Clarke locked eyes with Octavia, wishing they still had cornea slips and she could send the girl a message. But the only way to communicate with her on Earth was to speak to her, and that would never work. She had Scott on the hook, and she couldn’t break the momentum now. She didn’t want to do anything to arouse his suspicions. It was too risky to talk to Octavia. All Clarke could do was hope Octavia wouldn’t get to Bellamy before she did. If Octavia told him what she had seen, Bellamy would never leave camp with Clarke that night. Octavia turned and stomped back toward the fire pit.
Clarke watched Octavia walk off, then took a deep breath and turned back to Scott. She held his gaze for an extra beat, brushed her hand against his, and said in a throaty voice, “Follow me.” She tipped her head toward the woods. Scott’s eyes grew big and round.
“I’m right behind you,” he breathed into her ear. His breath was hot and damp on her face. Clarke suppressed her gag reflex and reminded herself that Bellamy would die if she didn’t go through with this. She grabbed Scott’s hand and tugged him toward the trees.
They ducked into the dim forest, the branches brushing against their shoulders. She led Scott into a particularly dense area of woods, where the leaves grew in a thick tangle. They would hear someone approaching before they could be seen. She turned to face Scott, who bumped right into her in his excitement. He pressed his chest against her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
He wasn’t wasting any time. Clarke tried to focus on Bellamy. All this was for him. For them.
“Are you in a rush?” Clarke managed to say just before he planted a firm, wet kiss on her. She reflexively turned her face, and his lips slid off hers and onto her cheek.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Scott said, grabbing her face with both hands and repositioning it.
“And I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Clarke said as she raised her hand in the air and slammed it down into his neck, the syringe puncturing his skin with a small pop. She pressed the plunger hard with her thumb, administering a massive dose of sedative right into his bloodstream. For a millisecond, Scott’s eyes filled with confusion and betrayal. Then he released his hold on her and slid to the ground with a dull thud.
Clarke wiped her slobbery face with her sleeve and got to work. She knelt down and fumbled around in Scott’s uniform and utility belt. Her hands were shaking, but she finally managed to wrap her fingers around his heavy key ring and the cold, smooth metal of his gun. Without so much as a backward glance, she hopped up and headed back through the trees, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Clarke wanted to be far away from him when he woke up.
She pushed Scott from her mind and slipped back into the clearing. She ran her eyes around the camp, checking for guards and looking for Wells. He was in the arranged spot. Clarke closed her eyes and listened hard—yes—she could hear the lower whistle from the trees that was their signal from Sasha. She’d gotten the message. Clarke steeled herself. It was go time.
CHAPTER 13
Bellamy
The pain was searing and constant, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was much worse than the time he’d fallen down a flight of stairs during a fight and broken his collarbone. This was a deep, throbbing pain, like the inside of his bones were on fire. Bellamy slumped against the cold metal wall—a wall that must’ve been built around him while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell hadn’t been there when he was shot.
His stomach rumbled loudly, although the thought of swallowing anything added a layer of nausea to the waves of pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten; he had a vague recollection of Clarke encouraging him to take a few mouthfuls of protein paste but had no idea how long ago that’d been.
Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to distract himself by replaying his favorite moments with Clarke over again in his mind. The first time she’d kissed him, when she’d shed her reserved, serious-doctor persona like a set of binding clothes and thrown her arms around him in the woods. The night they went swimming in the lake and it’d felt like the entire planet belonged to him and the glistening girl with a mischievous spark in her eyes. He even reminisced over the past few days in the infirmary cabin, feeling his pain abate every time she stroked his cheek, or followed a tender kiss on the forehead with a decidedly undoctorlike kiss on his neck. Hell, taking a bullet to the shoulder almost seemed like a fair price to pay for one of her surprisingly diverting sponge baths.
It worked for a moment, but the pain inevitably returned with renewed fury. He started to raise a hand to adjust his bandage and realized his wrists were bound together and attached to the wall behind him. With a groan, he twisted around to investigate, his shoulder throbbing in protest at the movement, but the pain wasn’t quite enough to overwhelm his curiosity. He’d never seen anything like these cuffs before. They were lightweight, made of a thin metal cord that looked as delicate as thread, with a slim lock binding them together. He tried to pull his hands apart, but the fiber held strong and dug into his skin. As he tugged, he felt the tension in the cord getting stronger and watched in amazement as his wrists slammed together. The metal was reacting to his movements. He held very still and slowly the cord released its grip, until he was able to wiggle his hands again.
Bellamy’s shoulder burned, and he scooted himself further up the wall, trying to find a comfortable position. Grunting with the effort, he settled in and leaned his head back. He was exhausted, but the pain made it impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.