Dead Sexy

by Aleah Barley

  A tinted window rolled down. “Get in.”

  Damn straight. I let out a sigh of relief and skidded around the car to get in on the passenger side. “He was here a minute ago. I definitely saw him. In the bar. I just don’t know where he went.”

  “Right, we’ll find him.” The crisp button-down shirt was the same, but D.S. had traded out his tailored suit for a pair of jeans. Not designer, but they fitted him well and looked comfortable. The denim was worn through at the knees. He put a foot on the clutch and slipped the car into gear. “How was your date?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That bad?” The car started rolling slowly down the alleyway, searching backwards and forwards. “I warned.”

  “He was very nice, actually.” I scrambled through my purse. “I should call him. Let him know that I won’t be back.”

  “Why bother?”

  My teeth ground together angrily. “This whole jealousy thing is getting old.”

  D.S. grinned, his teeth pulling back into a sizzling smile that sent an intense spike of white-hot lust down my spine. “I’m a fan of the classics. Anyway, the man’s an idiot. You deserve better than Hector.”

  “It’s not Hector,” I corrected. “It’s Hickory.”

  The Biter’s mouth dropped into a surly frown. “I will never understand this era’s obsession with unique names.”

  “Says the guy who insists everyone walk around calling him D.S.”

  “It’s a title. Not a name. Having you call me D.S., it keeps our relationship professional. That’s important. I’m your employer—your boss—I don’t want there to be any confusion. I don’t want you to think I’d take advantage of the situation.” D.S.’s fingers stroked against my wrist. His touch was cool, steady. Not the hot grasping hands of a mortal man, but not entirely unpleasant. “You’re smart and funny. You’ve got a backbone… I like you.” His gaze flickered to my mouth. “I more than like you.”

  Was he going to kiss me? My heart was bee-bopping away inside my chest. “You’re a Biter. A zombie. You can’t like anyone.”

  “You’d be surprised.” D.S.’s eyes were dark with lust. His grip on my wrist tightened, but he didn’t make me feel hemmed in or threatened. He just held my hand as a wave of primal desire swept through my body.

  Dead, I reminded myself.

  Not just sort-of dead.

  Really dead.

  Off limits dead.

  Then a body landed on the hood of the car, and I forgot all about my crazy libido.

  The body was big, heavy, and unmistakable. It was definitely George D. Fitzgerald. Or, it had been a couple of minutes earlier. Now, there was a hole in his head the size of my fist. The man was dead. Not “I got bitten by a zombie, but wait three days and I’ll be walking around talking like a moron” dead. But the other more permanent kind of dead.

  Blood smeared the windshield and coated the hood of the car. The motor sputtered and cutout. The body lay crumpled.

  Shit, Alice Fitzgerald was going to freak. Her son had been attacked, slaughtered, brought back, and now he was finally gone. Trash in the gutter.

  I hopped out of the car and looked up at the nearby rooftops, searching the darkness for the perpetrators. No such luck. The alley was still. The only sounds came from cars rolling down the nearby street. It was a Motor City lullaby, familiar and relaxing.

  D.S. tried to start the car. Once. Twice. The sedan rumbled, but the motor refused to catch. The corpse had done more damage than I’d thought. The sound of other cars suddenly wasn’t so relaxing after all.

  D.S. exited the car, stepping around to get a better vantage point.

  “Can you see them?” I asked.

  “No.” His face was hard in the darkness. “I can smell them.”

  That was a creepy superpower I’d been better off not knowing about. What else could he smell? The meat I’d had for dinner? The drink I’d had at the club? The warm scent of my desire when he’d smiled at me? I shifted uncomfortably, wishing I’d thought to put on some more deodorant before my date.

  “Anything I should know?” I asked.

  “They’re coming this way.” He grabbed my arm. “Something else. You know what I told you last night. About war… About the only thing matters being the guy in the hole next to you.” There was a slight pause. His head dipped until it was only an inch from mine. His dark eyes gleamed in the night. “You matter.”

  His lips brushed against mine, soft at first and then a little bit harder. His mouth brought with it a taste of whiskey and the briefest sensation of flying.

  Surprise gripped me. I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand there in amazement as the zombie kissed me.

  That’s when the monsters attacked. Two of them, rolling out of the darkness like twin bowling balls of doom.

  They’d been big men when they were alive. They were bigger now that they were dead. Bloat distorted their corpses and masked their features.

  I jerked away from D.S. “Where’s your gun?”

  No need to answer. Not when it was already in his hands. Still, for a man holding a loaded firearm, D.S. didn’t look particularly happy. “I’ve only got six bullets.”

  “And?”

  “There are more than six of them.”

  Shit. I spun; blinking in surprise as more corpses came lumbering out of the dark.

  My hand went to the stun gun I’d been holding since I left the restaurant. Had I recharged it when I went back to the office? Could I get off one shot? Two?

  It wouldn’t matter, not when the rest of the dead men were eating my brains.

  One of the dead men was hanging a little further back than the others. Dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, he almost looked human. Except any human would have been sweating bullets wearing flannel in Detroit’s summer heat. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flicked it on.

  The world went still.

  My gaze focused on the Biter in the back. Was he the leader? His gaze darted back and forth between my face and his smartphone screen. Like he was checking something.

  “That. Is. Her,” the Biter said in a staccato voice. “Get. The. Guy. Too. The. Boss. Won’t. Like. It. If. We. Leave. Witnesses.”

  Nice. Not just any old gang of zombies then. These flesh eaters were organized.

  I did a quick head count. There were eight zombies in the alley—in varying states of decay—but more were pouring in around the corner. The best way to take them out would be using a deadly weapon with a curb weight of four thousand pounds. “Are you sure the car won’t start?”

  “Not worth the risk,” D.S. said. “They get us pinned in there, we’re meat.”

  Right. I palmed my knife and dropped my bag for ease of movement.

  Like my mother always says, you only get one shot at making a first impression. I wanted these thugs to know that I wasn’t just some girl to be discarded; a victim waiting to happen.

  I’d fought and clawed my way into a hunting license, and I’d been proving myself ever since.

  This was not my day to die.

  10.

  The bloated Biters struck first, running straight at D.S. As far as zombies go, they all pretty much stick to one-fighting style: throw yourself at a victim and bite down on anything soft. It’s not exactly elegant, but it works.

  Unless the intended victim’s holding a loaded gun.

  D.S. shot twice in the dark at moving targets. The first zombie went down. His head exploding like a ripe watermelon. The second guy took a direct shot to the chest. If he’d been human, it would have killed him.

  It just made him mad.

  Not that I had much time to pay attention. A few seconds later, and the other monsters were throwing themselves in my direction. Squeezed in between the car and a brick wall, the zombies could only come at me one at a time, but that was still one too many.

  The first guy struck with supernatural speed and strength. His jaw snapped d
own like a shark on chum, but I’d already stepped away.

  My back slammed against D.S.’s body, and I brought my knife up at the same time the Biter struck again. I’d been aiming for his eye, but I stuck my knife straight into his mouth instead. The sharp blade sliced its way through his soft palate. I must have hit something important because a moment later he gurgled and fell to the ground.

  The next zombie was on me before I could think. My body moved automatically. I shifted onto my back foot, turned into him, and kicked him in the gut. The thing stumbled back a few steps. By the time he regained his footing, I had my knife ready.

  I slammed the blade into his eye, spun, and jammed the hilt against a broad Biter forehead. My breath was coming faster. My heart was slamming against my chest. The leather wrapped hilt was solid, heavy. I could feel bone splintering underneath my blow.

  Three Biters down in as many minutes.

  All the years of training—the yoga classes and the self-defense lessons—suddenly seemed worthwhile. While other girls were going on dates and learning how to flirt, I’d been getting my Ph.D. in kicking ass and taking names.

  D.S. wasn’t doing so badly himself. He’d taken down his second zombie with a solid blow to the solar plexus and a clear shot to the head. Now, we were fighting back to back. A matched set of Bite Me Bobby action figures up against the ravening hordes.

  The plaid wearing zombie pushed his way through the crowd. “Know. Why. I. Am. In. Charge?” He demanded.

  “All the high IQ zombies slept in?”

  “Not. Quite.” He grinned and balled his hands into fists; real fists with the thumb on the outside. “I. Can. Fight.” There was a slight pause as he shimmied into place, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet like a boxer getting ready for a big match. “When. I. Was. Alive. I. Used. To. Be. Pretty. Good. At. It.”

  Shit. I had the sudden desire to run. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. Not with zombies coming at us from every direction.

  D.S. shot twice, trying to clear a path through the crowd. It was no use. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and raised his fists up into position. “You want me to take the loud mouth?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” I took a deep breath, trying to remember everything I’d learned down at the boxing gym in Mexican Town. Okay, maybe I didn’t need to remember everything… just enough to keep me alive.

  I bobbed forward fast, keeping my hands up to protect my face. My knife was clenched solidly in my hand. I’d have preferred a stun gun—or a hand grenade—but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Hair was streaming down my face, making it hard to see. My dress would never be the same. The pale fabric was stained with blood, sweat, and brain matter.

  He struck first. Shimmying forward. A few quick steps and he hit me with a sharp jab that feinted to my left and left me open to an uppercut from the right. The Biter hit hard, connecting solidly with my face.

  I was boxing out of my weight class, and it didn’t feel good. At all. I licked my lip, tasting blood.

  No more playing games. I lunged forward. The knife went up. I delivered a left hook that would have made the guys at the gym proud and brought my knife into play. Blood coated my hand as I slashed at his body. Not that he seemed to care. Biters didn’t feel pain. No, I corrected myself. He’d given up the right to polite names when he’d attacked me with a horde of other dead men at his back.

  The thing was a zombie. A monster. The kind of terror that went bump in the night.

  Freak. I got him solidly in the face, slicing open his cheek, but he just kept coming. The monster hit hard.

  Like a California earthquake only without the delightful aftershocks.

  It was just one solid slam after another. His fists connected with my shoulders. My gut. My face. I got a few good slashes in, but mostly I was being beaten. Soundly.

  My body faltered, and I stumbled back against D.S.

  “Hell,” the federally issued Biter growled. There was a solid thwacking sound. I couldn’t tell whether it was a foot from the crowd connecting with my bruised and broken body or something D.S. had done, but then he turned and stepped carefully over my prone body. He gave my attacker a long, hard look. “You’re pretty good—picking on a bantam-weight girl with a pulse—want to try me on for size?”

  The fighting zombie grinned. “Hell, yeah.” He gave D.S. a nod. “Bring it on. I’ve been itching for a real fight.”

  “Good.” D.S. drew his gun and shot in one-smooth motion.

  Bang. The gunshot echoed through the brick alley, so loud it made my head ring. The world was spinning. I struggled to flip myself over onto my belly, doubling over to clutch my battered body.

  Nausea slammed through me in waves. I felt like vomiting.

  I felt like dying.

  “Gemma!” D.S.’s hand was cool against my shoulder. “Damn it, Gemma! Talk to me. Tell me… did he bite you?” He was shaking me now, like a dog with a favorite toy. His hands were rough against my skin. His face was so damn pretty; all cheekbones and golden skin.

  He was so pretty.

  Had he really kissed me? I laughed at the thought. The man was dead. Really, truly dead. Like a doorknob. Or a doornail. I couldn’t remember.

  I felt light headed from loss of blood and internal bruising.

  Maybe I really was dying.

  “Answer me, damn it!” D.S. growled. “Are you going to turn?”

  “It’s not possible.”

  The world flickered and went dark.

  11.

  Bright flickering lights battered against me. I could hear singing in the background. The man’s voice sounded out over the otherworldly hum. The notes were beautiful strung together like a pearl necklace of sound. The words were all Greek to me… or Italian… or Yiddish… I’m not exactly a whiz at foreign languages.

  It had finally happened. I’d died and gone to Heaven. Why not? I might be a foul-mouthed troublemaker with a tendency to violence, but I treat my mother nice—most of the time—and I’m a virgin. Throw on some fluffy white robes and I’m a freaking angel.

  My eyes popped open, and I stared up at the mortuary’s familiar vaulted ceiling with its intricate golden molding. I was laid out flat on one of the cold metal tables that we use to prepare dead bodies before a viewing. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  I levered myself into an upright position. My body was sore all over. My head was pounding.

  I wasn’t dead.

  I couldn’t be dead.

  I hurt too much to be dead.

  “I was going to take you back to my hotel room, but why risk getting blood on the sheets when I could just bring you here?” D.S. asked. “Your Biter let me in. Donny. He wasn’t happy.” The federal agent was lying on a metal table next to mine. His jacket was folded under his head. His arms were crossed over his chest. “I’m not happy. No more fighting, Gemma. The next time you scare me like that, I’ll turn you over my knee and beat your ass until you scream.”

  Not only was I alive, but I was getting a lecture.

  From someone who wasn’t my mother.

  “Fuck. You,” I rasped.

  D.S. sat up and turned to face me. His legs swung off the side of the metal table. Emerald eyes gleamed across the narrow space. An arm unfolded and he reached out to run a finger across my leg. The sensation was sharp and sizzling. He grinned. “I never said why you’d be screaming.”

  Oh, damn. Lust hit me like a lightning bolt. Heat sizzled down my spine and rolled all the way down to my toes.

  Living or dead, I didn’t give a damn. A girl can only take so much, and after more than twenty-four hours in close proximity with the sexiest dead man alive—a man who listened to what I had to say and was willing to shoot zombies to keep me alive—I was ready to go.

  My body thrummed anxiously as I swung my legs over the side of the table. My body was wobbly. I reached out to grab for him, wrapping my arms around his neck. My lips brushed against his mouth, fluttering softly.

 
; “Damn,” D.S. swore quietly. “You kiss like a school girl.”

  “Hick didn’t seem to mind.”

  “I’m going to make you forget about him.” His hand dropped my wrist and lifted to cup my chin. His head dipped once, twice, returning my soft kisses with gentle touches of his mouth against mine. Then he leaned into me. His body tensed as his mouth pressed against my lips. He tasted like whiskey and meat. His lips were cool to the touch, but after a moment they warmed against mine. His hand flickered against my cheek.

  It felt like there was a direct line of electricity moving connecting our two bodies.

  My hands dug into his flesh. My hips bucked wildly. I needed to feel him against me. To run my hands over his strong muscular body, touching every single inch of him.

  I felt like I was flying.

  “You’re so damn alive,” D.S. spoke quietly against my mouth. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.” His fingers curled around my waist. His body was so big, so strong, solid and reassuring. His lips drifted away from my mouth, moving down to nuzzle at the soft curve where my neck met my collarbone. “I—.”

  His body went rigid. He took a step back, yanking himself away from me. Fast. His foot banged against the metal table. His jaw was tight. His eyes glittered with cold fire. “You’ve been bitten.”

  .

  12.

  “No. It’s impossible.” My hands balled up into fists. D.S. was lying. He had to be lying. There was no freaking way I’d been bitten. No way. Not even when the second zombie had snapped at me. His mouth so close I could hear the ‘clack’ of his jaw closing. Feel the pressure of his teeth against my skin.

  The pain.

  Shit. He had bitten me.

  My body was shaking. Hard. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. My mouth was open, but all the air in the room seemed to have vanished. I swallowed, hard. “It’s not possible,” I forced each word out through clenched teeth. “It’s been at least twenty minutes—.”

  “Closer to an hour,” D.S. said.

  “Almost an hour.” I raised a hand to my head, trying to figure out if I had a fever. My hand felt hot, but then the room was kept a couple of degrees lower than normal. It kept dead bodies from rotting. Dead bodies like me? “I should have a fever. I should be doubled over. Puking my brains out.” If it had really been close to an hour than the bite should have taken effect. I should be dead… or very, very, very sick.