Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(73)

“You saw the headline too?” I ask.

She laughs and it’s mean and humorless and full of smug pride. “I created the headline. Did you actually think police would storm Rogen Tower? Please.” She snorts. “It’s never happened before and it never will. This place is more secure than any prison.”

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask but I think I know.

“Me? Nothing. Your daddy? Probably something you won’t like.” She takes out her phone and punches a number. I can hear it ringing and then she wanders away. I strain against my captors but their grip is solid. Something wet runs down my fingers. The wound on my arm has broken open. Blood drips onto the carpet. Alton watches it with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, Daddy,” Taylor says a second later. “Yes, just like you predicted. Yeah, just the three of us is plenty. It’s only her. She hadn’t even gotten to Daniel yet, but I think she was going to take him to them, like you said.”

She concentrates on the conversation as she walks slowly back toward me. “No, but he’s here somewhere. We’ll grab him on the way out.” She pauses, listening, and then, “Her room? Seriously? I thought I could bring her to you.”

Again, a pause. She stands in front of me again, eyeing me with distaste. “Fine, but hurry up. I don’t want to be stuck babysitting a robot all night. And her arm is bleeding all over the place. Ugh.”

With Taylor standing so close, the voice on the other end of the phone reaches my ears. “She’s the last of the deviations, Taylor. Your job is very important,” the man says. My blood runs cold as I pick up on it. “Besides, very soon, everyone will be marked and we won’t have to worry about her or anyone else attempting to expose us. You did well tonight and you will be rewarded.”

“Rewarded. Hmm. How about a month in St. Tropez?”

“It’s not a good idea to leave the country right now, darling. We’ll come up with something.”

Taylor barters some more and some sort of agreement is made, but I don’t hear anything else. I can barely keep my knees from buckling. Suddenly, the two men holding me down are also holding me up. That voice. I know that voice. I can’t believe it took me this long to understand.

“What’s wrong with you?”

It takes me too long to realize Taylor’s off the phone and talking to me. Emile shakes me—hard. Pain shoots up my arm. My teeth chatter and I lurch sideways. The men catch me and pull me upright. Taylor snickers.

I spit at her but miss.

“Eww. God, you are nothing like her. All right, boys. Orders are to lock her in her room and wait for Daddy and Titus to get back.”

“What about her boyfriend?” Emile asks.

“I’ll find Crawford,” Alton says.

“Not yet. We’ll get her upstairs. Then you can both go find him.”

The look on Alton’s face makes me shiver. I hope Linc stays away.

I move on auto-pilot, letting the men behind me shove me along in the direction they want me to go. My feet are like lead. My thoughts can’t seem to catch up or settle in one place. I stare, unseeing, at the back of Taylor’s head.

The man. The voice. Taylor’s dad.

Up ahead, a door clicks and Taylor stops. The men yank me back so that I’m wedged between them instead of in front of them.

“Linc, it’s a trap! Run!” I yell. A hand closes over my mouth. Fingernails dig into my cheek. I cry out but it’s muffled against the palm pressing against my face.

Linc appears at the end of the hall. When he sees Emile’s hand over my mouth, his eyes narrow fractionally. He plants his feet and his hands fist at his sides.

“Well, that makes this slightly easier,” Taylor says. Her confidence confuses me. Maybe she underestimates Linc.

“Let her go,” Linc says quietly. He takes a small step toward us. Then another.

“You probably should’ve listened to your robot girlfriend and ran,” Taylor says. From inside her jacket, she produces a gun. It’s black and shiny and deadly-looking in her perfectly manicured hand. She wraps her finger around the trigger and points it at Linc.

He stops and eyes the weapon. He still looks way too calm. It’s unnerving and I’m not the one on his bad side.

I struggle wildly against the grip on either arm but it only makes them squeeze me harder. Linc’s fists tighten and flex. “I said let her go,” he repeats, staring at Taylor.

“Not happening,” Taylor says, and fires.

Linc is a blur of outstretched arms as he dives sideways and rolls along the floor. He comes up already running, his arms pumping. He cuts a zig-zag pattern as he hurtles toward Taylor. She fires again and misses. A hole appears in the wall just above where Linc’s head just was. Dust billows out of the hole in a tiny puff.

Taylor’s cocking the gun again, her movements clumsy. She’s nervous.

Beside me, Emile reaches for something inside his own jacket. His hand reappears and I catch sight of a glinting metal weapon emerging.

I throw my body sideways, ramming him into the wall as hard as I can. His gun fires and even though it’s not pointed that way, I whirl in a panic, searching Linc for a wound. Beside me, Emile slumps. His knees buckle. His face is frozen in shock.

Alton grabs me and yanks me back. “Get her in a cell—” Taylor calls.