The Dead Saga (Book 6): Odium VI

by Riley, Claire C.

  Life teaches us many lessons, more so from our losses and our failures than from our wins or our victories. O’Donnell and I were just that—a lesson from life.

  I stood back up, stretching my legs once more and feeling a little more at peace since I’d admitted to myself how I felt. Didn’t change a damn thing, of course, but my heart felt lighter for it.

  I sighed and started to pace the small room again. I couldn’t keep still. I felt antsy—desperate, almost. I still had no idea what I was going to say to the Savage women when they came back and found Drag wasn’t there. Should I knock myself out cold and say he did it so I have no idea what could have happened to him?

  The sound of voices in the hallway drew my attention. They were further off, but definitely getting closer, and I hated that my heart sped up and I started to sweat even more.

  This was it.

  They were going to open that door any minute and see that Drag wasn’t there. And I wouldn’t be Aife’s new pet then. I’d be lunch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nina

  “I think you should come,” O’Donnell said, sidling up next to me.

  I swung around to look at her and she held her hands up in defense.

  “I know, I know. You hate me, I get it, truly I do. I’m not exactly your biggest fan either, ya know. But this is bigger than whatever is going on between us. And I’ve calculated the odds and we have a sixty percent chance of convincing Aiken to help if you’re there—you can be very convincing when you’re not being such a bitch.”

  When I didn’t reply, she sighed and went on.

  “One of your people is at Haven—the NEO base. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  I was caught between wanting to slit her throat with my machete and ask her a hundred different questions about the NEOs. I was a naturally curious person, and from what she’d told us all about the NEOs, they were good people. Though no one was ever truly good anymore—discovering Shooter’s plan for the Highwaymen women had proved that.

  “Joan, I think her name is.” She shrugged. “That is if no one has put a bullet in her head yet. Man that woman is annoying. She sings constantly, and honestly, she can’t sing for shit!”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Crazy Pants,” I laughed.

  “That sounds about right,” O’Donnell laughed back.

  My heart felt a little warmer knowing that she was okay. “How’s she doing?”

  “She was fine when we left her. A little upset about not coming with us to find the kid, but Mikey put her straight and she understood. I think. I hope, anyway, because she’ll make everyone’s lives hell if she changed her mind.” O’Donnell sighed again, and I chuckled. Because yeah, that sounded like Joan all right. “Look, I think you could help convince Aiken to help us.” O’Donnell placed her gun on the counter, her hand still gripped around the body of it while we talked.

  My laughter died, and the mood darkened again as we both remembered our places.

  “What makes you think I can convince him to do anything? I don’t even know him,” I replied, already knowing I was going with her so I could see Crazy Pants again. The old broad was annoying as hell. She barely washed and constantly stunk like shit, not to mention that she was half-crazy—if not all crazy—and she forgot things more than she remembered them. But I had a soft spot for her all the same.

  O’Donnell laughed and picked her gun back up before strapping it to her back. “Because if you can convince bikers to let women into their sacred church meeting, then you can convince anyone to do anything.” She smiled, and though I wanted to smile back, I found that it wouldn’t come. “Look, let’s not hate on each other, okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to, O’Donnell, I really don’t. We’re two badass, strong-willed women and we should be able to work together.”

  O’Donnell laughed. “Hell yeah.”

  I leaned on the counter with both hands, staring down into the speckled surface. “But it’s not that simple, is it?”

  “It could be,” she replied. “Let’s just bring him home safely and we can sort through the other bullshit afterwards. He can pick who he wants, though I’m guessing by how close you and Shooter are now it won’t really be an issue anymore, right?” There was a note of desperation in her tone, though she tried to hide it. “We both want the same thing. And it’s not just Mikey that’s stuck in that place. I have a friend in there too—Phil. The woman and her husband from the candy store sold him off to the Savages. He’s a good man—no, a great man—and I have to bring him home to his family.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Can you imagine how many other people they might have in there?” I said darkly.

  “It keeps me up at night,” she replied honestly.

  I finally looked at her, noting the dark rings under her eyes, the fear in her eyes.

  “I can’t believe people are out there doing this. The zombies don’t have a choice in any of this—it’s a sickness, an instinct from whatever virus they have. But the Savages…that’s a choice.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I wonder how many more people there are like the couple Mikey and Phil stumbled across—innocent-looking people that are hiding this dark side to them.”

  Her eyes welled up, her forehead crinkling as she fought her own emotions. “They killed my friend, you know—Ricky. He was a pain in the ass for sure, but he was my friend. And they killed him. Mikey said they made him eat parts of Ricky.” Her hand went to her mouth and she shook her head. “How he did that and came out of it sane is anyone’s guess.”

  My stomach turned at the thought of what they’d all been through. What Mikey had been through and was still going through.

  “It’s done now,” she finally said, composing herself. “Can’t live in the past, right?”

  “If only we could,” I replied, meaning every word of it.

  What would I have done differently if I could have gone back to before that nightmare began. How would I have lived my life if I could have gone back to such simpler times, when it was just me and Ben fighting over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher and do the grocery shopping. God, I still remembered that last argument with such vivid clarity.

  Everything, I finally decided.

  I’d do everything differently.

  But mostly, I’d put a bullet in my brain before this apocalypse ever started, because if I could go back to the start knowing what I knew now, there was no way I’d want to live through it all again.

  “We’re going to make them pay, right, Nina?” she said, her brow pulling in in a hard frown.

  “Yes,” I replied firmly. “Yes,” I said again.

  “Good.” O’Donnell started to walk away. “I’ll be heading out with Axe in thirty minutes, if you’re coming, and I think you should. I want to get there and get back, hopefully with a small army in tow, but either way. I’m coming back to get Mikey and Phil, and whoever else I can—with or without Aiken, or you. But I’d really like it if you’d come. I trust you to have my back.”

  “I don’t think Shooter will let me go anyway,” I said with a shrug. I hated how pathetic that sounded, but if what Shooter had just said to me was true—about being in love with me—then there was no way he was going to let me leave on a dangerous two-day mission.

  “And why should that stop you?” she retorted, looking back at me with a smirk.

  I couldn’t help but smile, though it quickly fell. “We’re not friends, you know,” I called to her.

  “Who said I wanted to be?” she said with a wink. “The way I see it, I’ve checked the numbers and right now there’s a better chance of Mikey’s survival if we work together. That’s all this is.”

  She left the room and I stared at the space where she had just been before turning my attention back to my machete. I’d come into the kitchen to clean it and sharpen it up, though I’d gotten sidetracked when O’Donnell had followed me in. The weapon was filthy, covered in deader blood and God knew what else, and th
e blade wasn’t looking too sharp.

  I pulled out some of the kitchen drawers, looking for a knife sharpener. On the fourth try I found one. I took it out and placed it on the work surface before grabbing a rag and cleaning the blood off the blade. I grabbed the bottle of water I’d brought with me and dampened the rag and swiped it over the blade, and then I began sharpening my weapon to deadly proportions. The task made my arms ache, but it was a good ache. The kind of ache that reminded me of fighting and killing those abominations. Of ridding the earth of that plague. I’d take that ache in my arms over the one in my heart any day.

  The kitchen door swung back open and Gauge came in. I wondered if he was looking for someone else for a second, until he checked behind him once and then moved closer to me. I realized quickly he was looking for someone, and that someone was me.

  I continued sharpening my blade while I waited for him to speak. Gauge couldn’t be rushed with anything; he worked at his own pace and did things in his own time, and he always had a motive. He lit a cigar, and finally I couldn’t take it any longer. I stopped sharpening my blade and looked up at him, finding that he was staring away from me.

  “Can I help you with something?” I snapped.

  He slowly looked down at me, his dark eyes dragging me into his own personal hell. “Just wondering what your plan is,” he growled out.

  “Plan?”

  “Yeah. Your plan. A woman like you don’t belong with a man like him. You know it. And I know it. Reckon even he knows it, but he’d need to put his dick away and start thinking with his big-boy brain to realize it first. So what’s your plan? Because it sure as shit ain’t being his old lady and spitting out babies for him.” He cocked a dark eyebrow at me. “Or am I wrong?”

  I held onto the sides of the kitchen countertop and stared up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gauge. I thought Shooter and I were getting along just fine.”

  He chuckled. “Darlin’, you and I know you’re no good for him. You’re too…” He waved a hand up and down my body. “…tempestuous and defiant for him. And while that might be what he likes about you, that ain’t what’s good for him, or this club. And I will do anything to protect this club. You feel me, Nina?”

  “You shouldn’t use big words you don’t understand, Gauge,” I bit out sarcastically, my gaze narrowing.

  “I understand every fuckin’ word that comes out of my mouth. What I don’t understand is why you’re with him.”

  It was my turn to laugh then, and I made no move to try to hide it from him.

  His features remained impassive, but he couldn’t hide the anger that flared to life in his eyes. “Something funny to you?”

  I picked up my machete again and continued grinding it through the knife sharpener, giving him a shake of my head and a smirk. “You think you know better than he does what’s good for him?”

  “Sure do.”

  “And why’s that, Gauge?”

  He puffed on his cigar again. “Been with this man a long time, Nina. Seen the shit he’s been through, and I know better than he does what’s good for him and not. And you, are not good for him. You’re not good for anyone. You’re impulsive and moody, you’re prone to doing whatever the fuck you want without a care in the world for how anyone else will be affected, but mostly you’re stubborn as hell, which really annoys the crap out of me.”

  Oh my god he was a fucking asshole.

  I rolled my neck and picked up my machete, holding it up against the light. The thing was probably sharper than it had ever been in its life at that point. I took a couple of steps around the counter separating us, closing the distance between Gauge and me. He didn’t flinch, and his gaze stayed locked on mine as I got closer.

  “I may not be the perfect, blond, submissive old lady you imagined for him, but I think he’s man enough to know what he wants.” I lifted my chin, wondering why I was even having that discussion in the first place, when it was me that didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

  Gauge’s hand reached out, and before I could stop him he’d knocked the machete from my grip. It clanged noisily on the kitchen floor, and as I tried to take a step away from him, he gripped me with both hands and lifted me off the ground and onto the kitchen worktop. In a position which was reminiscent of me and Shooter earlier, Gauge filled the space between my thighs, his hands holding my wrists tightly in his grip.

  I glared at him, my mouth pinched in a hard line as I tried not to show any fear. He wouldn’t do anything to me. He clearly cared too much about Shooter and Shooter cared about me. So there was no way, right? I tried to convince myself as we locked stares.

  Gauge leaned down and placed his nose at my neck before moving up to my earlobe. Goose bumps trembled along my skin, and though I held myself rigid, I still didn’t fight him. Not yet, I told myself.

  “You’re pretty—I’d even go so far as to say beautiful, Nina. I’d take you as an old lady in a heartbeat if for no other reason than to teach you to come to heel, but a man like Shooter needs someone more—compliant right off the bat. I’ve seen what a woman like you does to him, and the club can’t take that again.” Gauge pulled back to look at me, his hands still holding my wrists.

  “You mean his wife?” I asked bitterly, and Gauge looked impressed that I knew about her. “Yeah, he told me about her. I’m not trying to fill her shoes or take her place—”

  “Good, because no woman ever could.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You have a little thing for her? Is that what the problem is, Gauge?”

  He smirked at me. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if it means protecting this club. It’s all we have left—all I have left. And you’re trouble. Could fucking smell it on you the day you arrived, kicking and screaming like a feral cat.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I laughed. “But I think we were talking about you and Shooter’s wife, not me, right?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

  “Sure there is. You don’t think I’m good enough for Shooter and that I could never fill her shoes. You’ve always been jealous of him, right? Jealous that he got the girl you wanted. And now what? You think coming between us and getting him a good little wife that won’t argue back is just what he needs?” I scoffed, feeling angry and frightened all at the same time.

  Gauge barked out a laugh, and I snapped my jaw shut. I had no idea why I was goading him like that. Clearly there was something wrong with me. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and walk away?

  “Like I said, you have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” Gauge let go of my wrists and stepped away from me, and I slid off the counter and reached down for my machete, feeling stronger with it in my hands again. “You wanna know what my real problem is with you?”

  “Enlighten me,” I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “You’re too much like her, and that ain’t good for him.” He looked away before adding, “Or me.”

  I swallowed, unsure of what to say to that.

  “It’s why he likes you so much: you remind him of her. She never did as she was damn well told either. It’s what got her killed.”

  “Like I said, clearly you had a thing for her.”

  He picked up his cigar from the kitchen counter and lit it again. His gaze went far away as he puffed on it, cigar smoke clouding around him.

  I watched as his normally hard face softened.

  “She was my daughter,” he said, and finally looked at me. “Shooter’s old lady. They were constantly like two bulls going head to head. She was feisty and beautiful and she fuckin’ hated my guts from the day she was dumped on my doorstep as a teenager.” He chuckled. “Almost killed us both when we lost her to the infection.” Gauge dropped his cigar into the metal sink and it hissed as he splashed some water on it to put it out.

  I stared at him, struck dumb with shock. I opened my mouth and then closed it again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” And I was sorry. Really sorry. Because I knew that
there were some deaths you never got over, and losing a child would be one of them.

  He shook his head and looked me up and down. “I hate having you here, Nina, because you’re too much like her. You won’t stand for injustice, even if it means getting yourself killed standing up for what you believe in, and I hate to think what would happen if he lost you. But mostly, I hate to think that he might be finally moving on from her.”

  I blinked in surprise, touched and hurt by his words all at once.

  “I’m sure he’d get over it,” I mumbled, because I had no idea what else to say to him.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Nina. Losing you would send him back to the dark place that I only just about dragged him back from after losing Laney and Colt.”

  I looked up at Gauge, that strong and scary man that seemed like he was afraid of nothing and no one. A man that had also once been a father and a grandfather.

  “And what about you, Gauge?” I asked softly.

  He chuckled and bent down so he could look me in the eye. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and lifted his chin. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, darlin’,” he said with a wink, “I’m already dead inside anyway.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I stayed in the kitchen, alone, for a good ten minutes as I worked through all the information. But no matter how hard I thought about it, I still struggled to make sense of it all.

  “Fuck it,” I mumbled.

  Because seriously, fuck it. What else was I supposed to do? It just wasn’t fair to put the weight of the world on someone’s shoulders like that. I mean, I prided myself on being a strong woman, but the anxiety of what Shooter might do if anything happened to me was too much to bear, and I kind of even hated him for it.

  I hated pressure, and commitment, and any of the stuff that came with being a person who actually gave a shit about others. Hated it right to the very marrow of my bones. Deeper still. I barely knew Shooter—yet it felt like I’d known him all my life, like every moment up until then was set in place to bring us together. And yet I needed to get away from him if I was going to figure out what I really wanted. My relationship with Shooter was already too intense for my liking, and with the extra information that Gauge had happily piled on like the proverbial cherry on the cake was suffocating and scary. And if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t ready to roll over and be someone’s happy little stay-at-home wife. Not then, not ever. Yet that was what he wanted, right? RIGHT!