Page 33 of Uncontrolled

“Neutralize?” the kid echoes.

I don’t know what to do with the innocent confusion in CJ’s response. Fourteen, I think. At fourteen I was a year from orphanhood. At thirteen, I was a damned mercenary at hand-to-hand combat. At twelve, my proficiency with blades shackled me with a well-earned reputation.

My mother’s voice is a whisper I almost remember. You’ll be leading this cluster someday, Allie. You’re the high bar.

If this kid doesn’t toughen up right quick this life will end him.

The GPS system dings. In the darkness, I can’t discern where the trees and heavy cover end and the driveway begins until Talia’s bouncing us into the ruts. The crunch of the gravel under the tires slows then stops as she parks. “Neutralized,” Talia says. “Killed. Dead. He wanted the blood. Allie gave him what he deserved.”

CJ’s eyes widen before he grins at me. “Man, using yourself for bait though? That’s next level savage,” he says with a note of approval that turns my stomach.

A pair of tight swallows later, the lump in my throat unknots enough for me to speak. “It was what needed done.”

“I never would have thought of that. Guess that’s why you’re in charge of the cluster and not me,” he jokes.

An awkward silence fills the vehicle. I have the presence of mind to round in my seat until I’m facing forward, white knuckling the hem of my shorts. Blood pounds through my ears, pulse mirroring the sound of Jamison’s footfalls on the stairs. The scent of dirt fills my sinuses and I suck a breath, release it in a shudder. Phantom pain corsets my ribs where Jamison’s kicks landed. Next level savage, I think.

“CJ,” Talia says. She sounds like she’s talking to a five-year-old she’s about to bribe. “Showtime, kiddo. Why don’t you hop out and go do recon?”

I flinch at the ding of the door as he opens it, then when it’s slammed a second later.

Black dots fuzz the edges of my vision, leaving only the glowing green digits of the clock on the console. 11:03 p.m. I can’t breathe. My fingers claw into my thigh.

In my head, I hear Christopher. Take a breath, he whispers.

I do.

Another.

“Allie?” Talia says.

A tiny sound of acknowledgement breaks free of my throat.

“Are you losing your shit?”

“Nope.” The word pops from me. I picture pressing my ear against Christopher’s chest. I picture him yelling at me in the living room. You’re not alone in this. Not on good days. Not when things go bad. Not if you don’t want to be. Steady heartbeat. Inhale. Exhale.

And then I shove him from my brain.

I can do this on my own. I gulp another lungful of air through sheer force of will. My vision clears.

I don’t need him, I think as the rhythm of my breathing evens. Except the strangling vice around my chest doesn’t abate.

You don’t think we make a good team? Christopher whispers.

I reach for the door handle, but before I can open it, Talia squeezes my arm to call my bluff. “Is it wise to go in there like this?”

“Like what?” I answer. “I’m fine.” I’m more than a little surprised to find it’s true.

She frowns, slumping in her seat, studying me.

“Let’s not leave the kid hanging,” I say. With that, I’m out into the sticky night air.

Ahead of me, CJ’s climbed the steps I’m making my way up. He stands in the square of light leaking from inside the house. It’s on stilts, set in the shadows. From ground level, Talia calls my name.

I keep going.

“Of course, sir,” CJ is saying when I draw closer. He’s got a school backpack hooked over one shoulder. His jeans strike me as borrowed from an older brother, two sizes too big for him and belted, the extra fabric gathered around his ankles. His untucked T-shirt rides up in the back to expose the handle of the blade at his hip.

---