Bent (The Gifted Series) Read Online Free

God forbid they stirred blasted tears.  Emotion was something she couldn’t afford.  She mentally cursed her telekinesis and cursed the fact that many in the gifted world found telekinesis to be a farce.  Since the age of thirteen, she’d been able to move naturally occurring objects with her mind, but never told a soul other than her family and closest gifted friends.  She’d been warned repeatedly to shield such an ability, and she desperately wanted to know who sold her out to the Landons.
                  The Gaels were a suspicious and wary clan, especially after so many had been murdered during the uprising—the half-bloods hated the purests back then, and Joss couldn’t blame them.  A good majority of gifted pure bloods were grade A wankers with authority complexes.  They controlled the agency, oversaw the gifted council, and many pures (her family excluded) openly snubbed the half bloods.  God forbid you were a gifted simply born with abilities; they were considered more lowly than half bloods.
                  Especially by the Landons, who were one of the wealthiest pure blood families and vehemently preached loyalty to pure lines and retaliation against those who didn’t share their sentiment.  They had their spies everywhere and in everything.  Her capture was proof of this, but she wasn’t the only pure blood they’d targeted.  Joss knew Patrice’s cousin Marcus had been searching for his estranged daughter.  The rumor being that she was of family lines dating back to the Tuatha De Danann—just like her kin.  
                  Mother Mary of God , would any of them ever be free from the hate-filled Landons and their supporters?  Would they ever live in peace? 
                  Although she didn’t know the story behind Marcus and his estranged daughter, she prayed Marcus never found her, prayed that this poor woman would remain untouched from the Landon’s sadistic world.  But her prayers might be a moot point as another recent rumor drifted about the compound.  One that claimed Marcus had been killed.  Patrice and her closest confidants never spoke openly about it, but Patrice had been absent for a couple of weeks now, and all recent missions had been vengeance based. 
                  This was not the usual MO.  Something was definitely up.
                  She toweled off, noticing that the light near the stairs came on.  Someone was approaching.  In no hurry, she sauntered over to the plastic basket of clean clothes in the corner of her sparse quarters and slipped on another identical pair of gray yoga pants and snug white tank top—apparently this was her assigned wardrobe when lounging about home-sweet-hell.
                  “Jocelyn!” a voice of complete authority snapped.  One that made Joss' blood boil.   Joss could hear the click of the woman’s heels, but there was another set of footsteps, so Joss knew Patrice brought along one of her lackeys.
                  Joss turned slowly, toweling her wet hair as if she didn't have a care in the world.  She steeled her green eyes and greeted coldly, “I see you’ve returned, Patrice.  Time away with family perhaps?”  There weren’t many Landons left, so if there was any truth to the Marcus rumor this might get a rise.
                  Ire flickered in Patrice’s eyes but quickly died.
                  Gothcha ! Joss silently celebrated.
                  “My whereabouts are no concern of yours.  You’ll be sent on a mission in a few days.” Patrice’s icy stance matched her rigid appearance: tall, thin frame with a sharp straight nose and beady icy blue eyes that shot unrelenting daggers.  Joss knew those eyes wished ardently to break her shield and read her, and aye, how they’d repeatedly and painfully tried.
                  “Another trip to the tropics?” Joss