Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,55
of wall exposed—Clive had plastered images of Amber’s face into every last corner.
His collage of her was complete.
Aaron heard voices from the living room down the hall. Just as he spun and marched toward them, though, the voices faded. Aaron hesitated, hearing only his jerky pulse. He crossed the hall, backed into the shadow of an armoire, and peered around the corner.
Seated in a black leather couch opposite a fireplace, Clive and Dominic were speaking in low voices. In the glow of dying embers, their mouths hardly moved. Aaron crept closer.
“ . . . Father wants to test it again.” Clive tapped something metallic against the coffee table then covered it with his fingers, which were trembling. “He’s found a way to reseal the channel once he’s made the cut, so that not that much leaks out.”
Dominic swirled a glass of whisky, and the ice clinked and crackled. He shook his head. “Not after what happened to Justin.”
“But he’s fixed it—”
“Then he can test it on himself,” said Dominic. “No one else gets involved.”
“He needs someone who hasn’t met their half.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “And who might that be?” he said. “Me? Amber?”
Again, Clive tapped the metal thing against the glass. “He wants Harper.”
“Harper? You’re kidding.”
“When my father examined him, he noticed something really weird about his channel. Said it looked like . . . like . . . ” Clive whispered the rest, and Aaron missed it. Damn.
“I seriously doubt that, Selavio.” Dominic drained his whisky and slammed it down on the coffee table. “It’s been long enough. Let’s go fetch him. You can tell him what you told me . . . maybe he’ll even volunteer.”
“No. He stays there until after my birthday.”
“It’s his birthday too, fuckface. We leave him down there, his family’s going to sue us.”
“I don’t care. He thinks Amber’s his half.”
“So what? Maybe she is,” said Dominic.
“She’s not, okay? I just don’t want him messing anything up—” Suddenly, the metal object slid from his hands and buzzed across the glass.
Aaron’s instinctive reaction was to clutch his pocket, but his pocket was empty—of course. His cell phone was vibrating across the coffee table.
“Unbelievable,” Clive muttered, lifting the phone. “That’s the third time she’s called him.”
He cleared his throat and answered the call. “Amber, you should be in bed. If you call this number one more time—”
Even from across the room, Aaron heard the click on the other end.
Clive swallowed and laid the phone back on the coffee table, his knuckles white. “Unbelievable,” he repeated. But then his head jerked toward the hallway, and his eyes widened. Dominic glanced back too—as Aaron, hands casually in his pockets, strolled into the light.
***
Aaron wiped his nose and picked at the dirt caked on his knuckles before he spoke. “You guys haven’t seen my phone anywhere, have you?” He glanced up. “Ah—”
Aaron plucked his phone off the coffee table. “Must have slipped from my pocket,” he said, “lucky you picked it up.”
He winked at Clive and walked back to the hallway. Clive and Dominic didn’t budge until he reached the top of stairs, probably too stunned. Finally footsteps sounded behind him, and Aaron spun, ready for a fight. Clive bounded toward him with Dominic at his heels.
As they closed the distance, the back of Aaron’s head throbbed. All at once, the ache sharpened into a burn, scorching deeper with each step Clive took. “Jesus!” Aaron flinched away from him, clutching his scalp. “Get away from me!”
Clive halted, and a smirk crossed his lips. “Does that hurt your head, Harper?” His pale eyes gleamed. “I didn’t even touch you.”
“Alright, who’s the fuckface bleeding on my rug?” said Dominic, kneeling over a red spot on the floor. “If this leaves a stain . . . ” his dark eyes targeted Aaron, “you’re dead, number eleven.”
Aaron stared at the red spot, and a chill sank through his skin. He touched the back of his head, and slowly, hands trembling, lowered his fingers before his eyes. But there was no blood. His gaze snapped to Clive.
“Selavio, it’s you,” said Dominic.
“What?” Clive twisted, and another drop of blood struck the carpet. “Where’s it coming from?” Eyes frantic, he scanned his hoodie.
“No idea, but you’re dripping all over the place.”
Then, just like Aaron, Clive felt behind his head. He pulled his hand back and leveled his index finger in front of him. They all fell silent. A single drop of blood teetered on his fingertip and dripped to the floor.