Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(17)

“It was a gift,” he says quietly. “What are you wearing?” he shoots back. “Was there an annual slut convention I wasn’t aware of?”

“Your invitation got lost in the mail.” I can feel his grin in the pressing darkness.

“Speaking of sexy invitations … you ready to explain this?” He gestures to the space around us, or the lack of.

I feel down to the pocket on my robe and draw out the device I took. I hold it up for Obadiah’s inspection, such as it can be. “This.”

“And this is …?”

“Ssh. A scrambler. Or that’s what I’m calling it.” In a hushed and hurried voice, I explain the guard at dinner. Williams. How he’d thought he lost me.

“How did you get this?” he asks.

“I stole it.”

His brow goes up. I don’t have to see it to know. “Does Linc know what you did?”

“Does your boyfriend know everything you do?” I shoot back.

“I don’t … shit, Ven.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just … I want you to know that I love you.” I wrinkle my nose. Something I find myself doing when the subject matter gets confusing or gray. “Not like that, but like … I don’t care if you like boys, Obadiah.”

Something more than just his breath exhales. “Thanks,” he says, his voice grave and so solemn I know this must be the first conversation he’s ever had about this. And then with laughter, “I don’t care if you like boys, either.”

I giggle. “But we have to make this look real,” I say.

Obadiah snorts. “Please. I’m so real. I’m unforgettable. Although, I still can’t believe you used me as your ruse to steal from Titus.”

“Ssh.” I consider his words. “I can’t believe I stole,” I say.

“We’re a couple of ninjas.”

“I’ll be a ninja when I use it successfully.”

“Does this mean you’re coming to visit tomorrow? They miss you.”

“Yes. Maybe. Hopefully.”

Sometimes, Obadiah’s oppositeness of Ida is a pleasant shock. When I finally told him about Morton and the others, he hadn’t batted an eye. When I’d explained what we were, his only response had been if I knew whether there’d been an Imitation made of Jay Ryan.

“Who the hell is Jay Ryan?” Linc had asked.

“Okay, so I know neither one of you watch television but you have to check out this Beauty and the Beast show on the Throwback 2k Channel. It’s like a time capsule for vintage hotties. Jay Ryan plays a Beast with scars on his face and a penchant for rooftop violence in defense of the weak. He’s total military bodyguard. You’d love him, Crawford. And Ven, he’s so your type. I’m telling you. Get some.”

Linc had stared at him for so long, I’d accidentally giggled out loud. I’d cut it off abruptly when no one else joined in, terrified I’d offend Obadiah. It was the first comment regarding his sexual orientation he’d made aloud and I didn’t want to hurt him with a wrong reaction. What was the right reaction in this case?

But Obadiah only grinned. From there, all mention of Imitations and secret underground lairs and ramshackle warehouses hidden across town were treated as completely normal. Not to mention, Obadiah had been instrumental in relocating and watching over Morton’s army.

I don’t know what I’d do without Obadiah. Then again, in this moment, I’m not sure what to do with him, either.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get this moving along. We have to pretend to …” I wrinkle my nose again.

“Have sex. You can say it.”

“That is such a strange word. When I heard it in Twig City, it was clinical, almost cold. But when you say it, when I think it, it’s different here.” My cheeks burn. It’s a subject that has brought me much teasing these last few weeks, but I can’t bring myself to talk so casually about something that seems so intensely intimate.

Obadiah sighs. “Okay, when I say, you’re going to roll on top of me and moan.”

“How do I moan?”

“You sort of sigh … with your voice.”

“That’s how it sounds?”

“This is not happening right now,” he says to himself. And then to me, “That’s how it sounds tonight. Now, come on.” He shifts, inching closer on his back. I push up on my palms and toes and let him slide in. When he’s underneath me, I lower my torso to his. It’s a strange sort of closeness, like a hug with more body.

“Now breathe out,” he says.

I breathe out.





Chapter Six


Linc comes early the next morning. I’ve changed my pajamas, a silk pants set that ends just above my ankle with a button-up shirt to match. It’s not the least bit revealing, but when he steps into my room and shuts the door, I feel exposed enough that my cheeks heat.

Obadiah’s already gone, slipped out somewhere between my wardrobe change and dawn. I wonder if Linc knows he was here. If he notices the scent of spicy cologne in the air, he doesn’t mention it.

Without a word, he begins a thorough search of my room. It’s a routine we’ve fallen into when he visits. Twice he’s removed listening devices from various hiding places among my things. Once we found a camera hidden in the mouth of a small ceramic tiger. For days after, it made me ill to imagine the entire security force watching me change my clothes each day. Linc assured me he found and destroyed the tapes.