Folsom (End of Men, #1)(34)

“You pull a stunt like this again and I will make your mother’s world a living hell. You’re an embarrassment to the Region.” She pulls away and smiles at me like I’ve just said something precious and then she clears her throat and grabs a glass of champagne. “To Sophia and Gwen and the little miracles they’re carrying in their bodies! Sophia will bring another beauty into the Red Region, and Gwen will bring our salvation! We must never forget that the End Men have willingly committed their lives for the good of the people, forgoing themselves at any and all cost. We can never allow ourselves to lose sight of their sacrifice.”

She looks at me: her eyes hard and lips in a tight line, and I look at my mother, wondering if I’ve unknowingly sealed her fate.





SEVENTEEN





FOLSOM


The rain hits my face when I climb out of the car and make my way to my apartment. I’d crashed earlier before I could take a good look around.

My security detail does a quick sweep of the place and then leaves me to it. Robin already briefed me on the car ride over. Tomorrow is twin sisters. They’ve already forgotten about the one-a-day rule and gave me a new supply of the little blue pills. I eye the bar. An unopened bottle of bourbon sits on the console, a rocks glass positioned next to it. I walk to the kitchen and peer inside the fridge instead, it’s stocked with all of the things I like to eat: greens for smoothies, fresh fruit, grilled chicken. Absently, I rub at my heart. I’ve been instructed to keep exercise to a minimum, nothing too strenuous—they suggested walking for now. Ten more weeks of living like my heart is going to stop working at any minute. Doctor Hunley suggested that for sex I stay on my back, let the women do the work. I’m fine with that; relieved I have a doctor’s note that allows me to underperform.

I wander into the living room and turn on the Silverbook, sinking into the first chair I see. Gwen’s face fills the screen and then the camera pans out and I can tell that she’s on a stage, a podium in front of her. At first, I don’t know what’s happening, but then I remember: a press conference would be held to announce she’s carrying a boy.

One of the head scientists from the Genome Y lab stands next to her, staring on proudly like she’s the one responsible for the baby. She introduces herself first.

“I am Corinne Gonzalez, I am one of the lead scientists here at Genome Y. Today we very proudly confirm that one of our employees, Gwen Allison, is carrying Folsom’s sixth son, the first boy to be born to the Red Region. I’ll let Gwen take your questions…”

Corinne steps aside and Gwen stands at the center of the podium as reporters shout out questions.

“How do you feel?”

She makes a face and I smile at the screen.

“Good so far. No morning sickness yet.”

“How far are you?” someone else calls out.

“It’s still very early,” she says. “You won’t be seeing a belly for a while.”

“Does Folsom know he’s going to be a father again?”

Gwen nods, her lips curling into a sexy smile. “He does. He’s very happy for the Red Region.”

The next voice I recognize. Her name is Isolda Clark, a rogue reporter known to ask controversial questions. She’s gotten into a lot of trouble in the past for it, once having to pay a huge fine to the Statehouse after questioning where Regional funds were going.

“Miss Allison, how does it feel knowing that when your son comes of age, he will be an End Man?”

There’s a long pause. Gwen ducks her head to look down at her notes and then seems to disregard them altogether. Her face takes on a hardness and I know she’s about to say something she shouldn’t.

“I would like for my son to have choices in life, to be able to decide who he wants to be, to have a marriage and a family of his own, to not be forced into sex slavery as the End Men are. Our society has become lax in the nature of basic human rights. I would ask you this, when what is right for the whole world becomes wrong for an individual, what is to be done?”

There is a pregnant silence in the crowd and then noise erupts as dozens of questions barrel toward Gwen. She very quietly gathers her things and walks offstage, disappearing through the doors behind her. The camera pans to the group of Genome Y employees who are standing frozen in their spots.

They cut to the commentators and by this time I’m pacing the floor. How could she be so stupid? She can’t possibly know the trouble she’s unleashed. I grab my Silverbook and say her name; it connects before I’ve thought about what to say to her.

She sounds shaky when she answers. I don’t bother with small talk.

“Forty-nine Cardinal Drive. When you reach the guard, tell her your name. I’ll call ahead to let her know you’re coming.”

Forty-five minutes go by and I haven’t been notified that she’s here. I read the comments underneath the video of the press conference, which is on a continuous loop. Most are outraged by her words; I am surprised to see a few that agree with her. I drag my hands through my hair and step to the bourbon, pouring a glass and lifting it to my nose for a long sniff. No, I need to be fully cognizant for this conversation.

Another fifteen minutes pass and I hear the intercom beep.

“Gwen to see you, sir.”

“Let her through,” I say.