by Joss Ware
“I’ve never been to Fielding’s private quarters,” Marley warned. “Only to his public parlor and dining room. I have no idea how it’s set up, or what you’ll find.”
Quent shrugged off her worry. “He thinks I’ve been dead for fifty years. I’ve already got the advantage. And why would I want to harm him?” Let me count the goddamn ways.
He could already feel the thrust of the Eeker into flesh, the satisfaction of the twisting of it into his body and watching the man’s face curdle in agony as he yanked it free. Quent closed his fingers and imagined…freedom.
Freedom from regret. From hatred. From guilt.
From wondering about him, thinking about him. How the man he so hated haunted his thoughts, drove his actions.
“It’s the escape afterward that worries me the most,” Marley said. “As if they’re just going to let you walk away after cutting out Fielding’s crystal.”
“Who the fuck knows? They might be celebrating,” Quent replied flippantly. He didn’t care. He just wanted it over with, one way or another. He’d die happy if he knew his father was on his way to hell.
But what about Zoë?
Beneath the moon, Quent walked his regular path between the hulking buildings and remnants of them, hoping that she’d find him this last night before they left. Where was she? Why didn’t she come?
But she didn’t.
Fence and Theo were on board to accompany him, and at last, they were ready to embark. Armed with homemade Taser guns made by Lou and Fence from old electric razors, along with a variety of other equipment, they opted to ride horses instead of taking the humvee.
“We’ll camp tonight,” said Fence, who’d been their guide in the Sedona cave all those years ago. “And tomorrow we should arrive with plenty of daylight to spare.”
Although Quent chafed at waiting yet another day before coming face-to-face with Fielding, he’d been on enough excursions to know that pacing was important. That was why he’d given Fence the charge of planning the trip, certain that he’d put good sense aside in his zealousness to get there and get the confrontation over with.
“Marley and me were getting a little cozy last night,” Theo commented as they rode along in a southwestern direction. “That bother you, Quent?”
“Marley and me? Wasn’t that a movie?” Fence said. The sun would have been shining on his dark bald head if he hadn’t tied a handkerchief on it. “Wasn’t Marley the dog?” He laughed, a big rolling sound.
“Doesn’t bother me,” Quent told Theo. “But Marley’s a bit of a free spirit.” He knew that the other guy was still nursing a broken heart over Sage and Simon hooking up, and he figured Theo didn’t need any more heartache when he’d been carrying a torch for Sage for years. That was part of the reason he had insisted on going on this mission. The computer room had become a hell of a lot smaller in the last few weeks.
“Marley’s got a thing for you,” Theo said. “But that gives us a lot to talk about.”
“You got a thing for Quent too?” Fence replied. “Damn, am I going to have to find another place to sleep tonight, bro?”
Theo grinned in spite of himself. “As long as we get the extra blanket.”
“Fuck that,” Fence responded. “You’ll have each other to keep warm. And what do you mean, you have a lot to talk about with her? What the hell are you doing, talking? That woman is one hot piece of ass. You oughta be getting some of that instead of talking.”
“If we see any gangas tonight,” Quent said, imagining what Marley’s reaction to being called “a hot piece of ass” would be, “I want to try and catch one of them alive. In fact, I want to make a point of it.”
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Those mothers smell like…hell, I can’t even describe it. Death. Rot. A fucking outhouse. And if you get too close, you get all weak and shit from the odor.”
“Why do you want to catch one?” asked Theo, still smiling at Fence’s theatrics.
“I want to practice with my Eeker.” The truth was, Quent could hardly say the name of the weapon without laughing, it sounded so bloody ridiculous. But it was better than saying the long metal weapon, or the crystal grabber. “On a living thing.”
“Don’t you mean a non-living thing?” Fence replied. “Or is it unliving? Undead?” He looked at Theo, the resident pop culture geek. “What’s the PC term?”
“I believe they prefer the term unliving.”
“So, what are you going to do, tie it up and keep stabbing at it? Fuck, that’ll be a mess with all that stinky, rotting flesh lumping all the hell over the place. You’re gonna keep yanking out pieces of it? My man, that’s called torture in my book. For both the thing and me. It’s gonna stink to high heaven.”
“Since their skin’s always dropping off in clumps anyway, I don’t think it would care,” Quent replied blandly.
But Fence was shaking his head. “I don’t know. You better be careful, or you’re going to have PETZ on your pretty British ass.”
“Pets?” Theo asked, obviously waiting for the punchline. He knew Fence, and therefore knew it was coming. “Like, dogs or cats?”
“You never heard of PETZ? P-E-T-Z. People for the Ethical Treatment of Zombies,” the big guy replied with a grin. “They’ll be picketing and demonstrating all around Envy if Quent ain’t careful.”
They all laughed, even Quent.
And so the day went, peppered with Fence’s absurd comments as they rode quickly along the route he’d plotted out. Quent didn’t mind the distraction his friend provided, and he suspected Theo felt the same way.
As planned, they found a safe place to camp that night, on the second floor of a large house. The ceilings were high, making the second floor safe from ganga reach once they hacked away the bottom half of the sweeping staircase. Having done this many times in the past seven months when they were traveling around trying to find Envy, the three of them made short work of the lower ten steps and used a rope ladder to climb up.
“And here we have the spacious loft,” Fence said with a sweep of his muscular arm. “Complete with broken skylights, filthy windows—some of them even intact—and the hospitality of a variety of rodents. The three sofas, inhabited by any number of creatures, need a little work, but with a bit of paint and trim, this loft could be cozy as a little bungalow.” He grinned. “My mama was in real estate.”
Quent offered to take the first watch, but after some discussion, they agreed that there was no need for a guard. The gangas couldn’t sneak up on them, for even if they managed to find their hiding place, the moans would betray their presence soon enough. An arsenal of bottle bombs would chase them away should they come close enough, and predatory animals couldn’t make it through the closed front door or intact windows on the ground floor.
Nevertheless, Quent settled himself near one of the floor-length windows where he could keep watch as he lay on his pallet. Despite his plan to stay awake, or at least alert, he must have dozed off because something caused him to waken.
Not the sudden jolting of coming to consciousness, but a gentle, slow awareness. A spiderweb brushed his face or some insect, and he pushed it away. And connected with solid warmth.
He reached for the Taser beneath his pillow and his eyes sprang open, just as he inhaled a breath of cinnamon. And he caught himself, his heart suddenly slamming.
“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, reaching for her, closing his eyes again. “If I am, don’t wake me.”
She eased on top of him, her body aligning with his. One leg slid between his, caressing the inside of his thigh as she held his face in her palms, arching her body over him. Her hair brushed his face, her weight settled low on his belly. Their mouths met, hot and fierce at first, then eased into a long, languorous kiss.
Desire rolled through him like a barrel downhill, fast and crazy. His breath stole away, lost in the rush of soft lips and the slick, deep tangle of tongues, the gentle click of teeth and the welcome feel of her warm curves against his.
> His eyes closed and he concentrated on her taste, the length of her waist and hip, the curve of her arse as he rode his hand up over her trousers and settled her against his cock, straining beneath the thin blanket. And then he suddenly remembered where he was.
And that only a few meters away, Fence and Theo slept in the darkness.
Quent froze, his eyes springing open, and he pulled his mouth away from Zoë’s delicious one. “Hold on,” he managed to breathe into her ear, even as he sampled the warm skin beneath her lobe. But she wriggled her crotch more heavily against his, and he had to draw in a deep gust of air as his own body responded with a great big Who the fuck cares?
Her hands had moved beneath the shirt he still wore, slender, calloused and confident, and her mouth nibbled at the edge of his jaw and down to his neck. He couldn’t find it in himself to release her hips and shift her off him, where she belonged…the pressure, the grinding pressure, felt too damn good.
Instead, he concentrated on remaining silent, on holding back the rough breathing, the gut-deep groan when she reached between them and tugged his shorts halfway down his thighs. His cock shifted free and ready, and the next thing he knew, she was shimmying out of her own trousers.
Oh, luv. He had the presence of mind to glance over at the two lumps that were Theo and Fence, presumably sleeping. He hoped they were sleeping.
But for the life of him, he didn’t care at this point, especially when he felt Zoë lift up, and her sleek, hot channel slide down over him. Yes. Quent closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and just managed not to let go right then, even when she plastered herself torso to torso with him and began to shift her hips. Slowly. Cockteasing in a most delightful way.
Fogged with lust, he grabbed blindly for the blanket she’d discarded and managed to tug it over the top of them, just in case someone got curious about the rustling noises.
And then he dragged her against him for a deep, serious kiss. She moved her hips slowly, and he felt her smiling against his mouth when he tried to speed things up. Zoë shook her head against his, murmuring into his ear, “not so fast, genius,” and settled back down against him, holding steady while he tried to collect the pieces of his brain. But they were scattered and all he knew was the warmth of her skin against his, damp and hot, and the smooth rise and slide of her hips above him.
She held him off, keeping the rhythm slow and long, with great pauses in between whenever he felt like he might start to rise close enough, and then a sudden fast stroke, down and hard, taking him by surprise and nearly forcing a groan of desperation. He saw the curve of her cheek—the woman was smiling as she fought him silently, sending his eyeballs rolling back as he tried to keep quiet and at the same time, let loose…and just when he thought he’d give it all up and slam her onto her back, sleeping companions or no, she gave in. The long easy strokes became faster and more serious, and he was able to rise and meet hers the way he needed to…on and on until he lost track of where he was.
Zoë gave a soft gasp in his ear, deep and husky, and as she pulsed against him, that was the last barrier. Quent’s restraint shattered and he slammed up inside her one last time, holding her hips in place, his body taut with relief.
She sagged down on top of him, their bodies half clothed, moist and warm, tangled together. Panting, Zoë smiled into his throat, smoothing her hand over his chest and trembling belly as though she owned him.
She did. Oh, she did.
“What the hell took you so long to leave?” she demanded softly in his ear.
“Leave?” Quent gathered his wispy thoughts together, one arm curled around Zoë, the other splayed lifelessly above his head. Bugger it. His toes still curled, his vision blurred, his body lay empty and loose. “What?”
“Leave Envy,” she said, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I’ve been watching for a damned week. Waiting for you to get your ass going.”
“Why?” he murmured back, smoothing his hand up along her spine to the curve of her shoulders, then down over that very fine arse.
She shrugged against him. “I thought you’d be sharing your room with Marley.”
He stiffened, and not in a good way. “I’m not screwing Marley.”
“No shit,” she snapped tightly. “But you’d be hiding her in your room. You promised to keep her safe, didn’t you? I didn’t want a damned audience.”
Quent closed his eyes. “But I wasn’t. So you tortured me for a week by staying away because you thought she was in my room?”
“Torture?”
Damn her, she sounded much too pleased with herself. “No, you’re right,” he said, kissing the soft skin in front of her ear. “That wasn’t torture. Tonight…that was torture. With a fine ending.” Except that…hell. He’d neglected even the most rudimentary of protection again. Fuck.
He glanced over at the human lumps outlined by the faint moonlight. They were either still sleeping, or being very polite. Since one of them was Fence, who didn’t have a prudent bone in his body, Quent assumed the former.
He returned his focused to Zoë. “You could be pregnant.”
“I’m not,” she said. She pulled away and straightened her tank top, pulling it down to obscure those tight, perky breasts. And then she began to fasten up her cargo pants.
“After tonight, you could be. What would you do?”
She looked at him. “I’d tell you.”
Despite the fact that she was dressing, pulling away from him, her words were a balm. He believed her. “I’d want to know.”
“I know that.” She held his eyes for a moment, there in the dim light, and he believed her. A baby? With rubbish-mouthed Zoë? His mouth ticked into a little smile.
“Thank you for the weapon,” Quent said, sitting up. The blanket fell away from his chest, and he noticed that her attention seemed to snag on his bare shoulders. “It’s bloody brilliant.”
He could make out the curve of her smile in the dark. “Damn right.”
He reached to touch her arm, and when his fingers brushed it, she winced. And he felt something rough and sticky. “What’s that?” he said, barely remembering to remain low-voiced. “Are you hurt?” Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her toward him, where a pool of moonlight glowed on the floor.
Though it was dim, he could clearly see a wide, dark patch on her bicep. “What happened?” The blood was dry, but still crusty and the way she caught her breath when he gently probed told him it was fairly fresh.
“Had a little tangle with a bounty hunter,” she said. “It’s fine.”
“What happened in this little tangle, exactly?”
“Be quiet, you’ll wake them,” she whispered.
“Fuck that. What bounty hunter? Marck?” He hadn’t let go of her arm, though she tugged at it.
“A guy named Seattle. He thought he was going to catch me, but I gave him the slip.”
“There’s a bounty hunter after you?” Quent’s heart thudded. As far as he knew, the Marcks hadn’t ever been tracking Zoë. As far as he knew. Of course, he didn’t know bloody much about her, did he? “How long has he been after you?”
“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t ask,” she said, clearly finished with the topic. But that didn’t mean he was.
“You’re staying with me,” he told her. White fear shuttled through him. Gangas were one thing, but being tracked by smart, gun-toting, daylight traveling bounty hunters was another. “It’s too dangerous.”
Zoë made an annoyed sound and pulled back. But he didn’t release her. “Let go.” She sounded wary, and her voice was too loud.
“You’re staying with me.”
“What the fuck? Do you think you’re my father?”
“No, I’m your lover. Or hadn’t you noticed?” He spoke from between gritted teeth. Someone shifted across the room, but he didn’t care. Didn’t she fucking understand? It was dangerous. This world was goddamned dangerous, and at any moment, she could be trapped or captured or torn apart.
Of course she didn’t understand. She’d made him a fucking special weapon to use when he went in after his father—a bon voyage gift for a mission that would most likely result in his own demise. Good luck, genius. Have fun storming the castle!
The sweep of a chill washed over him. Didn’t she worry about him? Didn’t she care? Why wasn’t she begging him not to go?
Or was this all really just a lot of great sex? Spiced with a bit of intrigue, her sneaky comings and goings? Was that the attraction? The danger?
“Zoë,” he began, knowing at that moment, the whole situation blinding in its clarity, that if he never saw her again, he’d be lost. “I don’t want anything—”
“If you don’t fucking let me go right now, I’m going to scream.”
What the hell was the point? He let go, and had a malicious little twinge that she had to catch herself because she’d been tugging so hard.
“Nice way to blow a perfectly good afterglow,” she said, crossing her arms over her middle, unobtrusively rubbing the one he’d gripped.
Quent didn’t trust himself to say anything, for he knew it would come out…unpleasantly. To say the goddamn least. “So where are you off to now?” he managed from between numb lips.
She seemed to catch herself, then replied, “Wherever.”
Where the fuck ever.
He felt the weight of her eyes settle on him, then whisk away. He fought for something to say, something that would come out right—not too pathetic, not too overbearing. But for once, words, tact, diplomacy failed him.
It was as if she’d sneaked out of his room all over again—that same hollow feeling. The feeling grew deeper, gouging his innards, as she pulled to her feet.
“Good luck, Quent.”
She might as well have been saying good-bye. He fought the urge to drag her back down next to him. He refused to debase himself any further. And why pursue something that could be moot anyway?
He figured there was an eighty percent chance he’d never make it back out of Mecca. So he said, “Be safe, Zoë. Stay away from those bounty hunters. They’re not as friendly as I am.” He forced a little laugh and watched as she straightened and walked away, melting into the shadows.