Dynasty // The Scorch Trials [Book 2]

EIGHTEEN

Thomas's arms were slung over Newt's and Frypan's shoulders as we took him and Brenda out of the building. We didn't have any trouble as most of the people inside the room were too drunk to notice us and we could take Thomas and Brenda to a safe place, the empty house next to the place of the party. We placed his limp body on a mattress we found and I took my hand in his as I sat on the floor cross-legged. 

He looked terrible. Dark circles were visible under his eyes that had sunken into their sockets and his cheeks were hollow. A thin layer of sweat was shimmering on his forehead and I took the sleeve of my jacket to gently wipe it off. Whatever it was that he had ingested, it hadn't been any good. 

Jorge had also kidnapped the man who had owned the building and tied him to a chair, trying to get him to talk, which he didn't. Jorge gave up after about an hour and left the man alone in a separate room.

Night soon fell again but I didn't leave Thomas's side. I occupied myself with brushing my fingers through his dark hair and tracing shapes on his hand and arm. 

Newt joined me after a few hours and was the first to speak up. "You should head outside, walk around for a bit, get some fresh air, maybe even eat something. Fry found some cans of food. I'm sure the baby would like that," he said. I nodded slowly and reluctantly let go of Thomas's hand. 

"I'll keep an eye on him," Teresa spoke up and took my seat as soon as I got up. I hadn't realized how tired I actually was and I didn't bother to go against her.

I found Frypan quickly and ate a can of corned beef. It wasn't exactly tasteful or anything, but I was starving, so I would've eaten anything. I didn't sit still as I ate my food. I paced around and stretched my legs from the cramped position I had been sitting in for the past hours. 

I threw away my can as soon as I reached the bottom and sat down on a piece of rubble. Frypan joined me. "You know what I miss the most?" I asked. Frypan looked at me, expecting me to continue. "Your cooking. Especially the killer chicken soup you used to make," I grinned. 

Frypan laughed. "Okay, how about this, when we get to this Safe Haven, I'll make you chicken soup," he suggested. 

I grinned broadly. "Great idea." I looked at the rising sun in the distance and thought of all the good things we went through in the Glade. The friendships we build, the family we made. Out of the approximately forty people in the Glade, six remained. Well, seven if you included the child inside of me. 

"How are you going to call them?" Frypan spoke up. I looked at him in question and found him nodding at my belly, where my palm was resting. I retracted my hand and shrugged.

"I don't know. I haven't talked to Thomas about it yet. I'm sure we'll think of something. I mean, we've got like, what, eight months?" I chuckled lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. 

"You'll be a great mom, Leah," Frypan stated genuinely.

I smiled. "Thank you, Fry." I focused back on my food and enjoyed the comfortable silence that hung between me and Frypan. 

"Ley, he's awake," Newt spoke up behind me and I jumped to my feet, running inside.

"Thomas, oh my God, are you okay?" I rushed out, dropping myself to my knees on the mattress next to him. A smile appeared on his lips and I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're okay, right?" I repeated calmer this time as my forehead rested on his. He nodded and propped himself up on his elbows after I had pulled back. 

Minho leaned over my shoulder and smirked. "Welcome back, ya ugly shank." 

I giggled before I was harshly interrupted. "You son of a bitch!" Jorge spat in the face of the man. The man only laughed maniacally. 

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to leave my house," he stated. Blood was oozing out of his nose and his right eye was swollen and bruised. 

"Where is the Right Arm, Marcus?" 

I was taken aback for a moment as Jorge said the man's name. I walked up to them with Thomas following behind me and leaned a hand on the chair Newt was seated on. 

"Looks like you've been having fun," Newt commented on Thomas's appearance. I swatted his shoulder lightly and shook my head.

"This is Marcus?" Thomas asked Jorge. Marcus chuckled. 

"You're catching up quick. Are you the brains of this operation?" he rhetorically asked. Jorge harshly grabbed the bit of hair on Marcus's head and yanked his head backwards. 

"I know you know where they're hiding. You tell me..." He let go. "And I'll make you a deal. I don't like hurting you." Marcus actually giggled. "You can come with us." 

Marcus licked some blood from his top lip. "I burned that bridge a long time ago. Besides, I made my own deal. You're the one who taught me never to miss an opportunity." He giggled again. 

"What is he talking about?" I asked, crossing my arms. 

"I'm talking about supply and demand, sweetheart," he vaguely said. "Wicked wants all the immunes they can get, I help provide that for them. So I lure the kids in, they get drunk, have a good time and later, Wicked comes in. They separate the weak from the others." Right as he was about to laugh again, I butted in. 

"Quit it with the giggling. Tell us what you're up to, shank!" I threateningly stepped toward him. He didn't say anything.

Jorge cracked his neck. "And that's where I lied, hermano, I do enjoy hurting you." He lifted his leg and kicked Marcus in the chest, causing him and the chair he was sitting on to fall over and land on the ground with a loud thud.

Marcus continued giggling and Jorge whipped out a gun, cocked it and held it to Marcus's chin, repeatedly shouting, "Talk!" 

"Okay, okay, Jezus, but I'm not making any promises. These guys like to move around." 

I raised an eyebrow at the boys and the next second, the chair was back on its four legs. 

"They have an outpost in the mountains. It a long way away. With Wicked on your heels, you're never going to make it," he chuckled and breathed deeply. 

"Not on foot," Jorge grinned. He leaned down and placed his hands on Marcus's shoulders. "Where's Bertha?" 

Marcus' face twisted as if he was in pain. "Not Bertha," he whimpered.