Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(79)

Reply from Dr. Wainwright:


We haven’t the supplies or manpower to spare at this time. Your foremost priority is to maintain control of the camp. I cannot stress how crucial this is. Exterminate any agitators that threaten your command and do not waste food or medicine on the gravely sick.





TWENTY-NINE




I WORK EXTRA HARD THE NEXT DAY. EVEN STILL sore from my sparring match with Tully, I push through the discomfort, ignoring the twinges in my ribs.

I avoid Sean and Gil, needing time to think, to process. I feel them looking at me several times throughout the day. I’m sure Sean recapped Gil on our conversation in my room—leaving out the make-out session. I know I left Sean with the impression that I would consider running away with him, but in the light of day I’m not sure of anything. I can hardly think about that. Flashes of that carrier falling to the ground play over and over in my mind. The weight of the gun in my hand. The recoil as I pull the trigger. A living nightmare.

My feet pound the earth. Sweat trickles down my spine. I breathe through my nose as I follow the winding jogging trail. I push myself until my lungs start to ache, welcoming the punishing pain, deserving it.

Sean lies in wait at the water fountain stationed in front of the gym. It’s my second pass in front of the gym on my run. I’ve been jogging with a half dozen others through the dirt path snaking through the buildings and looping around the woods. I’m sure there are kids in front of me and in back, but I’ve been solo for a while now. Sometimes, Sabine keeps me company, even though she’s a lot faster than me, but she’s nowhere around today.

“Hey,” he calls.

Immediately, my face burns, thinking about all the kissing we did last night. I pause for a quick drink at the fountain, wiping at the icy water dribbling down my chin, gathering my composure. “Hey.” I bend down for another drink. It’s hot and I’m thirsty, but I’m also desperate to look casual in his presence. I can’t just stand and gawk at him with my heart in my eyes.

“Give any thought to what we talked about?” He stares at me, his eyes intent, pinning me where I stand.

I swallow, my throat now cold from the water. “I don’t know. . . .”

He glances left and right before looking back at me and leaning closer. “You can’t want to stay here.”

Staring at his face, at that earnest gaze, I want nothing more than to go with him. I want to believe there could be something better out there for us. For a killer like me. A place I could go with him and be safe. A place where the world is safe from me, too. The thing is . . . I can’t imagine that place really exists.

“Sean, I . . .” My voice falters and I step back, putting more space between us. My gaze dips, and I get distracted looking at his mouth, remembering the taste of it. The shape and pressure of it against mine. Maybe that’s why he kissed me. To addle my thinking and get me to go with him.

Shaking off the thought, I snap my attention back to his eyes. “I can’t do this right now. I’m supposed to be running.” I step around him.

“Tonight then?” He grabs my wrist, stalling me. “We’ll talk then.”

I look down at the long, tan fingers wrapped around my wrist. His voice curls around me, too. Just as enticing. And I don’t deserve that. I shouldn’t feel anything good after what I did yesterday. “I can find you after dinner.”

His hand reaches for me like he’s going to touch me. My breath hitches. With a quick glance around, remembering himself and where we are, he drops his hand back to his side. The air deflates from my chest, and I know then how much I wanted to feel his hand on my face. It’s the only thing—he is the only thing—that eclipses the horror of yesterday for me.

Sadly, wrongly, I do want to see him again. I want him to come to my room, but not to talk about his crazy plan. I want to forget about that and just be with him again. Like before but more. More of his lips. More of his hands . . . his warm skin against mine. I want to hold his face and look into his eyes and see compassion and caring and empathy . . . all the things I haven’t seen, haven’t felt in far too long a time. Those things that remind me I’m a human and not just the killer I’ve become.

Edging away, I say, against my better judgment, “Yes. Come.”

His lips stretch in a slow smile.

I’ll explain my position to him then. That it’s too risky. How far can we get with imprints on our necks? My best chance is to stay here until I’ve earned the right for them to remove my imprint. Then I can slip away.

I set out again, the image of his smiling face etched in my mind.

But it’s not long before yesterday returns to haunt me. Shame sinks its teeth into me. I pump my arms harder. I wish I’d said no. Seeing him again, being with him, tasting his kiss . . . I don’t deserve that.

My feet pound the trail, legs working fluidly. I’m so busy with my thoughts that I don’t even feel the ache in my body anymore. Running has just become automatic, the simple repeat of my steps as I wonder at the man I killed—who was he before the Agency showed up to drag him away? Did anyone mourn him? Would they even know he died?

I catch a blur of movement to my left and think it’s another runner joining me on the trail. It’s only a split second thought though. It flees the instant a body rams into my side like a vehicle butting another one off the track.