Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(8)

I swallow hard. What am I willing to do? He whispered a promise. But I can’t trust him. He tried to—

“Are you going to warm me up?” he presses. “Because it already feels pretty hot.” Without waiting for an answer, he yanks on the hem of his shirt and pulls it off. His chest and abs are a patchwork of half-healed wounds. Most of them are red and raised like burns but many are covered over in angry scratches and deep cuts.

My stomach jumps into my throat. I cough and immediately regret it. The searing pain in my lungs shoots all the way to my knees.

“Daniel, stop,” I warn. I would back up if I weren’t already pressed against the wall so hard my spine aches.

“Why should I?” Daniel sneers, his expression suddenly twisting into something ugly and angry. “He doesn’t.” He takes a step toward me again, his fingers fumbling with the button on his pants. “He never stops. He’s here every day, twisting the knife. First it was physical, but—” he pauses and makes a sound like being hurt is no big deal, “that was nothing. When he realized that, he tried going after the things I love.” He laughs and it is the farthest from humor I’ve ever heard. “Guess the joke’s on him.”

He is in my face again, this time staring down at me with jutted chin and fiery eyes. He presses a hand against the wall on either side of my head, trapping me there. “I love nothing,” he hisses. His breath washes over my face, sour and acidic like his words.

“Not even Melanie?” I ask quietly. Because I have to end this. Even if it means risking his silence. I won’t let him touch me.

He blinks. “She is nothing to me,” he says, but it’s not true. We both know it. The hesitation was subtle but it was there. I feel better, knowing he cares about her after all. Knowing he’s capable.

I don’t sugarcoat it. Daniel isn’t the type for slow build-up. He’s the type to rip the bandage off all at once. “She’s dead, Daniel,” I say.

“What?” He blinks again, as if uncomprehending of my words—or unwilling to accept them as quickly as I said them.

“Titus sent me to see her first. Her wounds were … extensive,” I explain, my voice cracking and repairing itself every other word. “She got upset with me. She was coughing and screaming and she wouldn’t calm down.” Tears burn my eyes as I talk. I am giving him the shortest version I can and still, it’s like re-breaking the same bone over and over again.

I see her there, lying with her knees in the air and her hands trapped behind her. Red hair turned dull and spread around her like the ashes of a waterlogged fire. I swallow my own sob and continue, “She kept screaming at me and rocking the chair and—she tipped the chair and hit her head on the floor. It was instant. I’m … I’m sorry.”

His eyes search mine, for what I don’t know. I can’t hold his gaze long enough to find out. Tears course down my cheeks. I only know it because I see a puddle between my high-heeled feet where I stare at the ground. I wait for the crazy, but Daniel just stands there. Soaking me in.

The silence stretches until I can’t stare at my pooling tears, nor can I shed them any longer. Not yet. It’s too much like him winning. Again.

Slowly, I raise my head and brush my hair back from my face. Daniel studies me, still searching and soaking. And I don’t mind because he doesn’t look like he’s deciding how best to kill or kiss me.

“He brought her in here every day to show me her wounds. I don’t know what he used but I could hear her—” He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they aren’t focused on anything in this room. “I could hear her screaming. He used her screams in place of mine. But she never told him anything. Not a single detail. So I didn’t either. I knew what it did to her, but she took it anyway. And every time they carried her in here, the times she was conscious, she would just look at me and shake her head no. So I honored her wishes. I thought—” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. It sticks up in the center, too oily and unwashed to fall back into the haphazard disarray he wore it in before.

“What?”

He walks back to his bed and sits, slumped over, staring at his hands. I wait, not wanting to rush him. I don’t know why or even when it happened, but at some point I became willing to forgive Daniel for what he tried to do, if only he continues to behave forgivably.

When he finally speaks, there is too much defeat in his voice for him to be evil. He is only a boy. And he is beaten. “It was all for nothing. He wins. He always wins.”





Chapter Three


I spend dinner in my closet. The closeness of the garments encroaching around me is a comfort. I never had such wide living space in Twig City. Everyone and everything pressed together. Not quite touching—that would be too personal—but not quite far enough to dismiss either. I need that now. Between my guilt of Melanie and Daniel’s perplexing behavior, I am overwhelmed with the need for closeness.

Tears fall unchecked until my face and my insides are numb. I can’t cry anymore. It’s not what Imitations do. It’s not what Raven would do. Besides that, I made promises. If I can’t keep my word with Melanie, all I have left is Morton—and the others. They need me.

I need Linc.

I heard two of the men talking as they walked me back. They spoke about a new guy on their team. I didn’t bother listening after that. I only want Linc. He’s the only thing that makes me finally push to my feet and leave the closet.