The Treatment (The Program #2)(2)

The girl holds up her hands. “You can relax,” she calls.

“We’re not with The Program.”

James rolls down his window, the car still in drive and ready to launch forward—crushing her—at any second. “Then who the hell are you?” he demands.

The girl’s smile widens and she tosses a look back at her companion before turning to James. “I’m Dallas,” she says.

“Realm sent us a message to find you.” At the mention of Realm, I tell James to turn off the car, relieved that my friend is okay.

Dallas walks in front of the car, her boots echoing off the pavement, before she comes to pause at James’s window. She lifts one of her dark eyebrows and looks him over. “Realm must have forgotten to mention how pretty you are,” she says wryly.

“Shame on him.”

“How’d you find us?” James asks, ignoring her comment.

“We went to the border for Lacey and Kevin, but there were patrols everywhere. We barely got through.” Dallas nods toward the car. “The phone Realm’s sister gave you has a tracking device. Pretty handy, but you should probably ditch it now.” Both James and I look in the center console at the black phone that was already in the car when we got in. There’s also a duffel bag on the backseat, along with a couple hundred dollars Anna left us for provisions. But is this it? Are we part of the rebels now? If so . . . they don’t look all that pulled together.

“Your friends,” Dallas says, “never made it to the border either. We found Lacey, huddled in her Bug and crying. Seems Kevin didn’t show. I think there’s more to the story, but I’ll let her tell it.”

My heart sinks. What happened to Kevin? “Where’s Lacey?” I ask. “Is she okay?”

“She’s a firecracker.” Dallas laughs. “She wouldn’t talk to me, so I had Cas try and coax her out of her vehicle. She broke his nose. We had to sedate her, but don’t worry, we don’t steal your memories.” She says it in a spooky voice, like The Program is just a monster living under our beds. I’m starting to wonder if she’s sane. “Anyway. . .” She sighs, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “She’s already on her way to the safe house. And unless you’re trying to get caught, I’d suggest you get out of the vehicle and come with me.”

“In that van?” James scoffs. “You think we’re less conspicuous is a big, white van?”

She nods. “Yep. It’s something a handler would drive. Not a group of people on the run. Listen—James, is it? You’re superhot and all, but you don’t strike me as a real thinker. So maybe just follow orders and bring your little girlfriend into the van so we can get out of here.”

“Screw you,” I say, offended on so many levels it’s difficult to pick just one. James turns to me, his brow furrowed.

“What do you think?” he asks quietly. I can see his indecision, but we don’t have any other options right now. We were on our way to find the rebels, but they found us first. Lacey is with them.

“We have to get to Lacey,” I say, wishing we could run off on our own. But we don’t have the resources. We’ll need to regroup.

James groans, not wanting to give in to Dallas. His aver-sion to authority is one of my very favorite things about him.

“Fine,” he says, looking back at Dallas. “But what are we going to do with the Escalade. It’s a nice car.”

“Cas is going to drive it back.”

“What?” James asks. “Why does he get to—”

“Cas isn’t on the run,” she interrupts. “He’s never been in The Program. He can drive through any checkpoint he wants.

He’s going ahead to scout the trip, get us to the safe house unscathed.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Dallas casts a bored glance in my direction, looking annoyed that I spoke to her. “All in good time, sweetheart. Now, if you’d both climb out, we have a little business to take care of first.” James and I exchange a look, but ultimately we get of the car. Cas starts toward us, and for a moment I have the fear we’re getting carjacked. Especially when Cas pulls out a fistful of zip ties.

“What the f**k are those for?” James yells, grabbing my arm to pull me back.

Dallas puts her hand on her hip. “Cas had his nose broken today, and to be honest, you seem pretty volatile. This is for our protection. We don’t trust you. You’re returners.” The way she says “returners” makes us sound like we’re abominations, like we disgust her. But it was probably just the right thing to say to catch us off guard, break us down enough so Cas could come behind us and slip the ties around our wrists, pulling them tight. Just then I feel the first drop of rain hit my cheek. I look sideways at James; he’s angry, watching as Dallas and Cas go through the Escalade, take out our money, and toss the canvas bag onto the pavement. The rain starts to fall in a drizzle, and Dallas scowls at the sky. She walks around to swipe our bag from the ground, hanging it lazily over her shoulder.

I feel vulnerable, and I can’t remember how we got here. We should have kept running. But now we hardly have a choice, so we follow behind Dallas as she leads us to the van and helps us into the back, slamming the door closed behind us.