Free The Benders by Katie French Page A

face inches from mine. Laugh lines crease her forehead and crow’s feet sit at the corners of her blue eyes. She’s always seemed so ageless, probably because everyone else, out in the dust, ages early and often. But up close, I can tell time’s wagin’ its own war with her. It’s uncanny, too, seein’ my eyes in her face.
    “You still remind me so much of your father.”
    “You let him die,” I whisper, watchin’ her face for a reaction.
    Her lips creep up into that dangerous smile again. “You’re the one who shot him.”
    I flick my eyes away, not wantin’ to remember. Somehow in the span of an hour she’s managed to dig her fingernails into all of my open wounds and given a good ol’ tug.
    “Why’d you bring me here?”
    She purses her mouth. “You’ll never understand a mother’s love for her child.”
    I snort. “Ain’t nothin’ about this have to do with love. This is about control.” I narrow my eyes. “You can’t stand that I don’t wanna be with you. And if you can’t have me, no one can.”
    “Hmm,” she says, tappin’ a red fingernail on her chin. “You got me figured out, baby boy? Know all of Mommy’s tricks now, do you?”
    She’s toyin’ with me again, and it makes me want to hit her. I glare out across the field and watch a set of soldiers jog around a track. With one fingernail, she turns my head back toward hers.
    “You never gave me a chance back at the hospital.” She sighs and stares out the windshield. “I do really want to be your mother.”
    “So, you do that by kidnappin’ me and beatin’ up my girlfriend? If you wanna build a relationship, you can start by tellin’ me where in the seven hells Riley is.”
    “You talk just like your father. All ‘goddamnit’ this and ‘seven hells’ that.” She smiles, tryin’ to be light.
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    My mother runs her nails through her hair. “I don’t want to talk about Riley.”
    “Then what’re we doin’ here?” I ask.
    “This is my new research facility. I’m working on some…pressing new projects. The Breeders think I’m vital here which means you’re vital here.” She smiles like she’s doin’ me a favor.
    “I don’t wanna be vital here. I want you to let me go.”
    I wait for a reply, but she’s staring at my injured hand. She trails a nail over my palm and I pull away as much as the seatbelt will allow.
    “Did we do that to you?” she asks, touching the hole in my hand.
    The puckered dimple of twisted, red scar tissue on the back of my hand is ugly. I turn my eyes away and swallow hard. “Courtesy of your guards. They tried to kill me.” I clench my jaw. “They failed.”
    Nessa laughs explosively, making’ me jump. “That’s my boy. Hot shit, coming through,” she says to the empty parking lot. Then she bounds out of the Jeep, rummages around in the back, and walks over to my door. When she opens it, there’s a gun in her hand.
    “If I’m transporting hot shit, I’ve got to protect myself,” she says with a smirk. She motions for me to get out of the Jeep.
    “What about Ethan?” I ask, glancin’ behind me.
    “He’ll be fine.”
    “It’s eighty degrees.” I squint up at the rising sun. “The Jeep don’t got no top on it. He’ll fry.”
    She frowns. “You’re wasting time. I hate wasting time. Move.”
    When I don’t budge, Nessa waves a guard over and he drags my ass out of the Jeep, up stone steps, and through the open glass doors. Inside it’s cool and dark and completely silent. The hallways are tile. The walls are white and plain.
    “Forward,” she says.
    I walk, my eyes dartin’ ‘round. There’s nothing here. Empty rooms echo with our footsteps. My heart pounds harder into my throat.
    “Last room on the left,” she says, pointin’ from behind me.
    I walk toward the closed door slowly, my chest tight. On the other side, I hear movement.
    “Open it,” she says.
    I shake my head, tuggin’ again on my cuffed wrists. “You open