All I can do is stare at her in utter disbelief. Confounded that Claire is the ultimate puppeteer. The president—shit, all of the world leaders—they’re guppies compared to her.
Taking advantage of my speechlessness, she turns to Francesca. “Let’s have a chat, Franny. We have some things to discuss.”
Francesca smiles graciously at Claire. “Of course!” She turns to me, her smile dropping long enough to say, “Go back to your room and don’t come out until dinner.” And then she’s back to smiling at Claire again.
Her face must hurt from all that exercise it’s getting.
Nodding, I pivot on my heels and hurry towards the stairs. Rio stands at the doorway to the kitchen, hands threaded behind his back. Briefly, we make eye contact, but for the life of me, I can’t decipher the emotion swirling in his dark irises. He stays behind, but I’m glad for it. Being confined to my room is exactly what I need right now so I can adequately plan my escape.
Xavier was right about one thing—the Culling is a double-edged sword. It taught me how to run, and that’s precisely what I plan on doing.
Hot breath fans across my face, disturbing the deep sleep I’ve fallen into. I twitch, feeling strands of hair tickle my nose.
It takes me several seconds to pull myself out of the weird dream I was having. With reality setting in, so does a sense of animosity and danger, and it takes another few seconds to realize someone is breathing in my face.
Immediately, my instincts blare on red alert, adrenaline and fear flooding my system.
Slowly, I crack open my eyes, then choke on a startled scream, my eyes rounding into discs when I see Sydney standing above me, her face mere inches away from mine.
Her eyes are wide, a psychotic glimmer in them as she stares down at me with a crazed smile. She’s breathing heavily, little sounds of excitement bubbling out of her throat with each exhale.
I press myself deeper into the bed, my heart tearing through my chest as I struggle to find my breath.
“What the fuck, Sydney?” I gasp, attempting to keep my voice down but failing.
I’m seconds away from releasing my bladder all over the bed, my horror growing as she climbs on top of me, her blonde strands brushing across my face and blocking my vision.
My body moves on instinct, I kick my feet on the bed, attempting to gain traction and slide myself upright, but her hands wrap around my throat, holding me in place. She’s not cutting off my air supply yet, but I panic anyway, all of those moves I learned from Zade evading me.
“I know what you’re going to do,” she whispers. I almost miss what she says, with my heart thudding loudly in my ears.
“You’re going to try to escape, and I’m going to tell them,” she breathes, giggling maniacally when I flail against her. “And hopefully they fucking kill you for it.”
Her hands begin to tighten further, and finally—fucking finally—my training kicks in. I shoot my arm up between hers and twist my body with all my strength, sending her flying off the side of the bed.
The impact is loud, and we both freeze, waiting to hear if anyone woke. Francesca stays on the bottom floor on the opposite side of the house, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be heard.
There are also always two or three men standing guard outside of the house, ensuring none of us try to run.
Sydney’s eyes narrow, and I know she’s about to attack again. My legs are tangled in the blankets, so I react first, freeing my legs and then diving towards the end of the bed.
She charges at me, wrapping a hand around my ankle and attempting to drag me back. I kick out hard, and her grip loosens enough for me to break free and scramble off the other side of the bed.
Slowly, she stands, her chin dipped low as she stares up at me with pure evil as we face off on either side of the bed.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I whisper-shout.
“I know what you have planned, and I’m not going to let it happen.”
It takes effort to keep my eyes from widening, and the stricken look off my face.
“I don’t have anything planned,” I vehemently deny.
She ignores me. “You don’t get to be treated better than the rest of us, then escape your fate,” she growls.
“Treated better?” I echo on a bewildered laugh. “You’ve been getting me in trouble since I got here!”
“And yet she still loves you more,” she hisses back. I shake my head, absolutely astonished that she believes that. Francesca sees me as a dollar sign—a substantial one. She doesn’t love anyone more than herself.