“He’s not so bad,” I say to her turned back with a little laugh. “He’s more of a big teddy bear, really.”
The redhead turns back to me, her mouth hanging open and a look of disbelief on her face. “No, he’s not. He’s dangerous.”
She turns back around and I decide to keep my mouth shut about Gunner from here on out or I’ll never make any friends here. In the line ahead of me I can see Backtrack. His gaze is scanning everyone, and I can’t help but smirk and wonder if he’s looking for Amara. Backtrack sees me and gives me a small wave before turning back around, and I can’t help but smirk at his disappointed look that Amara isn’t with me.
You know, even at the end of the world, some things don’t change.
Love, lust, romance—they still exist no matter who the man or what the world we live in is like. I guess it’s good that at least they still exist. That they haven’t all fallen to surviving despite the odds. Because surely one day surviving won’t mean just fighting the living and the dead; it will mean loving and being loved. It will mean building for the future.
It’s finally my turn to get something to eat, and after the feast I saw this morning, I’m expecting something similar now—so I’m bitterly disappointed to see that lunch today is granola, jerky, and bread.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath. I grab two slices of bread, some granola, and a slice of jerky, and the same for Gunner, with the intent on heading back to the cabin from this morning and getting another slice of cake, and some coffee, and some of those delicious-looking apples, because this shit is not acceptable.
“Not happy with the food, Nina?”
I turn to my left and see Shooter standing there with a smile on his face. One hand is holding his tray and the other is stroking his beard like it’s a kitty cat. It’s kind of weird, and with anyone else I’d probably say so, but his deep blue eyes pull me in again and instead I have the urge to stroke his beard now too.
“It’s err, I umm I hate granola,” I laugh, feeling self-conscious as his gaze travels across from one shoulder, over my collar bone and across to my other shoulder.
“I heard Gunner was showing you around,” he says, glancing over at Gunner.
I feel strangely protective of the other man, and hope that I haven’t gotten him in any trouble. “Yeah, I wanted to know more about it—about this place, and you.”
He smirks when I say that, and I feel my cheeks grow hot.
“I mean, if I’m going to stay awhile, I need to know my way around.”
“You stayin’ then?” he says, looking all too happy about that fact.
“Well, I actually want to speak to you about that. And about Michael.”
“So Amara said. Follow me and we can talk somewhere more private. I have something else for you to eat too, if you’d like.”
I hand off my tray to the woman that’s standing behind me and look at Shooter. “Hell yes, you don’t need to ask twice.”
Shooter chuckles. “Come on.”
He eyes up the other tray of food in my hands. “Thought you hated granola.”
“I do, but I said I would grab Gunner something to eat. He was looking uncomfortable standing in line,” I say, my gaze roaming the small benches dotted around. I finally see Gunner sitting by himself. He’s hunched over with his head in his hands, his hair hanging over and covering his face, and I frown at the sight of him. He seems so completely broken. “Be right back,” I say to Shooter.
Gunner looks up as I approach, and I notice that his eyes are damp. I hold out the tray for him and he reaches out and takes it. The tremor in his arm is obvious, and my sympathy builds even further.
“Thank you,” he says. He looks over my shoulder and sees Shooter standing there, and he looks panicked for a second.
I look across to Shooter, who’s frowning something fierce, but when Gunner tries to stand up and give me the tray back, Shooter holds up a hand and nods for him to sit back down.
I walk away and Shooter gestures for me to follow him, so I do. We end up at the front of the camp, at the doors of the big round cabin, and Shooter holds the door open for me. As I pass him, he notices my machete hooked onto my belt.
“You don’t need that here,” he says.
“And what if I want it?” I reply without hesitation. “What then?”
He sucks his lower lip into his mouth in thought. “It ain’t safe, women walking around armed.”
“But it’s safe enough for the men to?”
“That’s different. That’s necessity,” he growls out in annoyance with me.
“No, that’s you being a sexist asshole. What’s necessity is that every person here be able to defend themselves. If it’s safe for your biker dudes to carry weapons, it’s safe for the women to.” I storm down the corridor, not really knowing where I’m actually going, but I’m fueled by my anger, as always.
I should be more wary and keep my mouth shut. After all, what do I really know about these people? I’ve met others before who said they were good and turned out to be bad. But despite knowing all of that, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
Shooter catches up to me in three big strides and grabs my arm. He spins me to look at him, a hard scowl on his face. “What I do here is the safest option for these bitches.”
My skin prickles at his name for women and I snatch my arm back and he takes a step forward, closing the small space between us. We’re both glaring at each other, neither of us willing to back down. He takes my arm again and starts to lead me down the hallway, and I know that I should probably take out my machete and chop off his grubby fingers right now, but for some reason I don’t.
When we reach the end of the hallway, he pulls out a key and unlocks the door and then he lets go of my arm and goes inside, holding the door open for me. “You comin’ or what?”
He sounds angry, and frustrated, like he can’t quite work me out—which is absurd, since I’m basically what it says on the label. I’m not a puzzle. I’m not complicated. I’m pretty fucking open and honest about who I am and what I’m about.
“Fine,” I say, my arms crossed over my chest. “But this doesn’t change anything; I’m carrying a weapon no matter what your sexist ass says!” I stomp into the room and he shuts the door behind me.
He’s annoyed, but he’s not saying anything, as if he doesn’t trust himself to right now. And that’s good, because it means I’ll keep my mouth shut and not say something stupid either.
There’s a large round table at one end of the room, with carvings in the middle of it, but Shooter takes us over to a small desk on the other side of the room instead. He opens one of the drawers in it and pulls out a large box of candy and some Doritos before sliding them across the table to me, and pissed off or not, my stomach rumbles in response like the whore she is and I reach over and take both things.
He moves around to a small sofa next to the desk and sits down before resting his arms along the back of it and watching me open the Doritos and start eating. There’s more than enough room for both of us to sit on the sofa, but I take a small wooden chair by the desk instead.
“How’s my friend doing?” I ask, deciding to start with a nice, easy question before I dive into my plan of weaponizing all the women here and pissing him off further.
“He’ll be okay. Couple of broken ribs, concussion, and a couple of nice dents to that thick skull of his,” he laughs. “I stitched him up, but he’ll be a couple of days before he’s up and about and then a couple of weeks before he’s really up to moving around.”
I nod mutely—mainly because right now if I open my mouth I’m going to sound like I’m orgasming from the pleasure of actual fucking Doritos in my mouth for the first time in I don’t know how many years. I close my eyes and almost sigh, but manage to contain myself at the last minute.
You think you’ve had it all, missed it all, found it all. Until one day you eat or drink or do something that shoves you back to the past and to the easy way of life. Some people
crave coffee, or bacon, or cell phones; for others it’s as simple as being safe. For me, though, it’s candy. Good lord, I’ve missed Doritos so damn much. I open my eyes and shove another tasty triangle in my mouth.
Shooter lights a cigarette and watches me, one hand scratching at his beard the whole time. After a minute or two he stands up and mumbles something under his breath. He walks to the window and turns his back on me to look outside.
When the bag is almost empty, I realize that I’m feeling a little nauseous. I shouldn’t have eaten them so quick. Now I’m no doubt having an E-number rush. I put the packet back on the table and Shooter turns to look at me.
Despite the sicky feeling in my stomach, I feel much better after eating something and decide to lay it all out for Shooter, once and for all.
“Look, Shooter, what you’re doing here is—well, it’s admirable, almost damn heroic, really, but you also nearly got me and my friend killed out there. You can’t just ram people off the road without knowing all the facts first!” My voice rises as I talk, or maybe it’s the crash flashing through my mind. Either way, the truth is Michael and I came out unscathed—well, sort of, but we very well may have been a lot worse.
Shooter’s hand is still on his beard, but I can tell that I’ve gotten through to him. When he looks back at me, he actually looks devastated. He slowly comes toward me and then his hands reach for mine.
“Fuck, Nina, I know you’re right, as much as I hate to admit it.” He shakes his head and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it. “And believe me, I do hate to admit it.” He smirks. “I guess I was a little gung ho on this one, huh?”
I pat his hand, feeling uncomfortable and unsure of how to react. I didn’t expect him to just admit he was wrong—what kind of man is he?
“I get how it looked,” I say, staring into his eyes. “You saw Michael and I fighting and made assumptions.”
“You just look so weak, darlin’. I thought you needed help,” he says, and I frown. “You were like one of those scrawny feral cats that someone was trying to get in a bag to drown.”
“Bit harsh,” I snap, feeling highly offended.
He strokes the top of my hand and I have a strong desire to smack him in the face, or pull his beard really hard. I don’t, of course. I mean, I’m not stupid. He’s still a scary-looking dude, no matter how sweet he seems to be right now. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
Shooter lets go of my hand and looks me up and down again. “We really need to fatten you up,” he says with a frown.
“You know, I really wish people would stop saying that to me.”
Shooter stands back up. “Well, if nothing else, we’ll look after you…and your friend here now, darlin’.”
I shake my head. “We didn’t and still don’t need your help. In fact, I think you should take the offer of my help, darling,” I reply sarcastically.
He grins at me like I just said the magic word, and then he takes a seat on the sofa again. “I’m listening, but I’m not sure what a woman has to offer me in the way of help.” He begins chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Unless you got somethin’ dirty in mind?”
I shake my head and groan. “You have got to stop saying shit like that to me, or I swear to god I will kick your ass!” I snap at him, because it’s either I snap at him or I punch him in the face. And who knows, the latter may still happen also, though by the look on his face he’d probably like that.
Shooter looks startled by my comment and he barks out a laugh. “You remind me of my wife. Feisty as hell that woman was, and never knew when to keep her sweet mouth shut either. But go on, you’ve got my attention. What is it that you think you can do for me?” He sucks in his bottom lip again, one hand rubbing over his mouth and down his beard while his eyes pin me in place.
I clear my throat, feeling nervous. “I want to make these women into warriors.”
For a moment he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, confusion slowly washing over his rough features like the tide coming in. Finally, when he’s sure he heard me correctly, he replies. “Excuse me, woman, but did you just say ‘warriors’?”
“I may have used that word to be more dramatic, so sue me.” I flush with embarrassment. “I want to teach these women how to defend themselves,” I say.
“They don’t need to defend themselves. We do that for them.” Shooter leans back in his chair, propping one of his huge legs up on the knee of the other.
“But what if something were to happen?”
“Not goin’ to.”
“But what if it did? What if something were to happen to you?”
“All of us?” he scoffs.
I shrug, feeling frustrated. “It’s happened before. I’ve seen it…and I’ve lived through it because I could protect myself. These women are scared of their own shadows. If something—or someone—were to get in here, they would be screwed.”
Shooter sighs. “You only just got here, and already told me you ain’t sure if you’re definitely stickin’ around, but you seriously think I’m goin’ to consider lettin’ you endanger these women? Train them up for no good reason and then what? Just be on your way as if you were never here?”
“Well,” I say, my cheeks flushing hot, “when you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous.”
“Because it is,” he retorts.
“I can help teach them how to protect themselves. But only those who want to. And they won’t have to leave this place. I’m not trying to take them away, just give them some skills to survive. The world isn’t what it used to be, and if anything were to happen to you and your men, these women would be back to being victims again. And loo—”
Shooter holds up a hand to silence me.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I am not one of your biker soldiers, so don’t hold up a hand and silence me, Shooter!” I snap.
“Just stop talkin’ and let me think, woman!” he says louder than he needs to.
I roll my eyes. “All right, no need to get pissy with me.” I fold my arms across my chest while I wait for him to reply.
“Nothing is going to happen to me or my men,” he begins, “and these women are fully secure here. And most of them won’t even want to do whatever it is that you’re asking…what? Self-defense classes? Do you even know how to defend yourself” he scoffs almost irritably.
It’s my turn to be irritated now. “Just because we’re female does not mean we’re weak. Or that we need protecting from the big, bad world, Shooter.”
He smirks. “I like it when you say my name like that.”
“Like I want to smack you around the face?” I snark.
His smirk grows wider. “Yeah.”
“You’re impossible.” I throw my hands in the air and turn away from him.
“All right then. But you stay within this camp.”
“Really?” I ask, turning back around and completely surprised that it’s been that easy to convince him.
“Really. No one is a prisoner here, Nina. I only ever wanted this place to be a headquarters for my men, and a place for women to feel safe. I’ve accomplished that, I hope.” He leans forward and I can almost feel the air in my lungs being sucked out at the intensity of that stare. “So that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
“Just until Michael is fit to get back out on the road again,” I reply, holding out my hand.
Shooter sighs and stands up. He steps close to me and takes my hand, his large one swallowing mine up. “Look, if it means that you’ll stick around for a little while, then I’m all for it. Because I like havin’ you around here.” He lets go of my hand and steps back. “You keep me on my toes.” He smirks, and I can’t help but smirk back.
Chapter Nine
There’s a loud knock on the door that breaks the tension between us, and Shooter’s smile falls as he turns away and heads to answer it. I stay where I am, trying to remember how to breathe and wondering what the hell has gotten into me.
&nbs
p; At the door is one of the men I saw driving by Shooter’s side earlier. Patterns have been shaved into the sides of his short hair, and what’s left is sprayed green. He glances over and sees me and then looks back at Shooter. The guy looks nervous and twitchy, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Need to get out for a bit, boss.” He drags his hands down his jeans nervously, his gaze roaming to me again.
Shooter pushes him out of the doorway and then steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door clicks closed I’m up on my feet and running quietly toward the door. I put my ear against it and listen in to what they are saying.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, Shooter, I swear. I just need to get out before something does. I need to do 110 down the freeway and not worry about pussy everywhere I turn.”
I hear what sounds like repeated slapping, and I wince and wonder what the hell’s going on. “Don’t talk about them like that.”
“I’m sorry! I can’t fucking help it,” the other man yells. “I just need it so bad, Prez, just a fucking taste or I’m going to go mad.”
“Fine, get out of here, Nitro, and don’t come back until you’ve pulled your shit together, you hear me, brother?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I know it’s hard, but you’ve got this. Don’t fuck it up.” Shooter sounds pissed, yet understanding. And I have no idea what to make of it all.
“I’m sorry, I’ll be back, I promise. Gimme a day and I’ll be back.”
“I can’t have my VP leaving every five minutes, Nitro. You need to get your shit together and be a constant here. Understand?”
“I do, I really do. I’ll…I’ll be back.”
I can hear footsteps stomping away and I take that as my cue to move away from the door and sit back down in my chair before Shooter comes back in and knows I was eavesdropping on him. It doesn’t matter though, because when Shooter comes back in, he takes one look at my face and he knows I’ve heard what was just said.
The Dead Saga (Book 5): Odium V Page 7
