Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (32 page)

“I used to love Zoran,” he says softly.

Janice’s eyes flick sharply to his, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He doesn’t know how to talk to this woman—not the way Harrison seems to. He can’t even think of her as his
mother
, much less call her that. He’ll always remember the eccentric, kind, intelligent woman who raised him. “Zoran was my son’s favorite,” she says. Then her eyes widen and she says, “Harrison is gone.”

Benson tries to hide the horror he feels at the screwed up expression on her face. A look of madness so foreign to his memories of her that it feels like he’s talking to a different person. “No, he’s right over there.” He motions across the room where Harrison’s sitting, knees bent, with his back to the wall. His brother waves at them. Smiles.

“Yes, he’s gone. Over there,” Janice says, as if that’s exactly what she meant. And it probably is. Words seem to carry slightly different meanings for her. “But you’re my other son,” she says. “And you loved Zoran.”

Benson starts to speak, to agree, but she’s not done. “You once were dead,” she says.

“It felt that way sometimes,” Benson says, feeling his heart skip a beat. “But I’m not anymore.”

“No. You’re not,” she says.

“Janice, I’m sorry. About everything. You deserved better.”

She giggles. Taps the watch. “Shut up,” she says, he thinks—he hopes—to the watch. Looks back at him. “Now you sound like Harrison. You two are so alike. And not just in looks.” Three normal sentences.

Is it possible the woman he once knew is still in there? Is it possible his return to her life and the realization that he never died could cure her?

“Shut the hell up!” she roars, ripping the watch from her wrist and chucking Zoran across the room.

Everyone’s watching them. Everyone except Luce, who moves to recover the watch.

“It’s okay, Janice,” he says, putting a tentative, awkward arm around her.

“My lost son,” she says.

And then she hugs him so tightly he can barely breathe.

T
he Lifer leader wants to meet with him alone, which seems weird to Benson. After all, his friends are as much a part of this as anyone else. They’re all wanted criminals now, responsible for aiding a Slip, which is an offense punishable by death. Which is all on him, the Slip.

But he can hardly refuse the request, considering it was the Lifers that saved him.

The man appears to be about his father’s age, with dark brown eyes that are creased around the edges, thin white lips that seem to sit in a perennial frown, and silvery hair combed across a balding scalp. A gun sits in a shoulder holster, and, based on the dark look in his eyes, Benson suspects he’s used it many times before.

“Why’d you bomb U-Bank?” Benson asks before the man has a chance to open his mouth. It’s something he’s been wondering for a long time.

“They’re government-owned,” the man says calmly, as if he expected the question.

“Innocent people were killed.”

“U-Bank funds Pop Con,” the man says. “Pop Con controls the screwed up birth authorization system, as well as metes out punishment for violators. Anyone who works for U-Bank might as well work for Pop Con. In other words, they’re not innocent.”

“You don’t even know them,” Benson says.

“I know their type,” the man says.

“You sure you didn’t do it to create more Death Matches for people who want kids?” Benson asks.

“We don’t believe in the system,” the man says. “We don’t support it in any way. We want to destroy it, not keep it moving forward. What you don’t seem to understand, young man, is that the system relies heavily on death to remain viable. If people stop dying as much, there will be fewer birth authorizations granted, and the citizens of the fine RUSA will rebel. Based on history, inequity has a way of working itself out.”

Benson soaks in the man’s words, wondering how much truth is behind them. Given his situation, he’s obviously not a supporter of the system…but is it really in serious jeopardy of failing? Of rebellion?

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” the man says. “I’m Jarrod.”

He wonders whether it’s his real name. “I’m Ben—”

“I know who you are.” Of course he does.

“Sit,” he says, adding “please” to make it appear to be a request rather than an order. But the command in his voice tells Benson this is a man who’s used to being obeyed.

He sits in a chair across from him, nothing but a meter of empty air between them. This room, like all the others, has metal walls and dim yellow lights overhead. It’s cold, but not unbearably so, which, from years of experience hiding, Benson knows is to avoid detection by Hawk heat-sensors. He waits for him to speak first.

Jarrod looks at the ceiling, stretches, cracks his knuckles, and then settles his arms across his chest. Stares at him.

Benson’s tired and hungry and ready to go back to his friends. Ready to go back to Luce, who he hasn’t really talked to since their escape. In short: He’s not in the mood for a staring contest. “Where’d you get the Hawk?” he asks.

He cocks his head. He’s surprised him. Good. “A simple thank you might have been a better place to start.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Where’d you get the Hawk?”

Benson thinks Jarrod smiles, although it’s hard to tell because he doesn’t show his teeth and his lips only move from a downward curved frown to a straight line. “We have our ways,” he says. “And you’re welcome. You are, after all, a symbol of what we’re trying to achieve.”

“I’m just a kid who was dealt a bad hand,” he says, feeling bold. Exhaustion seems to cast inhibitions and fear aside.

“Yes,” he says. “You were. But like it or not, you’re also a symbol. Now more than ever. A sign that the system is crumbling. That the Department of Population Control isn’t as powerful as everyone thinks. And more than that, a symbol that stifling life doesn’t achieve anything good.”

Benson wishes Jarrod wasn’t right, but he knows he is. He might not have chosen any of this, but he knows how all of this will be viewed by the public. A traitor in the midst of Pop Con. And not just any traitor, the most powerful man in the city standing against his own kind, against the ideals he supposedly believed in? It’ll be a public opinion disaster for the government. And, finally, him…a Slip, defeating them. Still alive.

He takes a deep breath.

“What do you want from me?”

Jarrod uncrosses his arms and rests them on his legs, which are crossed. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”

“I never understood that expression,” he says.

“It means—”

“I know what it means; I said I never understood it.”

“Look, Benson, we’re on the same side here.”

He closes his eyes, gains his composure, reopens them. He can feel the heat of the blood pumping through his veins, the pounding of his heart in his chest, the rush of adrenaline sending electricity into his muscles. He feels like he’s cut from stone, like the last few days have hardened him into a statue. “I’m just trying to survive,” he says. “Trying to protect my friends, who are worse off because they know me. Trying to get to know my family, one of whom I haven’t seen in years, and one of whom I’ve only just met. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for this particular conversation.”

If the Lifer leader is angry at his response, he doesn’t show it on his face, his expression vacant. He nods. “Fair enough. But this is a conversation we’ll need to have soon. That is, if you want you, your friends and your family to continue to be protected by the Lifers.”

He doesn’t know what this guy’s agenda is, but he knows his friends and family will be safer here than out in the city somewhere. At least for now. “You’re right,” he says, softening his tone. “We’ll speak soon, I promise. And thank you. For everything. This wouldn’t be over if it wasn’t for your help.”

“Over?” he says. “This fight has only just begun, kid.” With that, he stands and walks by him, pausing only to put a hand on his shoulder briefly, before exiting the room and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

~~~

Check and the others are off giving Harrison and Janice a tour of the Lifer facilities, but Benson asked to be shown another time. To his delight, Luce did, too, and now she sits next to him on one of the ten metal cots in the quarters they’ve been assigned.

“You okay?” she asks, kicking his shoe.

The simple act instantly breaks down the beginnings of a wall he’d felt going up between them. “I’m…hanging in there,” Benson says. “You?”

“The same,” she says. “I’m just glad my brother’s okay. Check, Rod, and Gonzo, too. And you and your family, of course. I’m sorry about your father though.”

Benson grimaces. “Thanks. I’m sorry, too, I think. It’s hard to know what to feel right now.”

“I know what you mean.”

“What do you think of my brother?” Benson asks, trying to change the subject.

“You mean your clone?” she says, grinning. “Well, other than how insanely weird it is seeing two of you everywhere, he seems like a good guy.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too, and if you think it’s strange for you to be seeing two of me, how crazy do you think it is for me to be seeing
myself
everywhere?”

“True,” she says, kicking his foot again.

The few inches between them seem as wide as the Mississippi and all Benson wants to do is swim across the gap.

Electricity seems to buzz between them, so real that Benson lifts his hand to see if it’s sparking. Luce grabs it and leans into him, but then stops, so close he can feel her soft exhalations on his lips. He can see her entire body trembling. Despite all her strength, conquering her past is her biggest challenge. And he won’t force her to run before she can walk.

“I’m okay,” she says, almost more to herself than to him. “I can do this.”

“Luce…”

“I want to do this.”

She touches her palm to his chin, as if guiding him closer. Words are meaningless and unnecessary. All he needs is her touch. He runs his hand through her long blond hair, not pulling, just holding. Where’s the boy who was too scared to hold her hand? he wonders as their lips approach. Closer. Closer. And it’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe, as her lips touch his, so much more tender and less forced than the first time, when it was all an act. This time it’s real, her lips like an artist’s brush on canvas as they caress his own.

His other hand moves to her hip, where he holds her firmly. Her tongue slips inside his mouth and he feels explosions through his body, curling his toes and setting his nerves on fire. Despite the engineered chill in the air, he feels warmth through his entire being, seeming to spread all the way to his soul.

She traces a path of hot kisses to his chin and then down his neck, lingering on the last one, her soft lips wonderful against his skin.

When she pulls back, she says, “I feel so stupid for being scared to kiss you.” He’s surprised at how similar her words are to his thoughts. But then he remembers the story she told him. The awful pervert trying to force himself on her.

“Nothing about you is stupid,” he says.

She smiles and he smiles and their smiles touch in a delicate kiss that’s the complete opposite to the forced fiery passion of their previous embrace. More perfect. More real.

“I’ll never leave you,” Luce says against his lips.

“Even if I’m the most wanted criminal in the entire RUSA?” he jokes. Except it’s not a joke.

“Especially not then,” she says. “Somebody’s got to protect you.”

He cradles her head against his chest and breathes into her hair, pretending for just a few precious moments that they can stay like this forever, that the beats of their hearts will never have to live apart, not for one second.

The Slip melts away, once more becoming just Benson Kelly, just a boy holding a girl.

And that’s enough.

B
eep. Beep. Beep.

The racket wakes him up from an empty sleep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He tries to open his eyes, to move his arms, to find whatever device is making the noise and crush it between his fists. But he can’t move, can’t open his eyes. Reality rushes back. The so-called Destroyer was destroyed by a couple of teenagers. It doesn’t matter that he’s only seventeen years old himself; time has a different meaning for someone made of metal parts.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Dammit! “Uhhh,” he hears himself say. Say something normal! Say something intelligent! Say something scary! “Uhhh.”

Rage explodes inside him. Rage with no outlet, so boiling hot that he can almost feel it eating his insides alive. Almost. But he can’t feel anything anymore. No pain. Not even the slightest tingling sensation to tell him he’s still alive.

Where’s the beat of my heart?
he wonders, panicking.

“Beep. Beep. Beep,” is the only answer he gets.

And then: “Oh, hello, sir. I didn’t hear you come in,” a voice says. The doctor.

I’m still alive
, he thinks. If he was dead he wouldn’t be able to hear the doctor or the beeping.

“Status,” a familiar voice growls. The Voice He Needed To Hear. Corrigan Mars. The man who’s always believed in him.

“Uh, well, the good news is that the procedure is complete. He’s going to survive.”

“And the bad news?” Corr asks. If Domino Destovan could even tell whether he was breathing, he’d be holding his breath.

“What?”

“You said ‘the good news,’ implying you had some bad news, too.”

“Well, not bad exactly. Like I said, he’s going to be just fi—”

“Spit it out, Doctor,” Corr says sharply.

“Yes, of course. The only uncertainty left is when he’ll wake up. Could be hours, could be days, could be months. It’s impossible to predict these things.”

I’m awake now, you freaking moron!
Domino screams in his head. “Uhhh.”

“He’s making sounds. Does that mean he might wake up sooner rather than later?”

“No,” the doctor says. “They’re more likely just random reactions to the shock his body’s been through.”

Idiot! I’m freaking trying to talk to you!
If he could only feel his fingers he’d wrap them around the nitwit doctor’s throat and squeeze him until he got it through his pea-brained head that Domino Destovan is not some comatose vegetable. He’s ready to get the hell out of this bed.

“What percent human is he?” Corr asks.

“Well, depending on what measure you use, and whether you count—”

“Doctor, your incessant babbling is growing tiresome,” Corr says, cutting him off.

“Sorry. He’s fifteen percent human.”

“Christ.”

Fifteen percent?
Domino’s sure he must have misheard, some problem with his ears. More likely fifty percent, down from sixty. Or he could have said forty percent, since that starts with an F, too.

He hears a thud that sounds suspiciously like a fist hitting the wall. “Dammit, Doctor, I need him awake now! Isn’t there anything you can do to speed it up?”

“Well, yes, there are various drugs but there are considerable risks associat—”

“Do it. Give him whatever might get him up.”

Yes.

“Sir, with all due respect it could kill hi—”

There’s a crash and a loud scraping sound, followed by a series of muttered curses. “My arm! I think it’s broken,” the doctor wails.

“If you want your other bones to remain
un
broken, I suggest you give the Destroyer the drugs.”

Yes. He still thinks of him as the Destroyer. He still needs him.

“Okay. Okay. Please, give me a second. Everything’s scattered on the floor.” There’s some rustling, considerable grunting, and then the doctor says, “This one should do the trick. But remember, he might wake up confused, or out of sorts.”

Domino wonders if a punch to the head would prove to the doctor that he’s the least confused person on the planet right now. He waits. And then—

Finally—

Freaking finally—

He feels something.

A pinch. A spot of cold somewhere. His arm, maybe? His leg? No. No. His face. His left cheek. The cold grows, grows and then sends a shockwave of pain through his skull like a thousand angry hornets are stinging his brain.

With a roar, he sits bolt upright, feeling tubes and wires tangling around him.

And he opens his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Corrigan Mars says.

~~*~~

Check out the thrilling sequel in The Slip Trilogy,
Grip
, out NOW! And
keep reading for a sample of
Grip
, as well as
Brew
, the first book in David Estes’ action-packed witch apocalypse series, Salem’s Revenge, available NOW!

A personal note from David…

If you enjoyed this book, please, please, please (don’t make me get down on my knees and beg!) consider leaving a positive review on
the major book review sites
. Without reviews
on the major sites
, I wouldn’t be able to write for a living, which is what I love to do! Thanks for all your incredible support and I look forward to reading your reviews.