Once the mug was empty, he set it on the table and leaned his head back, closing his eyes again. Just the small act of eating and drinking had worn him out, and it infuriated him. His whole life he’d hated coming across as weak, but his opinion about what it meant to look weak had changed over the years. When he was younger, it had meant showing emotion, which was why he’d been so tough on his brother, but as he’d grown older and his view of the world changed, he’d come to realize he’d been wrong. Now, it was this. Being too sick or hurt to put up a fight if something were to happen.
Angus jerked awake when footsteps entered the room. He was still propped against the headboard, and the cabin seemed to be darker than before, the light from the fire in the other room fainter. Naya was standing in the doorway when he glanced that way, looking him over appraisingly and wearing an unreadable expression.
“You’re okay?”
Angus swallowed, winced, and nodded.
His throat was already feeling less raw, but he was still afraid to talk. Afraid the wound on his neck would rip open and start bleeding again, and then it would take even longer for him to get back on his feet.
Naya limped toward him, her focus this time on the glass and mug sitting on the bedside table. In his pain, he’d forgotten all about her ankle, and he reached out, slowly and carefully, to grab her wrist.
She looked his way, her eyebrows raised as she waited for him to speak.
Instead, he tilted his head toward her ankle.
“It’s still really swollen, and it hurts to walk on, but I’m doing my best not to put a lot of strain on it.” She lifted the empty mug. “I can’t stay off it completely, though.”
This time when Angus nodded, his gaze was on the mug.
“You liked it?” she asked.
He gave her a thumbs up, and she beamed.
“I had to go into the forest to get some things, so it tasted better, but I think it did the trick.”
Alarm shot through him, and he tightened his hold on her wrist.
“It’s okay,” she said. “The rain stopped, and the sun came out. I wouldn’t have risked it otherwise. I also had to drag the body away from the cabin, so it didn’t draw anything else our way.”
He looked her up and down, trying to imagine her dragging the creature down the steps and through the forest, but he couldn’t. She was small and hurt, and it seemed like a stretch. Then again, he knew firsthand what a person could do if their survival depended on it.
He gave her another thumbs up, and she smiled a second time under the praise.
Angus released her wrist and leaned his head back, exhausted.
“Do you want anything else?” she asked him.
He shook his head and grimaced at the way the scabbed wound on his neck pulled, threatening to split open. He had to remember not to do that again.
“Okay.” Naya looked from him to the door. “I guess I’ll let you rest, then.”
She acted like she didn’t want to be alone, and while Angus didn’t care if she stayed in the room, he didn’t know how to tell her that without talking. He also knew he desperately needed sleep. It helped him heal faster, he’d learned. The last time he’d been seriously injured like this, he’d locked himself in a damp old basement and slept for what had felt like days—although he’d been alone back then, so he had no idea exactly how long it had been. It had done the trick, and he’d been back on his feet in no time.
Naya looked at him for a few more seconds before sighing and going back to the living room, and once he was alone, Angus shifted until he was lying on his back. He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness, and drifted off to sleep within minutes.
He felt like he was going insane as he paced the hotel room, his heart thudding, his hands clenched into fists. He’d known what to expect before arriving at the Monte Carlo, but that didn’t mean seeing all those pictures hadn’t shaken him. It had. More than he liked to admit. There’d been dozens of them, all lined up on the wall and on display like the women in this hotel were no better than cattle, and some of them had been young. It had made him think of the woman he’d lived with for a bit, back when he was in his twenties. Brandy had been her name. She’d had two little girls, and while he couldn’t remember exactly how old they’d been, they’d definitely be in their teens by now—assuming they’d survived the virus. The thought of seeing their pictures on that wall, of these men stripping them down and passing them around, had made him see red.
And Vivian and Hadley were here.
He’d wanted to punch something.
He still wasn’t totally sold on Vivian, but there wasn’t much he could do to keep her and Axl apart at that point. Hadley, though, he’d liked right away. People would probably think it had something to do with how famous she’d been before all this, but they would have been wrong. Angus didn’t have a lot of use for rich people, and he’d never found her all that attractive—her ass was too bony for his taste—but she was a spitfire and not as stuck up as he imagined she’d be, and he admired her for that. Thinking about what she’d already been through at the hands of these assholes made him sick.
He’d had a really tough time not beating the shit out of someone when they first arrived at the Monte Carlo, and the only thing he had been able to think to do to cover his rage had been to paste a stupid smile on his face and pretend to look the pictures over. Really, though, his vision had blurred after only a few seconds and he’d had a tough time even picking Hadley out of the lineup so he could request her for the night. He’d managed, though, and now he was waiting for someone to deliver her to his room like she was takeout. It was pathetic and evil, just like the men living in the hotel were, and if Angus had anything to say about it, he was going to make sure they all went to hell. And soon.
A knock on the door made him freeze. He was seething, hot from head to toe, and he’d known he needed to rein it in before answering the door or he’d blow their cover, and then they’d never get Vivian and Hadley away from the creeps running this place, but he hadn’t had a clue how to do that when all he wanted was to yank the door open and pummel whoever was standing there.
Angus had taken a deep breath, then another, trying to control himself. It hadn’t worked, then a second knock sounded, and he was out of time. He needed to answer it.
A big, beefy dude was standing outside the door when Angus opened it, his meaty hand wrapped around Hadley’s forearm so tightly her skin was red. She was naked except an oversized orange t-shirt that went down to her thighs, and her strawberry blonde hair was a tangled mess around her face, which was red and puffy from crying. At the sight of Angus, her green eyes grew wide.
“Took you long enough,” the big guy had said in a high-pitched voice that didn’t match his bulging muscles. “Most guys can’t wait to get their hands on the merchandise.”
“Was in the john,” was all Angus could think to say.
The big guy shrugged as he’d shoved Hadley into the room, and Angus managed to catch her just before she fell. He put one hand on her back, not wanting to look too suspicious, but kept the touch light. She’d been through enough, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
“Whatever,” the asshole standing at his door had said, “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Angus curled his free hand into a fist when the guy turned away, fighting the urge to rush after him. Down the hall, the elevator was open, and another big guy was waiting for the one who’d just delivered Hadley. Angus would be outmatched if he made a move on these guys now, but he had a feeling his rage would carry him through.
Since beating the shit out of them would blow their cover, he’d taken a deep breath and forced himself to step back into the room, gently pulling Hadley with him.
He kicked the door, and it swung shut with a bang, then Angus had dropped his hand from Hadley’s back, stepping away so he could put space between them.
She swallowed, sniffed, acted like speaking took a lot of effort when she’d said, “Tell
me Axl is here, too.”
“He’s got Blondie for the night.”
Hadley’s shoulders relaxed, but despite her relief over the news, tears had filled her eyes. Seeing it made Angus squirm, and he’d looked away.
He’d had no problem with this plan when they’d come up with it, but now that Hadley was in front of him, he wasn’t sure what to say. Angus wasn’t exactly the sensitive type, and trying to comfort another person was as foreign to him as Japanese, but for a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he’d wanted to ease Hadley’s worries. To take her mind off everything she’d been through and what still might happen. He just had no clue how to do it.
The first thing he did was put more space between them. He kept his movements purposeful and exaggerated so Hadley understood what he was doing, and although she’d watched it happen with confusion in her eyes, he could tell she got the point.
“You wanna shower?” he asked her next.
It was all he could think to say, but she’d relaxed even more at the question.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Angus nodded, shuffled his feet. The room was too quiet. The space between them not big enough and yet too big at the same time. What he wouldn’t give to be able to turn the television on and fill the silence with useless noise.
Hadley went into the bathroom without saying anything else, shutting the door and locking it behind her, and Angus had slumped into one of the two chairs in the room. His fury over the situation hadn’t faded, but he pushed it down when the more pressing concern of what to say and how to act in this situation demanded his attention. Comforting her seemed impossible, and not just because he wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but because he couldn’t imagine there was anything he could say to comfort someone in a situation like this.
He could distract her, though.
The idea had seemed almost too simple, but Angus had to admit it was a good one. If they talked about things that had absolutely nothing to do with the Monte Carlo, it just might take Hadley’s mind off what had happened. What, though? Discussing the current world wouldn’t work—it was all zombies and struggle—and asking Hadley about her past wouldn’t either, because that would inevitably lead to her thinking about the people she’d lost and how she’d ended up here, snatched by a couple assholes in a van while out trying to get supplies. Angus could talk about himself, except his life hadn’t been a fairy tale and there had been plenty of violence in it. That was something Hadley didn’t need to hear.
He’d thought about his past, trying to come up with a safe subject, and as he mentally replayed his pathetic excuse for a life, only one thing gave him any sort of pride. Axl. Everything else had been shit, but not his brother, and as much as Angus hated getting all touchy feely about things, he had to admit it was the best option.
His mind was made up by the time Hadley came out of the bathroom—wearing the same clothes since she had nothing to change into—and Angus got to his feet but stayed where he was. Her hair was dripping when she stopped just outside the door, leaving wet spots on the orange shirt, and she hugged herself as she glanced around, looking unsure about what to do.
“Take the bed,” he’d said, dropping back into his chair.
Seeming to understand he had no intention of coming close to her, Hadley moved to the bed. She climbed under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. Her eyes looked too big in her thin face, and she didn’t seem able to take her gaze off Angus, almost like she was afraid he’d pounce if she looked away. As much as he hated to admit it, Angus understood, because he knew the impression he gave off, had worked hard to cultivate it. Her distrust stung, anyway.
“You want anything?” he’d asked.
Hadley swallowed, the gesture slightly exaggerated. “Water?”
Angus got to his feet, moving to the mini fridge so he could retrieve one of the bottles he’d stashed there, and she’d watched his every move. Watched him pull it out. Watched him cross to her. Watched as he’d set it on the table and stepped away. He wasn’t facing her when he headed back to the chair, but he could feel her gaze on him. She didn’t reach for the water until he was once again sitting, and she’d still looked tense when she picked it up.
Angus leaned back, getting comfortable, and cleared his throat. “You know I practically raised Axl?”
Hadley had shaken her head as she gulped down the cool liquid, her eyes watching him over the plastic bottle.
“Sure did,” he said. “Our momma didn’t have much use for us, so I did what I could for him. Took him campin’, taught him to shoot and hunt. He’s thirteen years younger than me, but I made sure to look out for him.”
Hadley lowered the water bottle but didn’t put the lid back on. “That was nice of you.”
Angus had grinned. “I’m a nice guy like that.”
She returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own but seemed more relaxed. Slightly, but it was enough to encourage Angus to keep talking.
“We spent a lot of time outdoors,” he’d continued thoughtfully. “Did it to get away from home, but it was fun.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, settling in, the covers still up to her chin. Her body rigid but her green eyes expectant.
Angus went on.
He was barely aware of what he was saying as he relayed the many times he and Axl had gone camping, telling Hadley about the fish they’d caught, about cooking it over a fire in the middle of the woods, about teaching his brother how to shoot. There were so many things he’d forgotten. Little details that had slipped his mind. The more he’d talked, the more he remembered, and before long, he even found himself smiling.
“This one time before I moved out, our mom had been on a bender when she ran out of cash. That was when she got real mean. When you had to look out for her. She was passed out, but I knew the second she woke she’d be on the warpath. Also knew I had to get Axl out for a few days. I was nineteen, maybe twenty, and was only stickin’ ’round ’cause of him. Axl was still just a little guy—six or seven—but I’d already started takin’ him campin’ whenever I could. So, I packed our shit, threw it in the back of my truck, and left.
“Three nights we camped,” Angus had continued, his grin stretching wider. “Axl swam in the lake while I drank beer, and we fished. Caught our own food every day, and I taught him how to clean it and cook it over the fire. It was the middle of summer and hot as balls even at night, but he loved every minute of it. I woulda stayed out longer except I knew I’d lose my job if I didn’t go home.”
His smile faded then, his thoughts turning to how their mother had acted when he’d finally returned to the trailer. She’d gone into a rage, accusing Angus of kidnapping his brother, telling him he was just as bad as his father. Calling him a worthless asshole. Those were the insults that had gotten to him the most. When she’d compared him to his father.
Angus had met him, but just once. It was something he’d never told Axl, something he didn’t even like to acknowledge to himself, but it had happened. He’d been around fourteen, had been up all night taking care of Axl, and was so exhausted he hadn’t been able to drag himself to school. He’d missed a lot of days that year, but most were because of his brother. Either because Angus had been too tired from taking care of him, or because their mother hadn’t come home. She’d done that a lot, just up and vanish for days on end, leaving Angus to care for Axl, which also meant missing school.
Lying in his bed, his baby brother at his side, Angus had found himself staring at the chubby little hand curled around his finger, wondering how much longer he would be able to go on with things the way they were. No sleep, no help, scrounging for money and food. At that moment, Angus had been able to imagine the years of struggle stretching out in front of him, and it had made him want to cry.
It had been years since he’d cried, but that day, alone in his trailer and exhausted, he’d given in and sobbed. He’d cried for himself and his brother, cried over the beatings and abuse, over the neglect and missed meals
and the utter loneliness he felt most of the time. It had gone on and on and had made him feel like a failure and a baby, but he’d been too overwhelmed to control it.
By the time he’d collected himself, Angus’s mind was made up. He needed help.
He knew his mom kept all the important documents in a shoebox in her closet, so he’d gone to her room, tiptoeing past the bed where she slept, a still smoking cigarette in the ashtray at her side. It had only taken a few minutes of digging to find his birth certificate, and once he had it, Angus hightailed it back to his room and shut the door. There in the privacy of his bedroom, he’d scanned the words typed in neat letters, his gaze stopping on the ones he’d been looking for.
Edgar Douglas
His dad’s name was Edgar Douglas.
He’d asked before, more than once, but his mom had always told him it didn’t matter because the guy was a deadbeat—usually throwing in something about how Angus was just as dumb or worthless as the man who’d helped bring him into this world. It had been years since he’d thought about who his father might be, though, and he’d long ago given up on the idea of finding him. But now, after all this time, Angus finally had a name.
He wasn’t sure how difficult it was going to be to find the guy, but he had to try. Surely, this man would help him. Surely, once he saw Angus, his father would be overcome with some paternal feelings and would step up to take care of him. Angus felt certain of it. The man was his father, after all, and while Angus had never before experienced what it was like to have a dad, he’d seen how it was supposed to be like in dozens of television shows.
It had taken Angus a few days of searching—especially since he’d had to find time when his mom was sober enough to watch Axl—and he’d visited two wrong addresses before finding the right one, but the second his father opened the door, Angus had known it was him.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 25