Deviation (5 page)

The next day, I am sent out for lunch. I eat alone with a team of men hovering just out of sight. No one tells me why or what the purpose of my outing is beyond Raven Rogen being photographed in public wearing the latest Jorge Estrada pantsuit. That’s enough of a reason.

Linc is conspicuously absent from the group of men who escort me. I ask about him but a sour-faced standin simply says he’s “unavailable.” I try to pretend I’m not worried about what that means.

Outside the restaurant, I stop and pose in manufactured polish and poise while paparazzi whistle and flashbulbs click. An overzealous reporter manages to duck the perimeter and almost reaches me while shouting promises of large monetary sums if I’ll interview with his tabloid. My security team—sans Linc—sweeps me away before the man can make contact.

My ride home is full of me composing myself while my security team runs a full background check on my would-be assailant.

I step out of the elevator and into the penthouse that is my current home and my feet go still. From where I stand in the hallway, I can just make out voices coming from the parlor.

It is a room that, for reasons I don’t understand, Titus seems to favor. It confuses me because it is so unsuited to him. It’s elegant and gentle and daintily decorated save for the giant fireplace that consumes one wall. Even the curtains are gauzy and white—much too feminine and inviting for someone like Titus. It has crossed my mind more than once that maybe Titus was once married but the thought always dies off. I cannot imagine him loving anyone. But, more than that, I cannot imagine the sort of person that could love Titus Rogen.

The voices come again. Titus and another I can’t quite identify. A low baritone that is unmistakably male and just this side of angry. Curious, I slip out of my heels and pad closer.

“She is serving her purpose,” Titus says.

“As long as the rebellion continues to siphon our resources no one is serving their purpose,” another voice snaps.

A thrill of anticipation rushes over me. I know this voice. It is the same voice I heard speaking with Titus months ago about the next batch of Imitations and their plan to infiltrate more and more of society by replacing unsuspecting Authentics with their own personal Imitation. The man had been stern, unafraid to challenge Titus. It both surprised and intrigued me, the way they’d argued then. I’d tried—and failed—to get a look at him before. Maybe this time …

“Relax,” Titus says. “Soon, this batch will be finished and we’ll be ready to make the needed replacements. From there, we will have no problem eliminating the city’s undesirables.”

“They’re past the point of simply ‘undesirable,’” the man says. “They’re draining us. They’re gaining a foothold with their identity fraud scams. We can’t afford this.”

“I can’t rush the process. You saw what happened last time we tried. Half of them fled.”

“I’m still unclear on how you managed to lose almost a hundred Imitations over the past eighteen months.”

Titus growls.

“We can’t wait much longer, Titus. You assured me this would work. Now, we’ve got half of Congress full of products and the other half wondering what’s changed the swing votes. You brought her here to test whether the fix was working—since obviously the last one failed. Now, is she loyal or not?”

“She’s loyal,” Titus assures him. Even I can hear the hesitation in his words.

“She’s following the rules?” the man presses.

“Ven is not wired like the others. She cannot lie, or if she attempts it with her words, her expression will give her away. Between that and her GPS device, she will not deceive me like the last one.”

“And what of that one? Raven number six. Did you get anything useful out of her yet? Or the two traitors you’re playing with downstairs?”

Raven number six?

“The redhead is dead,” Titus says flatly.

“Dammit, Titus! You said you could handle this!” The man’s anger finally spills out. “Have you gleaned a single bit of intelligence from Ryan? Or are you simply wearing him thin until he collapses as well?”

Titus makes a noise of contained frustration. A glass slams down on a hard surface. “I’m doing what’s needed. He may not have crumbled yet but he’ll talk eventually. They all will.”

The stranger clucks his tongue. “Come on, Titus. We both know if he hasn’t conceded yet, he won’t. It’s the same with the others. The Ravens. They’ve found something worth dying for. You can’t compete with that no matter what sort of torture you offer.”

“They would all die for … for products,” Titus spats. “It’s insanity. I can understand the Ravens’ self-preservation, although it’s not how I programmed their DNA sequence, but Ryan is human. Daniel was my biggest supporter. And the girl … I offered her everything. Money, status. She wouldn’t budge.”

“Everyone has a motivation. You just aren’t looking hard enough.”

“I’ve had sessions with them almost daily. You’re telling me I’m not trying hard enough?”

“Stop playing with your pain management toys and get inside their heads, Titus. Figure out what makes them tick. Figure out the one thing they want more than beating you.”

“Don’t tell me how to interrogate. I know what I’m doing.”

“Obviously.” The single word spoken by the stranger is laced with sarcasm.

I can almost hear Titus seething. Again, I am awed by the way this stranger openly defies the scariest man I’ve ever met.

“My campaign’s being announced tomorrow. You know what’s at stake. I need the public to back me on this. It’s our best shot at beating these fanatics and taking control, once and for all. Not to mention it would seal your power and quell any further attempts at exposure. That last one was too close for me. We both need you to make this work.”

“Fine,” Titus says through clenched teeth.

“If you can’t handle your daughter, I’m happy to give it a shot. After all, every successful campaign has a sordid affair.” The man chuckles.

Even without laying eyes on him, I am bombarded with scenes worthy of nightmares and in a split second of terror it blocks out everything else.

I back away from the parlor and make my way to my room.

Inside, I sit on my bed and stare at the clock.

At first there are too many thoughts competing for attention. But then one surfaces to the front without much effort.

Raven number six.

What does that mean?

And what sort of chance do we have once this transition they speak of is complete? Who will be left to challenge them?

Time feels thin.

I think of the “batch” they spoke of, the undoubtedly infant Imitations he is growing for disposal or domination. I think of Lonnie and Ida. Of Morton and the underground army he’s gathered but hasn’t found the courage to lead into battle.

They deserve to be freed. One man should not have this sort of control over an entire people group. Human or not, no one deserves Titus Rogen.

I focus on the minutes that are passing according to my bedside clock. I’ve been home half an hour. I’ve studied the guard shifts enough to know a shift change is coming. Hopefully Linc can get away from wherever they’ve assigned him. I can’t decide if I want the stranger gone by then or not.

A large part of me doesn’t want Linc anywhere near that man, whoever he is. Something about his voice instills a sense of power and position. No other human I’ve met besides the Creator himself makes my pulse jump quite like that man. Underneath his smooth words there is a predator. Someone just as capable of unspeakable evil as Titus and somehow I know he has the means to accomplish it.

His existence is, at the very least, an obstacle in the path that leads to defeating Titus Rogen.

Another two minutes. I count the clicks.

Titus told the stranger I am loyal. What will happen to me if the man discovers Titus was wrong?

I’m in the library when Linc returns. “Hey,” he calls from the open door.

“Hi,” I say, putting everything I can’t say out loud into my smile. He’s wearing his leather motorcycle jacket. A pair of aviator sunglasses dangles from one hand. “You made it back all right?” he asks.

So he knew about lunch. But where has he been?

“Safe and sound,” I say, keeping my voice light. We both know we’re being monitored. I can’t tell him what I heard. Not here. But the temptation is a tidal wave of fear and longing.

He wanders closer but doesn’t sit next to me on the small couch. “What are you reading?” he asks, peering down at the open book in my lap.

I close it gently, showing him the nondescript cover. “Just some western novel I found in the corner,” I say for the benefit of the audio devices scattered about the room. I watch as Linc reads the actual title:
Essays and Preliminaries of DNA Structure, Volume III.

Linc raises his brows at me in a silent question. “Looks interesting,” he says, obviously taking my actions at face value. He thinks my recourse for the brand of evil I’m up against is to read a good science journal. Mentally, I play over our argument before he took it back, smoothed it over, and kissed me until I let it go. He is used to being a protector and even though I am accustomed to being helpless, I’m determined not to remain this way.

Especially after what I heard today.

He watches me a moment longer, no doubt wondering at whatever hard-lipped expression I wear. When I don’t offer anything else, he mouths, “See you later.”

I barely nod as watch him leave.

When he’s gone, I return the book to its shelf. I’ve been through the entire library before without finding anything useful to my cause, but there’s nothing else to do. Not until Titus chooses to trust me enough to let me out—or I get invited to another dinner Obadiah can help me ditch. Or I think of something else.

I need to think of something else. But every single second of training that’s gone into me has been to teach me to comply. Nothing I’ve experienced prepared me for going rogue.

Linc would think of something else. He would create his opportunity.

For some reason, the thought irritates me.

I pull another heavy tome from the stacks, a reprint of an entire year of essays from something called
The United Science Journal
. Back in my spot on the couch, I curl my feet underneath me and thumb through. I have no idea what I’m looking for. But I’m hoping I’ll know it when I find it.

I’m halfway through when Maria comes and calls me to dinner. I replace the book, hoping it looks dusty and undisturbed like the rest, and make my way to the dining room. I smooth my hair and mentally check my appearance while I walk the rounded hallway. Titus hasn’t harped on my wardrobe or personal appearance in days, but I’m always careful. Just in case.

My ribs are still tender from the last time I wore the wrong dress to a health care benefit.

When I arrive, the head seat at the table is noticeably empty. Doctor Josephine smiles at me from her chair. “Ven, how are you?” she asks.

I allow Maria to hold my chair for me and place my napkin primly in my lap. Too much has already become second nature to throw it aside when he isn’t here. “I’m well, Doctor. And you?” I say, sipping my water.

Her smile is more genuine than most at Rogen Tower. “I am well also.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” I say.

“Titus keeps me busy where I’m needed. Lately, you’ve been healthy enough.”

I chew my salad without replying. It’s not worth mentioning the bruises concealed by my clothing. Josephine has treated enough of my wounds in the past to know where they come from. Or from whom. And she’s right, nothing Titus has inflicted has required true medical attention. Not in the past few weeks, at least.