my gifting .” He spits the word like it’s something foul. “It’s not a gift. It’s a curse. It took everything from me.”
“And handing us over would get it all back?”
“We made a deal, and he made me a promise.”
“ Who —the man with the scars? He doesn’t make promises. He spins lies. He’s incapable of telling the truth.” I shake my head, disgust blistering beneath my skin. “You’re not a soldier. You’re a coward. You’re a traitor.”
“You would do the same thing.”
The accusation burns. “I would never do what you did.”
Clive lifts his chin higher and looks me directly in the eye. “You can make me into a villain if it makes you feel better. Go right ahead. Think what you want to think. But at the end of the day, I know who I am.”
“And who’s that?”
“A husband and a father, willing to do whatever it takes to get my family back.”
“That’s the difference. I wouldn’t do whatever it takes.”
He raises his eyebrows, as if calling my bluff.
I hate how one simple gesture can infuse me with such doubt. I convinced Cap to let us stay here, in a compromised location, even though I didn’t believe a word Claire spoke in her dream. I had no problem putting everyone in jeopardy to rescue Luka. My conscience never tinged. There wasn’t even a prick.
Chapter Ten
Weapon of Choice
J illian moves her bishop three diagonal spaces left.
I study the board haphazardly, my mind spinning in too many directions. Luka alive. Gabe and my grandmother dead. Clive’s betrayal. His accusation. Claire out there, knowing our names and location. Scarface torturing Luka to get to me. Transurgence .
Off in the corner, Declan and Jose play foosball. Bass and Rosie kick a Hacky Sack. Ashley and Danielle sit together on one of the couches, whispering behind their hands, and Ellen reads A Midsummer Night’s Dream in her favorite armchair.
By all accounts, it looks like a normal evening. Everyone hanging out after dinner, happy that classes and training are done for the day. Someone would have to look closer to notice the current of tension pulsating through the room. It manifests itself in the tense set of Declan and Jose’s shoulders, Rosie’s restlessness, the way Ellen keeps peeking over the pages of her book toward the spot by the door where Gabe usually stands.
On the television, a news anchor drones on about a new immigration law and its implications for the country. Jillian watches with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. I move a pawn forward. She pushes her knuckles against the floor and sits up on her knees. “Don’t you think it’s odd?”
“What?”
“This.” She motions to the TV. “One second Cormack’s talking about cleaning up the streets and the next she’s talking about taking more people in. She’s speaking out of both sides of her mouth, but nobody ever calls her on it. I mean, she’s the president. If there’s one thing our country’s any good at, it’s nitpicking our leader.”
I try to drum up some interest in the conversation, but my brain has reached capacity. I glance toward the hallway, eager for Luka to appear. He’s currently being interrogated by Cap, which makes about as much sense as Cap interrogating me. Luka would have an easier time turning himself into a piece of lint than he would have turning me over to the enemy. And yet Cap summoned him, Luka didn’t object, and so far, he’s been gone for forty-five minutes. It’s driving me nuts, all this waiting. We should be packing up and leaving, not hanging around. “Hey Jillian?”
“Oh, sorry.” She quickly moves—taking my knight with her castle.
“It’s not that.” I could care less about the game, evidenced by my sparse army. She’s taken seven of my pieces. I’ve taken two of hers and both are pawns. I scratch the inside of my wrist, then quickly pull my sleeve over my hand. If I don’t stop, I’m going to give myself scars. “What did Cap ask you in
Learning to Kill: Stories