Vendetta (12 page)

I force my eyes not to roll. "Why does that not surprise me?" I spin around, letting him tie the blindfold over my eyes anyway. "You know, I've seen this on those lame, made for TV martia
l arts movies, and I have to say I don't get how this even works. It actually looks like a great way to get your ass kicked."

"It is."

The world goes dark.

"But it's also a good way to sharpen your other senses. When you can't see, your hearing is height
ened. Your sense of touch. Smell. When you lose one sense, the rest of your body works to make up the difference."

I inhale, but I don't feel anything unusual. "Okay. Now what?"

"Try to block me."

Easy enough. I stand still, waiting, until I feel something
poke my side. "Got you."

"You didn't even give me a chance!"

"Bad idea. We should start smaller. For now, let's work on location. I'm going to change position. Focus. Listen. Feel my next move and tell me where I am."

I remain absolutely quiet, listening.
I can hear one sound above my own breaths: the rustling of his jeans. "You're behind me now."

"Good." His voice is clear. Sharper, somehow. "Try again."

I inhale. "You're at my side." He doesn't answer. I extend my right arm, feeling the space around me.
"You're over here. I know you are," I mutter.

Nothing. But I know. It's like that game, someone calling out "warmer" the closer I get to what I'm searching for. I'm hot. I know it. I take another step. And another. Until my hand presses into his broad che
st.

"Not bad," he says. I know he's smiling. I can hear it in his voice. "I'm going to move to a different part of the room. Think you can find me?"

"Absolutely."

"Count to ten."

There's a shift in the atmosphere, and I know he's moving away. At ten, I foc
us on the space around me. It's empty. And so I listen. Even in the darkness, I remember the rooms, pulling the blueprints from some distant corner of my subconscious. A few steps, and I feel one of the chairs from the kitchen table. A few more steps, and
I'm at the barstool. I move away from the counter, but everything feels cooler, and so I work my way around it until the tile floor is beneath my feet.      

I stop, but he's so close. I reach out to feel him. My fingers tremble, heat radiating
through them. I
suck
in a breath and hold it, extending my arm further, until it presses against another palm, and those fingers wrap tightly around mine. Sparks of electricity bounce between us, and, even in the darkness, I find his lips with mine. They'r
e smooth. A smile curving the edges. His
warm breath passing into me. Heart hammering behind his rib cage. Blood pulsing through his veins. I feel it. I feel everything.

My lips move across his neck, tasting his skin. His hand slips beneath my shirt, pres
sing into the small of my back, and I'm falling. Unnerved. It's hard to think—hard to breathe—as something else takes over. This inexplicable, possessive want.

A small gasp reaches my ears, and for a moment I'm not sure if it's coming from Seth or me. I h
ave a good idea, though, when he pulls away, distancing himself.

"Genesis," he warns.

"You want me. I can feel it."

No answer.

"Am I repulsive to you?" I ask him, cheeks burning with the heat of rejection.

"You know that's not it."

I lean back, slanting
toward the counter, because, even though I'm blindfolded, I know it's there, ready to catch me. "Then what is it?"

"Complicated," he replies.

"Complicated," I repeat, humorless. "Is this because you can't? Or because you
won't?
"

"I don't know." I can't se
e his face, so I focus on his tone, instead. Disappointment. Exasperation.

I
heave
a frustrated sigh, desperate to make him understand. "Can we at least
try
?"

"
Everything
about what we're doing is wrong," Seth reminds me.

"That depends on who you're aski
ng," I counter. "Because everything about it feels right to me."

"You're my responsibility. I'm willing to pay the price for my personal transgressions, but I'm not going to make it worse than it has to be."

"So . . . being with me . . . that would make it
worse?"

"Maybe that wasn't the best way to put it." I feel him brush away the strands of hair from my forehead. My skin tingles beneath his touch. "I'm not supposed to love you, Genesis Green. But I do. Let that be enough for now."

My shoulders fall in re
signed compromise. "Go hide."

*
             
*
             
*

"Honestly, it's about time you called me over."

"Not my pool, Selena."

The two of us are floating lazily in the middle of Carter's pool, midday sun warming our bare skin. Selena is already a perfect shade of tan. "No
t my house. Not my yard."

She adjusts her sunglasses, pushing them higher on her nose. "You know Carter doesn't care."

"I know. I just don't want it to look like I'm taking advantage of them," I say, referring to the Flemings. I don't need to hand them a r
eason to kick me out on a silver platter. "Besides, don’t you have your own pool?"

"Pools are meant to be enjoyed. Unfortunately, my sister is the only one of her friends that has one, and I'm sorry, but there is nothing enjoyable about sharing twenty-six
thousand gallons of water with a flock of squealing twelve-year-olds."

"Be thankful you have a sister."

She scoffs, and I know her eyes are rolling on the other side of those dark shades. "The only people who have ever said that don't actually have one."

"
Well?"

"You remind me so much of Carter. He was always such a pathetic only child. Speaking of, you know his dad is totally harassing him about school, career, life choices in general, right?"

"No," I reply, genuinely surprised. "He hasn't mentioned it."

"
Yeah. He apparently let the acceptance deadline on his State application lapse. His dad swears there are no more strings left to pull. Totally sucks to be him right now. I mean, if, as a parent, you're going to cram all your genetic eggs into a single bask
et, you better pray to God your one attempt to produce a satisfactory heir pans out. Because if child number one doesn't fall neatly in line with every expectation, it's good to have other options."

"So you're saying your sister is the back-up plan in the
event you decide to break your parents' hearts?"

"Absolutely. Carter is miserable about it, anyway. His dad is like, barely speaking to him."

A swell of guilt stabs at my chest.

Why would Carter forego his acceptance to State? And then not tell me about it
? At one time I would've known this. I would've been the first person he told. Why didn't he want to tell me?

"What I really want to know is how does Carter feel about
that
?" Selena asks, nodding toward Seth. He's lounging on one of the wooden chairs, shad
ed by the long branches of a weeping willow tree. The leaves fall around him, swaying in the warm breeze, the occasional green thread brushing his leg.

My heart skips a beat, then hits a faster cadence. He looks up at me, straying momentarily from the maga
zine he's pretending to read, and cracks an amused smile. I turn away from him, face growing warmer. "He's okay with it," I say, skimming my hand across the water. "We broke up months ago."

I don't know if he's okay with it, though. Not really. It's not so
mething we've discussed.

Like so many things, apparently.

"Look, Clueless, guys are never okay when their ex starts hanging out with someone new. Especially something as hot as that."

"So, you're saying he's hot?"

She shrugs casually. "If you go for the
whole tall, dark, mysterious, handsome thing."

"My favorite kind of guy," I confirm. Seth flips to the next page, an egotistical smirk plastered across his face.

"Not much of a swimmer, but he clearly loves to read. And watch you, which is what he's doin
g whenever he's not reading."

"We prefer quiet activities in our down time."

She giggles. "That is probably the naughtiest thing I've ever heard."

I laugh. "No. It's not like that," I tell her.

"I'll bet. So, where did you find this guy, anyway? What did
you say his name was? Seth? Because I'm thinking I need to get me one."

"I don't know. He just . . . showed up one day."

"Does he have any friends? I prefer 'not so' quiet activities in
my
down time."

"No. No friends." I watch Seth for a moment. "No one
like that, anyway," I quietly add.

"No brother? Cousins?"

"Nope."

"The guy doesn't have any friends or family at all?"

"Not really." I watch him flip to the next page. And the next. And I have to
wonder what it's like to live a life free of attachments. Seth and Joshua seem close, but otherwise Guardians appear to keep to themselves. They have no family. No real friends. Just . . . a job to do. And it's not like I was overwhelmingly popular growing
up. I was rarely in one place long enough to make friends. But I had my mom. And when we came to South Marshall I found Carter. . . .

"He has me, though," I finally say.

F
IFTEEN

The air conditioner in my car is going in and out again. The window
s are rolled down, but it's not helping. The air is sweltering. Humid and oppressive. I pull into Mom's apartment complex, plastic grocery bags rattling at the floorboard.

I climb out of the car, bags full of soups and pasta in hand, and travel the length
of the walkway leading to Mom's apartment. There's a note. A document. It looks official.

I rip the paper off the glass, scanning the words, trying to make sense of them.

Mom and Mike are being evicted.

That didn't take long.

I spin around, studying the
parking lot, but I don't see Moose, my Mom's car, anywhere. I pound against the door with my fist.

"Mom!" I call. Nothing. "Mom, it's me. Open up."

It takes forever for Mike to answer.

"Where is she?" I demand to know.

He leans against the door frame, hai
r disheveled, shirt half-tucked. I woke him. He's drunk, or
hungover
, or both. He has that glassy, far-off look in his eyes. And he's smiling. Because this is funny.

"I was thinking you could tell me," he says. The words slur together.

I push past him, aba
ndoning the groceries in the living room. "Mom?" I call. Mike moves away from the door, shutting it behind us. In the kitchen I open every cabinet. The refrigerator. They're empty. In the bathroom, under the sink, her things are gone. Makeup, soaps, blow d
ryer. In the bedroom closet, only Mike's clothes remain.

Mike.

I feel his presence behind me, hovering in the doorway. A chill ripples across my skin.

"How long?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice from breaking.

"A couple of weeks."

Weeks. She must have
known. . . .

I gaze at the half-empty closet until the clothes blur together.

She didn't even say goodbye
.

I stifle a dark laugh. My own mother left town without saying goodbye, or telling me where she was going.

"Did she leave anything for me? A note?"
The words come out a whisper. But I don't need an answer. Not really.

"She didn't even leave a note for me," he says. "Just up and left. Left me miserable." He's closer now. I feel his warm breath against my ear. It's laced with alcohol, rotten, and I cr
inge, turning my face away. He wraps his arms around me, pressing into me from behind. His sweaty hand slides beneath my shirt, touching my skin.

I shiver, blood turning cold, and wrench myself away. "Get your hands off me!"