And that left Zeke and the raging competitive streak in her personality that was fully awoken. She’d take him down or bust herself trying.
Over the tops of their cards they studied each other.
“Have you got what it takes?” he said, a quirk to his lips that was biteable.
“Why don’t we see?”
She placed her opening bet and he checked it.
“How many cards, sis?”
“I think my hand is super pretty,” she said. “I’ll sit.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure as I am the sun is going to rise tomorrow.” That got a laugh from the crowd that’d stuck around. Just because you chose to move to a doomsday cult, didn’t mean you lost your sense of the ridiculous.
“Dealer takes two,” he said, dealing himself two cards to replace the two he threw out.
She watched his face carefully. There were a hundred ways she could read his micro expressions, those tiny movements of his brows, forehead, the skin around his eyes, nose, and the corners of his lips, except unlike Earl, Wayne and Bernie, Zeke was an expert at schooling them and he was doing that now because this was poker and you had to respect the game and your opponents.
She stared at him, looking for any sign that he was pleased with his hand, that he thought he could win, and all she saw was a man so dear to her, so supportive and constant, forgiving and loving that her throat got tight and her shoulders tensed, and she no longer wanted to beat him, just crawl into his lap and have him play with her hair.
She shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts about Zeke and she couldn’t avoid them.
He raised his bet. He always backed his instincts and he never did anything by halves.
“Your move, Rosie,” he said, his smile so heartbreakingly genuine in this place of lies, his voice so deeply warm and amused it was fire in his eyes and an ache in her chest.
She trusted him with her life, but she could not read him, not here in this game, not out in that field with the goat. Something had shifted between them. It felt tenuous and fragile and dangerous. It made her uncertain with him where she’d always been sure.
There was nothing for it, she went all in, pushing her remaining chips to the center of the table. If he wanted to see her cards, he had to pay for them. If he wanted to change things up between them he had to give her some kind of a signal she could read.
He raised a brow and she couldn’t read that either. Was he impressed, surprised? Did he think she’d made a dumb play? If he folded she’d win, but she’d never know if he had the better hand and that would take the sweetness out of victory.
If he folded, he’d be giving up on her.
“Call.” He pushed the equivalent number of chips into the pile. He was paying to see her cards and she’d get to see his. She had four aces. He needed a flush to beat her. Not impossible. She fanned the cards down on the table and the spectators murmured approval.
He sang a line from “The Pretender,” the one about secrets being kept and being ready. Ready for what? She was as ready as she’d ever be to finish this game. Maybe other unspoken games between them too. He flipped his cards over and they landed faceup.
Four Jacks.
Aces beat Jacks.
She jumped to her feet, arms raised in triumph. He met both her palms with his, entwining their fingers. Earl swore. Some party pooper shushed the people who’d cheered. Chips spilled all over the floor.
“Let’s get out of here,” Zeke said.
He dragged her down a row of tables, around the knitting circle, past the folks still going strong with charades, and with a quick detour past a plate of sugar donuts, they burst through the doors into the cool of the night.
“I’ve got to know,” she said, trying to frame the words around a mouthful of delicious still-warm dough. “Were you palming cards?” His hands were so big he was a natural at it.
He made a rumbly noise that might’ve been a protest but was more likely about the donut. Either way it was a sex noise and she wanted to hear it again because it made her nipples tighten. She stopped eating her donut to stare at him as he took the last bite of his own, rolling his eyes up to show the whites.
“Oh my fucking God, that was good.” He smacked his lips. “You couldn’t tell?”
She shook her head and dandled her three-quarter donut in front of him. He could have it when he gave her the answer she wanted. If he made that noise again he could throw her on the ground and fuck her senseless and damn the consequences.
“You could’ve had a flush hidden in your palm. I want to know I won fair and square.”
Eyes on her hand, he made a cross over his heart. There were sugar crystals glittering on his lips, made her lick her own, made her want to suck his. She’d entered an alternative sugar-sparked reality, entranced with the joy in him, and she wasn’t quick enough to prevent his sneak attack.
He caught her around the waist and plucked the donut out of her hand with his mouth, his lips kissing her fingers. She tried to pull away at the last moment, competitive to the end, but he was big and fast and all over her and the donut was dust and she was gloriously trapped in his strong arms.
“Hi,” he said, his sweetened breath ghosting over her face, his voice gone growl low. “Thanks for the donut.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, looking up into his smile, feeling light as cotton candy and hot enough to imitate a phoenix and burn right up.
“I wouldn’t ever cheat on you, Aurora Rae.”
“You wouldn’t?” It came out like a question because she could not catch her breath.
“You’d kick my ass.” He rearranged his hold on her, both hands straight to her butt, making her groan. “You beat me fair and square. You always will.”
She’d had more questions, but they no longer mattered, because the two of them were outside alone, in this strange place under the starlight. Zeke sang the opening to “The Pretender” and moved them in tight circles, their bodies jammed together close enough to merge. Danger sparked along nerve endings and lust rushed her body like the richest high.
When he got to the chorus, where the song rocked out, he spun her out with that belt-loop maneuver and they danced around, headbanging and stomping in the starlight, shout-singing the words to the song and pretending they didn’t almost start a fire with the heat crackle coming off them, and that everything between them was just the same as it always was.
Chapter Thirteen
Zeke had only just gotten as comfortable as he was able to on the hard earth, when the kick caught him on the hip and torchlight blinded him. “What the fuck?” He couldn’t shield his face because his arms were trapped inside the sleeping bag.
“Get up.” Mike’s voice.
He sensed the next kick coming and rolled so it missed, raising a cloud of dust. “Jesus Christ.”
“He’s not going to help you, city slicker.”
Out of the bag and on his feet, eyes adjusting, Zeke could see it was Mike and Ted with the rest of the crew behind them. One on too many. Fear roared through his body. He was barefoot, practically naked.
“What’s going on?” He couldn’t afford for this to become a fight he had no chance of winning, so easy does it. “Was I snoring too loud? My ritual nighttime teeth grinding keeping you up?”
“Funny isn’t going to save you any more than being a card shark,” said Ted.
That didn’t take long to get around. Keep it light, but don’t show too much fear. “Tell me what this is about or there’d better be a defib unit in the truck because you guys are scaring the shit out of me.”
“Shut up,” said Ted and then the click, clickety clack sequence of a rifle loading and cocking. Fuck. A camp chair appeared behind him. “Sit.”
He sat. Cooperation was his best asset in the face of intimidation. More lights came on. Everyone else was fully dressed. Chuck had the rifle. At least that was the only weapon he could see through the flashlight they kept trained at his eyes. This had
to be some kind of hazing, an initiation rite. He’d survive being frightened and humiliated.
“We need to have a little talk,” Mike said.
“Sure, about?” A hand came down on either shoulder to hold him still. He’d survive a beatdown if it came to it. But if they put a bullet in him, he was in big trouble. He had to stay cool, not raise the temperature, let them see he had no fight in him.
“If it’s the cards, that was just fun. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll apologize.” He’d talked his way out of worse scares.
Mike laughed, and the other men echoed him. “Aw hell no. About time someone showed Earl up.”
“Is it how I treated Susan? I was a dick to her.”
“It’s about whether you and your sister are the right fit for Abundance.”
Ah fuck, what were they doing to Rory? Didn’t matter how many of them there were, he would fucking take them apart. He tried to stand with a roar and was shoved down. “If any of you motherfuckers breathe on Rosie, you’re going to discover my hands are good for more than hammering nails and card tricks.”
Ted went to his haunches, in direct eyeline, blocking the light source. Zeke would’ve headbutted him, but he was being held back. “Now, now, hustler. No need to get steamed up. This is a just a friendly chat.”
He struggled against the hands restraining him. “If it was friendly you wouldn’t be holding me down.”
Ted stood, hooked his booted foot behind the front crossbar of the chair and pulled. Zeke crashed backwards into the dirt, trapped in the chair and coughing in the dust. They could kill him, dump his body and no one would know. Rory would be alone. One of the men hauled him, staggering to his feet, by his hair. The chair was righted, and he was shoved into it with enough force to almost tip it again.
“All right. All right. I’m listening but leave Rosie out of it. You can do whatever you want to me. I don’t matter, but she deserves a good life.”
“You’ve got that right. And it’s your lucky day because no one is going to hurt Rosie. She’s earning her place here and she’s earmarked for Orrin. But you’re disposable.”
None of that made him feel any less rage. It burned in his limbs. He gripped the arms of the camp chair to ground his focus because Rory belonged to him. He’d been fascinated by her his whole life. She was the girl who liked all the same things he did: being outdoors, shooting hoops and setting things on fire, stolen books with sex in them and sleights of hand. That was confusing enough at twelve. At sixteen, he couldn’t get enough of touching her, smooth to his growing coarseness, round to his bony edges. The prettiest thing he’d ever seen. But he hadn’t known what to do with that sensation welling inside, made him feel small and weak and he was rougher than he should’ve been with her. Tackled her so hard one day he broke her collar bone. She didn’t even cry. He didn’t touch her for a long time after that. Ashamed. More confused. And when he did, it was the same as the way he touched Cal and Halsey, a nudge, a shove, a slap, a tug on her clothes, a yank to her hair. He never touched either of his sisters, or any other woman with such little gentleness.
Unless they were dancing on a bar top, it was the way Rory touched him, right up until that night she’d run into his arms in the dining hall.
Since then he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about touching her differently; in all the ways he knew women liked to be touched. To learn the softness of her skin with his hands and his mouth and his cock. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about making her come.
And these goons weren’t going to fuck with that fantasy.
He squinted into the light at Ted. “Rosie gets to choose who she sleeps with.” He’d defend her forever for that right.
“She can sleep with every man here once she’s done her duty. This is not about Rosie, it’s about you.”
Contrition might be an asset even if it tasted like shit. “Because I fucked up with Susan? I’ll apologize.”
Ted put his boot against the chair rungs and Zeke braced. “It’s about respect. You ask too many questions.”
“Why are we building here?” That was Mike from somewhere behind him. “Why so far from town? What’s in the caves? How often do new people arrive? Is Spencer the only one who goes outside? Where do we keep our weapons? How do we defend ourselves?”
“Where is our boneyard?” said Chuck. “That’s just morbid, man. Who even wants to know?”
Zeke dropped his eyes to his legs, made his voice low and quiet. “I ask questions because I want to learn. I want to contribute.”
“You ask questions to challenge and this isn’t a democracy.” Mike again, said with a kick to the back of the chair.
“You live here, you live by our rules, you embrace our ways,” said Ted. “You don’t go asking so many fucking questions.”
The cold metal edge of the rifle’s muzzle slid underneath his chin, pushing his head up. “You might think having a weapon is your constitutional right,” said Chuck. “There’s no second fucking amendment in here. You gave up those rights when you drove through our gates.”
Chuck’s finger was nowhere near the trigger. This was about terror, not torture. He worked to slow his heartbeat, gripping the chair arms. He’d take whatever punishment they dished out. He’d die before he left Rory alone.
“You’d only shoot your own ugly dick off anyway.” Chuck laughed, nudging the barrel of the gun upwards, making Zeke’s teeth clack as his head jerked back. Someone from behind glanced a blow across the top of his head and he bit his tongue, blood filling his mouth. He turned his head to the side and spat it out, the physical pain keeping him focused on managing the situation without exploding it.
Ted moved Chuck aside. “You bring doubt and falsehoods into our home. And we can’t abide that. It’s not your place to question our intelligence of what’s going on in the decay. Everything you know from out there is a lie fed to you to keep you ignorant to the real state of the world. There’d be mass panic if people knew the truth about how bad things were. You know this already from what Spencer taught you, but still you don’t trust.”
“If you can’t shake off the taint of the decay, there’s no place here for you,” said Mike.
Zeke’s mouth was full of blood again, stopped him replying.
“You hear, man?” Chuck’s hand moved into view holding a tin cup. “We only want what’s best for you. Water, drink.”
The hands holding him disappeared, the light was lowered from his face. He took the cup, warily. Spat, rinsed, spat again. Was this over? It was too much to hope that they were done.
“Sorry about roughing you up some,” Mike said. “We were just making a point.”
“You didn’t bite your whole damn tongue off did you?” said Ted. “That might be hard to explain to Orrin.”
Zeke spat again. “You couldn’t have made your point without scaring me half to death?”
“Now where would the fun in that be?” said Ted. He offered his hand, and when Zeke didn’t take it, he said, “You’re a good man, Zack. A good brother. You work hard. More than pull your weight. I understand why you misstepped with Susan but it’s no big deal. We want you to feel at home here. We’re your family and we want what’s best for you and for Rosie.”
Zeke ran his hand through his hair, pleased to feel no bald spots. The way this game worked was that you were supposed to be so grateful that the terror was over, so thankful that you hadn’t really been hurt badly that you forgave the terrorists. It wasn’t easy to get to his feet and take Ted’s hand, accept Mike’s high five.
“That’s it? You guys don’t want to shoot my head off and bury me in a shallow grave?”
You’d think this was stand-up and he’d just delivered a side-splitting line. There was so much robust laughter they set a coyote howling.
“Naw, we love you,” said Ted.
“We loved you before you humbled Earl. Now you’re our fucking hero,” said Mike.
Another cup was passed to him, this one held hot tea. Chuck was shak
ing the dirt out of his sleeping bag. A blanket was draped around his shoulders.
“You were piiiissed off,” said Ted, making the other men laugh again with the exaggerated way he said it. “Glad we’re all on the same crew here.”
“Arnica for that bruise you’re going to get on your hip,” Mike said, handing him a jar. “Slather that on all over and it’ll take the ache out.”
It didn’t matter how good it felt not to be so cold, how relieved he was the abuse hadn’t escalated, the violence was minimal, and he’d remained unhurt. That Rory was safe and tucked up in her single bed, dreaming of trusting herself again.
It didn’t matter how good the tea tasted, what magic potion was in that jar, nothing was going remove the ache of this encounter except finding the evidence he needed to shut this place down and beginning the process of reuniting every soul inside Abundance who’d been sold down a river of lies, with the unvarnished, often ugly, but real, truth.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory’s challenge was finding a way to get upstairs to Orrin’s home, find that signal jammer and turn it off. She had plenty of time to contemplate how. A whole new week to stand in her corner of the kitchen, watching the shifts change and the meals come together and fidgeting foot to foot, craving the fleetest eye contact.
The fun of games night had dissolved into an agony of uncertainty. How to pull off the break-in? How to unpack her feelings about Zeke?
The former was part of her skill set. The latter was radioactive.
Every time she opened that box in her brain reserved for thoughts of him it bombarded her with gorgeous memories, lulling her body into a warm stupor. Fuzzy and cute ones of childhood involving blanket forts and squeezing into cupboards and under beds for hide and seek, playing dress-up and blowing out candles on homemade birthday cakes. Adolescent ones where they interspersed grudge matches and ignoring each other with adventures and experiments. He was the first boy to make her cry. Make her swear vengeance. The only boy to build her a tree house and teach her about football.
The Mysterious Stranger (The Confidence Game Book 3) Page 12
