Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(36)

His eyes glint with a challenge and his smile is lopsided. He is the most gorgeous human I’ve ever seen. “Wanna bet?” he whispers back.





Chapter Eleven


It’s just as well that Obadiah is waiting. I can’t think of a single thing to say in response to Linc’s last words. He knows it, judging by the crooked grin still stretched across his face. My breath catches at the thought of attempting anything remotely like what we just did from the back of Linc’s motorcycle. It seems impossible. Dangerous. Absolutely thrilling. The heat in my lower stomach returns. I try to ignore it as I slide out of the car behind Linc.

My eyes take a few blinks to adjust after the tinted windows of the car. We’re in an alleyway between buildings. Obadiah has somehow wedged the car between two dumpsters so that both license plates are obscured. Smart. Also, I have no idea how we’ll get out. And then I realize, Obadiah doesn’t plan to.

My palms are sweaty from all that’s happened. Not just the private moments Linc and I shared, but the entire events that brought me here. Taylor. Alton. Titus. The mark. Where do I begin?

“You okay?” Obadiah asks, bumping my shoulder with his as we walk.

“Just trying to catch my breath after that getaway,” I tease.

“If you ever decide to rob a bank, I’m your guy.”

“You’ll be the first call I make,” I assure him.

“Good. How was your shopping trip with President Evil?” he asks.

“It was …” I can’t even finish as I think about how Taylor treated the boy in the street and the way she spoke about the poor.

“What happened?” Obadiah asks.

I tell him about our shopping day. “And she bought me that bag,” I add. “She thought she was helping, I guess. I mean, Raven—the real Raven—probably would’ve been cheered up.”

“Nah, I remember watching the two of them together. I think even the real Raven could see Taylor’s nastiness.” The hardness in Obadiah’s voice is unmistakable as he adds, “Taylor’s an acid. She eats away at everything she touches.”

At the intersection, we pause underneath the shadow of the building at our back. There are no cars or pedestrians here. The warehouses behind us are mostly abandoned or used for things no one wants to admit to. Up ahead is Obadiah’s father’s warehouse. The front entrance faces the street a block north, just across from a condemned public parking structure. This side street is deserted—at least by anyone who would take notice of three teenagers sneaking between alleyways.

Just in case, I scan for traffic. Farther down to my right, I see a group of people huddled near some crumbling boxes underneath the overhang of a tattered auto repair shop. They haven’t looked this way on any of our visits here. Sometimes I wonder if we should stop to check their pulse as we pass by, but I don’t say it. I am afraid of what we’ll find.

We dart across the intersection, walking fast until we reach the cover of the next set of buildings. Our destination is the enormous warehouse on my right but even the back door is too obvious. “How long do we have?” I ask as we walk.

Linc and Obadiah share a look. “She’s not staying?” Obadiah asks.

Linc’s mouth tightens. “No,” is all he says.

Obadiah’s brows disappear into the ends of the dark hair splayed across his forehead.

“Next time you want to rescue me,” I say, “consider asking if I want to be rescued.”

Obadiah snorts. “Of course you want to be rescued. You’re the damsel.”

I glare at him. “I’m going back.”

“Of course you are.” He shakes his head and then looks at Linc. “Well, that changes things. How are you going to—?”

“It’s fine,” Linc says through closed teeth.

I stare between them, certain I’m missing something, though I have no idea what. “What’s fine?” I ask when neither of them elaborates.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll go visit with Morton and head back when you’re ready,” Linc says.

Obadiah bites his lip and we walk on in silence. The entrance is just ahead, obscured from this angle by a small electrical shed, but Obadiah doesn’t get that far before he stops abruptly and turns to face Linc. “Here’s the thing. I have to worry about it,” he says. “If she’s going back, that means so are you.”

Linc doesn’t answer.

“You were going to stay too?” I ask him.

Obadiah presses on. “How in the hell do you expect to be let back in when they find out you redirected her GPS? And lied about a threat? They will figure it out. You can’t cover this one up.”

Still, Linc is silent. “Linc?” I say.

Nothing.

Obadiah’s eyes flash in uncharacteristic anger. “You can’t come inside.”

“What?” Linc says.

“It’s too dangerous. You guys have to go back.”

“We put this whole thing together,” Linc argues. “Drove all the way down here. She can at least go say hello.”

“No,” Obadiah says. “You didn’t hold up your end.” He points to me and adds, “She was supposed to get rid of it by now. You said you brought the tools. It was a done deal. If it’s still in her, they’ll find her soon enough, regardless of that scrambler thing. Hell, they probably already have.”