She clawed at the soil, readying to hurl clods and stones in his face.
A commanding voice cut through the air. “Stop.”
It wasn’t Mathew. He was hunched over her, but his attention was immediately drawn, searching the clearing for the source of the voice.
And then they rose.
From the earth and the bushes that edged the clearing, one after another. Directly in front of her, a forbidding masculine form straightened to full height, snub-nosed pulse rifle trained on Mathew. Georgina swallowed a panicked breath. Garrick. To his left, Anna, her blond hair cascading over her black bio-armor, her SIG aimed at Mathew’s disbelieving face. Next to Anna, another soldier. Rangy, with a dark Mohawk down the center of his skull, an MP5 submachine gun resting comfortably in the crook of his arm. His stance was protective, shielding a Latina woman who didn’t look like she needed protection at all. She hefted a rocket launcher above the swell of her breasts, pointing it at Mathew’s skull. Julia and Sawyer.
Georgina twisted, her fingers releasing mud, still not quite comprehending what she was seeing. The circle was complete behind her. Violet, auburn hair covered by a thick scarf, black gloves gripping a sniper rifle, and to her left, Darr, a pale scar marring his forehead, steel crossbow leveled at Mathew.
A bubble of hysteria threatened on Georgina’s lips. Was she seeing things because she was about to die? Her brain must be short-circuiting.
Yet she knew them all.
She blinked.
The mirage of fighters remained, every weapon pointed at Mathew who suddenly looked freakish and ill prepared. His mouth contorted into a snarl, and he lunged for Georgina. Bullets thudded into the ground so close the vibration pummeled her thigh muscles. She toppled under the impact of his body, the cold steel of his hunting knife snicking the skin of her throat.
Mathew pulled her to her feet with a hard wrench. Deep in her shoulder, something tore, driving the air from her body. He yanked her in front of him like a shield, his rancid breath burning her skin. “Everyone drop your fucking guns. Now.”
Garrick flicked the safety of his pulse rifle with a soft click. “Let her go.”
Mathew shook his head, his knife scoring across her breastbone. Needle-like pain blazed across her clavicle.
Tears bloomed against her will. Fuck. She tried to swallow, to breathe, but the pressure on her throat was too tight. Her heart felt too large for her chest as blood trickled between her breasts.
“I came for the fucking freak,” Mathew spat in Darr’s direction. “You. Come with me, and I let the woman go.”
Garrick frowned. “Darr?”
“From before,” Darr replied. “The Box. Where they held V. He worked with the Judge. Before we killed them all.” He laid his weapon on the ground and took a step forward, raising his hands in the air. “Let Georgina go.”
Mathew shook his head. “I’m not that fucking stupid. She comes with us. I let her go when we’re—”
“Fucking get your filthy hands off her.”
That voice. Georgina flinched. Not daring to believe. Hardy?
The arm around her throat constricted abruptly, forcing stars to dance in front of her eyes. She scrabbled, gouging his skin with her nails, but it was futile. Color bled from the edges of her vision.
And then the pressure released, and she was thrown to the ground. Her head hit dirt and she sucked in air. She could breathe.
She rotated her head to the side.
And there he was.
Hardy. Her Hardy.
Because he was now. Hers.
Mud smeared his face and his clothes were torn and sodden. He held an old looking gun in his hand, and it was pointed at Mathew. A few feet behind him was a kid. A boy? It was hard to tell. A stuffed elephant dangled by its ears from one skinny hand. Maybe lack of oxygen was making her hallucinate.
Hardy’s voice was tender. “Georgina, you okay?”
Her throat was tight. It was difficult to swallow. “Yes.” She wanted to reach out, to touch him, and know he was really there. Feel the warmth of his skin next to hers.
He nodded imperceptibly, then his attention lasered back to Mathew. “This is between me and you.”
44
Hardy flexed his hands. He deliberately exhaled, blowing away the lightheadedness at seeing her alive. The heavy weight that had been dragging him down since he woke in the sea lifted, leaving something new in its wake.
He’d tried not to think about the fact that she might be dead. If he’d entertained that as an option, he’d have lain down on the road and waited for the Chittrix to come pick his bones clean. Believing she was alive had kept him going. Had brought him here. Probably saved the life of the kid too.
The slash of blood across her breastbone made his gut tighten. Fuck. Her face was blanched and she was holding herself awkwardly. Her face crumpled. “In the cave…the things I said—”
“Later, Acushla.” His eyes narrowed back to her attacker.
An oily grin spread across Mathew’s face. “You and me?”
Hardy grunted and stepped closer. He was going to enjoy making this fucker pay for what he’d done to Georgina.
Mathew licked his lips. He scanned the group, assessing his chances.
A muscle ticked in Hardy’s jaw. “Winner lives.”
The response was immediate. “Say your goodbyes then.”
Hardy shrugged and indicated his friends. His family. “No need for that.”
Mathew was still carrying his pulse rifle and the depleted Sweeper. He spat on his hands and rubbed them together, a leer twisting his long face. He shrugged off the weapons and laid them against a gnarled tree trunk.
Hardy removed the penknife from his boot. A sense of calm descended on him as light filtered into the clearing. No matter what happened now, Georgina would be safe. Garrick, Sawyer, and the others would see to that.
Behind him the kid waited, his eyes huge in the gloomy undergrowth. Hardy stabbed a finger at a point on the ground. “Don’t move.”
The kid remained expressionless, but he folded himself up under the tree, compliant, elephant clasped to his neck.
Hardy took a pace to the side, sensing the ground, gritty and cold beneath his feet. So different to the fights of his past. In a ring, the crowd jeering. That had been for money and to forget his parents. This time he was fighting for what he believed in and the woman he wanted to protect.
A slow breath escaped him, warm in his nostrils. He rubbed his palms together as he’d done long before with chalk. Flakes of dirt peeled from his fingers and fell to the ground, as if he was shedding his skin and becoming someone new.
He’d fought for his friends since the invasion many times. Laid his life on the line for them. But this was different. Georgina was his reason to keep fighting. He would protect her and keep her safe.
Mathew charged in a low tackle. He cannoned into Hardy in a determined grip, using his body weight as leverage to floor him. A small grunt came from Hardy’s throat as Mathew’s shoulder jabbed deep into his abdomen. Hardy hit the ground on his back, twisting instinctively for a stranglehold on the other man’s neck.
The scavenger’s scrawny frame bucked under him, his heels pumping an explosion of mud and roots. He rained a barrage of punches into Hardy’s ribcage, his knuckles needling between the bones into unprotected muscle and tendon.
Hardy roared as he wrenched himself free. He flipped back onto his feet, his jaw clenched, locking down on his pain. “Fucker,” he whispered as he sprang on Mathew, taking him with him so they rolled as one, flattening the grass. Hardy pounded Mathew’s side till bone succumbed with a satisfying crunch.
Mathew howled, listing sideways, back to his feet, dirt streaking his mean face. He stabbed a finger in Hardy’s direction. “Fucker. You’ll pay for that.”
Enough. He jabbed the heel of his hand against Mathew’s Adam’s apple. The bastard gagged and lashed out, his fist connecting with Hardy’s temple.
Stars exploded across Hardy’s world, and
everything shuddered. He fell to his knees with a grunt, vaguely aware of Georgina screaming his name. Another punch smacked above his eye, metal tearing skin, blood instantly obscuring his vision.
Mathew was close, the rasp of his breathing deafening. He loomed over Hardy, his pupils narrowed to tiny pinpricks of hatred. A flicker of steel, and a knife plunged to the hilt under Hardy’s shoulder. Everything shut down, and the world was hazy with blood.
Georgina was on her knees, tears streaking her cheeks.
Hardy thundered upward and forward, the knife still buried in his shoulder bouncing with sheets of white-hot pain.
He stormed Mathew, rugby-tackling him into the turf. A red haze descended and, ignoring the shriek of punctured muscles, he unleashed the fear and hatred of the last few days on the man who’d taken Georgina from him.
A scream cut through his fury, and he froze.
Georgina.
Under him, Mathew’s breath was a mist of blood. His palms were raised in self-defense, spit bubbling from his broken mouth, his eyes swollen slits.
With a shaking hand, Hardy pulled the knife from his shoulder. Fire exploded down the right-hand side of his body, tearing through his brain. He gasped, riding the pain, lowered the knife to under Mathew’s jaw, the tip catching the scruff of his beard.
He was done with this bastard. He pressed the knife in further, dirty skin popping as the blade pushed deeper.
“Hardy!”
A hand caught his fist. Georgina was sobbing, clasping his wounded side. She pressed her cheek to his sleeve. “Stop. Please. Enough.”
Confusion swept through him. Didn’t she want this? For him to kill the man who’d hurt her?
“You win,” Mathew spluttered, his mouth a battered mess.
The urge to kill beat through Hardy’s veins. “He’ll hurt others if I let him go.”
She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with tears. “You’re better than him.”
“He’ll keep coming back.”
Georgina touched his cheek. “We’re not animals. Don’t do this.”
He shook his head slowly and pushed up and off Mathew, his knees shivering with black fury, the knife still clamped in his hand.
Georgina hugged him, tears cutting clean rivers across her cheeks. “Jesus. I thought you were going to die.” She squeezed his waist in a death grip. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Hardy took a faltering step.
Behind him, Mathew gagged and crawled up to his hands and knees.
Hardy pointed to darkening trees. “Get out of my fucking sight.”
He crushed Georgina against his body and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. She was in his arms, where she belonged and she was safe.
Garrick stepped between him and Mathew. He made a show of checking his watch, as if that meant a damn thing anymore. “I reckon you have an hour of daylight left. You should hurry.”
Violet joined her brother and whispered in his ear. Mathew snarled, snatching a small gun from his boot. His hand was a blur as he fired, his face ugly. Darr reacted like lightning, felling Violet in a protective dive.
Hardy didn’t even think.
The knife left his hand instinctively and embedded itself in Mathew’s forehead with a muted thunk. Mathew twitched, his eyes already vacant before he crumpled face-first into churned dirt.
45
Hardy perched on the edge of Foster’s metal bed. The ancient springs creaked ominously, threatening to collapse under their combined weight. Foster was propped up with lumpy pillows but his eyes shone with all the attention he was getting. There was no doubt in Hardy’s mind that he was on the mend, despite the basic facilities of the Brackla bunker.
Natalie was fussing with the blankets around his plaster cast, clucking like a mother hen, while the kid sat scrunched in a chair next to the bed, his hands busy with a mess of wires and batteries that Foster had given him. He hadn’t spoken since those few words in the dark when they first met, so he was still nameless. Edwards had reassured him the kid would speak when he was ready. In the meantime, Foster’s incessant chat bizarrely appeared to soothe the youngster and he was visibly less agitated in the bomb expert’s company. There was patience in Foster’s voice when he spoke to him. Had Foster been a father? He’d never volunteered information about his past beyond his career in the army. If there was more, he’d divulge it in his own time.
A week had passed since he’d found Georgina in the forest. Seven days during which he’d hated letting her out of his sight.
He didn’t know how long it was going to take for the tightness in his chest to ease whenever she was out of reach. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to change. From now on, he was going to spend every damn day making sure she was safe and although she kept telling him to get lost and let her work, he saw the appreciation in her eyes. She liked that he was looking out for her and it made something rare and new in his heart swell that she wanted him around. He wasn’t going to let her down.
“There.” Natalie brushed a dark curl from her forehead as she stepped back from her pillow plumping. “Comfortable?”
Foster winked at Hardy. “Very. Thank you. I’m kinda thirsty…”
Natalie straightened. “I heard rumors of dandelion root coffee.”
Foster rubbed his hands together in appreciation. “See. There’s always an advantage to an alien apocalypse. Look at what I’d have missed. Tap-root coffee.”
“Just hot water then?”
Foster’s expression was pained. “No, no. Go on. Spoil me, a weedy beverage.” He watched Natalie’s retreating figure as she left the room.
Foster cracked a smile. “She’s being kind. I’ve seen the way she looks at Mabe.” He leaned back, tucking his hands behind his head. “Besides, there are too many lovelies out there for me to limit myself to just one. Know what I mean?”
Hardy stifled a laugh and shook his head. “Don’t ever change.”
Foster winked. “Why would I change perfection?”
A suppressed snort came form the corner of the room. Hardy spun on his heel. The kid had his hand over his mouth. The edges of Hardy’s mouth twitched. There was life in the small person yet.
Foster eyed him. “Going to have to whip some respect into that one.”
Hardy eased off the noisy bed. “You’re in safe hands and I need to go.”
“Duty calls?”
“Something like that.”
The graft involved in getting the bunker to some semblance of a working base that was habitable and clean was ongoing, and would continue at a pretty intense pace for the coming weeks. Hardy was itching to get stuck in but his shoulder injury prevented him from doing any of the heavy work. He’d been mostly limited to driving, accumulating supplies for the immediate future, as well as scouting for straggling survivors from the CB. Around two-thirds of the original inhabitants had made it to Brackla. A few more still might arrive.
He rolled his shoulders gingerly. “Georgina promised to take a gander at my stitches.”
“Ah.” Foster crooked a finger. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Hardy couldn’t help himself but smile.
“Is she leaving? Her sister?”
Hardy shook his head. “Not yet. Her ribs are still a mess. Later, and maybe then as part of a team. Garrick’s investigating the possibility of scouting north. Further away from the main hives. Now that the CB is gone, everything’s up for discussion.”
He’d expected the state of flux to agitate him. But it didn’t.
Because Georgina.
Just saying her name warmed his chest. For so long he’d lived on a knife edge, pushing back the memories of the past, believing himself damaged goods. Unable to love. Georgina had shown him that couldn’t be further from the truth, patching his tattered heart whole again.
Foster nodded in agreement. “As soon as I’m fixed—”
“Yes. Once you’re fixed,” Hardy interrupted. “Not before.”
Foster sniffed dramatic
ally. “Tell Nats to hurry up with the coffee when you head past the kitchen. Good man.”
Hardy stood, biting down a rebuke. Seeing Foster on the mend was priceless.
* * *
He headed down the narrow corridor, light bulbs blinking erratically. Currently, they were running on battery power but the lifespan was limited, so Julia and Anna were working flat out to convert to solar power.
His plan for the remainder of the day involved snatching a few precious hours with Georgina. Preferably naked. Those gut-wrenching hours it took him to get to Brackla, not knowing if she was alive or dead, still haunted him. He needed to spend time with her daily, kiss her and taste her, reassuring himself she was alive and his.
It was a short walk to the small room they shared. Space was tight. They shared a single bed with a sink and a desk. Didn’t matter. She was there, bent over the sink when he entered. The room smelled of soap, softening the tension in his shoulders. Being around Georgina was good for him.
She turned to face him wearing only a black tank and panties, her face still wet with water. The cut across her breastbone was pink but healing.
She reached for a threadbare towel and blotted at her face. Damn if all the blood in his body didn’t decamp straight to his cock. Words he’d never thought he’d say ricocheted across his brain. Mine. Every amazing inch of her is all mine. Her face lit up and another shard of his icy past melted.
“Hey,” he rumbled, crossing the small room in two swift strides. He was still getting his head around the fact that a woman as gorgeous and intelligent as Georgina would want to be with him. But she did, and day-by-day he was learning that not only did she care about him, but that he wasn’t the emotionless void he’d always believed himself to be.
He swept her into his arms, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder as he drew her close and lifted her up onto the counter, placing her sweet ass on the cold tiles.
“Hey, yourself.” She dug her heels into the small of his back, her mouth soft and pliant, reaching for him. The curve of her spine teased his fingers as she arched up to meet him with a fierce kiss.
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