Folsom (End of Men, #1)(44)

“I have over two hundred children,” I say.

She smiles sadly. “Yes, and you’re creating a better world for them every day. A way for them to survive.” Before she gets out of the car she grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for tonight. For being there for Gwen.” She’s about to say more, but the front door of the house opens and Petite’s frame fills the doorway.

“That’s our cue,” I say to her.

We both climb out, and I raise a hand to the governor before making my way over to my own car. When I turn back, she has her arm around Diana’s shoulders and is leading her inside.

Robin is waiting in my apartment an hour later when I walk through the door.

“I’m tired,” I say when I see the look on her face.

“You’ve had a very busy night,” she agrees. “The Genome Y lab twice in one evening, I see.”

I look at her out of the corner of my eye. “You’re tracking me?” I pull off my jacket and toss it on the back of a chair. Of course they would send Robin after me. She works for them not me, I remind myself.

“Well, when you disappear from your scheduled obligations, I’d say yes, it’s my job to keep track of where you are.”

“Speaking of those obligations, cancel my appointments tomorrow morning. I’ll have to make them up some other time.” I ease the buttons of my shirt out of their eyeholes.

“You know I can’t do that,” Robin says.

“I’m telling you to do it.”

“And what am I supposed to tell the Society when they ask?”

“Tell them whatever you like. It doesn’t matter to me.”

I start walking toward the bedroom, but Robin calls after me. “You’re playing with fire, Folsom. You have no idea what these people are willing to do to maintain control.”

Her words lift the hairs on the back of my neck. I know exactly what they are willing to do. I’ve never wanted control. I gave it up years ago for the greater good. It wasn’t until Gwen that the constraints I’ve lived with for so many years started to chaff. And why Gwen? Women have passed through my life; a running tap of names, and faces, and pussies, and no one—not one—has ever stood out. But I knew. The moment I saw her, I knew. A feeling, a draw, the smallest spark of kindling.

I want her. Oh my God, I want her.





TWENTY-TWO





GWEN


Folsom arrives bright and early the next morning smelling of fresh air and coffee. I’m not even dressed, and he looks like he stepped out of The End Men calendar, which I’m ashamed to say I own. He’s carrying two cups: a smoothie for me and a coffee for him. There’s a strange look in his eyes, and I wish I knew him well enough to know what it means.

“This is a nice change of pace,” I say, as he hands me the cup. “What flavor did you get me?”

“I took you for a berry person.” His step falters, like now he’s not sure. I can’t help it, I can’t. He’s always so serious that I have to take a shot.

“I’m allergic to berries,” I pout and his face looks so crestfallen I burst into laughter. “Just kidding. I love berries.” I take a sip to prove it to him. “You’re the best man I know,” I tell him, slipping my legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

“I’m the only man you know.”

“Not true. Laticus counts, right? And I know Jackal and Kasper—I have nothing good to say about Kasper.”

Folsom frowns. I watch his expression carefully, wishing he’d say more about his relationship with Kasper. They are about as different as two men can be: Folsom, dark-haired and light-eyed, and Kasper, light-haired and dark-eyed. Kasper’s words are spoken with the intention of cutting, disguised beneath his charisma, while Folsom’s words are careful…deliberate, even considerate.

They don’t like each other, that is easy to see.

I untie my hospital gown and let it drop to the floor. I’m naked underneath, having removed my panties just before he came in. It was my game plan to tease him, but now that his eyes are on me, warming my skin, I feel as if I’ve lost control. I fumble with the clothes Corinne brought me, dropping the pants and then putting the shirt on backward, the heat of his eyes making me nervous.

Folsom never once looks away, and I want to snort with laughter at my attempt to be sexy.

When I’m dressed, I go over to him. He grabs my hand and places it on his dick to show me he’s hard.

I kiss him softly and he cups my behind, pulling me into him.

“We’re not allowed.” I breathe into his mouth. “We’re both broken.”

He laughs and I lean my head against his chest to feel the rumble. And then he does something that really surprises me. He puts a hand against my stomach, holding his palm there.

“That’s your son,” I say, tilting my head back to look at him. “Not the Region’s, not the people’s. Yours and mine.”

He pulls his hand away quickly and looks out the window like he didn’t hear me.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. But, I’m learning, aren’t I? I know that he tries not to feel anything. His only armor is the unfeeling way he moves through life. He thinks I don’t understand, and maybe I don’t, but I want to. If he’d just let me carry some of his burden.