I stare at him, trying to understand. “But they took you. They took both of you. Lizzie and you.”
Jackson stares at me for a long moment. “I volunteered. Like I had a choice. It was volunteer for the game or die in that car.”
I wrap my arms around myself, chilled to the core, my emotions stretching and recoiling like an elastic band. From the euphoria of Jackson’s kiss to this, to the tears tracking down my cheeks and the pain in my soul.
“So, I’m in the game because of you?”
“Yes.” His beautiful mouth twists. “Hate me now, Miki. I deserve it. I told you my motives were anything but pure.” I gasp and flinch when he spins and slams his fist against the wall. He stands there, chest heaving, head bowed. Blood drips from his knuckles. “I’d change it if I could. I’d give my life for you if I could.”
He doesn’t look at me. I don’t know how much time passes. A minute. An hour. Then he says, “And it was for nothing. They’ll never let me go. They’ll never let either of us go.”
I want to go to him. I want to run from him, from this place, from the tangled mess my life has become. I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I’m angry and hurt. Betrayed. Appalled. Part of me hates him for what he’s consigned me to. Part of me only knows that his pain hurts me, too.
He’s been doing this for so long. I can’t imagine how desperate he was to escape.
My brain is on overload. I can’t process everything I’ve learned.
“Do you remember in the park when you told me not to feel guilty that I was alive when Richelle and Mom and Gram and Sofu were dead? Do you remember that?” I watch as another fat drop of blood slides from his split knuckles and hits the ground.
“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he says, his voice low, vibrating with emotion. “You didn’t kill them.” He turns to face me then, his eyes blazing. “And you didn’t consign the girl you love to this hell.”
The girl he loves.
I open my mouth to tell him I hate him for what he’s done to me. Or maybe it’s to tell him I love him, too. To tell him I forgive him. I do. I forgive him. Don’t I?
I need to tell him that maybe he wasn’t the one who killed his sister. That maybe the Drau who were attacking them killed her with their weapons.
But the wooziness I recognize too well hits me. I try to push to my feet. I try to speak. Then the world spins into color and light and bright, sharp pain bursting in my head as I make the jump.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE RESPAWN IS TERRIBLE. NOT PHYSICALLY—I’M USED TO that part now. But my emotions are tied up in ugly little knots, choking me. I open my eyes to leaves and grass and two familiar boulders; Luka’s sitting on one, Tyrone on the other.
“What the hell happened?” Luka asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Something went down at the pizza place. Were you and Jackson pulled before me?”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, how much I’m allowed to tell him. So I tell him the truth. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to tell you.”
He stands up and closes the space between us. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They’re blue now, squinting a little as he studies me, his brows drawn in a frown. I look from him to Tyrone and back again.
Fear congeals in my gut. “Where’s Jackson?” I ask, my voice a harsh rasp.
Luka rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I was going to ask you that. He’s always here before us.”
Panic surges. I slow it down, deep breath, hold, release. Jackson brought me into this to buy his freedom. Maybe it worked. Maybe the Committee accepted the trade. Part of me hates him for that, for sacrificing me like a trussed lamb. But part of me wants that, wants Jackson to be free, safe, away from all this. That’s what he wanted. Why he did this to me. But the wiser part of me knows the likelihood is small. Something else is going on here.
“You okay, Miki?” Luka asks.
I want to laugh, or maybe sob. I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. I open my mouth to tell him that when I get a weird sensation tingling through me, a portent.
“Incoming,” I say, not sure how I even know that. I’m already turning before Luka can reply. Two girls I’ve never seen before stand together, looking at me.
Kendra. Lien. Transfers from another team.
The Committee is talking in my head. I hear them, feel them, the scent of their words tickles my nose, the flavor bursts on my tongue.
I swallow and walk over to the two girls. Transfers, not new recruits. That means they know the score. No explanations needed, just introductions.
“Lien, I’m Miki,” I say, offering my hand to the girl on the right. She’s about my height with straight dark hair to her shoulders. Her features are delicate and sweet. Her eyes are blue, but we’re in the game. No way to know what color they are outside of it, but my guess would be brown. I turn to the other and offer my hand as I incline my head and say, “Hey, Kendra.” She’s tiny, maybe five feet, with long, blond ringlets and a round face.
Tyrone gets to his feet and crosses the space in two strides. “Wait . . . you know them?”
“Kendra, Lien, that’s Tyrone,” I say, with a jerk of my head in his direction, “and that’s Luka.” I look at Tyrone. “I know them now. And I guess you do, too.”
Tyrone’s watching me with narrowed eyes. I’m torn between telling him about the Committee being all chatty-chat in my head or saying nothing at all. Kendra and Lien are standing close together, shoulders touching, watching the three of us warily.
Jackson stares at me for a long moment. “I volunteered. Like I had a choice. It was volunteer for the game or die in that car.”
I wrap my arms around myself, chilled to the core, my emotions stretching and recoiling like an elastic band. From the euphoria of Jackson’s kiss to this, to the tears tracking down my cheeks and the pain in my soul.
“So, I’m in the game because of you?”
“Yes.” His beautiful mouth twists. “Hate me now, Miki. I deserve it. I told you my motives were anything but pure.” I gasp and flinch when he spins and slams his fist against the wall. He stands there, chest heaving, head bowed. Blood drips from his knuckles. “I’d change it if I could. I’d give my life for you if I could.”
He doesn’t look at me. I don’t know how much time passes. A minute. An hour. Then he says, “And it was for nothing. They’ll never let me go. They’ll never let either of us go.”
I want to go to him. I want to run from him, from this place, from the tangled mess my life has become. I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I’m angry and hurt. Betrayed. Appalled. Part of me hates him for what he’s consigned me to. Part of me only knows that his pain hurts me, too.
He’s been doing this for so long. I can’t imagine how desperate he was to escape.
My brain is on overload. I can’t process everything I’ve learned.
“Do you remember in the park when you told me not to feel guilty that I was alive when Richelle and Mom and Gram and Sofu were dead? Do you remember that?” I watch as another fat drop of blood slides from his split knuckles and hits the ground.
“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he says, his voice low, vibrating with emotion. “You didn’t kill them.” He turns to face me then, his eyes blazing. “And you didn’t consign the girl you love to this hell.”
The girl he loves.
I open my mouth to tell him I hate him for what he’s done to me. Or maybe it’s to tell him I love him, too. To tell him I forgive him. I do. I forgive him. Don’t I?
I need to tell him that maybe he wasn’t the one who killed his sister. That maybe the Drau who were attacking them killed her with their weapons.
But the wooziness I recognize too well hits me. I try to push to my feet. I try to speak. Then the world spins into color and light and bright, sharp pain bursting in my head as I make the jump.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE RESPAWN IS TERRIBLE. NOT PHYSICALLY—I’M USED TO that part now. But my emotions are tied up in ugly little knots, choking me. I open my eyes to leaves and grass and two familiar boulders; Luka’s sitting on one, Tyrone on the other.
“What the hell happened?” Luka asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Something went down at the pizza place. Were you and Jackson pulled before me?”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, how much I’m allowed to tell him. So I tell him the truth. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to tell you.”
He stands up and closes the space between us. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They’re blue now, squinting a little as he studies me, his brows drawn in a frown. I look from him to Tyrone and back again.
Fear congeals in my gut. “Where’s Jackson?” I ask, my voice a harsh rasp.
Luka rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I was going to ask you that. He’s always here before us.”
Panic surges. I slow it down, deep breath, hold, release. Jackson brought me into this to buy his freedom. Maybe it worked. Maybe the Committee accepted the trade. Part of me hates him for that, for sacrificing me like a trussed lamb. But part of me wants that, wants Jackson to be free, safe, away from all this. That’s what he wanted. Why he did this to me. But the wiser part of me knows the likelihood is small. Something else is going on here.
“You okay, Miki?” Luka asks.
I want to laugh, or maybe sob. I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. I open my mouth to tell him that when I get a weird sensation tingling through me, a portent.
“Incoming,” I say, not sure how I even know that. I’m already turning before Luka can reply. Two girls I’ve never seen before stand together, looking at me.
Kendra. Lien. Transfers from another team.
The Committee is talking in my head. I hear them, feel them, the scent of their words tickles my nose, the flavor bursts on my tongue.
I swallow and walk over to the two girls. Transfers, not new recruits. That means they know the score. No explanations needed, just introductions.
“Lien, I’m Miki,” I say, offering my hand to the girl on the right. She’s about my height with straight dark hair to her shoulders. Her features are delicate and sweet. Her eyes are blue, but we’re in the game. No way to know what color they are outside of it, but my guess would be brown. I turn to the other and offer my hand as I incline my head and say, “Hey, Kendra.” She’s tiny, maybe five feet, with long, blond ringlets and a round face.
Tyrone gets to his feet and crosses the space in two strides. “Wait . . . you know them?”
“Kendra, Lien, that’s Tyrone,” I say, with a jerk of my head in his direction, “and that’s Luka.” I look at Tyrone. “I know them now. And I guess you do, too.”
Tyrone’s watching me with narrowed eyes. I’m torn between telling him about the Committee being all chatty-chat in my head or saying nothing at all. Kendra and Lien are standing close together, shoulders touching, watching the three of us warily.
