Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(22)

“I’m not going to let them get caught,” he adds.

“I’m worried about you getting caught,” I say.

“Well, stop. You have more to lose than any of us.”

My brows shoot up. “You don’t think Titus will kill you if he found out you were involved?”

“Of course I do, but then he would just make an Imitation to take my place and you’d get them to help with all of this.” He waves a hand at our concrete surroundings. “Either way, the Imitations here are taken care of.”

His tone is matter-of-fact to the point of cheerful as he speaks of his possible death. I try not to wince or give anything away in my expression, that there is a beautiful girl in Twig City, an exact replica of him in all of the ways that matter.

“Obadiah …” I begin.

“Don’t. Just be grateful and stop worrying,” he says.

“Okay.” I square my shoulders. “I’m grateful.”

“Thatta girl,” he says, smiling. “Now, let’s go see Morton.”

“Can you take us to him?” Linc asks Anna.

“Of course.” We all fall into step behind her. Over her shoulder she says, “He’s missed you, Ven. You too, Linc. He’s looking forward to seeing you both.”

“Me too,” I agree quietly.

Morton is a fascination for me. He has done the thing I want to do most: freed himself. However, instead of running away and enjoying his freedom, he stayed and searched for others like him, Imitations who’ve deviated from Twig City’s mental programming, and given them a home and a family. He says he leads a revolution, an uprising, but he is the most peaceful man I’ve ever met. I don’t understand how the two exist together, but it works for him somehow. I admire it and him, even if his imposing presence still makes me the tiniest bit nervous.

Anna takes us to the room Morton claimed for himself when Obadiah first brought them here. It’s a private room nearest the community kitchen. I am surprised to find his door shut when we arrive. Usually it is open in a welcoming gesture to all who pass by.

Anna sends me a curious look to indicate she is thinking the same thing. She knocks and, a moment later, it opens and Morton’s large body fills the frame. I’m excited to share with him what I’ve done. Stealing the remote tracker makes me feel like the version of Ven Morton wants. The version that will find a way for them to be free. My smile dies on my lips when I catch sight of him.

“Linc, Ven,” he says, a mixture of relief and sadness washing over his expression. “You’re here.”

For a moment, none of us speak. I know they are all staring at the same thing I am; Morton’s expansive cheeks are wet with tears. It shouldn’t be such a novelty, this display of emotion, but when a man as large as a bus shows the vulnerability of a child, it makes one pause.

Linc clears his throat and we all pretend not to notice as Morton wipes the heel of his palm over his eyes and down his large cheeks. “Didn’t Obadiah tell you we were coming?” Linc asks.

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” Morton says, blinking several times. “I’m glad you made it. Come in.” He swings the door wide, allowing us to pass through. Even so, he has to drop his arm and step back to give us room to maneuver by. Morton is breathtakingly huge in a way that a mountain is impressive next to a molehill. The fact that he is also the gentlest creature I’ve ever seen is an irony I can appreciate.

A weathered desk with a single wooden chair is shoved against one wall. A sagging sofa with rumpled cushions lines another. It’s the same setup as the room he left behind when Obadiah moved them from their first hideout—a condemned warehouse several blocks from here.

“Come in and sit,” Morton says, waving us toward the couch.

I sit wedged between Obadiah and Linc. Our hips are pressed together in order to fit into the space the cushions provide. I don’t mind their closeness. It helps me feel safe. I do my best to ignore the tingling on my left that is my body’s reaction to Linc’s contact. I will never stop loving the feeling of him against me.

Morton takes a seat on the wooden chair. It creaks under his weight but somehow holds together. Anna hovers near the door, looking uncertainly at Morton. His tears are gone but his lids are rimmed in red and he isn’t making eye contact with anyone. Instead, he stares at the desk with a far-off look.

The knees on his brown cargo pants are scuffed and worn. For some reason, this makes me keenly aware of my freshly pressed, custom-fitted skirt and blouse.

“Morton?” Anna prompts. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh, yes. My apologies. Today is … my apologies.” He blinks and then focuses on Anna. “Mon Cherie, would you get our guests some water, please?” he asks her.

She nods, clearly relieved when Morton regains his composure. “I’ll be right back,” she says before slipping out.

Morton turns back to the three of us, his attention settling on Obadiah. “How is everything?” he asks.

“Everything’s peachy,” Obadiah says brightly.

“No problems?” Morton asks.

“No problems. Well …. Maybe one.” Obadiah’s expression clouds. “It’s not really a problem, just a … complication.”

“Obadiah,” Linc says, his tone a warning.