Blacklisted (5 page)

“Liar.”

“Yesterday you wore a silver heart-shaped necklace. You'd never worn it before. How's
that
for noticing?”

My mouth fell open in surprise. He was right. My parents had given me a locket yesterday morning “just because we love you.” I hadn't worn it tonight because I'd been too afraid of losing it. And he'd noticed such a small detail?

Good or bad? I didn't know and considering who and what he was, I shouldn't be the least bit happy by that. No, I shouldn't. But I was.
Idiot
.

“Why were you at the Ship tonight?” he asked, changing the subject. “You've never been there before.”

I ignored his question, too embarrassed by the answer. “You don't know that for sure. Maybe I've been there a thousand times and you just never saw me.”

He shook his head. “You've never been there before. I would have known.”

“I…well…” I didn't know what to say.

“If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sent by A.I.R.”

Disbelieving, I twisted to look at him. He kept his eyes straight ahead. In profile, his nose was slightly longer than I'd realized, and his chin jutted out stubbornly. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. You show up on a night when big things are supposed to go down. You show up on the very night A.I.R. lets me know they're watching me. And finally, you eavesdrop and follow me.”

My cheeks heated. Put that way, I did look guilty. Again. Apparently I'd done nothing right at the club. “And just how do you know better?” I couldn't help but ask.

There was a pause, a relaxing of his shoulders. “You don't strike me as their usual type, that's all.”

“Which is?”

“Strong. Bloodthirsty. Brave.”

Okay, his words really cut. Yes, I was a coward. Yes, I tended to duck rather than storm into the midst of a fight. I hated that about myself. More than that, I hated that
he
viewed me the same way.

“You're right. I'm not A.I.R.” I pushed out a sigh. “Shanel and I—” God, was I really going to tell him? Was I really going to admit how stupid I was?
Why not
, I thought then. His opinion didn't matter to me anymore. Not even a little. Really. “We came to the club to see you and Silver. We just wanted the two of you to finally notice us, that's all.”

Erik didn't reply—he was good at that—and my stomach tightened. What was he thinking?

I watched as the fine lines around his mouth deepened. There was a dusting of a beard on his jaw. Several boys at school had shadow beards, but now, on Erik, it made him seem infinitely older. “How old are you?” I asked.

“Too old for you,” he muttered.

Ouch. “And how old is that?”

Another pause. Then, “Twenty,” he admitted reluctantly.

Not so much older than me, really, but I didn't point that out. That would reek of desperation, and he already thought poorly of me—not that I cared, I reminded myself. Besides, I thought poorly of him, too!

“Twenty is a little old to still be in school,” I remarked. “Did you flunk a few grades?”

He snorted. “Hardly.”

“Then why—” The words ground to a halt. “Never mind.” Duh. He was still in school because there was no better place to sell his drugs.

The car finally eased to a stop in front of a small, dilapidated house. The windows were sealed shut and the gray rocks were chipped and unpainted. The lawn was dry and yellowed, brittle looking.

“Welcome to my home,” Erik said without any hint of pride. He exited the car.

“Open,” I commanded the door. It was a weak command and the monitors didn't pick it up. I just, well, didn't want to get out of the car. That house might collapse at any moment. But Erik was at my side in the next instant, opening the door manually and wrapping an arm around my waist. He eased me to my feet.

Common sense demanded I not touch this boy who had disappointed me so sublimely, who had insulted me and considered himself better than me, despite his own stained past (and present). But I found my physical body didn't agree with my mind, and before I knew it I was resting my head on his bare shoulder. His skin was warm, smooth. He smelled good, like heat and moonlight.

Ugh. How stupid was I to still think of him that way?
He's bad, remember? Bad, bad, bad
.

“So what were
you
doing at the club?” I asked. “Buying Onadyn to sell to the kids at school?” There. The reminder chased away my enjoyment of being in his arms.

“Sometimes your smart mouth is not appreciated.”

Me? A smart mouth?

He must have sensed my surprise, because he said, “Remember that little remark you made about me being a bad lover?”

Oh yeah. I almost grinned. Go me!

“Not funny,” he said.

“It kind of was.”

His lips were twitching as he ushered me to the front door. Because the neighborhood was so poor, I expected him to use an old-fashioned key to unlock the entrance. Instead, he had a more expensive ID box and placed his hand in the center.

Instantly a bright blue light surrounded his fingers and palm, scanning the prints.

“Welcome, Erik,” a computerized voice said as the front door slid open.

Once we passed the threshold, the door closed automatically and the house lights came on. My knees knocked together and a wave of dizziness assaulted me. I swayed. Standing had been a mistake. Walking had been an even bigger mistake.

My eyelids felt as heavy as boulders and began to close on their own. Darkness winked in and out of my mind. I tipped forward.

Fall
, I wanted to say.
I'm going to fall
. My mouth refused to obey.

Erik held tight, keeping me upright. “Just a little farther,” he said, and I was surprised by the gentleness of his tone.

A second later, my toes hit the edge of something. The couch, I realized, when I pried my eyelids apart. It was big, brown, and soft, beckoning me to collapse.

Erik slowly spun me around and gave a gentle push to my shoulders. I couldn't do it with ease as he intended and ended up plopping down ungracefully. Plush cushions plumped around me.

“Stay here,” he said.

As if I could have moved.

Finally comfortable, I fought against sleep—how good it would feel to simply doze off, to forget, to dream—and scanned the room in which I now found myself, curious to see how Erik lived.

Nothing about him had been as I expected, so why should this? Despite the outside appearance, the inside was very nice. Vaulted ceiling, painted cement floor, gray brick walls, and clean, comfy furniture: couch (brown), love seat (brown), glass coffee table. There was even a holoscreen television.

Still, he must not sell a lot of Onadyn. Otherwise he would be living in a better neighborhood, have real wood floors, and permascented rugs. Right?

“I'm back,” Erik said, at my side again. He was wearing a new shirt, I saw with disappointment—those muscles and smooth skin all covered up. In his hands he'd piled vials and bandages.

“Is this going to hurt?”

“Oh yeah.”

I frowned and would have moved away if I'd had the energy. “Why'd you tell me that? You should have lied. Now I'm going to jump every time you reach for me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sit up.”

I tried, I really did. But I hadn't had the strength to move from where I'd fallen, which meant I didn't have the strength to lean. Erik slid his hands behind my shoulders and urged me forward. Even my head was becoming too heavy to hold up and lolled forward.

“You falling asleep on me?” he asked.

“No,” I said, closing my eyes. Why was I fighting sleep anyway? No reason to stay wake when a black chasm waited for me, begging me to fall into it. There, I could pretend this night had never happened.

“Sure?”

The single word cut through my thoughts and chased away the chasm, leaving only wakefulness and reality. No sleep for me, no reprieve. “Just bandage me up already,” I muttered.

He barked out a laugh. “What I'm about to do will wake you up, don't worry.”

A shiver stole through me upon hearing that uninhibited and carefree laugh. Still. I felt the color drain from my cheeks. Suffering and I were to become good friends, I guess, and were going to tango a little more tonight. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“Not good with pain, I take it.”

“Is anyone?”

As he unwound the shirt from my arm, I cringed and bit my lip to keep from crying. The material, soft though it was, scraped against the jagged, torn flesh. Erik said, “Some people
have
to be good with pain.”

There was a strange inflection in his tone—sad, vulnerable. “You've been hurt a lot, huh?”

His gaze met mine for the briefest of seconds, but he ignored my statement. His lips pursed and he began to pinch and prod at the wound.
Ow, ow, ow
. I tried to pull from his grip.

“What are you doing? That's making it worse.”

“I'm cataloguing the damage. Stay still.”

Yeah, sure. “It'd probably be easier for me to wave my magic wand and produce the entire cast of
Alien Nights
.”

“You actually watch that garbage?” he said, continuing the torture.

“No,” I replied, cheeks flushing. Okay, maybe I'd caught an episode or two. In my defense, the other-worldly soap opera had an excellent plot. Carmine had tried to kill Sasha, who wanted to return to her home planet of Jen Jen Bi to finally have revenge on her estranged father, Escar, who had sold her to the earthling, Rocky, who hoped to produce a race of alien-human hybrids.

“You've got tissue damage.” Erik straightened. “A vessel was sliced. The muscle is torn. If you hadn't ducked when you did…”

You could have lost the arm
, I finished for him. I almost threw up. Felt bile rising, but managed to hold it back.

“This will help.” He applied a thick paste to the center of the cut. A floral scent wafted to my nose. “You're lucky. Only one star hit you, and it just grazed the top layers, rather than slicing all the way through the bone.”

“Feels like it's still embedded in there.”

“That's because it is. Well, pieces of it.” He spread a—ugh! I wrinkled my nose. He spread a foul-smelling cream over the paste. “What most people don't know is that the tips of the stars release at the moment of impact, lodging into whatever they first touch. Fortunately for you, the paste will numb everything and the cream will dissolve the metal and not the flesh, as well as cauterize the actual wound. You'll be as good as new in a few days.”

I wanted to be as good as new
now
. “I've never heard of that kind of paste or cream before.”

“Just because you haven't heard of them doesn't mean they don't exist. Feeling better?” he added with barely a breath.

I blinked in astonishment. Yes. I did. Truly, I'd never heard of such a fast-working medication, but I was grateful for it. The pain was already easing.

Well, the pain in my arm was easing, I realized a moment later. Now that I wasn't so consumed with the wound, I began to realize the rest of me was in pretty bad shape. Bruised, as if I'd been in a car wreck. My back throbbed—I must have jarred it when I ducked—and my thigh muscles were clenched tightly.

“You'll be weak from blood loss, so take it easy.” Erik applied a final layer of gel. Thankfully, this one seemed to neutralize the cream's smell. Then he wrapped my upper arm in white cloth.

“Do you have any painkillers?” I asked. “The paste is working, yes, but the rest of me is aching now.”

“Yes,” was all he said.

“Well,” I prompted. “Can I have one?”

He shook his head, and two locks of honey-colored hair fell over his forehead. “Nope. Sorry. The painkillers I have will put you to sleep, and I need you to stay awake.”

Uh, hello. “Sleep good. Awake bad.”

His lips inched into a small smile that he tried very hard to hide. “Your body will catch up to your arm, I promise. Besides, I don't want to have to carry you to your room. Your dad might not understand.”

My shoulders slumped. Yeah, that was true. My parents would freak if they saw a boy sneaking into my room. No matter the reason. Forget disappointment. They'd go ballistic. They wouldn't care that Erik had saved my life.

Thinking of the things he'd done for me confused me and warmed me all at once. I truly didn't understand how he could so coldly involve me, how he could be a drug dealer, and yet, in the end, treat me so sweetly.