I lean up on my toes and peck a slow lingering kiss over his lips. I plan on overriding his decision to abstain from me until I iron out this bullshit with Gage. I need Logan to love me in the most intimate way possible. Logan is the balm my body desires to escape all of the madness that follows us like a plague.
Logan earned a kiss. He is due one each second of the day for his willingness to sacrifice everything for my wellbeing, right down to our love.
“I’d better go.” He rasps the words out in a heated rush.
“Be careful,” I whisper. “Flying objects are most certainly sharper than they appear.” I nod toward the woods in which Ezrina lumbers about.
“There’s a chance I might pop into your dreams tonight. You mind?” He tilts his head. His entire body aches as if there were another question he longed to ask.
“I totally don’t mind.” I offer a brief hug. “Guess it’s official. You’re the man of my dreams.”
He gives a gentle moan. “Get in there and talk to Gage. He’s turned into a walking corpse these last few weeks.” He presses out a frown as if he didn’t approve but found it necessary to arbitrate peace talks nevertheless.
I look back at Ellis’s house with the music booming out of it, the windows vibrating in tune, and I try to envision Gage as a disheveled zombie. Imagining Gage as anything other than how I knew him, how I thought of him before prom is a sheer impossibility. He embodied perfection. He sold me the rights to our forever brand of love like some conman flashing the wares from inside his trench coat, and I bought everything he was willing to give me without suspecting for a minute he was running a counterfeit ring. And now, the only memory I have is a shell of who we were, smothered in the stench of Chloe’s once upon a death.
“See you in your dreams, Skyla Laurel Messenger.” Logan kisses my hair, my cheek, and the tip of my nose before taking off into the forest where I once killed Gage’s apparent main squeeze.
“See you in my dreams,” I shout after him, but he’s already been swallowed alive by the somber thicket.
Why in the hell is Logan running toward Ezrina?
***
I see Ellis’s smiling face as soon as I cross the threshold into the house.
“So where’s your dad?” I ask. Not that I expect him to be passed out on the couch with a bright red Solo cup tucked between his legs. Although that might inspire me to do my best impersonation of Ezrina—she is in the vicinity, and hatchets are prone to happen.
“Out of town.”
Code for trekking in the tunnels I suppose.
“So when’s this life-coaching thing going to start?” Ellis slides his shoulder up against mine as he looks out at a sea of girls rocking to the music.
I survey the crowd and spot Chloe stationed next to Gage and quickly twist my neck in the other direction.
Shit. I knew this was a crappy idea. If Ezrina doesn’t hurt Logan, I might have to for pushing me into the lion’s den.
“I’ve reconsidered the whole coaching thing.” I try not to sound so desperately grieved over what I just witnessed. “You’re slaying them pretty well on your own.”
“No, I think you’re right.” Ellis folds his arms and examines the estrogen-based offerings. “I need to go bigger, bolder—better.”
“Are we talking IQ points or bra sizes?”
“You’re a funny girl.” He cuts a sideways glance at Michelle who, for impractical purposes, is counting matches near the fireplace. “You think she’s stoned?” Ellis looks perplexed by her bizarre behavior, as she plucks a long-stem match from the mess in front of her and tries to apply it as lipstick.
“See that necklace she’s wearing?” The wicked rose pendant lets off a necrotic flicker as if winking in our direction—knowing Marshall, it probably is. “It’s boot camp for Fems. They invade her mind and turn it into a big gelatinous puddle of crap.”
“That’s effing sick.” Ellis recoils at my masterful descriptive.
“I know this because I swallowed it once, and it really effed with my mind.” I borrow his doctored expletive to prove my point. “You were in my hallucination. You were an ox with a body of a man. You were kind of hot if I do say so myself.”
“Cool.” Ellis expands his chest to annunciate said hotness.
“So, what’s the word around town? You find anything out from your dad that might save my neck?” Literally.
“The Counts are really pissed.” He pauses to knuckle bump some guys from East.
“Pissed? They do know they’re winning the war, right? Not to mention they have me as a private contributor to their unethical blood drives, and the fact Logan is not only a soldier in their hypocritical army, but they’ve amassed my mother as their newest doe-eyed convert. What else do these people want? World domination? OK, well, that.”
“Nope.” Ellis twists his lips carefully examining a group of girls clad in wet T-shirts as if we were standing in front of a buffet. “Not one of those things was on their shit list. In fact, if I remember correctly, they were only ticked about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
Chapter 25
He Said, She Said
“What do you mean me?” I gawk at Ellis as the flames crackle and pop from the fireplace. An entire rainbow of sunset colors bloom across the vicinity. They dance in his eyes as if he were lit up from the inside like a ball of molten rage.
“You’ve got a treble.” He shrugs. “A lot of it was over my head. I’ve never been to a meeting before, but my dad thought it’d be good for me. You know, father-son bonding.”
“You went to a Count round table? And are you even allowed since you’re fighting with Celestra?”
“Yeah, about that. My dad told me to knock that shit off.”
“What? I need you. I can’t lose you.” I’ve already lost Logan to the Counts, sort of, and Gage to Chloe. “I can’t fight this war on my own.”
“You’re not on your own. There are approximately five hundred people with you at any given time, but, of course, we’ve got more.” I’m sure by “we” he’s referring to his newfound alliance with wickedness.
“Ellis,” I say, swatting him not so playfully in the stomach, “what about Celestra?”
“You’ll be fine. I’m totally neutral. I don’t really care who wins.”
“You have to care! The Counts are kidnappers—they’re murderers. They’re going to drain me of my blood and kill me.” Ellis’s blasé attitude has me in a full-blown tizzy.
“OK, I care. I want Celestra to win and for you to take over—for the Counts to go to hell, but I’ll be the last person to admit that to my dad. He’s sort of a hard ass.”
“So I gathered.” I try to take it all in, but the noise booming from the speakers disrupts the process. “Thanks for letting me know about the treble.”
“They want you contained.” Ellis looks morbidly serious. “They’re looking into whether or not they can fight the war with you bound in the tunnels.”
“Crap.” This cannot possibly get any worse.
“I gotta go. There’s my ride.” Ellis latches his arm around a girl with long raven hair, eyes cut like diamonds, and legs that give the illusion they go all the way to her shoulders. Something about her reminds me of Emerson. I shudder at the thought of another rogue Kragger eating up my brain waves. “Wait,” I shout after him. “You don’t need a ride. You live here!”
He gives a thumbs up, affirming my deductive reasoning skills are still intact as he leads her down the hall.
Oh, I get it. He so needs a twelve-step program to detox from tramps.
And is that really all guys ever think about? Constantly reducing women to body parts and referencing us as vehicles, units, and packages? It’s so insanely inhuman. It makes me want to shake every male in here.
“So, where’s Logan?” a female voice pipes up from behind.
I spin to find Brielle in full-swing party mode. Her body is awkwardly stuffed into a pair of ill-fitt
ed jeans, and she’s wearing a skin-tight T-shirt with the remnants of her stomach spilling out the front.
“Wow, you look great!” Sort of.
“I’m a cow. These are my maternity clothes. I can’t get rid of my gut.” She slaps her midsection, which oddly looks like the bread dough my mother was beating into submission the other afternoon. “So are you planning his party?”
“Whose party?”
“Logan’s—he’s turning eighteen in a couple weeks. I just thought since you guys went to prom, and Gage said…” She shrugs it off without finishing. I yank her over to the corner away from the jet engine trying to rumble its way out of the speakers.
“What did Gage say?”
Brielle gapes at me. “He said you were really upset with him.”
“Did he say why I was really upset with him?” I bet Brielle is bound by some Count blood oath to keep at least ten different secrets from a Celestra at any given time. Gage is probably a Count by proxy, much like Chloe herself.
She leans into the crowd and scans the bobbing heads for signs of a tall, dark, and handsome linebacker before relaxing into me once her effort proves futile.
“He may have mentioned the fact you think he’s somehow involved with Chloe.” Her eyes expand with worry. “Really, Skyla? Gage and Chloe?” Brielle seems to be genuinely perplexed with the strange pairing.
“Guess opposites attract. I mean, didn’t they sort of have a thing for each other way before I came to Paragon?”
She straightens a moment, scanning the ceiling for clues that might help propagate this theory.
“You know,” she starts, “it’s always been pretty apparent Chloe had the hots for him. She never hid it. I do distinctly remember her telling me she was going to drive him insane by dating Logan. That sort of backfired.” She shakes her head in disgust. “Then I remember she said she was going to give him some pet of hers and that, for sure, it would seal the deal.” She squints in an effort to shake more details out of the past.
Obviously, the pet was Nevermore. God, I hope Chloe isn’t the reason Nev didn’t show up when I called for him this morning.
“Anyway…” She shakes her head. “He was never into her. He could have had her. They could have easily been one of West Paragon’s power couples by now, had they been together, but well, face it, you were the only one Gage wanted to fill that position with.” She waves at someone from behind my shoulder. “Speaking of the devil, or should I say angel.” She giggles.
I turn and catch a quick glimpse of the said celestial, football playing, heart-breaking being.
“I think you had it right the first time, although I’d hate to insult the devil like that.”
She makes a face. “You’re a riot. I’ll take off so you guys can talk.” She spins to go then pivots back into me. “Hey, before I forget, I’ll be dropping off the baby sometime this week when I get a chance. I’ve got like three shifts between now and Saturday. It’s so crazy.”
“Oh, good! My mom is going to love that. She’s dying to visit with him, and so am I.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring his coffin and have Drake drag all the rest of his crap over sometime this weekend. You guys will totally have a blast with him. He’s a little cutie.” She bops off to the rhythm of the music.
All his crap? His coffin? Sounds like a rather permanent arrangement is about to take place, but I won’t dare say anything to Mom lest Brielle flake out again and leave us up a creek without a casket, or a baby for that matter.
Gage swoops in. His cologne reduces me to cinders without even trying. Every fiber of my being cries foul. This is mutiny on a cellular level. I forbid my body to act so viscerally toward someone whom I willfully despise on a cerebral level.
Back off hormones, I reprimand. I will go Celestra all over your estrogen ass if you even think of surging with excitement.
I’ve just threatened to kick my own ass, and yet somehow this doesn’t alarm me. With the scope of insanity that’s gripped my life as of late, providing myself with a substantial beating seems both mandatory and necessary at this point.
Gage blocks my path with a hint of a smile, those apologetic eyes drip with liquid cobalt.
He opens his mouth and hesitates. “Please,” he says, just below the acoustics blaring in the room, “can we talk?”
I want to say yes. I want to press my lips against him because we’ve moved past that horrible DVD that shed a spotlight on my every indiscretion, and the fact that Chloe is no longer keeping us apart by way of blackmail—but then I remember what really happened, and it makes me want to run fast in Ezrina’s direction much like Logan. Hey? Maybe Logan is committing some sort of assisted suicide by landing in her not-so-good graces. That makes total sense and not in a good way.
“Skyla?” He bows into me as if he were going to kiss me. “Let’s go across the street so we can hear each other.” I’m sure his bedroom is involved.
“Some other time.” I swallow hard, glancing at the wall behind him just to get my bearings. I want to add, like never, but I think we both know that’s not true. I’m caving. I can feel it. A part of me very much wants to hear what he has to say. “I have a date in an hour, so I’d better get going.” More like trying to talk someone off a razor’s edge—namely Logan.
His dimples depress on and off and I speed out the front door before I fall victim to their spell. The second the fresh night air hits me, I realize I have no way of getting home.
“You need a ride?” He’s quick to pick up on my vehicular dilemma once I hit the bottom of the driveway.
Chloe and the bitch squad are on the sidewalk, busy with mock cheers, lighting up the night with their wicked cackles.
“Hey, Em?” I step over to their private huddle. “Do you think I could catch a ride?” I doubt this is going to pan out for me, but considering my other options lie in Michelle I’m-freaking-hallucinating-Miller, or Nat you-shipped-my-douchebag-of-a-boyfriend-off-to-juvy, I’d say my odds, although slim, are best with Emily.
“No,” she says it flat and without the pretense of covering it up with some lie of how she’s doesn’t have enough gas or she’s not allowed to drive blondes around per a stipulation on her insurance policy. I’ve always appreciated Emily’s honesty.
“I’ll do it.” Chloe rattles out the offer like a snake in the grass—a venom-filled pit viper to be exact. She gives a quick glance behind me at Gage before trying to con me into joining her on a death plunge off Devil’s Peak.
Just as I’m about to say “no thanks,” my lips make a U-turn.
“Sure,” I say, surprising even myself. What’s the worst that can happen? She actually succeeds at offing me? Now wouldn’t that be a shame—no faction war to lose, no heartbreak, humiliation from said heartbreak, and probably one very happy family reunion with my dearly departed father. In all honesty, death isn’t looking like such a bad prospect—that is, until the Celestra tunnels whistle through my mind like a scorching nuclear wind. Souls—people—my people are locked in that wicked den of horrors. And what about little Lacey? She’s practically counting on me. I need get them out or die trying. Face it, they’re not fortunate enough to have an almighty Fem infatuated with their mothers and thus promoting them to treble status. They’re locked in, twenty-four seven, dammed to a life of plasma-based servitude.
“Hello?” Chloe wands her hand over my face. “I’d like to think you’re zoning out and not ignoring me. I’m taking off now, if you want to come.”
“Skyla, no,” Gage pleads. “Let me drive you. I swear I won’t say a single word. Let me do this.”
A moment thumps by. For a second, it’s just Gage and me. His sad expression etches itself over my soul, and for some mysterious reason I’m drawn to comfort him—him of all people.
“No thanks.” I try to mimic Emily’s nonchalant attitude while holding back tears.
His stare never wavers. Gage presses into me with those clear sapphire lenses and puts on the best show in town with his undying re
morse.
“Let’s get out here, Chloe,” I say, following her across the street.
At least with Chloe I expect the lies.
In every way I fully expected Chloe Bishop to grind my world to pieces. I just never envisioned she’d use Gage as the weapon.
Damn it all to hell—Chloe won.
Chapter 26
Shut Up and Drive
Chloe glides her hand over the wheel with an erotic display of affection.
The night lights up in an electrical blaze as a storm begins to rage overhead. I haven’t seen this kind of climactic action in weeks. I’m not sure if this is a natural phenomenon, or perhaps Chloe and Gage have harnessed the power to dictate the weather much like Marshall and Demetri. After all, who knows what cash and prizes they were awarded once they shipped Logan and me off to the fluid factory? This snazzy new sedan Chloe seems to have scored recently might have been just the incentive she was looking for to lure me over to the stone of sacrifice. I’d like to think I was worth more than a mid-sized luxury vehicle that doesn’t even have the modern day boast of hybrid slapped on its rear fender. I’d like to think I was worth more than the sum total of scrap metal on Earth to Gage, but then I would have never pegged him for a set up to begin with. I would have bet my life on the fact I could trust Gage Oliver, and in a way, I did.
“Come on, Skyla. Entertain me.” Chloe stares out the windshield in a daze as the rain surges its aggressive assault over Paragon. “Why don’t you dish about how you can’t believe Gage put a spear through your gut.”
I glance out the passenger window as we pass the familiar streets en route to the Landon asylum for lunatics and killers alike—myself included since I’m riding in a car with Chloe, who I might very much like to kill again.
Driving in a car with Chloe.
Honestly? I’ve abandoned any morsel of good sense I might have had. But in my defense, I was forced to choose between the lesser of two evils. Besides, I need to get home ASAP to begin my dream date with Logan.