Kill For You

by Michele Mills

  She slowly allowed Trevor to lead her past the RV and the huge tour bus, and over to an enormous steel-gray garage. They went around the corner and he opened a plain side door. They stepped into what seemed like an auto shop, complete with an office. The area smelled good—like oil, metal and potting soil. She glanced at the three classic muscle cars that winked at her as she walked past—glittering like red, blue and purple jewels.

  And right then Rebel realized she knew absolutely nothing about the man she’d met that morning. She’d had his fingers in her pussy, his tongue in her mouth, and he’d held her as she’d shuddered her release, and yet she didn’t know one damn thing about him, did she? What had possessed her? She was usually so cautious when it came to her conquests, making sure she knew everything about them before going in.

  With Trevor, it had been different. The passion had increased a hundred-fold and she’d thrown caution aside, not giving a shit about the fact that she didn’t even know his name or his background, just needing him right then in the most animalistic, primitive way possible.

  Basically, she’d lost her freakin’ mind.

  Although, so far, her instinct seemed to be pretty good because she’d carefully scrutinized each of his actions and the way he spoke to her and everyone else, and she hadn’t yet come against a reason not to trust Trevor.

  But…she hadn’t even known him for twenty-four hours yet.

  “This is my apartment. Our apartment,” he emphasized as he opened a door in the back of the garage that led to his living quarters.

  “Mmm,” she mumbled as she followed him inside his man cave and gave it a cursory glance, bleary-eyed with exhaustion.

  He scooped her up. “I’m takin’ you to bed.”

  She nodded, quiet against his chest, loving being cradled in his arms. Trevor walked her into his room and carefully placed her on a big, comfortable bed. She kicked her shoes off and snuggled against a pillow that smelled like him. He pulled a light blanket over her legs and kissed her on the head. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here.”

  And she did.

  Chapter Seven

  Rebel woke up to wide shoulders and acres of warm, kissable male skin. She smiled, her mind in that hazy half-awake place where reality and dreams clashed and all things seemed possible. There was no terrifying post-apocalyptic past, and the future seemed bright and sunny. Everyone on the planet was still alive and perfectly fine. There was only today, and today seemed doable.

  And then she remembered that all of her friends and family were dead, that everyone she’d ever known was dead, and all the people she’d never known were dead, too.

  Dead, dead, dead.

  Everyone was dead and the whole planet was a vast, echoing, empty graveyard. The world as she’d known it was gone, never to return. Civilization was a crumbling wasteland. Humanity had been brought to its knees. And nothing would be the same ever again.

  Everyone was dead and Justin was sick.

  She sighed.

  She’d never experience drive-thru Starbucks ever again. Never go out to a movie or a fancy restaurant. Never vacation in the French Riviera again. Never watch live TV. Never text someone on her cellphone. Never send an email. There would never be magazines or newspapers with local, national or world news. Twitter, Facebook, all the social media were gone. An airplane would never fly overhead ever again. Just none of the ordinary first-world things that she’d accepted as everyday occurrences, none of them would ever happen again.

  Rebel took a deep breath and tried to reframe her thinking, which meant pushing all the ugly aside and pretending it wasn’t happening. This was something she’d learned to do. A coping tactic. It was the only way she could wake up each day and have a reason to get out of bed.

  She reached out and touched Trevor, unable to stay away from the glory of his tatted, naked skin.

  This, this grounded her. Helped her to remain sane.

  Was he asleep?

  Justin needed to be checked on. She needed to figure out exactly what was going on with his care and their status here at this new place.

  But in her newly lucid state, after an awesome nap, Rebel realized Justin was in good hands. She could put off jumping straight out of bed and running back to the RV for a bit. If only to give herself time to examine this mythical man lying next to her. This man who was so bad-boy handsome he had to have been created by CGI and makeup artists, because really, how could he be this amazing in real life?

  Her hands roamed.

  His back was a canvas of sweeping lines and emblems, mainly cars. Mustang, Ford, Detroit… She slowly examined Trevor’s multi-colored tats, his hard muscles, every curve and line of his back—a kid let loose in a candy store, so thrilled to have all the treats—she ended up with her fingers in the back of his silky, dark blond hair.

  All of his tats were gorgeous works of art, except she avoided the swastika, again wondering how a man like Trevor ended up with something so offensive permanently inked into his skin. What had led him to such a bad decision?

  “I don’t know anything about you,” she murmured to herself, allowing a hint of sadness to taint her words.

  “Yeah, you do,” he answered, and rolled over, facing her, very much awake.

  Her breath stalled in her throat as she was again caught in his magnetic gaze. Shit, his front was even hotter than his back. She caught a glimpse of a thick penis, muscular ass and hips underneath the sheets. Mmm. There was a naked, gorgeous tattooed guy in bed with her.

  Better.

  Warmth spread between her thighs.

  She realized she was fully clothed. Why? That needed to be rectified immediately.

  “Wasn’t that me, fingering you this morning?” he rumbled. “I think you know more about me than you realize.” He smiled, flashing two dimples at her, which could barely be seen through the beard he was growing. Christ, she almost swooned. She loved absolutely everything about his appearance. His smell, his tats, the way he dressed, his hair, his beard, his mouth. The whole package. He had to be a little over six feet, which was perfect. She wasn’t super tall, a little under five feet, five inches, so his height was perfect. He wasn’t hugely bulked up. He was smaller than Adam, thinner and not as muscle-bound. But he was still cut like an athlete. She’d remembered seeing weight-lifting equipment in the garage. He definitely put it to good use.

  Trevor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. His erection against her thigh.

  She loved that, too.

  That was the shiny outside though. She didn’t know what made up the interior of this man. She could do this having-sex-without-getting-attached thing; it was normal to her. Keeping her feelings compartmentalized and separate from the sex act. No one got in and touched the inner Rebel. But damn, she at least liked to know something about the men she slept with. Liked to think they were friends.

  Because she was going to fuck him. She’d decided that was a go. But…

  “No, I don’t, and that doesn’t count. I still don’t know you.” She pressed her palms against his chest. “And it’s not fair since you know so much about me.” She ignored for a second how much she wanted to strip her clothes off and recreate that electricity, that passion that flashed between them this morning. She tried not to focus on the hot, naked male body millimeters from her own and what it could do to her and how it could make her feel. She needed to think clearly for a moment.

  “Come on,” Rebel said, noticing her voice sounded deeper than normal. “I don’t even know how old you are. I don’t know if you had any brothers or sisters, or what you did before the end. Rachel, Adam and the others chatted my ears off, telling me everything about themselves. But I don’t know anything about you. You saw me in all those movies, heard about me on TV, or in the magazines, so you already know some things about me.”

  “I only know the parts you’ve played, that persona you probably put on for the camera.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. She closed her eyes for a mome
nt, savoring his taste, his soft lips, juxtaposed against the rough texture of his scratchy beard. “That was acting,” he said, sliding his nose against hers. “But I don’t know you, but I want to. I want to know the real Rebel, not the movie star Rebel.”

  She took a deep breath, unsure of what to say next after he’d given such a perfect answer. It was sweet of him to want to get to know the real her. No one used to bother. They wanted the Rebel they had crafted in their heads, not the real Rebel.

  “I know I sound ungrateful, wanting everyone to pretend like I wasn’t a movie star,” she tried to explain. “Oh, poor Rebel, the world ended and she’s not a star anymore. But, I don’t know…it was hard for me when the world ended. It’s like I had more to lose than the rest of you. I don’t mean to make it sound like your life wasn’t important, Trevor, and that you didn’t have anyone or anything to lose…”

  “No, it’s okay, I really didn’t have anything to lose. Actually, the end of the world for me was like someone pressed a do-over button,” Trevor said.

  “Oh, okay.” She gave him a questioning look. “Well, for me it was different. I was about to go on location in Canada to start filming an action movie that was going to change everything for me. Everyone was predicting it would be next summer’s biggest blockbuster. I was so used to being busy, working hard, being so social and around other people. I mean, I wasn’t some brooding actor who thought catering to my fans was trite. I was into my fans. I was into that whole Hollywood lifestyle. Well, not the drug-taking, tearing each other down, mean shit lifestyle. I’m talking about the creative process, being part of a bigger whole, collaborating with other professionals in the industry to make something that the public loved. When the world ended, I didn’t just lose the people I cared about, I lost the whole meaning of my existence. I was Rebel Case, the movie star. That was my identity. Because with everyone gone, I have no audience. God, that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”

  “No, I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I was good at it. I got on a stage when I was a small kid, doing a local production of Aladdin, and knew I loved it, even then. I wasn’t the top in my classes in school, I wasn’t great at sports, I was average in every other way. But when I got on a stage, it all came together for me. I was good at this. I could even sing and dance. I was in Annie on Broadway when I was twelve. Then I moved out to Hollywood for the show Frozen Spoons, and never looked back. When I was on stage or in front of a camera, I felt this power, this ability. And I kept going with it because there never seemed to be an end point. I hadn’t hit a wall yet of, oh I can’t do that, this is as far as I’ll go, I guess. There’d be another challenge and I’d take it and do it. It was exciting. But here. Now. That’s all gone. I spent the first two months depressed, wondering what there was left to live for. Wondering why I was alive. What was the point?

  “You see, even with the world the way it is now, with just the few of us starting over, Adam, for instance, can still be a soldier. Rachel can still be a teacher. Christian can still be a biologist. I can’t still be a movie star!” Her voice cracked. “I can’t do that anymore. What I did requires lots of people, a crew with specific skills and a worldwide audience. None of that exists now, so what I did, what I was, doesn’t exist either.”

  Trevor pulled her into his arms. “So all you were was a movie star and nothing else?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. You should have seen me that first month after the end. After Justin and I got settled in I went through a really bad spell. Like being there and regaining some normalcy made me realize how significantly everything had changed. There’s just the base level depression of, holy shit everyone on the planet is dead and decomposing. Everyone I’d ever known or cared about was dead and gone. That was a horror movie unto itself. But then I started to get sucked into the whole enormity, that none of that past life was ever coming back. Everything has been crushed and what was I going to do now. I swear I spent about a month lying in bed, so depressed it seemed like I couldn’t get up. Justin was kind enough to take care of me and bring me food. I feel bad for doing that to him. He only had one person to talk to and I was worthless for weeks on end. But finally, I came out of it. Justin helped me. He was a good friend.”

  She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Trevor, I’m not Rebel Case the movie star anymore. I’m one of the last few humans alive on earth. And I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to do now, because all the skills I used to have, they don’t mean shit anymore.”

  “I think you’d be surprised to find out that all of us are trying to figure out how to live in this new life. Remember, I’m judging you for who you are now, not who you were, and you’re doing the same for me. Concentrate on being Rebel Case, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “But what does that mean? Who is Rebel Case?”

  “She’s whatever you make of her. Just get up every day and do something. Months from now you’ll wake up, look in the mirror and see her. It won’t happen fast, you have to give it time.”

  “And we’ve got plenty of time, don’t we? That’s what’s weird for me, too. This life with no deadlines. Nothing but free time. I’m not constantly striving for a goal, trying to get a project done and always working with my agent trying to concurrently line up what I’m doing next. It’s just…” She waved a hand. “Kinda like meandering in the desert. There’s no direction. It makes me feel unsettled.”

  “You can still have that. I’m sure if you thought about it you’ve still got goals, things you want out of this new life. How do you want this world to be? Think about it, babe. Find what you want and then work towards making that happen.”

  He had a point. She had the baby now. Her goal was making a life her child could grow in, safe and secure. What was she doing to make that happen? She glanced at Trevor and wondered if he was part of that future.

  “How did you get so smart and philosophical?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “I read a lot of Dr. Phil.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Really? Are you kidding me?”

  “I did.” He grinned. “I read all of his books. But that’s our secret, right? I don’t need this getting out and ruining my street cred.”

  He was too good to be true.

  But she’d always known that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. She pulled back and met his gaze. “Okay, back to my original questions. I need to get to know you better.”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “How old are you?”

  His lips curled up at the edges. “Twenty-nine.”

  Three years older than her. Not a big deal. “Okay, see? That was easy. Now, where did you live?”

  “In California.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. Where in California?”

  His fingers trailed down her arm. “Pasadena.”

  “Oh, really? I’ve been in Pasadena a zillion times. I had friends who lived there. What did you do there? Wait, let me guess… Did you have a chop shop? Is that what you did? Or, wait, did you own a tattoo parlor? Is that it? Is that why you have all these amazing tats? Were you a tattoo artist?”

  He pulled her firmly against his body, his hands roaming along her back. She couldn’t see his face. His head was above hers, his chin resting on her hair, but she felt him shake his head. She was comfortable with him, here in his bed. So comfortable. “No. I didn’t do any of those things, but I’m glad you like the tats because they sure as hell aren’t going anywhere. But, yeah, I was self-employed, an entrepreneur.”

  “Doing what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  His hands stilled. “I already told you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You haven’t told me anything. What kind of work did you do?”

  “I made money. That’s what I did.”

  “Trevor, stop being vague. Why aren’t you answering my questions?” she asked, uneasy

  at his less-than-open behavior. Nothing good came fro
m a man who had something to hide.

  She felt his chest widen as he inhaled and let out a deep breath. “I don’t ask anyone about their past. I get to know them for who they are now. Because I don’t like to talk about what we were before, what any of us were before the virus hit. None of it fucking matters. What matters is who we are now.”

  She frowned. “Well, yeah, I can see what you’re saying, but it helps me to know you better if I know what—”

  “Let me show you something,” he said, cutting her off. “Look over there.” He pointed at the wall and took her hand to lift her up.

  She stood and looked over at a large, gilt-framed, full-length mirror opposite the bed. It rested on the floor, propped against the wall. She hadn’t noticed it before. Well, not that she’d noticed much on her way in when she was groggy and half awake. She glanced around his room, noting it was actually quite nice in a minimalistic, masculine sort of way. One detail she appreciated—the sheets and bedspread were of the finest quality. The cover was black, gray and white plaid, the sheets a silky gray. The pillows she’d slept on had to have been down-filled. The whole setup was as nice as her bed back at home in Malibu, or the bedroom she’d used in Carmel. She was surprised to see a simple apartment attached to the back of a garage so well-appointed. Trevor must have decked this bed out himself. It couldn’t have been left like this from the previous owners, could it?

  Trevor sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her up in front of him, between his legs, both of them facing the mirror on the wall. “You see us?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, still completely confused as to how looking in the mirror answered her previous question, but loving the view of his luscious naked body wrapped around hers. His tats, his hair, his muscles…the man was a work of art.

  Her emotions were a swirling mess. She was pregnant and hiding it. Her best friend was deathly ill. The world was gone. But this man she’d just met was filling her up inside. Every minute she spent with him was a balm onto her soul. She held his hand, overcome with the rush of tenderness she felt for him.