Exported [Book 3 in the Expiring Series]

23 The Chapter in Which I Throw Flowers

Iris~~

Three hours later, the taxi pulls up in front of a group of townhomes. In the light of the morning sun, they're too friendly, too homey. They don't seem like the place an exported citizen of my country would be living. Not where Erik would be living.

I match the house number to the address. The one it leads to practically drips with charm. There are flowerbeds and a picket fence.

Our muscles stiff, we stumble out of the taxi, our joints cracking. Everything about us is so un-society like.

Once the taxi has taken off, Colton and Bently tuck a gun into the back of their jeans. I don't opt for a weapon. Erik, weapons, and I never work out. All of us are acutely aware that we could have been followed.

As we walk up the steps, I decide his light blue door is terrifying. It may be cute, but it also makes me want to chase after the taxi, dive into the backseat, and somehow find a blanket to hide under.

"Go on." Bently nudges me to knock.

Before I can think too much about it, I do so. In reality it was only three sharp knocks. In my head it was the toiling of a bell in a tower.

No one comes to the door, and Colton takes a step back. He better not be planning to kick it down. Not yet anyway.

Someone curses from inside—a voice that's distinctly Erik's. My breath catches, and the knot in my stomach tightens.

The door opens, and before I have time to hide, Erik stands before us, shirtless and in a pair of green basketball shorts. He braces himself against the door and the banister. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He's alive. After so many months of dreaming of him dead, he's before me, breathing. Albeit not looking too great—his hair is a mess and his eyes have faint lines of pink—but he's alive.

Bently pushes his way past Erik, forcing him to drop his hand from the door. "We're trying to save you."

Colton follows after Bently.

I know I shouldn't keep turning over the fact that he's alive. I've known his Expiration Date, but bad dreams chase away facts. They may be in the mind, but they're led by the heart.

Erik's eyes fasten on me, his eyelids heavy. "Are you going to barge your way in too?"

"I—" Every time I dreamt about this moment, Erik was dead or I was killing him. There was no awkward conversation, only apologies for shooting him. "Abella and Alix are coming for you. I—we wanted to make sure they didn't get to you."

"So I can't give up any of your precious secrets?" I don't know if it's his tone or the way he glances over his shoulder at Colton and Bently, but I know he's referring to the Society's secrets and not my own.

"We don't want them to hurt you." I pull my shoulders back and step past him as if his presence doesn't bother me.

Colton and Bently cunder a painting of water lilies. On the other end of the room is a bar and behind that is a kitchen. From where I stand, I can just spot a dish towel in the kitchen with a sunflower, and to my right is a living room, the couches a light gray, and on the coffee table is a vase of blue flowers. Surrounding the vase are three bottles of wine, one overturned and the other two nearly empty.

For someone who just switched addresses, it seems too homey and cozy, but then again Erik is known for having an exorbitant number of safe houses. Maybe the fact it seems nothing like him is the point.