(Bonus chapters from Marcus's POV! We all know Willow-hypnotized Marcus met April in Block Three at the beginning of WTW. But what if the old Marcus had seen her before then?)









Four Months Ago

Marcus Fargo didn't like to be confined. Which was a real problem, since he was stuck twenty-four-seven in an underground facility where he'd been raised all his life. It was no wonder he'd been such an angry kid growing up.

The others went along like obedient sheep, content with the small favors and allowances that Gardiner bestowed upon them, excited to discover new aspects of their powers, but all he ever felt was restlessness. A need for more. It was like a flame under his skin, simmering uncomfortably in his blood until he would sulk and pace and snap angrily at fellow Mods and trainers alike.

He wanted something to change. Anything. He liked the world a lot better when it didn't bore him to death. So when the brown-haired girl started showing up at his facility, flitting from one laboratory to the next in tow of trainers and doctors in white coats, the mystery of her existence made his restlessness grow stronger.

Who was she? What was she doing here?

And was she like them?

"Who the hell cares?" Eli drawled when he asked him about her. They were sprawled out on the worn sofas in the rec room, a big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and First Blood blasting on the large screen TV on the wall. "Stop being so hung up on a girl you've never met and just watch the damn movie."

Marcus reached under his arm for a throw pillow and chucked it at Eli's head. The girl cozied up next to Eli on the love seat squealed and ducked. Tory Marks. Very blond and very voluptuous. And very opinionated. She glared at Marcus. "You're such a child."

He made sure to let his eyes linger on her long golden legs. "Yeah? You normally hook up with children in the laundry room?"

She flushed a deep shade of red. Eli looked between them, amused. Tory might be someone he was currently interested in, but he wasn't invested enough in her to care that she and Marcus had been very hands-on up until just a few weeks ago.

That was what Marcus liked about Eli. The guy kept things simple. Wasn't one to argue, to get jealous. All he cared about was having a good, uncomplicated time.

Which was kind of a problem if Marcus wanted to have a serious discussion about Mystery Girl.

"I'm gonna let you two lovebirds have some privacy," he said. "Good night."

Marcus decided to ask Janie about it the next day after they were done sparring together in the practice room. She wore a white tank top and sweatpants, her sleek black hair in a high ponytail that made her cheekbones sharper than they already were.

Sweat trickled down her neck and into her tank top as she took a long swig of water from her bottle. Something tightened inside him as his eyes followed the damp trail.

"My eyes are up here, Fargo," Janie said, gesturing for him to look up.

He obliged her by meeting her thick-lashed amber eyes. Smoking hot didn't begin to describe her. With her looks, she didn't need to mesmerize a guy to make him sell his soul to be with her. She was dangerous. Which made her interesting to him.

Plus she was one of three girls left in the facility. He couldn't afford to be picky anymore.

He checked to make sure the other Mods and the trainers weren't paying attention to them, before resting a shoulder against the wall and leaning toward her. His finger traced the line of sweat, and he smiled when she shivered.

He wasn't surprised when she wrapped her fingers around his waistband and pulled him closer. They'd been on and off for as long as they'd both liked the opposite sex. She could be a real pain in the ass if she wanted to be. Which was about ninety percent of the time with her. The other ten percent kind of made it worth it. Kind of.

"Come by my dorm room tonight," she said in a throaty voice.

"What about your roommate?"

Janie scowled. "What's with you lately? That never bothered you before."

That was because Janie used to have another roommate, a quiet girl who'd blanked a couple of months ago. For reasons he couldn't comprehend, Janie and Willow had decided to room together. So he'd stopped going over to Janie's dorm. He had a policy about staying as far away from Willow as he could.

"I don't want her reporting me for being out of my room after light's out," he said.

She pulled back and laughed so hard her eyes teared up. "Oh, that's rich. Since when have you ever cared about the rules?"

Good point.

"Maybe I'm just not that into you," he said. "You think of that?"

She punched him in the gut and left him bent in half, laughing through a groan. One of the trainers noticed the commotion and marched his way, so Marcus went over to a heavy bag and started whacking away. It wasn't until the trainer went back to his corner that Marcus realized he hadn't even brought up the subject of Mystery Girl with Janie.

Well, damn.

He decided to ask Alec the following day. The guy was far from his first choice. Saying that they didn't get along would be putting it mildly, but Marcus would have to throw down his pride if he wanted to get some answers. He approached Alec while he was studying in the library, stacks of books spread all across the table.

"Sup, nerd?" he said, pulling out the chair opposite the brown-haired teenager.

Alec stopped jotting notes in his notebook and looked up at him. His green eyes were narrowed with suspicion. He looked like a younger version of his father: good-looking, confident, and mature. If one of the girls were here, he would've laid on the charm, but now he just looked like a grumpy cat sitting in the rain. "What do you want?"

Marcus tipped back his chair until it was balanced on the back legs. "You should come play ball with me and Eli and Adam later. We've got a game after Brit Lit."

"So you can play childish pranks on me again?"

What was with everyone calling him a child? He was starting to get seriously annoyed. He checked his temper and kept his voice casual. "We're one man short of having two teams. One-on-one gets old after a while."

Even if Adam did keep things interesting by pulling up barriers any time someone tried to get the ball from him. And then there was that time Marcus smashed the backboard when he dunked the ball. All poor Eli had going for him was his shit talk.

Alec went back to scribbling. "Ask one of the girls to play."

"It's not the same."

"Why? Because they don't stand a chance against you big and tough men?"

"I'm sure Willow can hypnotize people into scoring against themselves over and over until the game ends," Marcus answered dryly. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to invite girls to a game for the boys." A couple of hours of non-stop violence and swearing and enough testosterone fumes to stink up the gymnasium. His kind of party.

"Besides it's not like anyone complains when the girls get cooped up in Janie's dorm and paint each other's faces up with makeup," Marcus added. "Why can't we do the same?"

"I'm sure Janie would be more than happy to lend you her makeup."

Marcus forced himself to laugh, even though he wanted to shove the table so hard it knocked the conceited punk to the ground. "You're hilarious. The offer still stands."

"What do you really want, Marcus?"

He didn't have the patience for playing more games, so he went with the blunt truth. "The girl that's been coming around here every weekend. I want to know who she is."

Alec finally put down his pen and gave him his undivided attention. "You mean April?"

April.

He tested the name out in his mind. It brought up images of spring time and virility and soft breezes and—whoa. What was up with him? He needed to get his head checked if he was getting this worked up over some girl's name.

"Yeah," Marcus said, rocking his chair back casually even though every muscle in his body had gone tense. "Who's she?"

"No idea."

He frowned. "But you know her name."

"I asked Sam. You should try that sometime. Going straight to the source for answers."

"So you do know who she is."

Alec let a cocky smile spread across his face. The bastard liked knowing something Marcus didn't. "What's it to you? Why are you so interested in her?"

He thought about how to answer. No way would he admit she consumed his thoughts when he didn't even know what she looked like—although he'd seen enough to know she wasn't hideous. Far from it.

He smirked and said what everyone already expected him to say. "She's a new flavor I'd like to . . . sample."

Alec's smile disappeared. "I'm so glad you can't get to her. She's too good for you."

Marcus got up slowly. Alec returned to his work as though he was done with him, which sent his anger through the roof. His brain began to feel like it was expanding, shoving up against his skull. He knew what that meant. His power was spiking. So he reached over, grabbed one edge of the table, and easily flipped the whole thing into the far wall.

It made a loud crash as one of the legs broke off and the books scattered across the brown carpet. The librarian guarding the otherwise empty room looked up from her desk, aghast. "Excuse me, young man. What do you think you're doing?"

"Real mature, asshole," Alec said, lowering his pen. He got up and started to collect his things. "Looks like you just earned yourself a visit to the principal's office."

Marcus laughed. Life wouldn't be the same without weekly visits to the principal's office. Besides it wasn't like Sam Parker could touch him. Jonathan Blaine, the real leader of Gardiner, wouldn't let Parker hurt his favorite trainee.

He didn't resist when the cranky old librarian left her station and barked at him to follow her to Parker's office. A plan had sprung into his mind, and it was all thanks to Alec.

Going straight to the source for answers. That sounded smart. Only he wasn't going to bother asking Parker about the girl. That stick-in-the-mud wouldn't tell him the truth even if his life depended on it.

He smiled. No, he had a better idea.

He was going to get the answers he needed from Mystery Girl herself.

It was another five days before Saturday, when the girl was expected to return to the facility. Fortunately that meant no classes and no workouts beyond cardio and weights in the morning. Unfortunately he was stuck in the west wing where the dorms and the rec room were located, and Mystery Girl was all the way in the east wing by the labs and classrooms.

There was just one chance: lunch break. The Mods would go to the cafeteria in the east wing at precisely 12:00 p.m. Marcus had glimpsed Mystery Girl in the break room at the far end of the classrooms before. If there was one thing he knew about Sam Parker, it was that he liked orderliness and punctuality. She would be there again today at 12:00 p.m.

The only problem was making it past the guard at the cafeteria door. That was where Janie would come in handy. He'd done everything he could to get on her good side in the past few days. That meant doing favors for her, like covering for her when she ditched chemistry class on Thursday morning, and letting her pick a movie the night before.

The Wedding Planner. He'd been conked out thirty minutes into the movie. It wasn't his fault he found sleeping more exciting than watching that nonsense. Luckily she didn't hold it against him. So when he asked her to help him get into the east wing, she agreed. No questions asked. She was well acquainted with his crazy antics.

He waited restlessly until they were escorted by a guard to the cafeteria. Him, Janie, Eli, Alec, Tory, Willow, and Adam. Alec had his fingers threaded through Willow's. She kept looking at him with happiness lighting up her face.

Marcus told himself he didn't care. Willow wasn't his best friend anymore. Not for the last four years or so. He shouldn't still feel protective about her, but he couldn't help thinking she deserved someone who loved her and cherished her. He'd break Alec's creeping fingers if he ever did anything to hurt her.

The cafeteria was big, built to hold at least fifty people, so it felt really empty with just the seven of them. Marcus forced himself not to think about the people they'd lost. The people he'd . . . hurt. They wouldn't have survived anyway, not in a way that mattered. They would be shells of themselves, driven mad by a darkness that would force them to destroy.

Instead of dwelling on those thoughts, he took his place at the back of the buffet line before whispering into Janie's ear, "It's time. Do your thing, Siren."

She smiled at the nickname and sashayed over to the guard waiting in front of the closed cafeteria doors. Marcus noticed that Alec and Willow glanced back at her, curiosity on their faces, but they didn't stop her. He waited until Janie had the man's undivided attention—meaning she'd ensnared his mind, trapping him in her bewitching eyes—before he went to join her.

He brushed right past them and walked through the double doors. If anyone asked, Janie would deny that she'd done anything to the guard. There was nothing to prove she had, not even the security cameras. She'd timed it so that she mesmerized him for exactly five seconds, enough time for Marcus to slip past behind the guard. Then she went back to whatever boring conversation they were having.

Marcus wasn't worried. She'd be fine either way. Janie was a survivor.

He walked purposefully down the hallway, passing doctors here and there. They didn't stop him. Not their job to ask questions. One more hallway and he'd reach the girl. The thought renewed his purpose. Sparked his restlessness back to life.

It was dangerous for him to invest so much emotion into her. Like she was the answer to his problems. She could be absolutely disappointing for all he knew. She could be boring and unfulfilling and he'd be back to square one: trying to find purpose in his meaningless life.

Or she could be more.

There was a guard posted outside the break room. Marcus hadn't anticipated that. He swore under his breath, but he kept going toward the bald-headed man, who narrowed his eyes at him. "Use the cafeteria, Fargo. This room is off limits today."

"I got something in the fridge," he said as he kept walking toward the guard. "Custard pie. Cook made it for the boss yesterday. She told me she'd leave a couple of pieces for me in the fridge." He grinned cockily. "What can I say? The ladies love me."

Baldy eyed him, unconvinced. "Right. It can wait until Monday."

"Come on, man." Marcus lifted his hands in a gesture of desperation. "I'm not asking for much. Just get me my pie and I'll be out of your hair. Err, well, maybe not your hair, but you get the point." Uh oh. He was messing up—he could see it in Baldy's darkening expression. "That's all I want. You never have to see me again."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" Baldy grumbled as he turned for the door.

"I know," Marcus answered.

He slipped an arm around the guard's neck and covered his mouth with his other hand, muffling his shouts. His arm squeezed tight, cutting off the man's blood circulation. Two seconds. Four. Seven. The guy was out. He'd be back on his feet in a few hours and then he'd report the hell out of Marcus, but Marcus would worry about all of that later.

Grunting, he lifted Baldy onto his shoulder and took him into the bathroom. Set him down on the toilet in one of the stalls and made sure he wouldn't topple over before he left him there. His body was pumping straight adrenaline through his body as he walked back to the break room. He turned the door handle and flung the door open.

And there she was.

Mystery Girl.

She stood in front of a vending machine, alone in the break room. Dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, just like the female Mods. Nowhere close to being as voluptuous as Tory or even as curvy as Janie, but there was strength in her slender form. She was athletic, that was for sure. He could see that in her lithe arms and what little her sweatpants revealed.

His eyes moved up to her face. Again, she fell short compared to Janie. Normal wavy brown hair. Oval face, nice lips—not remarkable, but pink and full enough to make her above average. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of her slim, slightly upturned nose. Eyebrows darker than her hair. If it weren't for those arctic-blue eyes of hers, she would've been passably attractive. Pretty enough to get second looks, but nothing that would've justified the way he'd been thinking about her for the past week.

But her eyes amped her up from pretty to captivating. They held intelligence and life and blue laser-focus that chilled him as much as it sent sparks across his skin. He smiled slowly as she appraised him, hoping she didn't find him lacking. Because so far, she hadn't disappointed.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady. Contained.

Everything about her seemed careful, and he couldn't tell if that was because of him or because it was just the way she was.

"Marcus." He walked over to the vending machine, gripped both sides, and shook it. A chocolate bar came free and he bent down to pick it up. "Snacks are free, but the vending machine is a little stubborn. You gotta use intimidation if you want something from it."

She took the candy bar, shaking her head. "You're talking about it like it's a person."

He shrugged. "Your name's April?" he asked, impatient to get to the point.

"Yeah. April Parker."

His eyebrows shot up. Interesting. "Any relationship to Sam Parker?"

"He's my father." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Marcus stared at her mouth. He'd seen girls do a lot of sexy things in his seventeen years of life, but that had to be the singular hottest thing he'd ever witnessed. "Stepfather," she clarified.

So Mr. Holier-than-thou had a stepdaughter. That was news to Marcus. He wondered what other secrets the man was keeping.

"You're a Mod, too, aren't you?" That would explain all of the visits to the labs.

"A what?"

"You know. A modified human being."

She repeated the phrase wordlessly, and a line formed between her eyebrows when she frowned. "I have no idea what that means, other than that it sounds like something from a Sci-fi book. And what do you mean by too? Are you saying you're this thing called a Mod?"

"Yes." He flexed one bicep and gave her a lazy grin. "Super-strength."

All he got was a skeptical look. "Really? Prove it."

"Well, it doesn't always work. It comes and goes." Mostly when he got worked up about something, like with Alec at the library. He'd get this pressure in his head that would turn to a sharp headache if he didn't release it somehow. The pressure would go away after about ten seconds, but the pain would take another hour. Better to flip a table than to put up with a migraine. Although if he were being honest with himself, he would've tossed the table with or without the headache. Alec had that effect on him.

April made a scoffing sound. "That's convenient."

Marcus blinked. He hadn't expected her to doubt him. Why would he? Everyone he'd ever met had known he wasn't exactly human.

Unless this girl was an Outsider. That was what they called humans out there beyond the facility. He'd considered the possibility of another facility somewhere, but maybe she lived in the human world. Which made her all the more fascinating.

"Where are you from?" he asked her. "You live with Sam, right?"

She lifted her chin slightly. Her eyes became even chillier, if that were possible. "I don't make a habit of telling strange boys about my life."

"What's the worst that could happen? I've been stuck in this hole my whole life. You're safe from me, sweetheart." Although finding out where she lived might prove to be useful in the future. A trump card against Sam Parker.

"What do you mean stuck?"

He threw out his arms like he was gesturing at the whole facility. "Home sweet home."

"You live here?" She tilted her head and studied him with curiosity. "And the others I've seen around? This is their home, too?"

Marcus nodded.

"They don't let you leave? That would explain all the guards. But this can't be legal. It's kidnapping."

He chuckled at how black-and-white her view of the world was. "Pretty sure Gardiner can do whatever the hell it wants." Whenever Blaine took Marcus with him on missions out in the real world, he always had an army of security guards and fancy black limos. He even had a private jet. Marcus knew enough about the outside world to have figured out money ruled it.

Not laws. Not justice. Money.

"Do they . . . hurt you?" she asked.

"No," he lied flatly. He didn't need her pity.

April unwrapped her candy bar and took a small bite. She stared at it as she chewed and swallowed. "I've seen you guys around. I've seen your closeness. At least you're together. You're not alone."

Her tone was introspective. Wistful. Heat shot through him at her vulnerability. His power was meant for destroying, for ruining things. Everything about him was lethal to the people around him. And this fragile girl was a rose on the stem of a shrub growing at the center of a raging storm. She would be destroyed. It was inevitable.

So why did he get the sense she had the power to calm the storm?

He shook his head. Great. His desire was turning him into a poet. No denying that he wanted her. She was something new. A mystery he couldn't wait to unravel. Touch and devour. He wanted to run his hands up her slender arms and feel her body pressed against his and let his lips explore every inch of her smooth skin. He wanted it so badly he was almost getting double-vision from containing his urges.

But he did hold back. Something told him she'd run if he tried to be aggressive with her. Instead he allowed himself to step in a little closer, just inside her bubble of space. Enough for her to notice his proximity. He knew the moment she did: her pale blue eyes went up to his, and her pupils dilated with . . . fear? Excitement?

"You're lonely," he observed, his voice low and husky. "I'm guessing Sam doesn't let you go out and play much."

"You talk like you know him." Her answer was firm, albeit a little breathy.

He smiled, knowing he was having an effect on her. Alec might've been born with a stupid amount of good looks, but Marcus had his fair share. He'd heard more than enough talk about his dangerous dark looks growing up. And he had something that unsettled girls, tested their sense of self-preservation as much as it teased their wild side.

He was a risk. And from what he'd learned, most girls couldn't stay away from the danger and intrigue that came with that.

"I know him very well," he said. "You don't deserve whatever piece of hell he's forcing you to live in. You should be with people who will care about you. This place isn't so bad. Sure we don't have a lot of freedoms, but we have each other. You could have that, too."

It was a load of crap, but he would've said anything to convince her to stay. If she even had a choice over that. Hopefully she did. Probably not.

"Sam decides where I live," she confirmed.

"So beg him to change his mind. Tell him you'll do whatever he wants."

Come on. This might be his only chance to talk to her in a long time. Maybe forever. He couldn't let things end like this.

April frowned at him. "Why do you care?"

"Because I want to get to know you," he said honestly. No artifice or duplicity. Granted he wasn't completely honest about the full context of getting to know her—a bed, no clothes, preferably with the lights on—but he was surprised to realize he wouldn't mind taking it slowly.

Even more shocking, his restlessness was muted. He wasn't bored or impatient to get somewhere. For the first time he could remember, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Those stunning eyes of hers searched his face. He saw her disbelief. Her uncertainty. Did she really think he wasn't interested in her? Or that no guy would be? Holy shit. Sam must have done a number on her.

She swallowed and breathed, "I'll try."

Her whisper inflamed Marcus more than anything else had. He knew it was over for him. There was no way he could keep his hands to himself now. He knew there was a chance he'd ruin everything if he kissed her, but he had to find out if she tasted as sweet as her chocolate bar.

So in a way, it was a good thing the door burst open and four guards rushed in to save him from himself. They slammed him into the wall. She leaped back with a yelp of surprise, stumbling out of the way as his hands were handcuffed behind his back and a guard growled at him, "I hope it was worth it, kid. Sam is furious with you."

Back to the principal's office. And yes, it was totally worth it.

As they dragged him out, Marcus smiled at April and winked.

"See you around, Rose."





Two Days Before the Stress Facility

The stress facility, Sam Parker called it. A two-floor building deep underground in the mountains of Pennsylvania, just a mile away from the research facility where the Mods lived. He pointed it out on the map on the wall of the classroom, and the six teenagers looked at the red X that he was indicating.

"You will spend between one to two months in this place," Sam said. "You'll be provided with everything that you need: food, water, proper hygiene, and a bed to sleep in every night."

Marcus reclined in his chair, his feet propped on the wood desk. Next to him, Adam was frowning slightly, but other than that there was nothing on his face to indicate what he was thinking. Eli on the other hand looked amused as he tapped a pencil against his chin. Janie was doodling on her notebook. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, tired from the strenuous last-minute physical testing they'd undergone.

Alec and Willow were the only ones paying attention dutifully. Alec was even jotting down notes like the good teacher's pet he was. Smirking, Marcus tore off a piece of paper from his notebook and waited until Sam had turned away before he chucked it at the back of Alec's head.

Alec's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't take the bait. It seemed he knew without looking that Marcus had thrown the paper. Marcus wondered how many more times it would take before Alec broke. He intended to find out.

Sam pointed at a blueprint next to the map. "The living quarters will be sectioned off into blocks. Each block holds a maximum of six participants."

"Are they really participants if they didn't agree to any of this?" Marcus said, interrupting the tedious speech.

Sam pinned his silver eyes on him. He looked lethal in his gray suit, his blond hair slicked back, making him look like a villain in an Italian mobster movie. Yet he was the most composed person Marcus had ever met.

His stepdaughter, April, took after him. Or at least that had been Marcus's impression when they'd met four months ago. He hadn't been able to get close to her ever since. Sam had made sure she always had a squadron of guards with her. All he'd had to keep him going were tantalizing glimpses of her inside the facility, and his dreams. Hot, sexy dreams that involved a lot of bare flesh, electric skin-on-skin contact, and writhing bodies.

"Alright then," Sam said flatly. "Let's call them subjects."

He hadn't taken the bait either. Damn. This was boring.

Sam pointed out other things on the blueprint. Cafeteria, kitchen, shower room, and gymnasium. Marcus perked up at that last one. Good. Something fun to do while they were stuck in there with the fresh meat.

He tossed another paper ball at Alec's head. It bounced onto his shoulder and then rolled under his desk. No reaction again.

"We will run a strict schedule," Sam said, turning back to them. "At exactly nine a.m., the door to each block will open and the subjects will be released into the larger area. And at six p.m., they will return to their blocks. The cleaning crew and other employees will work on that schedule to make sure that the kitchen is well-stocked and the facility is as close to pristine as possible."

"Why go through the trouble?" Willow asked from the front row.

"We don't want to starve our subjects, for one. That's not the point. And in a sense, this is our way of asserting our presence without coming right out and announcing ourselves. Every time someone walks into a sparkling shower room stall, they will be reminded that they're not alone. That we're in charge of their lives."

"Creepy," Eli said with a laugh.

Sam clasped his hands behind him and paced in front of them. "Yes, well, heightened emotions will be necessary for this to work. That's when a Mod's nature truly shows itself. Adam, your power manifested itself because we put you in situations where your bubble of safety was disturbed. We had to make you feel cornered before you learned to adapt."

Adam's square jaw tightened.

"Janie, yours did because you were a meek and overweight child and we sensed you craved attention. So we deprived you of it."

"I told you to never bring that up," she said through clenched teeth.

He was unfazed of course. "You're not in control here. Remember that and you won't get your feelings hurt. As for you, Alec, you were the peacemaker. Therefore we surrounded you with chaos. Willow, you never did like feeling like you're not in control. We had to take away your independence. And as for you, Marcus, you were always the child who felt the need to prove he was brave and tough. And so we preyed on your fears."

Marcus angrily tore a paper off his notebook. They'd preyed on him, alright. First they'd learned all of the things he'd been scared of. Spiders, fire, darkness, dead bodies—anything that sent the slightest flicker of fear through him. Then they'd brought his nightmares to life.

He flicked another ball at Alec's head and saw the other boy's hand grip the edge of his desk. It looked like someone was finally getting worked up.

"So why didn't your experiments work on me?" Eli said. He lifted his arms and gestured at himself. "Why am I different?"

Sam seemed to debate whether he should admit the truth to him. "You're . . . harder to profile. We've tried everything from pushing you to be more assertive to indulging your lackadaisical approach to life. Nothing has worked. But don't fret. You're one of nine people who were unable to turn into Mods. So take comfort in knowing you're as average as humans come."

Eli grinned. "Right."

"I noticed that with these future subjects, you're not actually targeting their specific nature," Alec said, leaning forward. "How can you guarantee results?"

"We can't. That's why you live here and they live out there. We're conducting different experiments and seeing which one produces the best results. If we discover a successful way to avoid Blanks and create Mods, we might be able to prevent the unnecessary loss of lives."

Marcus's body went rigid. Too late. He already had plenty of blood on his hands. Nothing Parker did would save him from the guilt.

You're a necessary evil, Blaine had put it.

No. He was a monster.

"What happens if we get Blanks?" Alec asked.

Marcus balled up what was left of the paper, his knuckles white.

"We will have to wait," Sam answered. "Let the dust settle and see who is left standing."

Yeah, right. Marcus knew no one would be left standing. Blaine had made sure of that. He'd taken Marcus and Eli into his plush office and commanded them to do one thing: if the experiment failed, take no survivors. And make sure no one suspected what they'd done.

He shifted uneasily. Killing a sick teenager every few months or so was one thing. That included Tory Marks, who'd turned just three months ago. He'd been the one to deliver the blow. He'd had a mask over his face, so she never knew it was him. That hadn't stopped her from pleading for her life.

It was Blaine's words that had kept him going. She's dead anyway, but at least this way she's less likely to get someone else killed. Do you want her to hurt someone you care about?

Marcus had no one left he cared about, but he'd done it anyway.

He was, after all, a monster. It was too late to pretend to be anything more.

Still, something inside him balked at the thought of killing a building full of kids. Some of them might not even blank. And at least one of them might be April Parker. The girl with the alluring blue eyes and the quiet mystery. The one who'd made him want to flood her mind with thoughts of him and only him, until she had none of that composure left.

He hoped it didn't have to come to that. The monster in him couldn't be redeemed.

"Your stepdaughter's gonna be there too, right?" Marcus asked, rolling the balled up paper between his fingers. "That's why you've been bringing her here."

A shadow passed over Sam's face, betraying emotion he probably didn't want to show. "She's none of your concern. Now focus on the task at hand, Mr. Fargo. I don't have much patience to deal with your ADHD today."

Alec snickered while Marcus's face went up in flames. It was his only point of weakness. When he'd been a kid, the doctors had told him he had something called ADHD. They said it explained why he couldn't sit still or keep his room organized to save his life. Why he had trouble listening or thinking things through before he acted. Hence why he punched first and asked questions later.

Then his power appeared one day and the doctors discovered that it had changed his brain, causing more neural activity in his prefrontal cortex. He was still impatient and easily bored, but it was within his control. And during those moments right after using his power, he would get a surge of clarity and serenity that made him feel whole.

Only problem was he couldn't control his power. He couldn't use his super-strength whenever he wanted. So he never felt whole. Or normal.

When Sam turned away to point out something on the blueprint, Marcus hurled the paper ball at Alec's head. This one made an audible thonk. Alec flew to his feet and rushed at him, his fists balled and his green eyes flashing. "What the hell is your problem?"

Marcus jumped up too. He tingled everywhere, itching for the slightest reason to start swinging. "Don't get in my face unless you want to get knocked on your ass, Blaine."

"Sit down, both of you," Sam ordered.

Alec stepped closer to Marcus. "You think I'm scared of you? You think you can make a couple of threats and I'm going to give in to you? Not happening."

"That's new," Marcus said, smirking viciously. "I mean, isn't being a coward the reason your dad doesn't like you? You don't have the balls to be a man."

Marcus didn't expect the punch that sent him crashing into a couple of desks. He shot back up and tackled Alec around the waist. They rolled through chairs and desks, punches and kicks flying, until strong arms grabbed them and separated them.

The guards dragged Marcus to another corner of the room. He breathed heavily, smiling when he saw blood gushing from Alec's nose. His mouth was filling up with blood too, but he wasn't about to give the other boy the satisfaction of thinking he was weak. So he swallowed it, forcing down the thick, iron-flavored liquid down his throat.

Around them, the other teens had gotten to their feet, except for Eli, who had turned around in his chair, elbows on the backrest. Willow took one step toward Alec before catching herself. Her expression hardened.

"He's out of control," Alec panted as he tore off his uniform shirt and pressed it to his bloody nose. Anger and resentment burned on his face. "You can't let him go with us to the stress facility, Sam. He's going to ruin everything."

"You're itching to get punched in the nose again, aren't you?" Marcus shot back.

Sam rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed. He finally opened them and gestured at the guards holding Marcus. "Take him to my office."

Marcus yanked himself free of the guards' hold. "I can walk on my own."

They didn't fight him. He glared at the tiled floor as they led him down the familiar hallway to the principal's office. Alec might have a very punch-able face, but he hadn't actually deserved that. Marcus knew the whole thing was his fault.

But he couldn't stop being such a screw-up. He couldn't control that rage that came out of nowhere and made him want to destroy. To ruin everything, as Alec had put it.

Blaine had always encouraged him to accept it. To nurse it. Which was fine for a soldier. But power was known to destroy fragile things. And in his hands, something as delicate as a rose would crumble into dust.

He waited a long time for Sam to return to his office. To amuse himself, he took down the katana on Sam's wall and practiced with it until his arms ached. Lunch hour came and went. His stomach grumbled with hunger. He was debating bailing—which would mean getting Sam angry again—when the door swung open.

Sam and Willow walked in.

Marcus frowned at the sight of her before returning the katana to its perch.

"Thank you for not tearing my office apart," Sam said sarcastically as he walked around the desk to his chair.

Marcus took a seat next to Willow. "Don't mention it."

"I'm sure you realize by now that these visits to my office, which have become an almost daily affair, are not normal," Sam began.

He shrugged. "You could always not send me here."

"And what should I do with you instead?"

"Hell if I know." He glanced at Willow. "What's she doing here anyway?"

"Don't worry about her. So you admit that we do have a problem here, Marcus."

"How do you know Alec isn't the problem?" Marcus snapped. "You're going to take his side like you always do?"

"I'm not talking about what happened today. I'm talking about the fit you threw yesterday because your trainer made you run another two miles. And that was after you threatened to knock his head off, if I recall. I'm talking about the expenses this facility has been racking up because of your indiscriminate use of your ability. I'm talking about the amount of time I have to spend disciplining you when there are more pressing matters that need my attention."

Marcus grinded his teeth, angry that Willow was sitting right next to him, a witness to this debacle. But the fact that he was angry about something so simple, so trivial—it meant that Sam was right. He was spiraling out of control, nothing left to anchor him.

"The problem is that if I send you out there to the stress facility, I won't be around to keep you in check. And you will be surrounded by plenty of people. Your rage will hurt them. These toxic teachings that Blaine has passed down to you will deprive you of empathy. As you are right now, I cannot let you set foot in that facility."

"You can't keep me here," Marcus said. "Blaine wants me to be part of the test."

"And I'm not going to stop you. But I would like to send you there when once you're . . . better equipped to deal with large groups of people."

"Meaning what?"

Sam's cold eyes flicked to Willow. "Willow has shown great improvements utilizing her hypnosis ability. She has learned to prolong its duration from hours to days to weeks. The suggestions she plants in people's minds have become more complex and layered."

"Great for her." Marcus's chest felt tight. He knew where this was headed. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I'd like for you to be receptive to the idea of undergoing a hypnosis session with her. In a sense, we're hoping to help you control your destructive nature. For a short time, of course. A couple of months at most, which should be around the time—"

"No."

Sam lifted his eyebrows. "No?"

"No. I'm not letting anyone mess with my head."

"Marc," Willow finally said softly. "Please think about it."

That old nickname. It burned him to hear her say it. "Nothing to think about. You're not touching me."

He felt more than saw her turn toward him. "You think I'd do anything to hurt you? I'm not the one who stopped talking to you out of the blue one day."

"All the more reason to want revenge now."

She laughed bitterly. "No. I actually have fond memories of our friendship, unlike you. I don't abandon people."

"You dumped Alec, didn't you?"

Marcus heard her sharp inhale and knew he'd won. He just didn't feel like it.

"Enough." Sam stood up, and despite being only a moderately large man, he towered over them. "I've had many reasons to write you off over the years. You've let me down more times than I can count."

Marcus scoffed, hiding the fact that the comment stung.

"But I've seen something in you that gives me hope. A heart. You're not a bad person, Marcus. You're not evil. There's just something inside you that needs to be controlled before it consumes you and hurts those around you. And yes, that includes my stepdaughter, whom you went to great lengths to meet a while back."

His eyes shot up to meet Sam's. Excitement surged through his blood. So she would be there. He would get to meet her again. There'd be no guards rushing in to stop him this time—and if he played his cards right, these sizzling, albeit frustrating, dreams he'd been having would literally come true. It almost seemed too good to be real.

"April isn't like you, Marcus," Sam continued. "She's not a fighter. She's not like Alec, who has some hope of standing up to you. Your anger will be a danger to her."

"Surprised you're not warning me to stay away from her," Marcus said.

"I can't control what you do once you leave this place." He almost looked like he was on the verge of smiling. "Besides if I were to order you to keep away, you'd only do the exact opposite."

Good point. Marcus tightened his lips. He thought about the way April had looked at him that day in the break room. The courage and timidity wrapped up in each other until you could barely tell one from the other. The way she held her ground even though every tense muscle in her body suggested she wanted to run. The warmth in her eyes at the end, as though she'd conceded some of her guardedness to him.

It was a matter of time before all she saw was the monster.

"I'll do it." He looked at Willow. "Make me less destructive, like you said. That's it. I'm not agreeing to anything else."

Her white-blond eyelashes fluttered over her hazel eyes. Then she nodded.

"Believe me, Marcus," Sam said, "that's all we want."

An hour later, when Marcus was so deep under hypnosis that his thoughts felt scattered like dandelions in the wind, he heard Sam give his instructions.

"Make sure you get every last piece of his identity and bury it. We don't want everything to come undone because of discrepancies with his new memories. Start with his youth and work slowly to the present. Don't deviate from the script that I gave you. And don't forget the special suggestion where April is concerned. I don't want him trying to get anywhere near her."

"Yes, sir."

Marcus tried to pull himself out of it, but the urge to resist left his mind as soon as it crossed it. He'd already reached the point of no return. So he sank deeper, floating in a emptiness as he unraveled.

The next time he woke, it was two days later and he was trapped within unfamiliar walls, a pounding headache the only remnant of his stolen memories.



Day One at the Stress Facility

Oh my God, Oh my god—

The girl's voice penetrated Marcus's sleep. He sat up in bed with a loud gasp, his arms coming up as though he were about to take a swing at an enemy he couldn't see. He felt like he was being assaulted, nowhere to run. His heart raged in his chest. It demanded action. Run. Fight. Run. Fight. Runfightrunfightrun—

With a grunt of pain, Marcus stumbled out of bed and made a move toward the light outside the dark room. He immediately stopped, swaying on his feet. The headache. It tore at his brain, ballooning behind his skull until he thought it would explode to a million bone fragments.

Thoughts bombarded his mind, trying to carve out their own corner inside of him, but there wasn't enough space for all of them at once.

My name is Marcus Fargo—Raymond Blackwell took me in when—Jackass—Frankie had a club foot and a genius brain—raised in the shittier parts of Lancaster, Pennsylvania—foster system when they found out—I stuck up for myself—Claudia Fargo—raised in the shittier parts of Lanc—loved the bottle more than she loved me—I go through girls like—he's dead because of me—My name is Marcus Fargo—threw me into the foster system when they found out—Jackass—beat the shit out of Frankie—group home—I don't do relationships—club foot and a genius brain—Raymond Blackwell—I tried to keep him safe—

His head would be ripped apart at this rate. What the hell was going on? He could've sworn he'd gone to bed just hours earlier. In his bunkbed at the group home. He'd been listening to Marty Holt whine about some high-maintenance girl he'd been trying to have a casual relationship with. Marcus had told him to drop her and move on to greener pastures—and if Marty couldn't do that, then he could keep his damned mouth shut and let everyone else sleep.

He'd closed his eyes when Marty had stopped talking—no headache, no out-of-control thoughts about his identity, no feeling like his head would blow off like a cartoon's—and next time he opened them, nothing was the same.

Someone had snuck into the group home and taken him from his bed.

Someone had stuck him in this place, maybe even caused this excruciating headache.

Someone would have to answer for this.

Marcus stumbled over to the open doorway and flinched at the white bright light coming at him like he was standing at the end of a tunnel. He blinked until his vision cleared and slowly, the outline of a human form became visible.

A brown-haired girl, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Talking to someone he couldn't see. Something about her was . . . threatening. It made no sense, but there was this feeling deep in his chest, this hollow sensation like a piece of him had been carved out. Did he know her? He didn't think so, yet he couldn't turn off the sense that something was off.

She felt his presence and looked at him, her words dying. His fight-or-flight response skyrocketed. Between his fear and his anger, he picked anger. It felt more familiar to him. Safer. "Who the hell are you?" he barked, darting into her room.

He grabbed her arms and slammed her into the wall. Her biceps were slight under his grip, but there was a vein of strength in them. She was responsible for this. She had to be. Why else did she make him feel so unnerved and off-balance?

He didn't like it.

"Answer the question," Marcus said. "Who are you?"

"I'll tell you who I am when you let me go."

Her defiance made him tighten his hold. "Wrong answer, sweetheart," he said, growling his threat. The thoughts looping through his head almost made him let her go and grab his head again. No way. Show no weakness. "If you don't start talking, I'll—"

She took him by surprise when she shoved him in the chest, forcing him a step back. That was when he noticed the blond chick on the bed in the room, her pretty face pinched with fear and worry. She didn't say anything though. She just watched, like she was waiting out the storm.

"What part of me screams kidnapper to you?" the first girl demanded.

Her pale-blue eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else in them. Fear. His kidnapper would have no reason to be afraid of him. Which meant she wasn't it. Plus she was dressed like he was.

She pointed a wobbly finger at him. "I don't know why we're in here anymore than you do. I went to sleep in my own bed and the next thing I know, I'm in here dealing with your caveman attitude. Don't ever touch me again."

Marcus curled his lip at her. There was this uppity air about her, as though she were looking down on him. Sure, she was pretty, especially with those startling blue eyes, but he'd seen better. He'd had better. She wasn't special enough for him to touch ever again.

A rose in a storm.

He shook his head. Where'd that thought come from?

"You guys okay in here?"

He glanced back to see a guy emerge out of the room he'd just left. Well, damn. He must've been completely out of it if he hadn't noticed someone else in there. New guy was tall and lanky, but muscled enough that he would've looked tough if it weren't for his ridiculous pretty-boy looks. He had on the same outfit. Marcus knew enough to see a pattern here.

He was a prisoner. Unless this guy was pretending. Hell, maybe they all were.

New guy smiled at Marcus when their eyes met, this slowly-widening smile with just a hint of a smirk. It was like he knew something Marcus didn't. Like he had the upper hand somehow. And worse than that . . . there was that feeling again. That hollowness in his gut. He rubbed his arm subconsciously, wondering why everything felt so loopy, like he was on drugs.

"Yeah, we're peachy," Marcus said, answering the boy with a smirk of his own. "It's not every day we get to wake up in a horror movie with no idea when the axe-wielding murderer will show up. Sounds like a jolly old adventure, if you ask me."

Then this small guy with big ears popped his head into the room. "Y'all think this is a prank or something?"

Marcus snorted. A prank? That was the best this kid could come up with?

A prank was what his bunkbed mate, Andy, had done involving a few loose bolts and screws that had sent the whole bed crashing down when Marcus climbed on top. It was what he'd done to get back at the kid by waiting until he was asleep before he super-glued his hands to his hairy chest. Not to mention the dozens of extremely dangerous but hilarious other things they'd all done to one another as rites of passage.

This wasn't a prank.

This was real. He had no doubt about that.

"What's your name anyway?" Pretty Boy was saying to the girl. "I can't keep calling you pretty brown-haired girl in my head."

"April Parker," she said, frowning.

Pretty Boy shook her hand all formally. "Alec Blaine. Son of the founder and CEO of Blaine Enterprise, a software company in the south."

Marcus couldn't hold it in anymore. For such a good-looking guy, this rich kid had the corniest lines Marcus had ever heard. "Is that supposed to be your pick up line? Throw your daddy's name around?"

Alec gave Marcus another one of his infuriating smirk-smiles. "What about you? You look like you've got some Italian-mobster name that makes people shit their pants when they hear it. Like Alfonso or Tony Bananas."

Why did everything out of Richie Rich's mouth feel like the guy was making fun of him? "I'm Hispanic."

"My bad. I still say you look like a Tony."

"Marcus," he growled, even though he had no idea why he was telling this asshole anything.

"Oh, I see it now. You're definitely a Marcus. Like a conquering Roman emperor riding on the back of his golden chariot."

"Are you making fun of me?" he demanded, his hand tightening into a fist.

But something stopped him from striking Richie right in his regal nose. Make that someone. Frankie. He was dead because Marcus had punched first and asked questions later. If he had a chance to go back in time, Marcus would let those bullies beat the crap out of him to save Frankie's life. But there were no such things as do-overs. Only lessons learned.

So he turned his glare to the room and noticed that April's roommate had left her bed and was eyeing them all with a gleam in her eyes. Maybe she wasn't as soft as he'd thought. She was attractive in that bubbly-cheerleader way he tended to avoid. He liked his girls rough around the edges. Damaged like he was.

"Do you think they're holding you for ransom or something?" April asked Richie.

"It's possible," he answered.

"Our kidnappers are tough outta luck if they think my old man's going to pay a dime," Dumbo with the ears drawled in a southern accent that made the situation sound less serious than it was. "He'd be lucky to catch enough crawfish to feed me, my mom, and the boys." His lips pursed when he hesitated. "Well, I guess it's just Mom and the boys now."

The storm in Marcus's head had subsided, but the headache made him want to be on the move so he wouldn't have to think about it. Not to mention the itch under his skin to do something. To break free. He had to get out of this place. Fast.

"Now that we've got all of these fascinating introductions out of the way," Marcus began as he took off down the hallway, "how about we focus on what's important?"

No one protested his idea. He could hear them following him as he marched away from them. Good. The quicker everyone fell in line, the better. He liked calling the shots. He had ever since he walked into the group home at the age of ten and quickly learned the best way to survive in there was to be the toughest kid. No such thing as mercy for the weak.

Marcus swore when he reached the end of the corridor and ran into a metallic door. He slammed his fist into it as Dumbo hurried over and tried to lift it. "I can slip my fingers in at the bottom just barely. Must be one of them fancy doors that slide up to open."

Marcus could tell it wasn't going to slide up any time soon, so he stopped wasting his time here. He headed back the way he'd come, trailed again by the others. A new boy emerged from a third room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A skinny kid who looked like he hadn't quite grown into his body. All knobby knees and elbows.

So far, this bunch didn't look promising. At least he wouldn't have a hard time taking command here. The toughest of them was the blue-eyed chick, April Parker, but something told him she wasn't the leading type. Or the following type for that matter. She seemed like a loner.

The corridor stopped at a lounge room with black sofas, a flat screen TV, and an assortment of game boards and a console. Marcus stood still, struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. He'd never been in this room before, but everything about it, from the blinding light and the suffocating walls, down to the fact that the TV looked like a forty-two incher—the familiarity prickled his skin with goose bumps.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

"Hey, Knobby," he said to distract himself. The guy was the only silent one out of the bunch, more so than the blond chick. "Any idea what this is about?"

"My name is Baxter, not Knobby."

"Who cares? Answer the question."

Baxter hunched his shoulders, backing down already. Dumbass. Maybe his nickname should be Wimpy. It was people like him that didn't make it in the world. The meek ones. The ones who expected the world to treat them nicely just because they thought everything was a children's TV show with life lessons about sharing and loving each other.

"They're watching us," April said, pulling their attention to a recording camera in a corner.

Yeah, they were. And they had his attention, too.

He threw out his arms tauntingly. "Too scared to come out? Keep hiding in the shadows. I'll find you sooner or later."

The others started protesting his audacity, whining about how they shouldn't do anything to upset the kidnappers—as if they'd forgotten who put them in here. What was the point in playing at obedience when every other choice had been taken from them? All they had left was their courage. Their defiance.

So he flipped off the camera, and the rush of satisfaction recharged him more than anything else had. It made him feel like he had a shred of control left. "Let them get pissed off. I want to see them try to do something about it."

And then it happened. The door on the other side of the hallway slid up. Either his courage was being rewarded or he had really good timing. "That's more like it. Let's find out what's behind door number one."

He took off toward it, determined to get out of this hole before the strange feelings drowned him, even if it meant punching right through these walls.

And somehow, that felt completely within the realm of possibility.



The moment the door opened and Marcus took in the confusion and uncertainty outside, he knew this was the perfect chance to gain control of the situation. Someone else would sooner or later and he preferred it be him. He shook off the debilitating and explicable weakness caused by his bracelet and marched down the stairs to take the spotlight.

Below his floor was another one, with more blocks and dozens of teenagers teeming at their entrances. Once he lifted his arms to get their attention, the noise started to die down as people noticed him. They turned to watch him with fearful, hopeful eyes.

He smiled. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"You see an exit down there?" he shouted at the kids on the first floor.

"No, just these numbered doors!" said some guy in the back.

Marcus knew there wasn't a way out, or they'd be making their way toward it. He only asked the question to get the attention of those who hadn't seen him yet—and to make them start viewing him as someone who asks questions. Someone in charge.

He waited a moment, letting them anticipate his next words. "If you've got any idea why we're in here, speak up. And don't give me stupid answers about aliens or other whacky theories. I'm talking real information. If you waste my time, I'll have to come over there and kick your ass."

Some people tittered nervously. As he looked around at the audience, he noticed a guy on the bottom floor with a buzz cut and a square jaw. His eyes froze on him. Weird. There was that feeling again, the one that made him feel like he was missing something. He didn't know this kid, but there was something about him.

Buzzcut felt . . . safe.

Huh.

Over Buzzcut's shoulder, he noticed another boy whisper to his companion and start snickering. His smirk suggested he thought Marcus was a joke. Small eyes, small mouth, scrawny body. He reminded Marcus of a rat. No, a weasel.

This was perfect. He'd put this kid in his place and assert himself as the top alpha. No one would dare go against him if they knew he'd come after them without mercy. So he snapped at the boy and watched with satisfaction as his courage shrank and redness crept into his face.

"Shut up and listen," Marcus added for the rest. "All of you. I want some of you to stay up here in case the blocks open up again and the rest of you down below."

"That's not going to work," someone above said.

He looked up at April Parker, eyes narrowed. "What's not going to work?"

She played with her bracelet, twisting it on her wrist. "I don't think we'll be able to return to the blocks. I think the bracelets are supposed to keep us out. I mean, the weakness stopped as soon as we left the blocks, right?"

He watched as she and some other kid traded opinions, deliberating what to do about her. Maybe he'd been wrong to think she wasn't a leader. It was clear she commanded some respect.

Marcus wasn't about to let that go to her head.

He sent the rest of the kids off on errands and jogged back up the stairs, stopping her with a hand around her arm. "Ready to back your words up with action, Rose?"

"Rose?" she asked, confused.

He tensed. He'd called her that without thinking. A rose in a storm. Why couldn't he stop thinking that?

"Easy on the eyes, prickly when touched." Which was true enough.

Her blue eyes narrowed with irritation. "What do you want? I'm not going to get in a fistfight with you. You'd obviously win."

Marcus almost laughed. Beating up a chick wasn't going to prove he was tough. "Not what I meant," he said sarcastically. "How about you prove this theory of yours about the bracelet by walking through that doorway?"

"Why don't you do it?" she asked him bluntly.

"I will if you're afraid. Are you?"

She shook her head, almost like she couldn't believe he'd ask something like that. "You're asking if I'm afraid? What do you think?"

Touchy subject then. Her answer seemed to go deeper than this moment between them. For a moment he was intrigued by that. What'd a smart, girl-next-door type like her have to fear? Five-page essay papers and a boyfriend who was more handsy than she wanted? She did strike him as the prudish type.

She was still waiting for his answer, so he said, "You want some advice? Keep that fear to yourself. Some of the people in here—they feed on that sort of thing."

"Do you?"

"Stick around to find out."

April lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. A slow smile stretched across his lips. Brave girl. Too bad he had to teach her a hard lesson.

He brushed past her dismissively, not surprised when she called, "I'll do it."

Her desire to prove that she was brave was winning out against protective instinct. Marcus let her approach the doorway and waited while she experimented with it, until she was comfortably secure in what she was doing.

"Too slow," he finally said, shoving her inside.

He didn't leave her in there alone. No, his goal wasn't to punish her. It was to prove which one of them was the tougher one. The real leader. So he followed her inside.

Marcus had underestimated the effect of the bracelet: the second his body crossed the threshold, he was on his knees, fighting what felt like a metric ton of g-force on his body.

April was already down, trying to drag in air through uncooperative lungs. She was already flat on her back, but he refused to go down. Teeth clenched, he strained every muscle in his body and crawled inch by inch toward the doorway until he made it through.

He laughed when he was out, overcome by relief and a sense of satisfaction. He won. Granted, she had no idea she was competing against him, but he'd proven his point. Showed them both that when it came to taking risks and surviving chaotic situations, he was the victor.

Marcus pulled her out and watched with a widening smile as she fought her anger. Any other girl would've cussed him out by now, though this girl was tough in her own right. She wasn't breaking down into tears either.

As he listened to her explain her theory about the bracelet, he realized he'd made a mistake in trying to prove which one of them was meant to lead. Not like this anyway. Physical challenges were how he'd always measured strength. By pitting himself against a tough opponent and beating him soundly.

But it wasn't the way to defeat this girl. She used logic and reason to get through to people and win them over. Make them rely on her for guidance. How could he win against an enemy that didn't even fight on the same playing field that he did?

"They want us all out here," she concluded about the bracelet. "Together."

"So they can do whatever they want to us," he said distractedly.

She nodded. "Exactly."

Maybe he wouldn't have to defeat her. He could see it already: her brain and his strength. She'd be an asset working under him.

Heh. Under him. How long had it been since the last girl? Weeks, not since that girl at the party in West Philadelphia. Kelly? Sally? Her name didn't matter. Only her long flaming-red hair and her dance moves as she gyrated and shimmied across the room, smiling seductively when their eyes met.

He was ready for something new and now that he wasn't annoyed with her, he realized this girl would do. As she rolled her startling eyes at a taunting comment he made, a successful and satisfying attempt to get a rise out of her, warmth flushed through him. Kidnappers or not, he suddenly found it hard to look at her soft pink lips and the curve of her neck without fantasizing about all the ways he wanted to kiss her.

No. Marcus Fargo didn't have fantasies. He made realities happen.

He was considering how to seduce a brainy girl when the strangest thing happened. The inexplicable urge to vomit welled up in his stomach and quickly drove up to his throat.

What. The. Hell?

April didn't notice as she scoffed, "Finally. Something we can agree on."

"Yeah, well, I'm done being agreeable," he grunted, hurrying away before he puked. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

He made it safely halfway down the stairs. And just like that, the nausea was gone.

It was five hours later and Marcus was no closer to finding a way out of the underground prison than he'd been when he woke up. Instead there was a countdown clock that told him only one thing so far: he'd be trapped in this goddamned place for at least another five days.

There were about ten people around him at his table, loud and jostling for his attention. When the food was brought out, heaps of salmon and rice and fried corn, his subordinates dived in with gusto. They were users, of course, and he indulged them. Sometimes being a leader wasn't all about pushing his weight around. It was also about granting favors to those who allied themselves with him. Winning their hearts instead of planting fear in them.

His plan to take over the facility was coming along perfectly.

It was too bad he wanted to get the hell out of it.

Grabbing his cup of water, he swung his legs on the table and crossed them at the ankles. The girl right across the table smiled when she caught his eye. Brown hair: shorter and a much lighter shade than April Parker's. Dark smoky eyes. Full pouty lips. Slender, but big-chested. She'd been flitting around him all morning, making her existence known with the subtlety of a bull trampling across a roomful of fragile porcelain.

Hmm, he thought, studying her. Buxom. That was what he was going to call her. And next to her was Gassy, who always looks like he was holding something in, judging by his pinched expression. And Billy Goat because, well, he looked like a goat.

To her left was Pixie, not because of the hair but because she literally reminded him of the supernatural creatures: short, with long dirty-blond hair that trailed down to her butt, and an impish smile.

Beside her: Rudolph, this lanky kid with an ugly mug and a bulging nose that made the name fit. And of course, Buzzcut. He sat closest to Marcus, his undisputed right-hand man. The guy had barely spoken more than two words, but he followed instructions pretty well. So far he'd proven himself to be very loyal.

Some of them, he hadn't bothered to think up a nickname for. Like Pablo, the Hispanic guy. Marcus didn't speak Spanish, thanks to the assholes in the foster system who didn't care enough for his heritage to place him with his own people. He couldn't remember that bothering him before, but when Pablo had tried to speak to him in Spanish earlier, he felt ashamed. Like he'd failed himself somehow. Failed his parents, whoever they were.

There were two others that had caught his eye, but he hadn't nicknamed them yet. A giant, muscled boy named Eli, and a stunningly beautiful brunette named Janie. He'd been jolted when he saw them, just like with some of the other teens in this place. It made no sense. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them. But they made him feel funny.

Silent kidnappers. A locked door he couldn't get open. People who felt eerily familiar to him. Nothing about this place made sense.

"Can we talk with you guys?" a cheerful voice said.

Frizz and Hillbilly had come over to his table and were standing right beside him. She smiled at him when their eyes met. She wasn't bad-looking, with her curly white-blond hair and straight-teethed smile, but what he felt wasn't attraction. It was an ache. Like he'd taken a plunge off a really tall skyscraper, sans parachute, and was freefalling to his death.

"Go ahead, Frizz," Marcus said softly as the conversations around them died down.

As they began to make their way through the subordinates, asking them questions that struck Marcus as being inane and invasive, he looked over to where April sat with Alec. They were talking pretty intimately for a couple of people who'd met today. Alec leaned in as he made a point. She shook her head, her smile relaxed and unguarded.

Marcus's hand tightened. So Richie Rich was her type, huh? Disappointing.

"You're not going to interview me?" Eli said to Frizz, leaning against the table where she sat. He grinned lazily at her. "Who knows? Maybe you'll find out some things about me that'll surprise you."

She leaned away just the barest few inches. Marcus frowned, disturbed by her behavior—and then disturbed by his own reaction. Why should he care if Eli intimidated her? She wanted to do this. She'd volunteered to do this. If she thought everyone would give her an easy time over it, she was more naïve than she looked.

Except . . . he had a feeling she wasn't naïve.

Something flashed through his mind. A white bird in a cage.

We have to set it free, Marcus. It doesn't have to be like us.

Loud laughter pulled him out of his thoughts. "Say that again?" Rudolph was saying to Hillbilly. "I'm not being mature? Or do you really mean ma-tour?"

April had shown up at the table, looking at her friends with a concerned look. She didn't pay any mind to the others, not even Marcus. "I want to talk to you two," she said.

He almost laughed at that. For someone who spent most of the day avoiding confronting anyone, including him, she was sticking her neck out for a couple of strangers. Most people would have run the other way.

Rudolph shoved Hillbilly back into his seat when he tried to get up. He smiled viciously at April. "Your boy here is our pet now. He stays."

Other teens called out their opinions and jeered at both parties. Marcus clasped his hands behind his head, smirking at the scene unfolding before him. Rudolph was making a bid for the highest circle of the prison's elite. He wanted power and he was trying to get it by undermining the permission Marcus had given to Frizz and her friends.

What he didn't realize was that Marcus had a bigger endgame. He wanted April. For multiple reasons. And he wanted to have a reason to punch Rudolph in the nose—without getting angry. Hitting someone in a fit of rage would break the promise he'd made to his dead friend. It would mean he was out of control again, capable of getting someone else killed.

He didn't feel so calm at the moment when Rudolph hauled April against his body, but he went through with the punch anyway. That unmistakable crunch felt cathartic. Like he'd been dead for a long time and hitting someone sent a shock of electricity to his heart.

"I ask you to keep things under control and this is what you do instead?" Marcus said, his anger genuine. He'd made a claim to April Parker. She was his to mess with, not anyone else's. "Keep your goddamned hands to yourself."

Rudolph mumbled something, not meeting his eyes. April and her friends got ready to leave, but he took her wrist. "You and I are going to have a word, Rose," he said.

She didn't fight him when he led her to the empty gymnasium, but she was acting skittish. It gratified him in some ways. He wanted her unsettled. He wanted to discover for himself just how deep her tough exterior ran, and what it would take to break through it.

She watched him as he picked up a basketball. "What's with the nicknames?" she asked. "Why can't you just call people by their names?"

He sent the basketball into the net. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Is that it? Because it's fun?"

April sounded perplexed. Didn't people do things for fun where she was from? Or maybe she sensed he wasn't being quite honest. She was too damned perceptive for her own good. "You really want to know?"

"Yes," she said.

"My first guardian taught me the power behind names. When you pick out a person's flaw or insecurity and call them that, you define who and what they are. And you control them."

Her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she considered his words. He didn't want to tell her the rest of it. All the pain the man had caused him, physical and emotional. The way he used to make Marcus tremble with fear at the mere sound of the car door slamming when he got home from work. Raymond Blackwell had been the devil himself, and he'd done everything he could to make sure both Marcus and Frankie experienced his version of hell for almost a decade.

"Why'd you bring me out here?" April asked warily.

He smiled as he walked around her, enjoying the way her muscles tensed, as though she were fighting the urge to turn around and keep him in her sight. "You ignored my friend request. That hurt my feelings."

"You weren't exactly being friendly."

Marcus stopped behind her. His heart was pumping faster, flushing his body with heated blood. Her hair was gathered over one shoulder. He wanted to reach out and touch the wavy locks, feel their softness between his fingers.

The rest of his thoughts weren't as innocent. He wanted her to beg him. To come undone under his fingertips, his name a sigh on her lips and the memory of his touch burned into her mind.

And just like that, the nausea from before came back full-force, driving out the heat in his blood. He dragged in a breath, gritted his teeth, and waited for it to pass. It didn't last more than five seconds, but the damage was done. His mood was ruined.

This was the second time he was feeling this way. Both times, he'd been with this girl. Both times, he'd been about to make a move on her.

He brushed past her and heaved the ball across the gymnasium, more confused than enraged. How was this happening to him? Was she doing it? That made no sense. She couldn't make him sick just by wanting it.

Maybe it was a coincidence. It had to be. There was no other way to explain why the thought of coming on to this girl made him want to puke his guts out.

"Here's how it's going to be, Rose," Marcus said, sticking with his initial plan now that seduction was off the table. For now. "You'll join me and work under me. You'll do exactly as I say. When I say jump, you jump. When I tell you to keep your smart mouth shut, you listen. And you'll do everything in your power to make my time here a little easier."

"Why would I do any of that?"

"Because you care about your friends. I'm not forcing you. You're free to do whatever you want. But the next time Rudolph or the others pick on your hillbilly buddy, I'm not going to jeopardize my position to save his sorry ass."

"They're not my friends."

He was surprised to hear her say that. With the way she rushed over in a hurry to save them earlier, he wondered which of them she was trying to lie to now. "Your choice."

She kept protesting, and he discovered something interesting about her. This girl was the worst kind of loner. The word friends sparked panic in her eyes. Like she was genuinely afraid of not being alone. Wasn't it usually the opposite for people?

"It's a no," she finally said, swallowing.

He wasn't surprised to hear that at that point. But he knew she would break in due time. He almost smiled with anticipation as he said, "That's the second time you've turned me down. Don't think there'll be a third."

Marcus knew there would be a third time. He'd seen enough in the last fifteen minutes to know she carried a world of weight on her shoulders and sooner or later, she wouldn't be able to bear it alone. And that was when he would come in.

He would conquer this facility and everyone in it, one way or another.



"You ever get déjà vu when you're talking to some of the kids in here?" Marcus asked Buzzcut during their sixth day.

The guy's name was Adam Ward, but he never protested when Marcus called him Buzzcut. He had an army jarhead look about him: broad jawline, a slightly crooked nose like he'd been punched a few times too many, a fuzz of dark hair on his head. His eyes were blue, the color of the calm ocean on a summer day. Nothing like April's icy-blues.

Marcus pushed her out of his mind and focused on his new friend. At least, he was supposed to be new, but he felt familiar. Like a broken-in coat he'd worn so many times it fit him perfectly after all these years. Hence why he was asking the question.

"Déjà vu?" Buzzcut said in his low, monotone voice. Everything about him was even-paced and subdued. "You mean feeling like you experienced something before?"

Adam dribbled the basketball expertly and tried to score a three-pointer on Marcus. Marcus's fingers barely brushed the bottom of basketball when he jumped to block, but it was enough to send the basketball off course: it hit the backboard and bounced away.

"Thanks for the textbook definition, genius." Marcus sighed and ran the back of his arm across his sweaty forehead. "I'm talking about seeing people and thinking to yourself, I know that person. But you really don't."

"That's crazy talk," Buzzcut said as he picked up the ball and tried unsuccessfully to spin it on his finger. "Pretty sure they've put people in the looney bin for less."

Marcus laughed. "What do you think this place is? Maybe we're all crazy and we just don't know it yet."

"Maybe."

"What's your deal anyway?" Marcus asked as he walked over to the bleachers and took off his t-shirt. He sat on the bleachers, using the t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his shoulders and neck. "Everyone else is running around this place like they think they're going to die and you're over here acting like you don't give a damn."

"Do you?" Adam asked.

"I care about getting what's mine. And you know what else, Buzz? I think you've got some major baggage. There's no way you're this calm and level-headed. You're probably the son of a drunk old man with a heavy hand. The kid who shows up to class all year without saying a word and then finally decides to shoot up the school."

Finally, a flicker of anger on the boy's face. "You don't know anything about me."

"Enlighten me."

"Don't bother asking," a girl said as she walked into the gymnasium. "You'll have better luck talking to a wall."

Marcus smiled, his eyes lingering over her curvy body before it trailed up to her face. She was hot. Brunette, gold-flecked, cat-like eyes, full lips. She was one of the few who gave him that déjà vu feeling. Something about her made alarms go off in his head.

No, not alarms. A siren.

"Jackie, right?" he asked.

"Janie," she corrected. "And you must be Max."

"Marcus." He smirked at her attempt at a putdown and nodded over at his buddy. "That robot over there is Buzzcut."

Unlike the two of them, Adam didn't volunteer his name. Janie studied him. "I know who he is. We've met unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"She stole something that belongs to me," Adam said flatly.

"Allegedly." She smiled at Marcus and said, "Tell me your secret."

"My secret?"

She walked over and plopped down next to him, crossing her legs in a dainty way that made it seem like she was wearing a fancy dress and sitting down for a cup of tea. Her eyes bordered on golden. Warm as honey. Unlike a certain someone's frigid-blue ones.

Okay. He needed to stop thinking about April Parker's goddamned eyes.

"It's only been a week since all this started and you've managed to claim this place as your little kingdom," Janie said. "How'd you get these testosterone-charged boys to fall in line?"

Marcus hadn't expected to get this far in so short a time. It took more work than any of them realized. Threats and pushing his muscles around, yes, but more than that.

He'd made himself known, for one. Asserting authority that first day had put him in the spotlight. Delegating jobs and putting himself in charge of tasks had cemented his status. The kids with sheep mentality had naturally gravitated toward him, but they weren't the ones he'd been interested in. It was the tough ones like Eli, Pablo, and Jones that he'd wanted.

He won them over with diplomacy and bribes, mixed with veiled threats. Exclusive meals. Access to the gymnasium. And since most of the girls hung on every word out of Marcus's mouth, he hooked some of the guys up, too.

But he also used intimidation. Any time someone stepped out of line, even opened their mouths to disagree with them, he shut them down. Shunned them, made them the butt of his jokes, gave them the worst roles in this hole. He got inside their heads. He owned them.

Marcus smiled widely at Janie and draped his arms across the bleachers row above his. "What can I say? There's just something about me that makes people do whatever I want."

Out of nowhere, Adam threw the basketball straight at Marcus's head. He ducked at the last second and yelled, "What the hell?"

"Just proving a point," Adam said. "I don't think you wanted that to happen."

Janie clapped her hands, laughing. "You should've seen your face. Adam, if you weren't such a prude all the time, I might've kissed you for that."

"Gross."

She flips him off.

"You two should just get a room already," Marcus drawled.

Janie picked lint from her pants leg. Her fingers were slim, her nails long. He thought of those fingernails running across his bare back. It was vivid, the image that popped into his head. His body reacted to her with desire and wariness. He still couldn't shake it, the unsettling feeling that something was off.

"I hear there's something going on between you and that Steve kid," she said.

"Who?"

"The idiot you put on food duty the other day."

Marcus got up and walked along the row where he'd been sitting. Sitting still didn't suit him. It made him restless. Like if he sat long enough, the world would grow around him and he wouldn't be able to budge ever again. "Rudolph? Look, I come up with these nicknames for a reason. You should try to use them."

"We actually might've if you were a little more creative with them." She indicated Adam. "I mean, Buzzcut? It's true that he does have an ugly haircut, but the nickname is so unoriginal."

"It's not about being original. It's about getting the point across." He turned to face her, wearing a smile. "Maybe I should give you a nickname, too."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'd love to see you try."

Marcus studied her, from her white sneakers to the top of her perfect dark, cascading hair. There was nothing wrong with her looks. She was indisputably the hottest chick in this place: any nickname about her appearance, like Amber—or Siren, a word that kept popping into his head—would be a compliment to her. Marcus didn't feel like complimenting her.

"Snark Bait."

"You're kidding," Janie said, a laugh in her voice. "That's weak. I'm embarrassed for you."

"It rhymes with shark bait."

"You're saying I'm shark bait?"

"Nah, you're definitely the shark."

Adam allowed a hint of a smile to cross his face. "I see it."

"That's a surprise," she said to Adam. "Since you're usually about as perceptive as a brick wall."

"You two are seriously boring me," Marcus interjected.

She stood and climbed over to where he was. "What's the matter? You'd rather be cozying up to Miss Smarty Pants right now?"

"Now who sucks at nicknames?"

"So what'd you do to Steve?" Janie cocked her head. "You obviously didn't beat him up. I'm surprised. You look like someone who wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty."

Marcus thought of Frankie and unease coiled through his gut. "I didn't have to touch him to put him in his place. All it took was a friendly one-on-one on this court with the rest of my trusted council present. He won't be showing his face around after that final score."

"Fifty-one-to-fourteen," Adam supplied.

Janie narrowed her eyes slightly, observing him like she was trying to get inside his head. "And you did all of this for April Parker."

So much for the theory that hot girls didn't have much going on upstairs. This chick was sharp. Even conniving. He didn't like that she was trying to corner him.

Why did he deal with Rudolph? A number of reasons. The guy was on an ego trip, flexing muscles like he ran the place. April Parker or not, Marcus would've taken him down.

But he wasn't about to start getting defensive. That was a rabbit hole he didn't plan to go down. Instead he grinned tauntingly. "You got me. I'm hoping she'll fall into my bed now that I've saved her from the asshole."

Janie snorted. "Yeah. Good luck with that."

Then she left.

"We playing ball or what?" Adam asked without a glance in her direction.

Marcus pulled on his t-shirt and walked away from the bleachers. "No. I'm done."

Janie had ruined his mood. Not because of her multitude of insults, but because she'd brought up something that had been driving him crazy the past five days. Something so aggravating, so embarrassing, that he couldn't share with anyone.

He couldn't think about making any kind of move on April Parker without wanting to toss up whatever was in his stomach. One indecent thought was all it took. He'd be talking to her, pushing her buttons just to get a reaction out of her. He'd feel frustrated desire welling up inside him. A need to make a move.

Bam. Nausea.

Even when she kissed him to save her friends, all he could think about was keeping his thoughts neutral so he wouldn't make a fool of himself. He could touch her. Get close to her. Even tease her. As long as his intent wasn't to make a move on her.

It was almost like something was keeping him away from her. Only instead of scaring him off, it was having the opposite effect. Because these days, getting April Parker into his bed was all he could think about.

A couple of days later, something else took center-stage in Marcus's mind.

He killed Rudolph.

The heat of fury burned inside him like wildfire, stoking the unnatural power flowing through his veins. The second his fist made contact with the boy's cheekbone, the headache he'd been nursing since the trip to the white room released him. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a lightweight sensation in his muscles.

All that was left was the sound Rudolph's body crashing over a table and hitting the stone floor. And just like that, he was dead. Someone let out a sob. Everyone watched him in stunned silence as Marcus stood there, staring at Rudolph. Then he squared his shoulders and stepped over the boy's body before making his way down the hallway.

It wasn't until he was passing the gymnasium that he realized where he was. He ducked into it and stopped at the center of the half court, his hands fisted at his sides. A volcano was coming alive inside him, threatening to spill hot burning lava through his veins.

His head was starting to pound again, a buildup of intense pressure that beat in tune with his erratic heartbeats. He paced the half court, his chest moving hard with each hot breath he took and released. He was a killer. Just like those boys who murdered Frankie. While Frankie lay in a coma at the hospital, Marcus had pleaded with him to wake up. He'd made promises. I'll never get into another fight. Frankie had still died, but that promise lived on inside Marcus. That promise and the tattoo were his way of reminding himself what his violence cost him.

Now he'd betrayed in the worst way imaginable.

His hands felt heavy with blood. The worst part was that, for a microsecond right after he'd thrown the punch and realized he'd killed a human being, he'd felt absolutely nothing. It took a moment for his shock to kick-start, as though numbness to taking human life was his default setting. And like everything else in this place, that made no sense.

Some of the other boys showed up with Rudolph's body. They carried him past Marcus wordlessly and placed him inside the white room. Adam looked like he wanted to say something to him as they turned to leave, but one look at Marcus's stormy face and he decided against it.

Janie arrived when everyone else left. He gritted his teeth, wishing she'd leave too so he didn't have to put on a show for anyone. Instead she came over to where he stood, folding her arms across her chest. "Why are you so upset?"

Marcus gave her a disbelieving look. "What's it to you?"

"Just weird seeing you this worked-up over one random boy's death."

He stared at her. She met his gaze with calm eyes. Not a hint of shock or fear in them, as if nothing he'd done had unsettled her. Like she'd already judged him and decided he was capable of murdering people. "You know, for some nameless girl running around in this hole, you seem to think you're more important than you really are."

She stepped up to him, her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have a clue about anything, do you? They sure did a number on you."

"What the hell are you even saying?"

"That's something you'll have to figure out."

"Figure what out?" he roared.

The headache was unrelenting, as though it were sucking up all of the volatile emotions inside him and expanding with it. It felt like his head would blow off if he forced it down, so he did the only thing that made sense at that moment.

He grabbed ahold of the basketball rack, which was bolted to the floor, and yanked it free. Then he threw it across the half court. And just like that, the headache was gone.

"Feel better?" Janie asked, looking on with patronizing patience.

Marcus stalked toward her and leaned in close as he bit out, "Get out of here. Now."

"So much for a do-over," Janie muttered as she left.

He was too pissed off to figure out her cryptic words. He spent the rest of the day in the gymnasium, playing basketball against his demons, refusing to let anyone else join in. Fearful of having that rage turned their way, the other boys steered clear of him.

Except Adam. He brought him lunch and sat quietly next to him while he devoured the sloppy mess those half-assed cooks in the kitchen called a chicken sandwich. Marcus didn't kick him out. It was strange, the loyalty this guy had. He talked back when the occasion called for it, so he wasn't following Marcus out of fear. And he never asked for anything in return, so it wasn't because of ambition or greed.

It was like he was . . . obligated.

Marcus never asked. He wasn't going to question the boy's loyalty or his companionship. Marcus wasn't used to being alone, but loneliness was an entirely different thing. It was there with him that night as he lay in his bed, trying to deal with all of these conflicting feelings, wondering if he was losing his mind.

The fact that he'd killed someone with one blow and then proceeded to trash the gymnasium when his headache returned that afternoon wasn't lost on him. It wasn't normal. It was one more layer of mystery he couldn't figure out.

Not alone anyway.

He leaped out of bed and headed into April's room. She was asleep, curled up on her side with one hand under pillow. In the dim light of the lounge room, he could make out her features. The shadows accentuated the shape of her cheekbone and lips. Without that guardedness on her face, she looked peaceful. Like maybe if he could talk to her right now, she'd look at him with something other than distrust. Maybe something a lot warmer.

Marcus went still when she rolled over and opened her eyes. She froze. When he saw her chest move with a deep inhalation, he jumped forward, one knee next to her side on the bed, and clasped a hand over her mouth to silence the scream.

She bit him in return.

"Stop fighting me, Rose," he growled, pushing down the pain.

The sound of his voice seemed to make a difference. He felt her go soft and took that as a cue to lift his hand. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. That's all."

April took in a shaky breath and scooted back in her bed. "What do you want to talk about?"

He glanced over at her roommate, snug tight in bed but she could be listening in for all he knew. He didn't need an audience for this. "I can't explain it here. You have to come with me."

There was silence from her, he could picture her playing the situation out in her head. Weighing her odds. Marcus wanted to take her hand and drag her out of bed. Instead he said in as composed a voice as he could manage, "I can't just tell you. I have to show it to you, and unless you want to wake everyone up, we need a light. Let's go to the lounge room."

"I think I like waking everyone up better."

"Goddammit," he said, ready to blow. This just wasn't his day. It felt like everything that could've gone wrong already had, and April seemed determined to torch whatever was left.

And then she said, "Fine."

Marcus froze, surprised. Before she could change her mind, he marched off into the lounge room. She followed, her bare feet tapping lightly on the stone floor. He made his way over to a sofa and sank into it, nursing the remnants of a headache.

He didn't know where to start.

"So?" she said, a questioning lilt in her voice.

And he told her the truth. About not meaning to kill Rudolph, his voice embarrassingly stiff and uncertain as he tried to mask the desperate hope that lay beneath it. If he hadn't meant to kill Rudolph, that made it an accident. Not murder. Manslaughter at best. But he wasn't a killer. He couldn't be responsible for taking the life of another teenage boy.

So he reasoned it by saying that the Takers had done something to him. Made him so ungodly strong that he'd accidentally killed someone. Determined to prove it to April, he went into the bathroom and tried to bend the faucet spout through sheer strength alone.

It didn't work. April gave him a look he hadn't seen before. Her blue eyes were softer with an emotion that looked too much like pity. It made him want to retaliate, to instinctively draw blood before that pity cut through him and took away that miniscule hope in his heart.

She was speaking, saying something about how it was an accident, but that wasn't enough anymore. He needed her to believe him and if she wasn't going to do that, then she was useless. "I should've known you'd be no help."

"This isn't my fault," she protested.

He was done with her. Why wasn't she getting that? "For all of your so-called smarts, you have a hard time understanding the simplest things."

A storm moved across her eyes, turning the blue into an iceberg. She was angry. Good. That meant he was drawing blood, too. He wasn't going to let her leave him thinking he was crazy. He wasn't going to let her get in his head anymore, not for any reason.

Plenty of fish in this goddamned hole.

She wasn't done. She taunted him, needled him with words like delusions of grandeur. The headache resurged tenfold. The pressure was so intense he didn't think twice about releasing it into the wall next to him. He made a hole about two feet deep. Two frigging feet of concrete. The energy flushed out of him, replaced by exhilaration that made him burst out laughing.

He'd been right. The Takers had done something to him.

This proved he hadn't meant to break Frankie's promise.

April had backed away to a safe distance, staring at his hand with wide eyes. But despite that, she didn't look too surprised. "You were taunting me on purpose just now, weren't you?" he asked her. "All those things you said. You were trying to get a reaction out of me. To see if I'd get angry like I did with Rudolph and become really strong again."

She started to nod before she caught herself. "What makes you say that?"

He smirked at her, at the way she seemed so completely unaware of how much she didn't want to be here. She was wary of him. Rightly so. If she didn't feel like adoring him like the rest of the girls in here, a healthy dose of fear ought to keep her in her place.

"You're a runner, not a fighter," he pointed out.

The hillbilly showed up before he could gauge her reaction. He did a double-take when he saw the wall and drawled, "What's going on? What happened to the wall?"

April reassured him that she'd fill him in the next day. Marcus didn't correct her. He wanted word about his feat of strength to spread. His worry over betraying Frankie hadn't changed him into a new person, of course. He had to make sure that whatever happened to him in that white room didn't unravel his budding empire.

So it was irritating when April started on the nonsense about morality. What if you hurt someone else? What if you can't control your power?

He would learn to control it, now that he knew what he was dealing with. This girl might be uncomfortable facing challenges and bending the laws of the universe to suit her, but cowardice wasn't his style. "Enough with the psychoanalytic shit," he told her. "Go to bed before I start thinking you enjoy my company more than you're willing to admit."

She lifted her chin stubbornly. "No one can really enjoy your company when you're so insulting."

He sighed. The one time he didn't want her here and she seemed hell-bent on having a heart-to-heart. But he didn't do heart-to-hearts. Plenty of mouth-to-mouths, but he wasn't about to ruin his victory with another round of the now-familiar nausea treatment, courtesy of whatever bad mojo was protecting her from him.

"Rose," Marcus said as a warning. He could have said her name, but first-name basis with a girl he couldn't get out of his mind was dangerous. This kept both of them in check. Prevented him from getting too comfortable with her. Reminded her that he was in charge.

She didn't go immediately. She studied him first, a wrinkle between her eyebrows like she'd get whenever she was thinking about a problem. He knew she wanted to leave, but he saw a desire to stay, too—and for a quick moment his mind tricked him into thinking she wanted to be there for him, not because of curiosity.

That moment flickered off when she blinked. Her pink lips pressed into a line.

Marcus didn't stop her when she turned to leave. Instead he sat back on the sofa and plotted how best to capitalize on his newfound power—while simultaneously crushing the competition.



A few nights later, Marcus had an intense dream. He was in a nightclub packed with dancers as they gyrated and twisted their bodies beneath a flashing spectrum of lights. He didn't remember being here before, but the details were insane, down to the intensity of the bass flooding his ears and the scuff marks on the wooden bar where he was lounging.

Around him in the corners of his vision were men in black suits darting around the nightclub. Something told him they were with him, but they didn't approach him and so he ignored them. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt that put on display every pronounced muscle in his arms and shoulders. He took a swig of his drink as a pretty woman in a red dress smiled beckoningly at him. Something held him back. This feeling like he was waiting for someone.

The feeling disappeared as soon as he saw her in the crowd of dancers. Her long dark hair swayed as she moved with the music. She had her head tilted back as though she were completely possessed by the music. Her eyes were closed, but he knew without seeing them that they were the lightest shade of blue, bordering on stormy-gray when she was impassioned.

She wore a tight black dress that teased him with long golden legs and curves he ached to touch. He crossed over to her before he understood what was happening. She looked at him before he said a word, and just like that, her intense blue eyes were on him, drawing him in with shocking allure. Her lips were red. Rosy red.

"Why are you here?" he said without thinking. Without knowing what the hell he was saying. All he could think was that she seemed out of place here—and yet everything about this moment was damned near perfect.

Her lips curved into a smile. "I go wherever the wind takes me."

Marcus remembered saying something similar to her. She was taunting him with her own words, which made his blood burn in a way that he liked.

"Dance with me," he said to her.

She took his hand wordlessly and led him to a corner of the dance floor. She was a seductress. He grinned slowly and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her close. There was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, like he wasn't supposed to touch her or he'd be in serious trouble, but nothing happened when he did.

The music isolated them from the noise and conversations around them as it thumped through him. The way she danced made him think there was no one but them in that nightclub, and he tensed every time she brushed deliberately against him. But when he tried to pull her closer, wanting something more than this tease dance, she flitted away like a bird.

He couldn't take it anymore. He dipped his head toward hers with every intention of kissing her. She let him get so close he could feel the heat of her sweet breath, but then she placed a finger to his lips. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

"Am I?" he growled in frustration even though he was enjoying the hell out of this cat and mouse game she was playing.

She met his gaze as her eyes hardened to ice. "Who gave you permission to abandon your mission, soldier?"

The nightclub vanished along with her. He was in a room with three concrete walls and a glass partition covering the last wall. It was lit by a buzzing fluorescent bulb, which cast pale light on the stone walls and the man standing before Marcus.

He was a giant. Easily six-five and built like a hardened soldier. He was blond and handsome in his roughness, though his intimidation factor was the first thing anyone would notice about him. Standing before him, Marcus felt small.

Blaine.

The name went off in his head like a gunshot. Blaine pointed a finger at the doorway to their left and said, "They're waiting for you in there."

Marcus didn't move. He knew something bad was happening in that room, and he wanted to run away. But the man's angry black eyes kept him immobile. "Get in there and do your duty, soldier. You know this is bigger than you and me."

There were two things Blaine ever called Marcus, soldier or jackass, depending on how favorable the man's opinion was of him. One of the reasons Marcus jumped to do his bidding. He liked being called a soldier. It made him feel strong and important. Being called jackass felt like he was a failure, which was what he would be if he disappointed his leader.

Blaine shoved him toward the open doorway. Marcus stumbled through it, a hard knot in his chest. There were two teenagers inside the dim-lit room. One of them was male and almost as big as Blaine. His hair was pulled into a ponytail, and there was the beginnings of a beard starting to grow on his face. He held a butcher knife in his hand.

The other was a girl. She was in a chair, her feet and arms bound. Thin and tall, with a head full of curly blond hair.

"Willow," he said softly.

When she saw Marcus, she let out a sob. "Don't let them do this. Don't let them kill me."

"Shhh," Eli said to her, running the broad edge of the blade across her cheek. "I'll make this quick for you, Will. One smooth slice across the throat, just like Blaine taught us. You'll bleed out in just a few minutes and then it'll all be over. Isn't that right, Marcus?"

"Yes," Marcus said, his voice dead and his arms limp at his sides. That was what Blaine had taught them, all right. Make the killings as humane as possible. It wasn't these kids' fault they were meant to die. Wasn't their fault things were going to go horribly wrong if they were kept alive. But for the sake of human kind, they had to go.

Even this was Willow.

Tears were streaming down her face, her hope warring with fear and pain. "Marcus. You're better than this. There has to be another way. There has to be something better than killing our friends. We'll find it. Together."

"There is no other way," he said gently as Eli handed him the knife.

She let out a fresh sob. "So what will you do? You'll just kill me? We were friends, Marcus. For six years. I was there for you when you needed me, until he started filling your head with insane ideas. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

His face darkened. Yes, Willow had stood by him from the beginning, back when he used to throw violent tantrums and nothing his keepers or his peers said got through to him. He'd hated the confines of his world, and he'd rebelled any chance he got. The bigger boys at the facility, those like Rick and Hollis, had given him a hard time about it. The others had been too scared to approach him.

Except Willow. When they were about five, she came over to him one day while he was digging holes aggressively in the sandbox in their underground playground. She sat on the edge and asked him why he was doing that.

"None of your business," he snapped.

Instead of getting angry or cowering like anyone else would've done, she crawled over to the big pile of dirt he was creating and stuck a bucket over it. She started building a castle. Marcus ignored her—at first. But soon curiosity got the better of him as the castle grew bigger and more elaborate, decked out with battlements on top of the castle and a moat that bridged the castle and the sea of sand.

She was talented. There was a crease between her light-colored eyebrows as she intricately added every detail. The longer he watched her, the more annoyed he became. Was she making fun of him? Calling him talentless in her own way? Proving to both of them that she wasn't intimidated by his reputation?

Marcus stood up and then crushed her castle under his shoes. She looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, clearly shocked. He expected her to run off to their caretakers. Instead she gave him a small, uneasy smile and said, "I can teach you to build castles if you want."

He stomped off angrily, but she was relentless in her efforts to befriend him. She broke down his walls with her irritating helpfulness, her unending well of enthusiasm in the face of his defiance. And slowly, over the course of months and years, he went from tolerating her presence to wanting it. Needing it.

Everything changed after Blaine took him under his wing.

He stared down at Willow's tear-drenched face, and his heart was so heavy he was surprised it didn't drop him to his knees. He felt the shadow of Blaine behind him, the weight of his expectation like a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Marcus looked into his old friend's eyes. "I'm sorry, Willow," he rasped, lifting the blade. He'd make it quick and precise. She wouldn't suffer. "I'm so sorry."

"Marcus."

The sound of his name jolted him awake.

"The hell is wrong with you?" a groggy male voice said from across the room.

Marcus didn't answer immediately. He lay on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling, his heart slamming against its confines. "What's your problem?" he barked at Alec, letting anger override the strange, inexplicable fear lingering inside him.

"You keep talking in your sleep."

"So?"

"So shut it. Some of us are trying to sleep."

Marcus let out a laugh. "You wouldn't be so tired if you'd stop screwing around with Cheerleader late every night."

"I'm not screwing around with her. We're just friends."

"I wouldn't mind a friend like that," Marcus said with a sneer, recalling the time he walked into the lounge room and found Camille practically giving Alec a lap dance. Apparently she was a dancer. A damned good one, too.

He smiled. She didn't have anything on Dream April though.

"Why were you calling for Willow?"

The smile faded from his lips. Willow. What kind of a loopy, messed up dream was that? And starring April's friend, no less. He'd almost killed her. Why the hell would he do that?

Marcus zeroed in on Alec and the note of unease in his voice. He sounded . . . worried. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," Alec said quickly. "I'm just wondering why you're having dreams about her."

Marcus realized it wasn't worry he was hearing in Alec's voice. It was jealousy. He chuckled. "You're into Frizz, too? You sure do get around, Richie."

"You're the one sneaking off to the white room with a different girl every day," Alec snapped. "Willow's too good for you. She trusts people too easily. Lets them in because she thinks she sees the best in everyone. But people like you—we both know there's too much bad inside you to let any good out. Stay the hell away from her before you ruin her."

Marcus opened his mouth to tell Alec he couldn't care less what happened to this girl, but the words burned the back of his throat. The dream . . . it must have seriously messed with his head. The details were hazy now—he could swear there was a man in his dream—but he was pretty sure everything had been impossibly vivid and detailed at the time.

"Stay away from April, too," Alec added.

Now that he couldn't do. He smirked in the dark. "I'll stay away from one of them. Your pick."

Alec huffed. "You're always going to be a pain in the ass, aren't you, Marcus?"

"Always," Marcus said automatically. The exchange felt familiar in that way everything else did lately.

Alec rustled in bed like he was getting comfortable in bed, but Marcus knew it meant the conversation was over. "Stay away from Willow."

Marcus had expected it.

"Good choice," he said anyway, knowing Alec would hate his taunting.

Alec was quiet. Marcus turned over on his stomach and slipped an arm under his pillow, hoping when he closed his eyes, he and April would pick up where they'd left off at that nightclub. Because unless he figured out why he couldn't get close to her, that was the only way he'd get to have her.



There were snacks in the kitchen that day. Chocolate pudding, ice cream, bags of chips, a giant red velvet cake. One of the cooks-for-the-day discovered it and immediately brought it to Marcus's attention. Marcus rewarded the kid with a generous slice of the velvet cake, ensuring his future loyalty, and had the rest of the food delivered to his table.

Teens swarmed the food, begging for scraps like they'd never had dessert before. Marcus ignored most of them. He only rewarded those who'd proven themselves useful to him. People who might also be useful in the future. Eli, Buzzcut, Pablo, Janie, Biggs, the chick with the ample cleavage who'd proven useful in her own way.

He stored what was left in the white room and went to the bathroom. He found April waiting for him in the shower room when he exited the stall. Her arms were crossed over her chest. This obviously wasn't a friendly visit.

"What can I do you for, Rose?" he said, washing his hands at the sink. The glass in the mirrors were gone, thanks to that girl's suicide. He'd stashed the broken glass in a box and placed it under the bleachers in the gymnasium. Same thing with the butter knives. That had resulted in a lot of unchopped vegetables and complaints from the cooks-for-the-day but he'd rather eat a whole turnip than get stabbed again.

She frowned at his lewd phrasing. He grinned. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile or laugh. You should watch out. You're going to start getting wrinkles before you're in your twenties."

"You shouldn't hoard the snacks to yourself," she said, ignoring his comment. "There's plenty for everyone."

"Junk food is the least of their worries."

"It could lift their spirits, even a little." April sighed and flung her hand toward the door. "Those kids out there need something good in their lives right now. Don't take that away from them."

"You think a cookie is going to solve all their problems?" he scoffed.

Her startling-blue eyes narrowed. "If you think it won't, why are you keeping the snacks locked up and guarded?"

This chick was good at getting inside people's heads, he'd give her that much. Arguing with her was like mentally sparring. You say one wrong thing and she takes you out with a knockout. His pride couldn't take that kind of beating any more than his body could.

"It's all about politics, babe," Marcus said flippantly, leaning against the edge of the counter. "It's too complicated for you to understand."

"I know that's what this is about. Reward those who follow you, punish those who don't. It's that simple and frankly, it's stupid. You don't win over people by treating them like dogs that get treats when they behave well. You do it by winning their hearts. That's the kind of loyalty that will take you a lot farther."

Marcus's mood changed suddenly. Her words reminded him of the strange dreams he'd been having. In them, that giant man with the blond hair did exactly what she was telling him not to do. He gave Marcus whatever his heart desired, provided that Marcus did what the man wanted. He killed people for him. And if he didn't, the man had his soldiers beat the shit out of him and lock him up in a dark room to reflect on his actions.

It worked very well to keep Marcus in line.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said to April, his voice cold.

The way she blinked made it clear she realized she was aware something was going on with him. He could sense her pulling her walls around herself, protecting herself from him. That bothered him way too much. He didn't want her afraid of him. Frustrated, bemused, even irritated, he could handle. It was way too fun getting a reaction out of her, but fear wasn't what he was looking for. Not with her.

Marcus sat on the counter and smiled at her. "Tell me more about how to win people's hearts."

The surprised look she gave him was worth it. She was so proper most of the time that, moments like this when her guard was down, seeing the real her flushed him with something warm and gooey. The real shocker was that he didn't mind it. It gave him the chance to see the real her. To see emotion in those icy-cold blues and the softness of her features.

"You could spend more time with them," she said. "Show them that you're just a human being too. You have everyone else running around working for you. You should try to come down to their level once in a while."

"So you're saying I should scrub the bathrooms or something?" he asked skeptically.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like any of us do that. The Takers already keep the facility clean. Maybe . . . go into the kitchen for a change."

"Pass."

"What are you afraid of?" April asked.

It didn't make sense how she could both stimulate his senses and make him want to throttle her at the same time. "I'm not afraid of anything. I just don't see the point in doing menial work when there are plenty of people jumping for the chance to impress me."

"Or maybe it's because you can't cook."

A laugh burst from his mouth. He could barely keep up with her attempts to get a reaction out of him. "Don't be so sure. You haven't tasted my grilled cheese sandwich yet."

He expected another retort, but she only sighed. "Forget it. This is a waste of time."

April turned to leave. All of a sudden, there was a flood of panic in his chest. Being around this girl made him feel grounded and alive all at once. He didn't want to think about what that meant. All he knew was that he didn't want her to leave.

"I'll help out with breakfast tomorrow on one condition," he told her. "You'll join me."

April looked perplexed as though that were the last thing she expected him to say.

"Why?" she asked.

"It's about time you started pitching in. You can't expect a free ride all the way to the end."

"I didn't expect—" She cut off abruptly, realizing he was baiting her. "Fine."

Without another word, she hurried away, her face flushed with color. Marcus grinned. She wasn't the only one who enjoyed getting a reaction. In fact, she was way out of her element. She was dealing with a pro. And he'd be more than happy to show her that tomorrow.

Marcus cleared out the kitchen the next morning, leaving only him and April in there. April protested, saying that they'd need way more than two people to cook for eighty-odd people. He ignored her and concentrated on putting on one of the clean white aprons.

"You're doing this to be difficult," she accused.

He started rifling through drawers and cabinets, gathering all the ingredients he thought he'd need. "You want me to be easy?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Yes. I mean, no." She gave in to her confusion. "What do you even mean?"

Marcus decided to let her off the hook before she ran out of the kitchen. "Don't just stand there, Rose." He grabbed another apron off the rack and slung it over her shoulders. "We have people to feed."

She stiffened when he went around to her back and began to tie the strings. He tightened them so that the apron hugged the curve of her body. Long, athletic legs—he'd bet she was a runner. Nice hips and ass. Somehow she was more attractive now than when he'd met her.

She smelled different despite the fact that they were using the same soap and shampoo. Her wavy dark-brown hair was gathered over one shoulder, tantalizing him with the graceful slope of her neck. He wanted to kiss that sliver of skin on her shoulder just above her collar.

The second the thought crossed his mind, the now-familiar nausea began to surface. So he stepped away from her, busying himself with cracking a bunch of eggs into a bowl. When he glanced at her, her face was tinged with pink. So Miss Ice-Cold wasn't completely immune to his charms, huh? He coughed to cover up a laugh as he dumped sugar into the mix.

"You know that's sugar and not salt, right?" she asked.

His arm brushed against hers when he reached for a shaker of cinnamon and added it into eggs and sugar. "Don't tell me you've never made French toast." He pointed at a brown box by the back wall. "Grab about eight bags of bread."

"Of course I have," she said quickly. "Do you think it'll be enough for everyone?"

"Two slices each. It's not like we're cooking up a feast. You feed these kids too much and they get fat and complacent."

"Considering the way your boys have been rationing our meals, I don't think you have to worry about that," she answered.

Marcus gathered about five large pans and distributed them over five stovetops. He lit them all and greased the skillets. "You can always come talk to me if you're hungry, Rose."

"And what will that cost me?" she said, suspicion in her voice.

He stopped working and gave her a slow, appraising look. A wide smile stretched across his face when she stepped back. "We can work something out."

April fell quiet after that, and he got the sense that she was feeling way out of her element bantering with him. He let her have some room to think, but he was relentless in other ways. When she came over to the stove to lay a well-coated bread onto the skillet, he didn't step back to give her much room. His chest brushed against her back when he reached over her shoulder for more oil. He even accidentally blocked her path as she tried to maneuver around him.

"Um, excuse me," she muttered, rushing over to the fridge.

There was something domesticated about this scene. Normally that'd be a huge turn-off for him, since it meant being tethered to one place and one person, but this felt different. It had to be because he'd yet to get into her pants. She was a challenge and she didn't even know it. He wondered if she would give in to him if he could actually seduce her. Maybe she would go soft in his arms and let him do whatever he wanted to her.

Her assuredness as she cracked some more eggs and put together the mixture gave him something to focus on other than his frustrating horniness. "You've been in a kitchen before, huh? Not bad for a pampered suburban girl."

Her features tensed for just a moment. She seemed to deliberately relax them, but Marcus knew his words had struck a nerve. "I could say the same about you."

"I learned to feed myself by necessity," he replied casually.

"What do you mean?" April asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

He felt his defenses start to go up and had to fight them down. Talking about his past always reminded him of Frankie. The two things were interlaced: you couldn't pull on one string without unraveling the other. "At the group home. We had to fend for ourselves."

Even as he said it, it felt . . . off. Weird.

"What about you?" Marcus asked.

She mixed in a generous amount of sugar, her eyes downcast. She took such a long time to respond that he started to think she wouldn't. "I learned to feed myself by necessity, too."

"Yeah? Your mom wasn't fond of the kitchen?"

"No."

There was profound sadness in that one word. Marcus looked at her again, beyond the burning attraction he felt for her, and saw a vulnerable girl who looked like she'd never been loved a day of her life. Well, damn, he thought. He didn't want to get saddled with someone with emotional problems. Those were the worst type. They became needy, demanding, high-maintenance. Hard to keep things no-strings-attached when they kept you bound to them with lock and chain.

Except April wasn't anything like that. She was tough despite her fragility. If anything, he'd guess that she was tough because of her fragility. Instead of giving up, allowing the world to beat her down and moan about it day in and day out, she'd learned to be a rock. Nothing could break her.

She looked at him and caught him staring at her. Those startling eyes of hers were almost gray now, which, if he was learning to read her, meant her walls had shot up around her and there was no chance she'd let him back inside.

Marcus's eyes slid to the shaker in her hand. He frowned.

"Why are you holding the pepper shaker?"

Startled, she looked down at her hand. Then at the ample amount of reddish-brown powder in the egg mix. Her expression transformed to sheer shock and dismay. "Oh, no."

"Did you add it in with the egg and sugar?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Yes." Her voice was pained. "What do I do?"

Marcus cracked up. He threw back his head and laughed until his ribs hurt and his eyes stung with tears. It wasn't clear to him why this was so funny, but the thought of April serving those kids super-spicy French toast made his day.

April groaned and covered her face with a hand. "It's not funny. I can't believe I did this."

"Trust me, Rose, these kids have had worse. It's free breakfast. They'll suck it up and eat what's been offered to them."

"I guess so. . . ." she said begrudgingly, resuming her work.

He joined her and glanced slyly at her face. "Let's not tell them."

"What? That's evil."

"It's a fun and harmless kind of evil." Marcus nudged her shoulder. "Come on, Girl Scout. Let your hair down once in a while. Imagine this: you're sitting with your friends and they start choking on the heat and make a break for the water fountain. Except there's way too many people and not enough water fountains. Hilarious."

"Like I said, it's evil," she said.

But when he looked at her face, he saw something that took him off-guard.

"Look at that," Marcus drawled. "You are capable of smiling."

"Let's finish up quickly," April said in a no-nonsense tone that made it clear she was done playing around with him.

He didn't care. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do, minus the seduction thing. And somehow, it was enough.

An hour later, half of the kids in the facility were crying because of the super-spicy French toast. Marcus reclined in his chair, feet up on the table, and watched the show with pleasure.



A day before the Blank incident, the AC stopped working. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the facility was easily ninety degrees. Marcus, plagued by progressively violent nightmares and feeling a strange and encompassing restlessness, was already in a dark mood. He paced the length of the whole facility, looking for a hidden thermostat or some clue that would explain what the hell the Takers were trying to do to them now.

Sweat had soaked through his t-shirt and was practically dripping from his chin. He swiped at his damp face, growling under his breath, "One of these days, I'm going to get out of this place. And when I do, I'm going to hunt down every goddamned person responsible for locking me in here and I'll break their necks."

"How brave of you," Janie crooned, a glint in her eye like she was laughing at him.

She always looked like she was laughing at him. Or more specifically, like she knew something he didn't. He didn't get what was her deal. She liked to blow hot and cold with him. One minute she'd be all over him. The next, she would act like he didn't exist. He had the feeling that she wasn't as easy to figure out as she wanted everyone to believe.

Marcus's rage was simmering beneath the surface, but he forced it out of his expression. He took off his t-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders, aware of the stares from the girls in their vicinity. He was also aware of the cameras pointed at them, recording his every move and action. If those Takers were doing this to get a reaction out of them, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced. Then he smirked at Janie, "You in?"

"Pass," she said, dragging the word out in a way that made it sound like an insult.

Which made him more than a little pissed off. She kept treating him like he was lucky to have someone like her interested in him. Marcus could have his pick of any girl in this shithole. Well, almost. He hadn't been able to conquer April Parker just yet, but he was too annoyed with that to think about it anymore. The rest of the chicks in here were fair game, and he wasn't about to let his confidence take a hit because of Janie or April.

"Your loss," he drawled back.

He was pleased to see the flicker of annoyance in her cat-like eyes as he walked off. One thing about Janie is that she didn't like people ignoring or abandoning her. Some kind of deep-rooted issue with that, he'd guess. It would explain this new ability she'd been touting—some siren ability that allowed her to hold people captive with her gaze.

Janie couldn't bear it when she wasn't the center of someone's universe, so it was no surprise to Marcus that she crawled into his bed that night. By then the thermostat had turned back on—but it'd never turned off. It was about forty degrees in the facility, and a flimsy bedcover wasn't doing much to keep him warm.

So when he felt the heat of Janie's body pressed up against his, he didn't want to push her away. Plus there was also the combination of his hot-blooded desire to have sex with stunningly attractive girl, and even more burning curiosity. When he tasted her mouth, heat flared through him, but there was also that deep and unshakable sense of familiarity.

There were things about her body that he shouldn't know but still did. The burn mark on her left hip for one. When her t-shirt came off to expose her bra and smooth midriff, he could make out its distinct shape in the soft light coming from the hallway. He felt the urge to tease her about it, but something told him she wouldn't like that. Something told him there were only bad memories attached to the mark and she would hate him for pointing out this imprint of vulnerability on her skin.

Marcus forgot about the mark when she straddled his waist and ran her fingernails up his sides. He groaned softly and was rewarded with a satisfied smirk from Janie. It was her turn to let out a moan when he bit the soft flesh of her throat. He knew without asking that she liked a little rough play. There were snapshots in his head about her that didn't belong. A laugh when he pinned her beneath him on a bed. The sight of her shiny black hair fanning his face when she leaned down to kiss him. The smell of coconut shampoo that she couldn't possibly have access to in this place.

These images and so many others were running through his head on a loop, clashing with what was happening in reality. With another groan, this one of frustration, he pushed her off him and stumbled out of the room. His head was beginning to pound. Marcus clutched it as he went into the lounge room and collapsed onto the sofa.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he said to himself.

Janie came into the lounge room half a minute later, wearing her t-shirt again. Her hair was tousled sexily and part of him was kicking himself for giving up the chance to get laid. The other part of him thought it would be a mistake. Something was definitely wrong. And Janie was part of it, he just knew it.

"Why do I feel like we've done this before?" Marcus asked her, dropping his hands.

She smiled slowly. "Is that your way of saying you've been fantasizing about me?"

"Trust me, they're more like nightmares than fantasies," he retorted without thinking. The insult came out naturally, like he and Janie took shots at each other all the time. Marcus shook his head to clear it, but the thoughts and visions refused to leave him alone.

"I'm losing my mind," he concluded grimly.

"Maybe." Janie sat next to him on the sofa, a good distance between them. "Or maybe your brain knows something you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She didn't say anything. He glanced at her and found her staring at the countdown clock on the black TV screen, her expression conflicted. She finally sighed. "This will all blow over soon. You just need to hang in there."

"Is that the best advice you got?" he said angrily. "You don't know shit."

"I know enough," she said in a world-weary tone that was so unlike her.

Marcus looked at her again, but this time he was seeing beyond the sneering, flirtatious, tough-girl façade she kept up around herself. He was seeing something at the back of her amber eyes that he felt within himself. A sliver of broken glass wedged into his heart, paining him every time blood pumped through his veins. The result of having known defeat and hopelessness.

"What's your story?" he asked her gruffly.

She brushed her long hair over one shoulder in a flippant and breezy move that didn't match the tension in her shoulders. He expected her to tell him off, but instead she said. "I didn't have any friends growing up. I know a lot of people will tell you that, but it's bullshit. They don't know the first thing about being truly alone."

"And you did?"

"Let's just say the people who raised me knew what they were doing. They taught me what it feels like to grow up isolated. I wasn't ignored. I wasn't bullied. I was simply invisible. A ghost wandering through the halls and observing a world she could never touch."

"That's why you can mesmerize people," Marcus realized. "No one can ignore you now."

She smirked at him. "You'd think having power would make up for everything, but it'll never heal you. You know how hard it is to let another human being in? You have to rip your own heart out and hand it to them. You have to believe that they won't throw it away. I can never do that."

Damn. Who would've thought Janie was so messed-up inside? But for some reason he wasn't surprised. Deep down, he'd known she was as damaged as he was. The only difference between them was that she'd accepted her fate. He was still rebellious enough to think he deserved better.

"You need to stop talking to April Parker," she said all of a sudden.

His muscles tensed. "I do, huh?"

Bitterness flooded her voice as she continued, "She's nothing like us. She had a good life out there. She's sheltered and naïve on the verge of stupidity. And she'll never understand what you've been through. If you let her get close to you and she finds out what you really are, she's going to leave you."

"What I really am?" Marcus asked, not liking the way she said it. Like he was a monster underneath it all.

Janie ignored his question. "I'm telling you this for your own good. There are two kinds of people in this place: the ones who've never known a moment of suffering in their lives, and the ones who've been through hell. We don't belong together. You don't belong with her."

"I'm not with her in case you haven't noticed," he said tersely.

"For now," she answered in that knowing voice of hers. "But when you get the chance to do something about it, you need to walk away. For her sake and yours."

She was gone before he could process her words. And once he did, it left a heavy feeling in his gut. One that told him that Janie was right. All these dreams he'd been having about Eli and him killing innocent teenagers. The dreams about the strange man in his dreams who showed him violent videos about how to effectively end a life. The dreams where he accepted incentives and bribes for the things that he did to his peers.

They all told him one thing: he was damaged beyond repair.

After a restless night, Marcus got up early the next morning and headed for the bathroom. The hellish nightmare he'd had was still swimming in his head. It involved a mousy-looking teenage girl with haunting brown eyes. She was strapped into a chair, just like April's friend had been in that first nightmare. She kept begging him, her voice small and scratchy from the hours she'd spent crying. By the time he'd gotten to her, she was a mess. Snot and tears on her face, her hair a knotted nest, her face so pale it was like she was already dead.

Her scream when he stabbed her jerked him awake. It's a dream, you dumbass, he told himself, partly annoyed that a figment of his imagination could cause him so much grief. But nothing about it had felt imaginary. The solid shape of the knife in his hand, the way it sank into her chest, slipping between her ribs the way that man had taught him.

Shuddering, Marcus almost made it to the bathroom when he caught out of the corner of his eye a shadowy figure sitting on the sofa. He almost jumped a foot at the thought that the girl from his nightmare had manifested into reality, and then relief and irritation doused the flames of fear when he identified the person.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked April.

She looked at him with blank eyes. "Nothing."

Huh. April wasn't the most expressive person he'd met, but he doubted he'd ever seen that flat look in her eyes. It looked like he wasn't the only one who didn't get a good night's sleep.

"Anyone ever tell you only vampires and psychopaths hang out in the dark?" he said in a grumpy voice, not knowing what to make of her mood. When she didn't answer him, he said, "You done with the bathroom or what?"

"Yeah."

That was his cue to ditch her, but he found himself frozen where he stood. Her eyes were dark in the shadowy lounge room and he could barely make out the slight frown on her face, like she was trying to make sense of a problem in her head. He wondered what could be bothering her so much. Rudolph had been handled, to put it mildly. She had a couple of reliable friends, three solid meals, and a bed to curl up in every night. What else could she possibly need?

"What's going on?" Marcus asked her in a softer tone that was filled with more concern than he realized he possessed.

She looked at him with sharp and introspective eyes, which made him uncharacteristically unbalanced. Her tone was his complete opposite: hard and unreachable.

"Nothing."

End of discussion.

Annoyed, Marcus went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. What was he thinking, getting bothered by this chick's mood? So what if she was sad? He'd known plenty of people with shitty lives, and none of them had ever gotten to him like this.

Screw her. He wasn't going to give her that kind of power over him.

He took a shower, his motions rough and angry, pulled on a fresh pair of sweatpants, and stood in front of the mirror to dry off his hair. It was getting longer, but the Takers hadn't provided him with scissors. A razor for shaving, yes. Hell, they'd even stashed a box of condoms into pretty much every guy's drawer. That was the only point he'd give them. They were willing to acknowledge the fact that a hundred kids locked up together without any boundaries or rules were definitely going to get it on.

Marcus smirked to himself as he wiped the condensation from the mirror, thinking of Buxom, the busty brown-haired girl who'd had the hots for him since day one. They'd put the privacy of the white room to good use. Only problem with her was she was possessive as hell. He'd had to break up more than a couple of catfights where she was involved. But she let him do whatever he wanted to her without the need for romance or mind games, so there was that.

His smile started to fade when his eyes drifted down to the tattoo on his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed. What the hell?

"Hey, Rose," Marcus called as he jerked the door open. "Get in here. I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

He almost growled at her reluctance. "You'll have to see it for yourself. Come on."

It felt like forever before she joined him in the bathroom, barely allowing herself to pass over the threshold so she wouldn't be standing too close to him.

"See anything different?" he asked while he gestured at his chest, pulling her gaze from the mirror to him.

The second she looked at him, her face turned an interesting shade of red. Marcus almost forgot his predicament when she tore her eyes from his chest and stammered, "What are you doing?"

A grin widened across his face. Damn, there was nothing more satisfying in the world than breaking April's calm-as-the-ocean temperament. Especially when the thing that upset her happened to also prove that she wasn't immune to him.

"Is something bothering you, Rose?" he said.

"No!"

Her exclamation made it worse, and she knew it too, judging by the fact that her face reddened even more. And then there was a new look in her eyes. Sheer panic. She didn't know how to deal with this, so she was falling back on her default reaction: she was going to bolt.

Marcus decided to dial back the charm. "Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't call you in here to check me out," he said with arrogance. "I don't need to trick chicks into doing that. Notice anything different?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes. "You're not even looking."

She chanced another look at his chest. Her eyes flickered everywhere, like she didn't think she should be caught staring at him, but they eventually zeroed in on the yin-yang symbol across his shoulder and part of his chest.

"It looks faded," she announced, startled.

Her reaction confirmed he wasn't going crazy. "The ink isn't as black as it was a week ago. Tattoo ink doesn't just fade, and it sure as hell doesn't happen in a matter of days."

"Are you sure it's an actual tattoo?"

What the hell kind of question was that? "You think I did this with a black marker? I got this at a seedy tattoo parlor in Philly a year ago after Frankie died—"

Marcus broke off before he said anything more. He didn't want to tell her about Frankie. Frankie was his ugly secret. His cross to bear. He would never unload that burden on her, even if she was looking at him with those deep and knowing eyes of hers.

He remembered what Janie said last night about April not accepting him if she knew what he was. Frankie had deserved more than a monster like him for a friend. Maybe April also deserved better. He would destroy her, just like he destroyed Frankie.

"Last night, you had a memory of Alec and Camille together," April said slowly. "Now you say you got this tattoo a year ago, but it seems like your memory is off."

"Nothing's wrong with my head." He couldn't look at her. Instead he grabbed the edges of the sink and bent over it, regretting his decision to bring her here. She'd never understand him, so what the hell was he even trying for? "I know what happened—why I got this tattoo."

"Then tell me," she said emphatically, her voice filled with a deep need that made him feel like some lab experiment she wanted to dissect and make sense of "I can't help you figure this out if I don't know all the details."

He almost laughed. She wanted him to bare her soul to her. Show her that he was weak and pathetic like all the losers she was probably used to. Screw that shit. No wonder Janie didn't let people in. She understood the cost of doing so. She knew how brutal it was to bear scars you had to hide every day so people wouldn't measure your worth by them. She knew that the only way to pick yourself up with dignity was to become immune to the pity that had the power to pulverize you into the ground.

And this girl? She knew nothing. Sheltered and naïve. That description fit her perfectly. No one else would be stupid enough to stand there and ask him to give more of himself to her than he could afford to spare.

Marcus was too infuriated to talk to her anymore. He opened his mouth to tell her off when she opened hers and shattered every opinion he'd ever had of her.

"I tried to kill myself."

He turned to face her slowly, his mind in a haze of disbelief. Her eyes were so blue that they seemed to emit their own light. "What did you say?"

His voice came out rough, bordering on anger when in reality all he felt was shock, but she wasn't intimidated by it. She seemed to be trapped in whatever nightmarish thoughts were going through her head. Everything came out at once.

"It was a year ago. Sam—my stepdad—has always been hard on me. He likes to monitor and control every single moment of my life. It's not like I've ever been rebellious, but he treats me like I'm a menace to society or something. Something to be isolated from the world. He won't let me leave home often, but when he does he calls me constantly to check up on me. He's punished me over the stupidest things, like being ten minutes late coming home after school or not answering my phone the second he calls."

April drags in a breath, but she doesn't give herself enough of a pause. He got the feeling she was afraid she'd never finish telling him unless she got it all out under one minute. So she told him about that night on the bridge. The night she chose death over going back home with her stepfather. Marcus listened in silence, hearing more than her words. He heard her desperation, her hopelessness, and he wondered how he could ever have been stupid enough to think April Parker was sheltered.

She was a damned prisoner in her own life.

When it ended, she sank against the wall, drained of energy. The dazed expression gave way to horror, and he knew without asking that she was feeling the consequences of baring herself to another human being. The raw vulnerability of being at someone else's mercy, the shaky hope that her heart wouldn't be crushed to pieces. The consuming regret.

"Oh, God." Her hand snapped to her face to shield her from him. "I've never shared any of this before. I don't know why I told you of all people."

He snatched her hand from her face, wanting to look her in the eye so he could understand what she meant. "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean?"

Was she regretting telling him? Would she be completely fine if she'd unloaded all of this on someone else, like Alec? What the hell did she have against him?

April swallowed, refusing to meet his angry gaze. "You know what I mean. You'll treat everything I said like it's pathetic. An unforgivable sign of weakness. I guess my new nickname will be Jumper now."

Shit.

He supposed this was his fault. All this time he'd antagonized her, pushing her to the edge just to see if she'd snap, when all along she'd been harboring enough wounds to disable a grown man.

Still. He didn't like that she thought so little of him. Even if he'd done nothing but fan the flames of her distrust in him. He leaned toward her and said in an angry, hurt voice, "I might enjoy pushing your buttons, but to make fun of you for almost dying? For putting up with abuse? Give me some credit."

April's gaze lifted to his, and he saw some of that old strength come back to life. "I can't give you any credit until you give me something to base it on. Tell me about the tattoo and Frankie. A deal's a deal."

Marcus was stunned for a moment before he allowed a begrudging smile. He'd been dead wrong for thinking April wouldn't recover completely after that bombshell. Why the hell not? She was so damned good at hiding her scars. No surprise she'd mastered the art of bouncing back on her feet. "I didn't know you were this single-minded."

Her charcoal-black lashes fluttered when she blinked. "I'm not. I don't want to talk about what happened that night or any time before or after it. It brings up too many bad memories."

"About Sam, huh?"

There was defiance in the cut of her jaw that told him she wouldn't budge if he tried to push her. He straightened up, deciding to cut her some slack. His mind shifted to her shitty stepfather, and his hand curled into a fist.

"Sam," he murmured, giving in to the troubling feeling he'd had earlier when she said his name. An image rose from the back, projecting across his mind. "Tall guy in his forties, decently built. Slick black hair like he's in a fifties movie and the scariest blue eyes."

Judging by the way her eyes flew open, he knew the description was spot-on. "That's him. That's Sam. H-how do you know Sam?"

"I saw him in a dream."

As he said it, the dream fleshed out in his head, rising from the recess of his brain like a repugnant half-eaten corpse. It had traces of the person it once was, but it wasn't whole. "The images are right there in my head, but they're fuzzy. I saw him wearing a fancy suit and sitting behind a big shiny desk. I don't remember what he was saying to me. All I know is that I felt . . . younger. A lot younger."

"Are you sure it was a dream?" April asked uncertainly.

"Hell if I know. I thought we established I'm going crazy."

"I don't think you are," she murmured quietly, her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

He studied her leisurely while she was lost in thought. He liked the way she looked when she was working out a problem in her head. Because it was the only time she let her guard down completely and allowed her face to soften thoughtfully, allowing him to see the person she truly was. The person she was meant to be without the shadows of her ugly childhood making her feel like she had to trap herself within walls to keep the big and bad world from getting her.

"Hmm," he said without realizing it.

"What?" Her eyes snapped back to him as though she'd completely forgotten they were in a small and cramped space together.

Which begged the question. "Crazy dreams aside, I'm trying to figure out how you could be standing in this bathroom with a half-naked guy and be so cool about it."

Marcus couldn't prevent his smile from spreading into a grin of amusement when a self-conscious look shadowed her face. "I'm not doing anything wrong," she said.

"Your tone is giving you away. You think hanging around me is wrong?"

"It's not like you've given me a reason to think otherwise," she retorted with her trademark rebelliousness, which he was starting to recognize as a bluff when she knew she was way out of her element.

Her expression was brave, but she couldn't help the blush coloring her cheeks. She didn't seem to realize she was biting the inside of her cheek something she normally did to keep her emotions in check. He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. The soft fullness of her very pink lips, the way they were parted just slightly, like they were waiting for his to find them. His heart was thudding in his chest as he leaned in closer, feeling a rush of satisfaction when her blue, blue eyes flared wider with heated awareness.

He wanted her. He wanted to tell her he was having a vivid fantasy right now about pushing her up against the wall behind her, sans clothing, and wrapping her legs around his waist while he captured her cries of passion with his mouth. But he didn't. He held back for her sake, instead opting for a more PG version of his thoughts.

"What can I say?" he began, his voice husky with desire. "It's fun getting under people's skin. Especially yours. With you, I never know what I'll get. Sometimes you put up those walls of yours, and your eyes become the color of a frozen lake. But other times, like now, you look at me with your guard lowered and your cheeks flushed, and . . ."

His voice faded when she licked her lips, and he almost groaned at how hard this was. "And teasing you is the last thing on my mind," he choked out.

Marcus expected her to run. When she didn't, he was shocked, then exhilarated. Holy shit. She was standing there, flushed from his words, looking at him with—want? Did she really want this, too? And what the hell was he waiting for?

"What's going on here?"

The unexpected voice was like cold water to the face. It had the effect of shutting down his mood. And April's too, based on the way she stiffened like she just saw a gigantic spider in the bathroom with her.

He inhaled deeply to steady himself. "Rose was just making sure my arm is not infected. Might as well change the bandage now. You want to help me out, Janie?"

April mumbled something he couldn't hear and darted away. He watched her go for a second until he caught Janie staring at him.

"What?" he said.

She sighed and shook her head. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah? You can't put honey in front of a bear and expect it to keep its paws to itself," he said with a cocky grin, refusing to let Janie know there was a lot more to this than just physical attraction. He was barely starting to understand it himself.

"You're not an animal."

"We're all animals at the end of the day."

She jabbed a finger into his chest and made a retort that prompted another one from him, but all he could think at the back of his mind was how close he'd come to kissing April Parker. And how he didn't feel any nausea during their whole exchange. Not even once.



As Marcus left his block on the morning of the Blank attack, he had the strange sensation that something was wrong. He sensed it in the air, this electric charge like he'd feel just before a thunderstorm. The nightmares weren't helping. So much death. The things he was responsible for in these dreams. It was hard to swallow.

He had to be projecting his guilt over Frankie's death, but that made no sense. It didn't feel like these dreams were being triggered by something that happened a year ago. Besides...he was starting to question exactly what had happened a year ago.

Or a month ago, for that matter.

April avoided making eye contact with him that morning as she darted out of their block, Carson yammering away at her side in his heavy southern accent. He frowned at her back, wondering why being ignored delivered an unpleasant jab to his stomach. It wasn't like they'd really spent time together outside of brief and intense moments, yet he couldn't deny the need to be at her side. Something had changed since their encounter in the bathroom. Maybe it was the knowledge that she wasn't perfect or self-righteous. She had her own demons, too—demons that he wanted to fight for her.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he realized he was falling in too deep.

"I'm surprised she doesn't feel that intense stare of yours," Janie said next to him as they sat at their table. As always, breakfast was laid out before them. Waffles—a little on the burnt side, but what did he expect from a bunch of kids?—were stacked high on a plate in front of him, and a bottle of maple syrup sat next to it. Perks of being the king.

Marcus ignored Janie as he dug into his breakfast, instead giving his attention to his subordinates as they approached him with their problems that needed his judgment. He handled a dispute between two of his guys by switching them to different duties, approved the lunch menu for the day, and listened to a run-down of the list of kids with special abilities—wouldn't hurt to know his threats and competition. And the whole time, he couldn't help wondering when his reign would last before the Takers stepped in and took charge. He felt like he knew the Takers, somehow. And he also knew that it wouldn't be long before they made a move of their own.

Janie pulled him out of his thoughts when she suddenly wrapped her arm around his bicep and leaned into him. He glanced at her, noting the sly smile on her face, and then on instinct his eyes sought out April in the crowd. He caught her watching them just before her gaze darted away. She wasn't quick to mask the scowl on her face either.

Huh.

"You really don't like her, do you?" Marcus asked Janie.

Her smile disappeared. "I don't like people who haven't done anything to deserve what they have."

He blinked as he tried to make sense of that cryptic remark. "I think Rose has earned a right in this place."

More than that, she hadn't leaped at the chance to claim more for herself. These people around him were enjoying being at the top of the hierarchy, himself included. April had done way more than most of them to earn her place, but she was content to stick with her friends and ask for the bare minimum to survive. She wasn't selfish or greedy. She wasn't manipulative. She wasn't a suck-up. She was...just April.

"This goes way beyond the facility," Janie said with a shake of her head. "She's had it good. Better than us. And she acts like she deserves being at the top with us. She doesn't deserve shit. She hasn't earned her scars. You would know what I mean if you could remember."

A chill traveled down his spine. "What do you mean, if I could remember?"

And yet even as he asked, some part of him already knew.

They were interrupted by commotion at the nearest TV set. There was a live conference going on, and some of the parents of the missing kids were speaking in public. He watched the coverage from where he was seated, not caring one way or another about this latest development. His parents, whoever they were, sure as hell wouldn't be looking for him. All he knew was that he'd been bounced around group homes and foster care for as long as he could remember. Or thought he could remember. The memories were fuzzy now, but one thing was for sure: no one had ever loved or cared about him in the way these parents did.

Some of the kids were crying. He looked over to April's table, but she wasn't there anymore. Instead he found her standing on the opposite side of the room, speaking in hushed tones with the hillbilly kid. He looked upset. She reached out a hand to lay on his shoulder and then withdrew it like she'd thought better of it, letting it hang limply at her side as he walked away in a huff.

"What do you think about all this?" he asked Buzzcut.

Buzzcut poured a liberal amount of syrup over his waffles and cut it up into neat pieces. He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Doesn't really matter to me."

"Yeah? Your folks aren't out there?"

"Nope."

He stared at the other kid, wondering why he felt this overpowering sense of protectiveness. Like he'd felt toward Frankie. Which was crazy. Adam didn't need his protection, or anyone else's for that matter. The boys had held mock wrestling matches in the gymnasium a couple of days ago, and Buzzcut had held his own against most of them. So why did he keep seeing this image of a young skinny kid who cried over everything? And why did he think he was responsible for shaping him into the tough person he was today?

That would've explained this undying loyalty Buzzcut had toward him, but it wasn't true. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Your girlfriend's coming this way," Janie said suddenly.

Marcus looked up to see April cutting across the cafeteria toward them. She walked with purpose, which didn't surprise him. She wouldn't be venturing this way unless there was some big reason behind it. But he didn't expect that reason to be Alec. She kept her eyes trained on the handsome guy, not bothering to look Marcus's way.

A hot streak of jealousy shot through Marcus's gut. He dug his palms into the edges of his chair, holding himself back before he did something stupid. Like toss Alec on the floor again—only this time he might go through with punching him.

Janie laid a warm hand on his wrist and leaned in to whisper, "Come on. Let's go."

"What?" he asked distractedly.

"Make her jealous. Girls always want what they can't have."

Buzzcut finished chewing and looked her dead in the eye. "That so?"

To Marcus's surprise, the mischievous glint in Janie's eyes was replaced by anger. Before Marcus could ask what the hell was going on, Janie clasped his arm and dragged him away. He went with her, but not without one last glance at April. A grin threatened to break across his face when he saw that scowl again, this time up close and personal.

He kept his emotions intact and went with Janie instead. It wasn't until they were crossing into the gymnasium that he asked, "What's up with you and Buzzcut?"

"Who?"

Marcus indicated his head. "Buzzcut. Adam."

"First of all, that's a terrible nickname," she said, traipsing over to the bleachers. "And secondly, wouldn't you like to know?"

He sat down beside her, stretching his legs out. "Not really. Just don't hurt him."

"Why do you care? He's a stranger to you, isn't he?"

There was that tone again. Like she knew something he didn't. Something flashed through his mind. A comet of a memory, streaking so fast he barely caught it. But he did catch it, and when he opened his eyes again, he was smiling. "You came on to him and he turned you down. That's what happened. Buzzcut rejected you."

Her mouth dropped open. A blush of indignation crept into her cheeks as she jumped to her feet and bit out, "That's not what happened. Technically I rejected him. He didn't tell you? He's practically in love with me, but I'm not interested in being tied down."

Marcus remembered the tension between them. The way Janie seemed to lash out at Buzzcut whenever they had anything to say to each other. "You're awfully angry for someone who did the rejecting."

"You're as annoying as you ever were, Fargo. I don't know why I put up with you."

"So why do we keep doing this?" he asked automatically, like some deeper part of him was answering her.

She peered at him from beneath her dark and long eyelashes and then her lips curved into a coy smile. Before he knew it, she was straddling his lap, her hands on his shoulders. "Because you're hot and I'm hot, so why not?"

Marcus chuckled at her flippant assessment. There was no denying she was hot, with those playful amber eyes, soft curves, thick dark hair that flowed in seductive waves down her back, and that I-get-what-I-want attitude of hers. There was also that familiarity he couldn't shake, which multiplied when she brought her lips down to his. He sank into the kiss, hoping for a spark that would light a fire and enlighten his mind, but it was like he was clutching wet twigs and trying to make the impossible happen.

And that was what his life felt like these days. An impossible dream.

Long hours later, Marcus lay in the quiet of night, staring up at the dark ceiling of the bedroom he shared with Alec. So much had happened in the span of thirteen hours. He'd knocked around April's hillbilly friend after learning what a brat he was being about his parents, told her about his childhood friend, and faced a beast of a boy who had killed people right before his eyes.

It was the beast boy that was keeping him awake. It was as if reality and his nightmares had overlapped and he could no longer distinguish one from the other. Because the nightmares were his reality. How else could he explain dreaming about Blanks? Killing them over and over. It was real. Everything he'd been dreaming about was real.

He didn't know himself. Didn't trust himself. There was something seriously wrong with him, and it scared the shit out of him.

The hallway light switched on. Curious, he tilted his head toward the bedroom door and caught sight of a slender figure heading toward the lounge room. Then he heard voices. April's. Carson's. He couldn't make out the words, but it sounded serious.

After a brief period, April came back this way. He waited for her to return to her bedroom, but her figure blocked the hallway light as she stood in his doorway. And then she took tentative steps forward. Marcus tensed in his bed, pretending to be sleeping. She wasn't here because of him. Probably had something to do with Alec. She trusted the rich prick for some reason.

Or maybe she wanted him.

The thought made him want to break something. No, it made him want to jump out of bed and tell her to look at him instead. To kiss him instead. But he knew there was no chance in hell of that happening. He'd worked so hard to prove to her and everyone that he was the enemy, and he'd succeeded miserably.

He emitted a low sigh, about to turn over so he wouldn't have to see her choosing Alec over him, when she stepped past Alec's bed and stopped next to his. His heartbeat began to pick up as he tried to make sense of this development. April Parker was coming to him in the middle of the night. And then she was calling his name. Shaking his shoulder, repeating his name in a low and husky voice that inflamed his skin.

His frustration and need exploded into action. He was beyond caring about the consequences. All he wanted was this moment, with her. She made a startled sound when he grabbed her and positioned his body over her, pressing her into the hard mattress beneath them.

Desire shot through his body like wildfire. Even with his shoddy memory, he couldn't remember ever needing someone this badly. But it wasn't just her body that he craved. It was everything about her. Her quiet intelligence, the way her lips quirked into a quick smile when she allowed herself to enjoy a moment, the thread of strength that held her together, the occasional intense emotion that flared through her blue eyes.

Like now. There was shock in those eyes, but something else. Deeper, more passionate than anything he'd seen before and even though she was protesting, he knew she felt this thing between them. Overwhelmed, he pressed his face to her neck, inhaling her clean scent, feeling the heat of her skin and wanting to sink into her in every way imaginable.

He pulled back and anticipated nausea to rise to his throat at the intensity of his desire for this girl, but he felt nothing but the heated blood roaring in his veins. He knew instinctively why he hadn't been able to go near her before. His feelings had been different back then. Sure, he'd wanted her, but only because she was a pretty girl and he was used to getting his way. Now everything had changed. He had changed.

The moment didn't come soon enough. Her lips were soft beneath his, parting under pressure and moving in rhythm with him. He swallowed the moan that built in his throat when her tongue darted out to meet his and her hands swept up to his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. She kissed him back with a level of passion he'd never expected from April, and being the one to see this side of her was such an incredible turn on that it made his head reel.

Marcus wanted more. He wanted to glide his lips across her throat and kiss the hollow place just above her collarbone. To slip his hand higher up her shirt and feel more of her taut and velvety skin. To strip off every obstructive layer of clothing between them so that he could surround himself with the feel and taste of her, but he didn't get a chance to do any of that.

"Dude, Marcus," Alec's grumpy voice shattered the moment and ended their kiss. "Why the hell are you moving around so much?"

Beneath him, April went still. He tried to keep his voice even when responded, "Just trying to get comfortable."

Alec grunted something he barely heard because April was shoving at his chest, desperate to be free of him. She dashed from the room. Marcus wanted to pick up his pillow and slam it into Alec's face, but he wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet. He followed her and managed to catch the bathroom door just before she slammed it shut.

There was something incredibly sexy about seeing her flushed skin and tousled hair and knowing he'd been the cause of it. Holy shit, he'd made out with April. He wanted to break out into a huge grin, but something told him it'd come across as gloating and would only make her more determined to run away from him.

He didn't want to come on too strong, but when she started to apologize for kissing him, all bets were off. He dipped his head down and said in a rumbling voice filled with everything he was feeling, "Don't take it the wrong way. I have no problem with what happened between us. The only thing I regret is that it didn't last another minute, another second, because . . . kissing you was beyond my wildest fantasy. And I've got a pretty good imagination when it comes to you lately."

And even though she fumbled to bring up her defenses and block him out, for a moment there he thought he had her. He thought he'd be able to sweep her up in his arms and she would be his in every way that counted. But this was April, and she had a knack for two things: overthinking and running away. So she did both and within moments he found himself staring at the closed bathroom door.

Marcus sighed. He considered calling it a night, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the lounge room. There was no way he could fall asleep tonight knowing that he'd come so close to having her and she'd slipped right through his fingers. So he settled down on the sofa, ready to hang around for as long as it would take to convince her to give them a chance.

Because she was worth the wait.