True Born (14 page)

“As do you. Why do you let her win? Why are you always putting her ahead of yourself?”

I clasp my hands tightly together so he can
’
t see me trembling. “You don
’
t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“I can
’
t.”

“Can
’
t? Or won
’
t?”

“Both,” I blurt out.

A beat of silence stretches between us as he considers me with a thoughtful, almost hungry look. “You don
’
t trust me.”

“It
’
s not that,” I
’
m quick to say. And it
’
s the truth. Trust has nothing to do with it—at least, not trust in him. I don
’
t feel in control with Jared. When I
’
m with him, I feel I
’
m standing on a precipice and will go into free fall just by standing next to him.

“
So tell me.
” His breath is soft on my cheek. I
’
m trembling so badly he
’
ll have to notice, which is the last thing in the world I want him to do.

So I do what will distract him most. I tell Jared the unvarnished truth about the Fox family. “You think we
’
re spoiled rich brats but we
’
re not, not really. Our family is…very strict. The rules that govern the Upper Circle, all that etiquette and protocol? It
’
s doubled on us. The Fox twins… We have a lot to live up to. Our family
’
s reputation is at stake every time we take a step. Our father is an important man. What we do reflects on him.” I briefly muse over the Russian who will be coming to stay with us, Father
’
s most important guest.

Jared screws up his face in confusion. “What does that have to do with letting Margot always get her way?”

I shake my head. “No, you don
’
t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Please. I really want to know.” Jared
’
s hand comes up and rests on my shoulder where it burns like a hot coal. He doesn
’
t seem to mind or even notice.

“Margot is…different than me.” Jared snorts. Apparently this is no great surprise for him. “The restrictions we live under—
I don’
t mind them much. But for Margot? They make her crazy. She ends up acting out. Does rash and stupid things. I have to protect her, and the family. And despite all that—or maybe even because of it—she’s
better
than me.” He looks like he’s going to interrupt me, so I continue. “Margot is better at dressing up and flirting and impressing a crowd. Margot is the Fox family’s crown jewel, and it’s my job to keep her that way.”

A scowl appears on Jared
’
s handsome lips. “How does letting her win at Gamon protect her, or your family?”

“Because she needs it, Jared. More than I do.” Unable to find the words to explain, I bite my lip in frustration.

Jared drops his gaze to my mouth. “Why don
’
t you get to have any needs?” he whispers.

“Wh-who says I don
’
t?”

A long minute stretches between us as we contemplate each other. My heart knocks against my ribs until I
’
m dizzy. But still I don
’
t move, not even a muscle, as Jared gazes at me with the concentration of a hunting cat about to pounce.

He licks his lips as his head tilts down toward me. My body goes wild. Frissons of electricity travel up and down my spine as the True Born leans down. His voice is silk in my ear. “You
’
re not with your parents now. No restrictions. How does that make you feel?”

Like I
’
m jumping out of my skin
, that voice inside me whispers. Jared
’
s hand is still on my shoulder, his lips just inches from mine. I gulp and try to take a step backward, only to find I
’
ve inched closer.

Panicked, I tell him, “It makes me feel…like I
’
d better take a trip to the Splicer Clinic.”

Chapter Sixteen

From the safety and warmth of the car, I sit and contemplate the squat building. It looks the same as it has every time we
’
ve come here. Now, instead of emanating a hue of healing and care, the Splicer Clinic has taken on a sinister varnish.

Beside me, Jared has thrown his arm around the back of my seat. He stares moodily at the Clinic roof. Looking for cameras, I reckon.

“
We don’
t have to go in, you know.”

“Yes, we do.”

“
I don’
t get you, Princess. You talk about needing to protect your family. So why are you putting yourself in jeopardy—and me, too, I might add—to go back inside there?”

Angry, I turn on him. “You didn
’
t have to come.”

“Oh, yes I did.”

“
Then let
’
s get going.” I throw open the car door and step out into the darkness and cold without a backward glance.

The Clinic would have closed hours ago. Still, the building feels more deserted than usual. Jared
’
s steps sound rapidly behind me. Seconds later he grabs my hand and tugs me into a shadow.

“What do you think you
’re doing?
” he asks.

I point at the door. “Going inside.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Do you think you
’
d like to go to jail for breaking in, Princess? ’Cause I hear they don’t hand out tiaras there.”

“Well, what do you suggest,” I return briskly.

He tugs me along the side of the building, deep with shadows. “We
’
ll go in the way we got in before.”

...

When we finally turn the last corner and arrive at the delivery bay, I
’
m not certain we
’
re in the right place. Boxes and crates are broken all over the bay. The contents of garbage bags litter the ground in corners, likely eaten by animals. Gloves and plastic tubing and old, rotten noodles. It
’
s as though a storm has come through and blown everything up in the air, only to set everything down again in the wrong place.

It feels wrong. And apparently, it smells wrong, too. Jared wrinkles his nose before we even get to the door.

“Sacked,” Jared tells me, pulling me tight against the door while he pulls out the electronic hacking device and connects it to the door. Within seconds its tiny light turns green, and Jared nods at me, his eyes lighting up the darkness. “Stay close to me. Don
’
t touch anything. And for God
’
s sake, Princess, let me lead.”

It
’
s my turn to roll my eyes. But I say nothing as Jared takes my hand again, its warmth enveloping me with a sense of calm I reckon I have no right to feel, and leads me into the building that contains some of the darkest memories of my life.

The hallways are deserted. Here and there stray bits of shredded paper dot the floor. We follow the trail to the main records room, which stands ajar. “
Wait,
” Jared tells me. He sets me firmly to the side with that dark look that tells me to stay put. Seconds later, he bobs his head back in and bids me to enter.

This is where they feed the Protocols results into massive machines. I
’
ve never been in here before. But even I know that the burned and trashed monitors, the frames for the computers scorched beyond recognition, is not standard operating procedure. The air smells acrid, as though there
’
s been a recent fire. Someone has destroyed the records.

“Did Torch do this?” I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

Jared whistles at the inestimable damage. “Not as far as I
’
m aware.” He moves over to one monitor in better condition than the rest. Flicking it on, the monitor splutters, lines crisscrossing on the screen before pulling up the submenu.

“Do you think it
’
s still connected to the mainframe?” I ask.

Jared glances at me as I move in beside him. “Only one way to find out.” He taps in our name. F-O-X.

The cursor blinks. We wait for what seems like an eternity before the machine comes back:
No results found
.

“Try our first names,” I suggest. Jared types in my full name. Nothing. Then Margot. Nothing again.

Jared shakes his head. “I think the mainframe is fried.”

“
Wait.
” I curl my hand around his, stalling him. “What about our chart numbers? We were in here often enough that I know it. Try FLA10122,” I rattle off the number I
’
d committed to memory.

Jared dutifully types it in.
No results found
.

“I think they
’
re all gone.”

“Everyone?” I breathe. But I can
’
t believe it. I can
’
t believe that thousands of records have been obliterated. Just to make sure, I type in: D-E-A-K-I-N-S.

Seconds later, Jared and I find ourselves staring at a column of names.
Robert, H. Robert, H. Sr. Adelaide, S.

“Wait, wait a minute,” I murmur, a sick feeling creeping along my spine. I type in a new name.

Phalon, Deirdre
appears on the screen. I suck in a breath as panic threatens to overwhelm me.

Not all the records have been erased. Just ours.

...

“Maybe your father
’
s behind it,” Jared says. I
’
ve been so lost in thought on the drive back to Storm
’
s that his words barely register.

“Pardon, what?”

“Your father. You know, scary guy, intense stare, bad manners?”

“Don
’
t make jokes,” I say weakly. But we both know it
’
s a possibility. Who but our father would have the resources to have the Clinic shut down, the records destroyed? Who else but our father would have an interest in keeping the truth about us girls a secret?

I sigh, suddenly exhausted. Jared looks at me across the dark seat dividing us. “Don
’
t give up,
” he says with a small smile.

“Easy for you to say. You know what you are. And you won
’
t be excommunicated for it.”

The smile slips from Jared
’
s face. He turns his attention back to the street, still littered with rubble from the Laster
’
s insurrection.

“Why would you even care?” he murmurs.

“What?”

“So they turf you out. Who
’
d want to be with those pretentious, hypocritical snobs, anyhow?”

I sniff. “Those ‘snobs
’
are my family.”
I don’
t bother explaining any further. There’s no point with Jared. It
’
s not just our lives that would be ruined, our livelihoods lost. If word gets out that the Fox twins are True Born, our father
’
s career would be ruined, as well. Our entire family would be devastated.
And it would be our fault.

There
’
s not a sound on the street. Not a soul, not even a body. It
’
s as though all of Dominion has rolled up for the night.

It sets my teeth on edge as much as the man beside me. Still, years of ingrained manners won
’
t let me be rude. “I want you to know how much I have appreciated your help,” I say as graciously as I can muster. “I know you
’
ve gone out on some limbs with me. Thank you.”

Illuminated by the dashboard lights, Jared nods. “You
’
re welcome. And for what it
’
s worth”—he steals a glance at me—“I think you
’
ve got rare courage. It would be so much easier to pretend that everything is okay.”

I don’
t know how to respond. Nice Jared, kind Jared, isn
’
t at all what I expect. Beyond that, it
’
s so comforting to have an ally in this other than Margot. The tightness in my chest that has been eating away at me since the Records room eases somewhat. Whatever happens, we
’
ll find the truth, I promise mentally.

“What do you think we should do now?”

Jared shrugs, the collar of his plaid coat tickling the ends of his curls. He graces me with another smile, this one a touch shy and mischievous. “I think we should take our minds off things, have a bit of fun.”

It
’
s full late by the time we get back to Storm
’
s. No one is around. Storm
’
s tower is as dark and deserted as the Splicer Clinic
’
s. I expect Jared to say good night and disappear. But the moment the elevator doors open, he drags me through the hallways, back to the games room.

I stand in the doorway as Jared switches on a lamp. “Get in here and close the door,” Jared tells me, shrugging off his coat as I waver, uncertain, at the threshold. “
Well, don
’
t just stand there, Princess. I haven
’
t got any engraved invitations, you know.” When I still don’t move, Jared comes toward me, arms outstretched like he
’
s afraid of startling me. “Come on, Lucy,” he says, his voice like silk. “Don
’
t you know how to have fun?”

“I know how to have fun,” I return defensively as Jared shuts the door behind me and pulls me gently into the room.
But I don’
t know how to have fun
, I realize as Jared divests me of my purse and coat and bids me to slip off my shoes.

He walks over to the control center on the shelf and flicks a switch. Music saturates the air as Jared moves a table to the side of the room.

I eye his labors uneasily. “What are you doing?”

“Making room.”

“For what?”

“Dancing.” He cracks a smile.

“Dancing? Now I know you
’
re teasing me.” I twirl, heading for the door, but Jared catches up to me in seconds.

“None of that Upper Circle garbage. We
’
re going to do some real dancing.”

But what Jared calls “
Upper Circle garbage
” is all the dancing I
’
ve ever learned: formal dances, dances with partners and string orchestras. Not something like the lively beat jumping from Storm
’
s control panel into my bones.

“Come on,” he teases, takes my hand, leading me deeper into the room. “I
’
ve just called you brave. Don
’
t make me a liar.”

I grimace but let Jared move me around to the beat. After a few minutes I get lost in the song, in Jared
’
s mouthing the words as he twirls me out then reels me back in. Off balance, I start to fall but Jared catches me. I
’
m giggling, I realize, putting a hand over my mouth. I can
’
t remember the last time I giggled.

“See, there? That
’
s nice.
” Jared grins so wide his dimples become craters.

“What?” I say, still giggling.

“That.” He tangles me up in his arms and dips me back. My hair brushes the floor, and I giggle harder. Jared pulls me straight again. He
’
s close. So close. My hands fall across his shoulders as I try to keep myself upright, blood pounding through my body. He moves my body left and right, an intensity filling his face I
’
ve never seen before, making him look young, beautiful. Free.

A stray thought filters through my brain:
is that what I look like when we
’
re together?
Because that
’
s what it feels like—like I can do anything. I may have been born into the Upper Circle, but oddly, it is only with this True Born that I feel the world is mine.

We
’
re but an eyelash apart from one other. I reach out, unable to help myself, and trace the scar by his mouth. Jared
’
s eyes tighten, and an exquisite sense of power rushes through my veins. I
’
m drunk on the bubbling joy as he murmurs, “See? Isn
’
t this so much better than that Upper Circle stuffy stuff?”

“What have you got against the entire Upper Circle, anyway? What did we ever do to you?” I mean to tease, not provoke. But as usual, when it comes to Jared, I
’
ve blundered into something I don
’
t understand. He comes to a halt but keeps my one hand in his, his arm around my back.

His eyes glitter darkly into mine. “You ever been hungry?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Three times a day.”

“I mean
hungry
. As in, a day away from dead, hungry?” I shake my head, sure I won
’
t like where this is headed. “I was on the streets for a few years, you know. And not in one of the gangs. The gangs don
’
t take True Borns. No one does.”

I
’
m about to protest—
I don’
t even know what, maybe just tell him that we
’
re not all bad—when Jared’s fingers fall across my lips, silencing me.

“So one day I steal from a garbage can behind this big, stately home. I
’
m just looking for scraps, because I know if I don
’
t eat soon I
’
m going to die, when all of a sudden there
’
s a gun at my head.”

Jared
’
s fingers come away, and I step back half an inch, as though that extra space will give me some distance from whatever horror Jared is about to reveal. “I thought they were going to kill me. So imagine my surprise when I
’
m taken in by the rich man of the house. He gives me clothes, a bed, a bath. He gives me all I can eat.”

He pulls me over to the couch and has me sit beside him. But for some reason he doesn’t let go of my hand and I
’
m glad. “His name was Peters. He offered me a job.”

Jared describes his life in the big house, the training regimen his new boss puts him through. He thought he was being trained to join the security team.