Wicked Read online

  “Skyla!” Gage shouts, penetrating the crowd in an effort to reach me.

  A body falls over me, then dozens.

  The world gives a soft spin. Everything becomes unnaturally quiet as I land hard on the floor with a thump.

  My eyes flutter open.

  Gage and I are no longer at the bowling alley.

  Chapter Three

  The Promise

  It’s dark. Molasses colored dew falls over the world as I try to make out my whereabouts.

  Gage rolls off me, and I hear his footsteps shuffling away until he flips on the lights. It’s then I realize he’s teleported us to his bedroom.

  “Nice move,” I say trying to right myself.

  “You were going to kill her—again,” he smarts as he helps me up off the floor.

  We head over and sit on the edge of his mattress. There’s a towel on the floor, and the bed isn’t made, but other than that his room is immaculate and holds the scent of his woodsy cologne.

  “Do you forgive me?” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in.

  “Should I?” Of course, I forgive Gage. I’ve lost everything tonight including my sanity. The last thing in the world I want to lose is Gage.

  “Yes.” He gives a wry smile. “Neither Logan nor I knew anything about Chloe coming back.” He looks down remorsefully. For a brief moment I wonder if the remorse is because he said Logan’s name, as though reminding me of Logan were enough to make me fall in love with him all over. “Anyway, I’m gonna let him fill you in on the details about his bloodline.”

  “Whatever.” I have a feeling I’m going have a hard time believing anything Logan tells me. “So where am I gonna live?”

  “Home?” He pulls me back onto the bed, and we land side by side.

  “Can this be my new home?” I’m only half kidding.

  “I wish. How about,” he presses a series of soft kisses into me, “after you go to bed, I’ll come over and keep you safe.”

  “Do you really want me to go back there?” I’m petrified at the thought. My so-called mother has probably been poisoning my food all these years. Forget the theory that eating her cooking was a slow suicide—it’s probably been a slow homicide.

  “I don’t get the feeling they’re going to hurt you. When I found out, I was in shock, but we had the away game and—”

  I cut him off.

  “How could you have found out just before the away game? Logan had that list for weeks.”

  “It took us that long to comb through it. Their names were buried in the back. And Logan wasn’t mentioned until the final few pages under a list of hybrids.”

  “Hybrid,” I say it just above a whisper. Logan’s face impresses itself upon me. He’s always had that extraterrestrial godlike quality about him. Something deep and knowing that lies just beneath the surface of his sublime features—that pitch perfect body that I’ll never know to touch because now I can’t stand to.

  “I know you’re upset.” He pulls me in close until my chest is pressed up against his, and I can feel his heart pummeling out of control. “I beg of you, don’t be upset with my dad, he honestly had no clue we didn’t want Chloe around. He mentioned he had a gift for the both of us, but I had no idea about her showing up tonight, or breathing for that matter.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

  Chloe was quite the unbirthday present.

  “I could never be mad at your dad. I already think of him as my own.” I dig my fingers into the back of his hair, and like some unwanted alarm, Logan pops into my mind again. Logan tugs at my heart, interrupts the moment. He is the constant quivering nag on the outskirts of my love for Gage, fighting to be let in, only now, knowing who he is, it’s impossible to even entertain the idea. How could I have ever been so stupid to wrap myself around him so completely? And now letting go of him feels like peeling off a layer of skin.

  “Things are going to be different with Chloe around,” he laments.

  Something cinches inside me when he says her name. She’s the demon I’ve called into being through the labor of my marrow. We’re blood from the same bowl, literally.

  “Promise me something?” I whisper.

  “Anything.” His eyes sparkle in the light like the ocean on fire.

  “Promise we’ll never change. That you’ll never leave me, or lie to me, or hold anything back from me ever again.”

  “Skyla.” His hand runs down my hair, swift as a waterfall. “There is nothing on this planet, in heaven or hell, that can keep me from you. I more than promise.”

  His cobalt optic spheres dart through me, and I know his words are true.

  We fall into a bliss-filled kiss that spans decades, time, and space. Loving Gage is more powerful than Chloe and her venom, stronger than Logan and all his lies. Gage washes me in his truth, the deep rich colors of his love. It feels eternal—right.

  A light knock erupts at the door.

  We both know who it is.

  Chapter Four

  Don’t You Forget About Me

  Logan steps in and gives way to a sigh. His blonde hair catches the light and gives off an aura of otherworldly superiority, makes me like him less.

  I don’t bother getting up, but Gage is already bolting for the door so Logan and I can ‘talk’.

  “I’ll be right downstairs,” Gage drops his gaze before exiting.

  I can’t believe he’s leaving me with Chloe’s minion.

  Logan comes over like he owns the place, like he owns me. I leap off the bed and take three long strides in the opposite direction.

  “Whoa.” He holds up his hands in defense. “Skyla,” he latches onto me with those eyes of orange fire—magnetizes me with an intense pull, but I won’t give in, “did Gage tell you we found out before the game? Your mom—”

  “He told me.” I interrupt his flow of excuses.

  He takes a step forward and sends me sailing the other way.

  “So, I have Marshall to thank for this.”

  “You have you to thank for this,” I shoot back. “You should have told me.” An unnatural chill fills the air. “But then, you never tell me anything. I bet it pleasures you to keep me in the dark. Some kind of me-Tarzan-you-Jane, cerebral high you get off knowing things.”

  “No—never. Skyla, I love you. I want to share everything with you. You knew I wasn’t a pure Celestra. I—”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “How can you not?” He looks genuinely perplexed and hurt at the same time.

  “When Chloe and I were light driving to see my father, she mentioned that she wished the Logan from the future would visit her.” I stare off into the black of the window. “At the time, I thought it was strange.”

  “Wait, you think I’m in on something with Chloe?” His eyes spring wide as though he’s just digested where this might be headed.

  “Why wasn’t your name on the list of people she hated in her diary? Gage and I were both on it. So why were you omitted? Didn’t you supposedly piss her off by breaking up with her? Didn’t she decide the end?” I ask, mockingly.

  “I don’t know why I wasn’t on it. I don’t know why Chloe does anything. Maybe she wrote the list while we were still together?”

  “Sure,” I whisper acrimoniously.

  Logan swallows hard as he eyes me with the distinct look of fear. I can’t dissect it enough to know if it’s because he’s genuinely afraid or afraid of getting caught.

  His hair looks so pale in the wash of moonlight streaming in, soft as feathers, and I want to touch it and put this entire nightmare behind me.

  >

  His eyes round out in alarm.

  “At the party,” I demand. “The first thing she did was go over to you. You remember. Also, can you try to remember that you said you’d never lie to me?”

  He lets out a heavy sigh.

  “What did she say?” I repeat.

  Logan compresses his lips until his entire face looks as though it’s made of plaster.

  “I thought so.” I scan over the desk in an effort to hide the hurt in my eyes.

  I miss Gage. Just looking at his things makes me long for him, his open math book, his backpack where he once carried a poem to school for me. My heart perforates at the thought of Logan being incapable of loving me the way Gage does so freely. I wish I never gave my heart to Logan. I wish Logan were who I thought he was.

  A dark amber bottle sits collecting dust on the top shelf. It catches my eye as the light filters through the bronze glass. I snatch it down—let it warm in my hands as I examine it. Root Beer. I wonder what prompted Gage to save it. I wonder what makes guys do anything. According to Marshall they run porn reels twenty-four seven—I suppose that hardly affords the time or energy to find the recycling bin.

  Logan surveys me with caution like a predator ready to pounce.

  “Tell me,” I say, rubbing my hands over the circumference of the bottle. Let it roll around between my palms before grasping it by the neck with my left hand. A slow building rage pumps through me. I can taste the anger inside me, dull and bitter like sucking old coins.

  “She said, ‘well done.’” His head dips when he says it, resigned to the fact the words were loaded, that they testified against him in the worst way possible.

  An impervious silence lodges between us.

  “So you were the well-placed boyfriend,” I say it as fact. No wonder Chloe laughed when I suggested Ellis. It was Logan all along.

  “It wasn’t me. I would never do that to you, Skyla.”

  “You looked right at me when she spoke to you!” The words rattle out of my lungs in a heated scream.

  “Because I knew she was setting us up for something.”

  “There is no us!” I crash the bottle down against the edge of the desk and send a series of brown glittering shards all over.

  “There is.” Logan’s voice is low and pressured. It’s as though he wants me to believe there was something real there between us as though he weren’t hiding anything else in the world.

  “I can’t believe you.” Tears spike up unexpected, and I blink them away. “I’m so freaking angry!” I push hard into his chest over and over. “You tried to make me believe you were putting me first, but you were always with someone else! And this whole time Chloe had you on a string like some kind of puppet,” I shout in his face.

  “I love you.”

  “I hope you really do love me!” I roar. “I hope it hurts like hell when you see me with Gage. In fact, I’m going to give you something a little more permanent to remember me by.”

  My hand flies up over his face with the broken bottle. I give one clean swipe down the right side of his cheek until a line of crimson emerges on his flesh and awakens me to what I’ve just done.

  My hand opens in horror, and the glass drops with an unimpressive thud onto the hardwood floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, covering my mouth reflexively.

  But I’m not sure I really am.

  Chapter Five

  Far Away From Here

  I lean against the kitchen counter with Gage as Dr. Oliver stitches up the side of Logan’s face. A stack of clean dishes lie on the granite with a dishtowel over them, and the fragile scent of coffee lingers from the reserve left in the pot.

  Lucky for Logan, Dr. Oliver took the time to invest in quality invisible thread since the last time he stitched up the living.

  I finger the roll of flesh that runs the length of my neck courtesy of Chloe. It feels as though Chloe is responsible for every single scar in my life, both visible and invisible. I’d take a million physical scars from her if I could go back and stop her from killing my father, or at least giving the orders to do so.

  “I’m really sorry,” I bleat out once again. Even if Logan is one of Chloe’s drones I still feel bad for running a piece of broken glass down the side of his face.

  “It’s not your fault,” he says, trying to stay still as the needle digs in and out of his flesh, lifting and pulling his skin as though he were made of elastic.

  “I gotta get out of here,” I whisper to Gage.

  “Let’s go upstairs, or I can take you for a drive.”

  “Will you take me to Marshall’s?”

  “No.” His eyes swell with disbelief. “I had Brielle tell your mom you were spending the night with her. And, I really don’t think my parents will mind if you stay as long as you sleep downstairs.” He leans into me with a pleading expression. “Stay. I want you to.”

  I look over at Logan with his face contorting in pain as Dr. Oliver continues to prod at him mercilessly, and yet I still can’t feel sorry for him. Instead, I resist the urge to go over and start stabbing at him with a scalpel, because my heart feels like it’s just been puréed.

  “All done.” Dr. Oliver snips the edge of the remaining thread. “Please refrain from playing with broken glass in the future, even if it was accidental.”

  “It was intentional,” I say, under my breath.

  Logan wasn’t one hundred percent truthful regarding our little mishap, which is par for the course with Logan.

  “I hope you enjoyed the surprise.” Dr. Oliver beams in our direction.

  “Yeah.” Gage gives an apprehensive glance before looking over at me.

  “Great,” Dr. Oliver nods, “Skyla, the Bishops are dying to meet you. I hope you don’t mind joining us tomorrow evening at their home for dinner. They’re so thankful to you for giving life to their daughter.” He looks over at Gage. “I realize it’s your birthday, but they simply couldn’t reschedule. The Bishops thought it best before the media descends. Perhaps we’ll go out for dessert after?”

  Dinner? Didn’t he see me trying to kill her? But then, probably not. She was mobbed with bodies the entire time, and for all I know people could have been trying to strangle her all night. She’s indestructible with that necklace on, she’s worse than a cockroach.

  “We’ll be there.” Gage wraps an arm around my waist and nudges into me, as though he’d like for me to agree, but I just give a little smile. I can’t promise anything.

  “I hope you’ll excuse me,” Dr. Oliver heads out of the kitchen, “it’s been a long day.”

  We each shout goodnight out of turn then just sit there staring at one another as though the planet were about to explode.

  “I’m going to need some space,” I say looking up at Gage. If I stay, my anger might percolate, and God forbid I go after Gage with a broken shard of glass, or worse, slaughter the two of them in their sleep and really give Dr. Oliver a project.

  “Don’t go,” Gage whispers, bumping his nose into mine.

  “It’s not you. I just don’t trust myself. I’m insane right now. I need to clear my head.”

  He expels an exasperated sigh. “OK, I’ll take you.”

  Logan migrates over with his arms stuffed in his pockets. His face is swollen and bright red, with a glossy row of X’s dripping down his cheek.

  I can’t even look at him, so I turn away.

  “I’ll find someplace else to sleep tonight,” Logan offers.

  My neck whips back in haste. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Alright,” Gage starts us towards the door, “let’s get out of here.”

  Logan speeds over and snatches his keys off the counter.

  “I’ll drive.”

  ***

  As soon as Logan’s truck pulls alongside Marshall’s entry, I hop out and bolt to the door. I made Gage sit in the middle. There was no way I was going to rub my thigh up against Logan all the way over and let the heat of his body try to lure out any feelings I might have left for him like rattling a coffin full of bones.

  I give a series of harsh knocks and ring the doorbell in triplicate before Marshall lets me in.

  “I’ve been waiting.” Marshall looks resplendent, still in the same black shirt and jeans from earlier. I swear it smells like he took a bath in cologne. Any minute now I suspect my allergies will kick into overdrive and choke the living hell out of me.

  “Sorry,” he holds back the two of them, “neither of you are welcome.” Marshall espouses a level of calm that he seems to reserve for trouble, or Logan and Gage.

  I turn in time to see Logan speed through the door with his shoulders back and a pissed off look galvanized on his face. In all honesty it melts me a little to see him this way. Pissed off is probably the hottest look for Logan, and judging by the linear direction our relationship is taking, I’d say he’s pretty lucky that it’s a good look for him.

  Logan picks Marshall up and spins him 180 degrees before pitching him hard against the wall a good twelve feet away.

  “Holy crap!” I jump back.

  Gage walks over to me with a horrified look on his face.

  Logan starts in on a series of well-concentrated punches right to the ocular area. He’s rearranging the face of a man who, as far as Logan is concerned, is just his math teacher. In a stupid fit of anger, Logan is going to clue Marshall in on the fact I ratted him out as a Sector. I’ll be bound and gagged and shipped off to the Counts by midnight. Ironically that might be just as harsh a punishment as going home.

  “Holy freaking shit!” I scream at Logan. “Get the hell out!” An entire volcano of adrenaline purges through me. I’m not going to stand here and listen to Marshall moan before he obviously gets up and assaults Logan—until the entire place is trashed, and there’s nothing but broken glass and blood covering every square inch like the time Chloe slit my throat.

  Before Marshall has the chance to retaliate, I snatch Logan up by the back of the shirt and send him flying across the width of the room like a Frisbee.

  It feels so good, I pant from the sheer bliss of watching him smack into the wall.

  “Nice work.” Marshall rises and dusts himself off. “But do stay out of this. I rather enjoy hand combat. It’s a rare occasion anyone chooses to go against me.”