“I love you, Mason,” she said. “But we’ve been listening to this Live and Let Live man for a long time now. He’s never once asked for help. He’s asking now.”
“We’re safe here,” he argued. “Don’t you remember what it was like out there, traveling, on the road? Do you really want to do that again?”
“We’ll avoid the camps. We have guns, and the bow and arrow. We could even travel at night, if you want. But I want to go.” She paused. How could she convince Mason this was the best thing to do?
“What if you’re pregnant?” he asked. “You could be. We don’t know yet.”
“If I’m pregnant, wouldn’t it be better to be in a town of people who could help? That’s safer than being alone in the woods having a baby, right?”
Mason frowned. “Fuck. Let’s sleep on it, okay?”
Emily nodded and smiled up at him. Because that was Mason-speak . . . for yes.
Letliv, Connecticut
TRENT
Trent traipsed back toward his home, fear hanging heavily over him like a cloud. Had he done the right thing, revealing how their little town could be found?
What if the government was monitoring the stations, and sent troops up the coast of Connecticut to find Letliv? Sure, they were willing and able to protect themselves, but what if the enemy showed up incognito? Wolves in sheep’s clothing. Pretending to want to help, when what they really wanted would be to find out their plans and destroy them before he could get Annie out of Grand Central.
Fuck.
Clarissa was waiting for him on the front stoop. It was a nice sight, to see a woman on his doorstep again. A flash of memory of his wife hit him like lightning before receding.
Thinking about her still hurt. It might never stop hurting.
“How’d it go?” Clarissa asked.
“I asked for help. I just . . . I’m praying that the right people hear and not the wrong ones, you know?” Trent sighed and looked at her again. God, she was beautiful. Her red hair was braided, loose strands flowing around her face.
And her hands were muddy.
“Gardening?” he asked, smiling.
“Even better. Come look what I made.” Clarissa opened the front door for him and he followed her into the kitchen.
Laid out on the table was a large sheet of plywood, probably pilfered from the shed out back. And on top of the wood was a thick layer of sandy mud.
“For our map,” Clarissa explained. “For now, at least.”
She leaned over the board and pointed to some lines she’d drawn in the mud. “These are the main entrances at Grand Central. And these,” she said, reaching across him, “are the side entrances. Down here are the Tracks.”
Her breast brushed against his arm and he felt a tingle run through him at the contact.
Focus, man.
“That’s where Annie is,” Clarissa said. “Barker and Jenna will be able to help me add to this. When we have a good map, we can use it for planning.”
Trent looked at her with renewed appreciation. “This is really good. This is going to help.”
Clarissa smiled and glanced away. “Guess I should go clean up.”
“Want to go swimming? We’ll stay close to the shore.”
“Um . . . at night?”
“Best time. Everyone else will be at home.” Trent grinned.
Clarissa cocked her head to the side as if considering the possibility. “Are we distracting ourselves, Trent? Seriously.”
Trent sighed. “You’re right. I have wood to chop out back, anyway. May as well do it now, when it’s cool out.”
She nodded. Did she look . . . relieved? Relieved that he wasn’t going to try and get her in the sack again?
God, that was depressing. Their afternoon together had been the best time he’d had since the Pulse had hit. When they’d been with each other, everything else disappeared for a moment.
He didn’t have to think about the horrors he’d seen. Or think about what Annie was going through, right at that moment. Not being able to help her, even though he knew where she was . . . That was the worst.
“We’ll get her back,” Clarissa whispered.
“You read minds?” Trent asked, only half-joking.
“If that’s a waitress joke, I’ve heard it before,” she smirked.
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. Because of Sookie Stackhouse, the waitress who could read people’s minds in all those books . . .” She trailed off, as if noticing he had no clue what she was talking about.
He shook his head.
“It was all over your face, that you were thinking about your sister,” she said, “that’s all. That, and you were staring at the X in the mud that marks where Annie is being held.”
“I wish I could go right now. Just storm in there, grab her, and run.”
“You wouldn’t get in,” Clarissa reminded him. “And if you did, you’d be shot trying to escape. You’d get both of you killed. We need to do this, but we need to do it right.”
“Right takes too damn long. I don’t have the patience to wait for our numbers to increase, to wait for our men and women to be trained. Waiting is killing me.”
“No,” Clarissa said, putting her hand, caked with dried mud, on his. “Rushing will kill you. Trust me on this. I want to get them out as badly as you do.”
“Why did you look relieved when I said I’d go chop wood instead of us having a swim together?” he asked bluntly.
Clarissa flushed and shook her head. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to sleep with me if you don’t want to. You can still stay here. I won’t kick you out.”
“No, you don’t get it.” Clarissa took in a shaky breath. “I want to, I do. This whole thing just scares me to death. I don’t want to . . . to lose myself in you.”
“So don’t,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, confusion etched on her beautiful face, and he kissed her.
* * *
Clarissa felt the testosterone flowing off of Trent, felt his body tighten with desire as he enveloped her in his arms.
Don’t lose control of yourself.
She disentangled herself from his arms, but her passion still raged within her. Everything about Trent turned her on.
The fact that they shared the same beliefs, had the same mission . . . that made her feelings for him even more powerful. And even more terrifying.
Because if she let herself fall for a man like Trent . . .
Don’t. Don’t let yourself fall for him.
But the heat between them was undeniable.
Maybe she should try what Jenna had suggested, and take control of the situation herself. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, unbuttoning his flannel shirt, leaving it hanging open, his bare chest gleaming with a sheen of perspiration.
A thin line of dark, crinkly hair led from his navel down past his waistband. She walked him backward until he was pressed against the kitchen wall, kissing his exposed flesh.
“Let me,” she said, unbuttoning his jeans.
She tugged his pants down around his thighs, his hard cock finally free.
“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice husky.
“Shh. I want to.” Clarissa’s tongue darted out past her lips, and she tasted him, dropping to her knees before him so she could more comfortably take him in her mouth.
“Oh my God,” he moaned.
Clarissa smiled, fisting the base of his cock while she sucked the head, enjoying the salty musk of him, but enjoying his moans even more. She’d never felt this powerful with a man before.
In the past, she hadn’t had the option to give or receive pleasure at will. Now was the time to make up for all of that. He was hers, for tonight at least. For now.
The heat of his body, his sweat, the wetness of her kisses . . . she took her time bringing him to orgasm. When he came, she swallowed all of it, relishing every last drop.
His climax sounded throughou
t the house like a cry.
Only when she finished did she notice that the mud that had caked her hands before was now all over him.
“I think I’ve marked you,” she laughed.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I like a dirty girl.”
Clarissa smiled, knowing in her soul that Trent meant to tease her, not to insult her. He didn’t look at her like those soldiers did. He didn’t think of her as an object.
“Maybe,” she suggested, “we should take that swim after all.”
Suddenly, a loud whirring noise filled her ears. A sound she hadn’t heard in over a year.
A helicopter.
“What the fuck is that?” Trent ran outside, buttoning his pants as he went.
Clarissa followed.
The entire town was outside, staring up at the sky.
A white helicopter with the letters UN emblazoned on the side was flying low over the town, dropping bags of . . . paper. Something. Pieces of paper that floated across the streets, strewn across yards, some falling on rooftops.
“What’s going on, Trent?” she asked.
Trent knelt down and picked up one of the pieces of paper from the ground.
“It’s a psyop. From the United Nations.”
Clarissa took the paper from him, her hands trembling. The paper had a picture of a white man shaking hands with a soldier in a uniform and blue helmet, smiling.
Underneath, it read:
The United Nations and America are working together. The UN generously provides aid to those in need and are here as peacekeepers. We are allies.
“Are we, though?” she asked.
“The UN’s invaded to put America under international law,” Trent said. “We’re going to lose any hope of getting rid of martial law and restoring liberty. They’ll take our guns so we can’t fight back. They’ll pass laws no one votes for. Laws that will control where we live, what we do, what we can grow, eat, how we educate our children.” He gestured wildly, pointing to the village. “They’ll imprison the rebels—people like us, here in Letliv. They’ll take everything from the people and put it in the hands of the globalists.” He looked down at the paper in her hand. “That’s what this means.”
Clarissa could feel the anger in his voice, his words. “Where are you getting all this from? How do you know?”
“The plans have been in place for a long time, even before the Pulse,” he said, shaking his head. “They call it Agenda Twenty-One.”
Trent crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped it back on the ground.
Grand Central Terminal, a week later
EVAN
Evan took the vitamin from Annie gratefully, and they each swallowed down one of the horse-sized pills. He was already feeling physically stronger and mentally clearer with the proper vitamins and minerals. And Annie was in less pain. Her leg was slowly on the mend, thanks to the calcium and Vitamin D in the pills.
“You need to get off the Tracks, Evan,” Annie said. “It’s not safe for you here.”
“It’s not safe for you, either.” But Evan knew what she meant.
Ever since that night a week ago, when Colonel Lanche had left him alone with Scar, his life had been a living hell.
Because Scar was suddenly done talking, done threatening. He’d moved on to doing.
He didn’t think Scar was gay, just a power-control freak. Dominating Evan seemed to scratch an itch that dominating the girls on the Tracks didn’t.
A flash of what had happened that night ran through his head, but Evan pushed it out of his mind forcefully. His mouth filled with saliva and he wanted to spit, the same way he’d spat Scar’s come onto his boots in disgust that night.
Don’t think about it.
But Scar kept showing up, kept reminding him. Evan couldn’t sleep at night, knowing he might be coming for him.
“You need to make them see you as a man,” Annie said. “As a soldier. So they won’t . . . mess with you.”
“What am I supposed to do, go up to Lanche and ask for a uniform and a gun?”
“Maybe. Then you’d be on the inside, you know? You’d know who was good. Who could be turned against him.”
“I don’t think I could even pretend to serve that monster.” He sighed. “Besides, who will look after you?”
“Josephine will,” Annie said, nodding her head to the subway car across the Tracks. “I’m getting better, too. I bet I’ll be able to put weight on it again in a few weeks.”
“Don’t push yourself,” Evan warned. “You don’t want to re-break your leg.”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Lanche is smart. He’ll never believe me. He knows when I’m lying.”
“So tell him the truth. It’s been long enough—I know Barker, Clarissa, and Jenna are far enough away now to be safe from him. They’ve probably gotten more people, more supplies, more things than we even know. So whatever you know is old news.”
Was it true? Could the information he’d been holding so close to his vest for so long be useless now to harm his friends?
“He’ll want to know why I changed my mind.”
“Well . . .” Annie blushed and looked away. “Maybe it’s because you’re sick of getting visits from Scar. That would be enough to change anyone’s mind.” She shuddered. “How are you . . . how are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Evan lied quickly. “It’s only happened three times. I can’t even remember really, because I pretend . . .”
I pretend it’s not happening.
“I know,” she whispered. “Tell Lanche that if Scar stays away from you, you’ll tell him everything. Then tell him. I think it’s okay now. I really do. Barker wouldn’t want you to go through all this. None of our friends would.”
Evan nodded and leaned back on the subway seat. Annie reached up and ran her delicate hand through his hair, soothing him.
“You’re stronger than you know,” she said.
If he got off the Tracks, stopped being Scar’s bitch . . . Fuck. If he got in with the soldiers, made Lanche happy—maybe he really could be more of a help to their cause from inside the belly of the beast.
“When should I go talk to him?” he asked.
A familiar, deep voice cleared his throat, and Evan opened his eyes with a jolt.
Scar.
Speak of the devil and he appears.
“Aww, how cute,” Scar laughed. “Am I interrupting something? Did you have first dibs, Annie?”
Annie gave Evan a look that he could only interpret as a mixture of fear and pity. Fuck, he didn’t want to be pitied by this beautiful woman. He didn’t want her to look at him, knowing he was about to get molested by this fuckhead.
“Scar, wait—” Evan said, but Scar stepped inside the subway car and pulled Evan to the back corner by his ear.
Annie covered her eyes, which Evan was grateful for. He didn’t want her to see, much less know. The fact that she knew what was happening to him was almost as bad, almost as humiliating.
The one woman who he wanted to see him as a man—and instead she was witness to this.
Kill me and get it over with.
No. He had to stop thinking like that. He’d survived this long, he could make it another night.
Just live through this minute. Through this second.
“Turn the fuck around, bitch,” Scar said to her.
She obeyed, carefully repositioning her leg as she did. Evan was glad she didn’t try to get Scar to stop, like last time. It only made him angrier, gave him something to prove.
Because Scar liked to prove that he had complete power over them, no matter what they said.
“Miss me, pretty boy?” Scar asked.
Evan’s throat went dry. He looked away, hoping to avoid doing or saying anything that would make the situation worse.
Scar shoved Evan down onto the floor, and his knee hit one of the metal poles in the middle of the subway car hard.
“I asked you a question. Did. You. Miss. Me.�
�
Scar laughed and grabbed Evan’s hair, holding his head up so he was forced to look up at him. Scar’s hard cock strained against his camo pants, the power trip clearly turning him on.
“Let’s find out.” Scar reached down, cupping one large, meaty hand over Evan’s crotch.
“Please don’t,” Evan whispered, then bit his tongue. Fuck. He shouldn’t have said anything—it just spurred him on.
“Why aren’t you hard? Little young to have a limp dick, aren’t you, kid?” Scar teased. “I think you need to see what a man’s dick looks like.”
Evan forced himself to breathe, to calm his racing pulse. “Scar. Let’s go talk to Colonel Lanche. I will tell him everything he wants to know.”
Scar paused. “Really.”
“Only if we go right now.”
The tension in the car was palpable. Evan just hoped that Scar would remember the higher purpose he had in terrorizing him, and forget about his cock for a moment.
Evan thought of threatening Scar, of promising to bite his thing off if it came anywhere near Evan’s mouth again.. But he instinctively knew that would just inspire Scar to prove that he couldn’t be threatened.
And with Annie sitting there in the corner, her back to them, Evan knew he couldn’t do shit about anything.
He’d never felt so powerless in his life.
But that was going to change, right now. It was time for him to turn the tables on these assholes.
“Bring me to the Colonel, Scar. Before I change my mind.”
Scar frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at Evan, kneeling on the floor.
“All right. Let’s go.” Scar pulled him up roughly and leaned in, his breath hot in Evan’s ear. “But if you’re fucking with me, then trust me when I say I will royally fuck with you. And you won’t get away with just a half-assed blow job when I come to get you back.”
Evan nodded, the threat of being raped still raw and painful, the same way it had been that first night he was taken to Grand Central.. “I’m ready to tell you everything,” he said. “I just want my life back.”
Letliv, Connecticut
The Thrust Page 5
