The Dead Saga (Book 6): Odium VI

by Riley, Claire C.

  I dragged a hand through my hair, wondering why I couldn’t breathe.

  Why the room felt so small, and why I felt sick to my stomach.

  But mostly, I wondered why the hell I had let myself get backed into this corner in the first place.

  “Goddamn you, Gauge!” I whispered. Because it was his fault too. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and kept on hating me from a distance, everything would have been fine. I mean, not fine fine, but fine enough that I could think straight and not do something stupid like I was now planning on doing.

  And why, you might think, why go ahead and do something stupid when you know what the terrible consequences might be? Well, because that’s just what I do. I make mistakes and I kill things.

  Weird, that kind of reminded me of a tv program I used to watch once upon a time.

  I pulled open one of the drawers and retrieved a napkin and pen before scribbling a quick message on it and shoving it in the pocket of my jeans. Then I started toward the kitchen door, cracking it open and checking that no one was around before jogging quickly and quietly toward Shooter’s room. I placed the note on his bed, staring down at it anxiously as I tried to discern why the hell I was doing this. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to run from him—just that I wanted to run and run and run and keep on running until I reached the end of the earth and I could jump off it. But no matter far or how fast I ran, I could never outrun myself, and that was really who I wanted to escape. Not Shooter, not Mikey, but me.

  I couldn’t think when Shooter was around. When his piercing gaze captured me and he held me in his arms, his scent enveloping me, trapping me within the boundaries of his world, everything else vanished. Including who I was.

  But then where Mikey was concerned there was something utterly indescribable in what we shared. In the connection that we had. It wasn’t something easily explained with words. It was a feeling. A moment in time that was holding us there in place. Running from and to each other at the same time.

  I dropped the note and the ‘property of’ cut on Shooters bed and left the room just as quietly as I’d entered it, moving through the clubhouse on silent feet until I reached the main entrance. I peered through it, taking in the truck being loaded with ammo and food for the trip to Haven. Shooter was standing with Butcher—who was looking sicker by the day—and Gauge, who was looking every bit like Gauge as he always did—big, bossy, and bastard-like.

  O’Donnell was striding toward the front of the truck. When she looked back, her gaze fell to me and I placed a finger to my lips. She nodded and looked away before yelling something and pointing toward the main gates where a couple of deaders had sidled up like slutty groupies to an afterparty. A couple of the men moved to the gates, and the prospects opened the trunks and let them get out some weapons. O’Donnell called Shooter’s name and Shooter, Butcher, and Gauge moved toward her. I took that as my cue to get my ass in gear and I quickly made my way to the back of the truck before climbing in and scrambling to the very back so I could hide behind some boxes that were stacked there.

  I sat down on the floor of the truck, the warm metal uncomfortable under my ass, and I pulled a box closer to me, hoping that no one chose to do a last-minute inspection, or I was going to feel pretty fucking stupid.

  Fortunately, God was listening, and the truck rumbled to life moments later, the back-gate slamming closed.

  My heart hammered so hard against my chest as the truck started to move that it was a wonder no one else could hear it. I heard Shooter’s voice as we slowed, and I whispered a silent apology to him. But no matter how sorry I felt, I knew I had to do it. If I didn’t put some space between us I’d never figure out how I felt and what was for the best.

  “Hurry back, but know this: if you’re not back in two days, we’re going in without you,” Butcher said.

  “You’ll be heavily outnumbered if you do that,” O’Donnell replied.

  “Don’t matter. I won’t be able to hold back Scar for any longer than that.” He went silent and I imagined that O’Donnell was nodding her head in agreement.

  “You seen Nina?” Shooter asked, and I panicked that he’d stop the truck from leaving until he found me, but then O’Donnell replied.

  “She was in the kitchen making something to eat. Said she needed a bit of space, or something. I don’t know, that bitch is confusing and annoying. Can we go now? The sooner we set off, the sooner we get back.”

  Shooter chuckled, and something hit the side of the truck before it started moving again.

  “Chapel, now!” he ordered.

  I peered around a box, watching as the gates to the Highwaymen’s base closed behind us. Shooter was there, his back to us as he walked toward the clubhouse. Gauge was by his side as they talked about whatever grumpy biker men talked about, but Butcher stood at the gates, staring after us.

  And there was no way he didn’t see me.

  No way in hell.

  It was too late to duck back down and hide, so I stayed exactly where I was, frozen to the spot and holding his stare, waiting for him to yell to someone to stop the truck. To yell for Shooter to come get his woman and learn to control her, or something just as sexist and chauvinistic.

  But he did none of those things.

  Instead he put two fingers to his head and saluted me before turning on his heel and walking away. I swallowed down the thick saliva that had built in my mouth and sat back down on my haunches, wondering why I was being such an asshole and leaving. If what Gauge had said was true, then Shooter was going to freak out when he realized I was gone. Hopefully I’d be twenty miles away by then and Gauge would be able to convince him to leave me be for the time being. Hopefully.

  I hated the responsibility Gauge had put on me by talking about Shooter’s past. Not that any of that shit should have mattered, because the truth was Shooter was just as bad as the Rejects. The Highwaymen might have gone about hoarding their concubines a different way from the Rejects, but it was, in effect, the same thing. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew in my heart that I couldn’t be his. No matter how much I cared about him—and I did care about him.

  The clarity of that realization was coming to me thick and fast, the further away from Shooter we got, and I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for it yet or not—only that without the intensity of Shooter surrounding me, I could think clearly again.

  We’d been traveling for thirty minutes or so, the soft murmur of voices coming from the front of the truck as we moved over bumpy roads, passing collapsed buildings and deaders roaming the streets. I’d started to doze, the soft vibrations from the truck and the heat surrounding me making me drowsy, when I felt the truck slow and then come to a stop.

  I heard O’Donnell’s voice say something and then a male voice, which I was assuming was Axe, yell something incoherent. Doors slammed and the sound of footsteps on gravel moved around the truck. I made my way through the mess of supplies to the back door. It opened, and O’Donnell and Axe stared in at me. O’Donnell looking nervous and Axe looking furious. Typical biker.

  It was now or never, I decided as I took a deep breath and waved at them both with a smile. “Thank God you stopped. I forgot to pee before we left.” I jumped out my heavy boots crunching on the broken ground.

  We were back out of the city, the buildings and cars giving way to nature. And let me tell you, nature had been busy here. The roads were almost completely covered with ivy and vines, making the road like a green highway to the emerald city. I took another deep breath, glad for the fresh air in my lungs.

  “What the fuck are you doing in there, woman?” Axe growled, his hooded gaze darting between me and O’Donnell. “Did you fuckin’ know she was in there?”

  She shrugged and smirked at him, seemingly unafraid of Axe, though she was gripping on to her weird death stick like she wasn’t afraid to use it if need be. I could see exactly why Mikey liked her so much. I was almost getting a girl crush too.

  I didn’t know much about Axe, oth
er than he was a Reject, formerly a Highwayman, and that O’Donnell must have trusted him at least a little because she’d picked him to come with her. To bring him into her fold and meet the other people of Haven—her people. He was tall and broad, with shoulders bigger than most people’s arms and legs put together. His skin was dark, his head shaved, and he wore a single silver ring through his septum, which now glinted at me since his nostrils were flared in anger. Sheesh!

  I pointed at him and smiled. “I can already tell that you and I are going to get along just great.”

  “Yeah?” he growled out.

  “Oh yeah.” I nodded.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because you didn’t call me ‘bitch.’” I winked. “And I hate being called ‘bitch.’”

  On the inside I was trembling, fearful that he might insist on turning the stupid truck around and taking me back, but on the outside I had my wall up and I’d hung a sign that said I was cool, calm, and collected. At least I hoped that’s what it said.

  Axe blinked and dragged a hand over his shiny head. “Seems to me that you just signed my death warrant. There ain’t no way Shooter ain’t gonna put a bullet in my brain if I don’t take you back to the clubhouse right the hell now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Axe.”

  He looked over at O’Donnell. “Is she fuckin’ jacked?”

  O’Donnell smirked. “Probably.”

  I smirked back at her and rolled my eyes. “Come on, guys, we need to get going. It’s a long trip and we don’t have much time,” I said, walking away from them both and heading toward the front of the truck.

  One thing was certain—we really did need to get to Haven as soon as we could. Because I believed Butcher when he said that he wouldn’t be able to keep Scar from doing something stupid after that. Scar was headstrong, bossy, and an asshole to boot. But I had a feeling that Butcher didn’t think he’d be able to control Scar because he didn’t expect to still be alive by then. He’d been looking worse as the days had gone on, and by the rancid smell that hung around him and the pallid color to his sweaty skin, his arm was infected and no doubt the deader virus was taking hold. I didn’t really know Butcher, but I still felt a sense of sadness wash over me at the thought.

  Thank you, humanity, right? At least I knew that part of me was still alive and kicking.

  I reached the front of the truck and climbed in. Seconds passed but neither O’Donnell or Axe came to get in. I stuck my head out of O’Donnell’s door and looked around to the back. I couldn’t see either of them, but I knew they were both there.

  “You two better get in before I leave your sorry asses behind,” I called. I heard the telltale sound of a deader groan coming from somewhere and added, “And it sounds like we have some visitors, and not the good kind that bring Christmas gifts or pot roasts, so hurry up because I really do have to pee and I’m not doing it with deaders watching me like perverts at a live porno show.”

  I sat back in my seat and waited, hoping that Axe would see no sense in taking me back to the clubhouse. Thankfully they both arrived at their prospective doors and looked in at me.

  I looked over at Axe. “I’ll make sure he knows you had no idea,” I said, but when he still didn’t look happy, his hard, angular face staying stiff and unmovable, I added, “We’ll tell him you were half a day away before you even knew I was back there, okay? He’s not stupid—he’ll know you had to keep going then.”

  “Just don’t fuckin’ die,” he grumbled, and climbed in.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Awww, you really care,” I said sarcastically, and laughed, and as O’Donnell climbed in and slammed her door shut I heard her laugh too.

  “Care? No. I just like my dick between my legs and not shoved up my own ass,” he gritted and started the truck.

  I smirked and looked away, my gaze going out of the window. I hated that I was probably going to get those two in trouble with Shooter, but it was something I simply had to do. I cared about Shooter, but if his plans for the future were true, then he wasn’t the man for me. Or perhaps I just wasn’t the woman for him. Either way, I’d never know how I truly felt if I didn’t get some space from him.

  Two days would be enough for me to grasp such a life-changing decision, right?

  At least I hoped so.

  Because that was all I had before I was back at the clubhouse and making my choice.

  Mikey or Shooter.

  Or maybe neither.

  Chapter Sixteen

  O’Donnell was sleeping, her head resting against the door. I couldn’t blame her. The A/C in the truck wasn’t working so it was hot as hell, and even with all the windows open and a breeze blowing in I was getting drowsy, my head lolling from side to side no matter how hard I tried to fight it.

  We’d been on the road a couple of hours, the world passing us by in a blur of life and death. Axe had barely said a word the entire time, and after an awkward attempt at small talk, O’Donnell and I had given up.

  She wouldn’t give us the exact location of the NEO headquarters, which I guess was smart, given the present company she was in. But still, I had to wonder what we would do if anything happened to her. Would Axe and I just hightail it back to the clubhouse, tails tucked between our legs, and no army?

  Axe didn’t seem the hightailing kind of man, so I was guessing not.

  Sweat trickled down my back, and I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat, half of me wishing I’d just stayed back at the clubhouse where it was cool. I would have given anything to kick off my boots and slip on some strappy sandals. Oh, those were the fucking days! Sandals, shorts, and a bikini top to keep cool in the hot weather. Instead it was all arms covered, long pants, and boots, to avoid a potential zombie bite.

  Stupid zombies. They always ruined everything.

  I fidgeted again and Axe grumbled something under his breath. I looked over at him, watching as sweat trickled down the side of his bald head. I was glad to see I wasn’t the only one feeling the heat.

  “Your head is so shiny,” I laughed. I really wanted to grab a dishtowel or something and wipe it for him. “I can practically see my face in it.”

  He side-eyed me. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Woah, what’s your problem?” I grumbled.

  “You’re my problem,” he replied. “I can smell trouble coming off a you like the stench on a skunk.”

  I feigned offence. “You don’t even know me, Axe,” I bit out and rolled my eyes. “God, what is it with you men constantly telling me I’m trouble? And I don’t smell like a skunk!” Though the truth was I probably did.

  Axe snorted on a laugh but didn’t reply. Instead, his gaze stayed firmly fixed on the road ahead. I decided to give him the silent treatment too and I crossed my arms and stared out the window, watching the world go by again. After a mile or so I started to feel drowsy again and I let out a yawn so big I could have swallowed a small baby.

  “You should sleep,” Axe said, and I turned sharply to stare at him. “We’re going through the night to make up some time, so one of you will have to take over at some point cus’ I’ve already been awake over twenty-four hours.”

  “All business, huh?” I replied.

  “Yep.”

  He was right, though; it made total sense to keep traveling, especially since we had fuel all bottled up in the cab of the truck. Less danger if we just kept on going.

  I slouched down in my chair and closed my eyes, hoping for sleep. For dreams about a world where death didn’t exist and we didn’t have to worry about being eaten alive by zombies or people. But the dreams wouldn’t come. Instead all I got were nightmares and visions of being ripped apart.

  Worse still was that one of the monsters that was eating me was Mikey, his face contorted in anger and hate as he used a knife to carefully slice a thin strip of flesh from my stomach and slurp it up into his mouth. I screamed in agony, both physical and mental, writhing against the restraints that held me against the b
ed. My wrists and legs bound with duct tape, my eyes held open by something so I couldn’t even look away. Shooter joined him then. And both men peered over my bloody, broken body, eyes glinting with excitement, knives held high as my blood dripped from the tips.

  I screamed again, the sound exploding from my throat as Mikey sliced another strip of flesh from me and pain ignited across my skin. The cut was in my thigh that time, and he held the slice of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, dangling it in front of my mouth like a piece of sloppy spaghetti until my own blood dripped onto my lips and I had to clamp my mouth shut, silencing my own screams.

  Shooter leaned over, pressing a hard kiss that had more to do with hate than love to my mouth, smearing the blood between us both. I opened for him, weak to his touch, as always, and his tongue slipped inside, dancing against mine as he stole my screams while Mikey sliced yet more flesh from my right thigh.

  “Nina, babe,” Shooter groaned against my mouth, and I sobbed. “Yeah,” he murmured, kissing me harder as Mikey pulled the skin away. “I got you, babe.” He smiled.

  I threw my head back, pain searing across my flesh and making stars of agony dance in front of my eyes. The scream tore out of my chest like a bird taking flight, and Shooter and Mikey’s laughter filled the air as I begged for the pain to stop.

  My eyes were squeezed closed, but when I opened them all I saw was blue.

  Beautiful. Clear. Like smooth glass over clear waters.

  “Please,” I begged, tears and sweat mingling on my cheeks. “Please, Shooter.”