wall. I point to our only possible escape route.

He squeezes my hand. “Good eye.” But we don’t move until the air shifts around us. A misstep. A muffled cry. It’s almost blindingly black down here; it’s obvious the electricity was disconnected a long time ago. The soldier has tripped on one of the obstacles Adam left behind.

Adam holds the gun close to his chest. Takes a deep breath. Turns and takes a swift shot.

His aim is excellent.

An uncontrolled explosion of curse words confirms it.

Adam takes a hard breath. “I’m only shooting to disable,” he says. “Not to kill.”

“I know,” I tell him. Though I wasn’t sure.

We run for the doors and Adam struggles to pull the latch open. It’s nearly rusted shut. We’re getting desperate. I don’t know how long it’ll be until we’re discovered by another set of soldiers. I’m about to suggest we shoot it open when Adam finally manages to break it free.

He kicks open the doors and we stumble out onto the street. There are 3 cars to choose from.

I’m so happy I could cry.

“It’s about time,” he says.

But it’s not Adam who says it.





THIRTY-NINE


There’s blood everywhere.

Adam is on the ground, clutching his body, but I don’t know where he’s been shot. There are soldiers swarming around him and I’m clawing at the arms holding me back, kicking the air, crying out into the emptiness. Someone is dragging me away and I can’t see what they’ve done to Adam. Pain is seizing my limbs, cramping my joints, breaking every single bone in my body. I want to shriek through the sky, I want to fall to my knees and sob into the earth. I don’t understand why the agony isn’t finding escape in my screams. Why my mouth is covered with someone else’s hand.

“If I let go, you have to promise not to scream,” he says to me.

He’s touching my face with his bare hands and I don’t know where I dropped my gun.

Warner drags me into a still-functioning building and kicks open a door. Hits a switch. Fluorescent lights flicker on with a dull hum. There are paintings taped to the walls, alphabet rainbows stapled to corkboards. Small tables scattered across the room. We’re in a classroom.

I wonder if this is where James goes to school.

Warner drops his hand. His glassy green eyes are so delighted I’m petrified. “God I missed you,” he says to me. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you go so easily?”

“You shot Adam,” are the only words I can think of. My mind is muddled with disbelief. I keep seeing his beautiful body crumpled on the ground, red red red. I need to know if he’s alive. He has to be alive.

Warner’s eyes flash. “Kent is dead.”

“No—”

Warner backs me into a corner and I realize I’ve never been so defenseless in my life. Never so vulnerable. 17 years I spent wishing my curse away, but in this moment I’m more desperate than ever to have it back. Warner’s eyes warm unexpectedly. His constant shifts in emotion are difficult to anticipate. Difficult to counter.

“Juliette,” he says. He touches my hand so gently it startles me. “Did you notice? It seems I am immune to your gift.” He studies my eyes. “Isn’t that incredible? Did you notice?” he asks again. “When you tried to escape? Did you feel it . . . ?”

Warner who misses absolutely nothing. Warner who absorbs every single detail.

Of course he knows.

But I’m shocked by the tenderness in his voice. The sincerity with which he wants to know. He’s like a feral dog, crazed and wild, thirsty for chaos, simultaneously aching for recognition and acceptance.

Love.

“We can really be together,” he says to me, undeterred by my silence. He pulls me close, too close. I’m frozen in five hundred layers of fear. Stunned in grief, in disbelief.

His hands reach for my face, his lips for mine. My brain is on fire, ready to explode from the impossibility of this moment. I feel like I’m watching it happen, detached from my own body, incapable of intervening. More than anything else, I’m shocked by his gentle hands, his earnest eyes.

“I want you to choose me,” he says. “I want you to choose to be with me. I want you to want this—”

“You’re insane,” I choke. “You’re psychotic—”