Folsom (End of Men, #1)(38)

I get the feeling that he doesn’t mean this as a compliment to Folsom.

He crosses a leg over his knee and runs a hand thoughtfully across his chin.

“I wanted to thank you for what you said last night. It was a refreshing change to the normal pregnancy announcements.” He grins at me.

“I can’t tell if anything that comes out of your mouth is sincere or not,” I say.

This makes Kasper’s grin stretch into a smile. “You know, you’re not nearly as dumb as you look.”

My jaw drops at the same time as anger starts sizzling in my belly.

“I meant that as a compliment, Gwen. The pretty ones are always the dumbest.”

“Get to the point, Kasper,” I say between my teeth.

“Your governor…”

“Petite,” I say, suddenly perking up at the mention of my soon-to-be stepmother’s name.

“Yes, Petite,” he says slowly. “She’s working for the Society. The only reason they brought Laticus here was because of what she promised them.”

I feel a lump form in my throat and try to swallow around it. “And what exactly did she promise?”

Kasper purses his lips, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“That, my dear Gwen, is for you to find out. Your boyfriend is defying them. The Society is grasping to regain their power with Folsom, insisting that Laticus be taken from his control.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“Knowing things is my specialty, Gwen.”

He stands up and I toss the blanket aside and scoot out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I follow him to my bedroom door. He turns around suddenly and I’m uncomfortably close to him.

“You’re already pregnant, Gwen! There’s nothing I can do for you.”

I resist the urge to punch him in his cocky, arrogant face. “You said you had a message for Folsom,” I say, exasperated.

“Oh, yes.” He’s taunting me and I hate it. “It seems that the Canadians don’t agree with our methods. They focus more on research rather than whoring out their men. If Folsom can get the boy to the Green Region, we can get him across the border. Something to think about,” he says.

He’s about to walk out the door when he suddenly turns back.

“Here.” He places something in my hand. “When Folsom wants to move forward with the plan, all he needs to do is push that button.”

I look over the small black clip with the switch clicked off. It looks sort of like the devices we use at work, but sleek.

“We’ll handle the rest.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t like Folsom.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Why are you helping him?”

“That’s between me and your boyfriend,” he says.

I contemplate calling Folsom to tell him about Kasper’s visit, but the thought that anyone could be bugging our devices makes me set my Silverbook down. No, I have to tell him in person. Kasper said that my soon-to-be stepmother is involved. I glance at my Silverbook lying beside me on the bed with new suspicion. Would she? Could she? I feel sick. Since I can’t sleep, I decide to distract myself instead. I message the team about taking Laticus outside tomorrow and look up Charity’s ID number. There’s not much about her online, but she seems to check out. She and her mother live downtown. I make a note to ask around about her tomorrow. I’d just feel better if I knew a little more about her.

On my drive to work the next morning, I see even more protesters than yesterday, a few silver-haired men are scattered through them. Their cries are louder, their expressions more severe. There are news vehicles parked down the street, reporters aiming their cameras at the protest. I go so slowly to read all the signs that I almost miss the girl getting in the car parked next to me. Genevieve, Governor Petite’s aid, pulls behind me. I don’t think either of them notices me, and I look in the rearview mirror once more to be sure. Charity is sitting next to Genevieve, talking with her hands going every direction, and looking very different from the demure girl I saw in Laticus’ room.





NINETEEN





FOLSOM


For the next week, appointments fill my days. It’s an endless cycle of women and sex, questions about my health, and late, lonely nights back at the End Men compound. With the permission of the Society and recommendation of my doctor, my appointments are capped at two a day, during which time I abstain from drinking and only use the pills when absolutely necessary. The Society also deems the lottery as a risk and the weekly drawings are suspended from my stay in the Red indefinitely. I haven’t spoken to Gwen in days, having tried to connect with her, only to have her tell me that she’d prefer to talk to me in person.

On the eighth day, I arrive at the Villanova house late in the evening. The estate sits on ten acres of rolling, green land outside the bustle of the city. My appointment is with their daughter and is to be followed by a party. The girl is a friend of Gwen’s sister, Sophia; I recognize her from the night of the last party.

“Langley,” she says, kissing me lightly on each cheek. Before I can respond, a toddler comes barreling into the room and grabs me by the leg.

“Are you my daddy?” she asks, looking up at me. She has Langley’s red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose.