Page 31 of Uncontrolled

“That was the last thing I said before you got weird. I said you had a comfortable couch.”

“No. It was that guy.” I meet his eyes. “Did you tell him about me or something? Did you mention the flowers and colors thing?”

“Of course not.” His shock is enough to absolve him. “LowLow’s got his quirks, but he’s solid.”

Getting to the meeting spot, I scan the street for Talia’s SUV and find nothing.

“But, hey!” he says, and I turn to him. “You don’t think I’d ever tell? About you. Anything about you?”

“No,” I admit.

“Then what’s wrong?”

I shouldn’t do this, not when we’ll be interrupted. Except I can’t stop myself. “Why,” I demand. I can’t help the hurt. “Why did you say you sleep on the couch?”

“Because I do?” he says.

“You wanted him to know we’re not together.” It’s an accusation. I take a step closer. “Am I wrong?”

He flinches, the slightest of movements. “An angel,” he says with forced calm, “is a girl one of us cons.”

“What?”

He raises a fist to his forehead and then knocks it against his thigh. “One we treat special,” he goes on. “We get her attached, get into her bed, convince her she’s saving us, but we’re parasites. Money, food, anything pawnable. We clean her out. When there’s nothing left to take, we ditch her.” His throat bobs. “He wasn’t asking if we were together, Allie. He was asking if you were a mark.”

For a long moment, I say nothing. Then the question escapes my lips before I can stop it. “Am I a mark?”

He stares at me. “Are you serious? You’re really asking me that?”

“What am I then?” I yell.

From a bar down the block, a patron slurs encouragement in a loud, “Tell him, honey!”

Amid the distraction, he moves so quick I don’t have time to react. His palms cup the sides of my face and force me to see the strained torture in his. “You’re never going to trust me, are you?”

My mouth opens to deny it. I trust him. He has to know that by now. So why doesn’t he? Why can’t I say it?

“Your call, right now,” he says. His tongue wets his lips. “Am I in or out?” He shifts his hands, his fingers sliding into the base of my bun, through my hair. “Tell me, Allie, because I—”

Headlights sear across us and we wheel apart, wincing against the brightness. The SUV rolls to a stop at the curb. The interior glow illuminates Talia well enough to catch how annoyed she is to see Christopher standing beside me. In the back seat, I see the shadow of the kid.

Christopher shades his eyes. “Forget it. We’ll talk after this.”

He takes half a step forward and a curse slips from me.

“Wait,” I say, stopping him. “You can’t come.”

His hand lowers to his side as he watches to be sure I’m serious. “So I’m out,” he says. In the beams of the headlights, the angles of his cheekbones sharpen, hollow and shadowed. “That’s it then?”

I wonder if it’d be easier for him if I don’t argue. A clean break. Behind me, I hear the window motor, hear Talia call. Resurrections are always a ticking clock.

I lower my voice. “Of course that’s not it,” I hiss before I rise onto my toes. “We’ll talk later.”

“But I thought—”

I grip the neck of his shirt and yank him to my mouth hard and fast. “Not now. Go home.”

He doesn’t move.

---