The Dead Saga (Book 5): Odium V

by Claire C. Riley

  He drags a hand down his face as and shuts the door.

  “Trouble in paradise?” I ask, not bothering to be coy about it.

  “You’re not afraid of nothin’, are you?” he says, walking toward me.

  “I’ve seen more than my fair share of misery. There’s not much left to be afraid of,” I reply.

  He drags a hand over his mouth and beard and walks halfway across the room before stopping. It’s almost like he’s being held back by invisible chains.

  “These men, Nina, all they have left are their bikes and their dicks, and I’m telling them that they can’t use one of them—not unless they get a green light and they promise to be faithful to that woman for good.” He shakes his head. “It gets hard at times for them. Do you understand? Can you understand?”

  “And what about you, Shooter?”

  “What about me?”

  “Does it get hard for you too?”

  He looks at me seriously. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Silence falls between us, and I’m not sure what to make of his last statement. Was it a warning? A promise? Or just a simple fact? Either way, his words sent a shiver through me.

  “So what you’re saying is that these men are dangerous?” I finally say. “That these men are a risk to these women?”

  He shakes his head. “Everyone is dangerous. This whole damn world is dangerous. It’s what you choose to do with that danger that defines you.”

  “And what have you chosen to do?”

  “I’m trying to contain it. To use it to our advantage. To protect us, and these women. I’ve lived the other way, and I know it’s no good,” he says without hesitation.

  I raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything. I watch Shooter finally free himself of his chains. As if by admitting that he wasn’t always like this has somehow freed him, he stomps further across the room, his heavy black boots almost causing impressions in the aged wooden floorboards of the old Girl Scout meeting room. He stops by the table with the carvings in it and turns away from me, placing his hands on the table and bending over. Silence falls between us again, and I’m desperately trying to find something to say to him that will soothe his obvious worries.

  “Why do you do it? What’s in it for you?” I ask, genuine confusion in my tone.

  “Because women are important,” he says with conviction. “Without you, we’ll fuckin’ die out.” He watches me for several seconds before continuing. “Maybe teaching these women to defend themselves isn’t such a bad idea after all,” he finally says, though he’s still not looking at me when he says it.

  I stand up and walk toward him. When I get within a couple of steps, I stop. “It would seem that you have a ticking bomb here, Shooter, and you need something to defuse it before it goes off. Maybe if they see these women aren’t so weak and feeble, it’ll be an easier burden for them to bear?” I don’t know if I really believe that, but I don’t know what else to say. Everything he’s said so far makes sense, and I love what he’s trying to do. But in my heart of hearts, if Nitro is feeling the pressure like he is, then so must some of the other men, and I can see that it’s only a matter of time before this place implodes.

  Shooter turns around to face me. “They’re good men now, I swear.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “No, they are. I want you to believe that. I want you to know that I wouldn’t put these women at risk for no good reason. I may be a cocky sonofabitch, but I’m not so cocky that I would risk someone’s life.”

  He seems so desperate for me to believe that that I find myself agreeing with him, regardless of what I really feel deep down.

  “I do,” I reply.

  I mean, sure, I can tell that they want to be good guys, and of course he wants them to be, but whether they can stay that way is another matter.

  He shakes his head. “You don’t. You’re worried, I can see it in your eyes, Nina.” His gravelly voice is thick with frustration and he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. He places his hands on either side of my shoulders. “You’re safe here.”

  “I know.” I swallow down the flutters in my stomach.

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to.”

  He smiles, a small, wonky smile. “I know. But I can’t help that the more you tell me you don’t need me to, the more I want to.”

  His hands are touching the bare skin on my shoulders, and his thumb is making small circles on my skin. For such a small touch, I’m surprised by the effect it has on me.

  “Together we’ll make this work. Okay?” he says.

  “Okay, Shooter,” I say. My body, for the first time in a long time, is feeling weak and fragile—like putty that could be molded. And I don’t know what I just agreed to, but his eyes practically smolder when I agree with him.

  And that makes me more nervous than anything.

  *

  Shooter agrees to let me see Michael, who’s in a small hospital-type setup. He assigns a man to follow me, apparently for my own protection, because he has to go take care of something else. I don’t ask what the something else is, and I don’t accept this other man watching me. To be honest I don’t want anyone watching me, but there are some things I understand I have to accept. At least for now. So I refuse this other man and I ask for Gunner again. Shooter doesn’t look pleased about it, but he doesn’t argue with me, and a few minutes later Gunner is walking me toward the hospital and I have a smug grin on my face.

  Gunner stays outside, leaning against the wall and carving something into a thick piece of wood with a small knife. I ask him what it is, but he doesn’t reply. Dude barely even looks at me. But it’s different from earlier. Previously, it was like he was afraid to look at me; now it seems like he just doesn’t want to, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something wrong.

  When I go inside the so-called hospital and find Michael’s room, I see that he’s only just woken up. He’s groggy and thirsty, but he quickly rouses once I splash some cold water on his face…okay okay, so I tried to give him some water and slipped.

  Regardless, it did wake him up.

  I quickly fill him in on what happened to us, where we are, and most importantly that we’re safe and not going to be executed at any point soon. He’s not comforted by any of it, but mainly that they thought he was keeping me as his own personal sex slave. Apparently Michael has morals, and though he’s an asshole, keeping women against their will is something he’s definitely against. That’s good to know. I still find it strange that all of these women have been rescued from those types of men. I knew the world had gone to shit, but it only seems to be getting worse.

  I look at the bandage wrapped around Michael’s head and force a laugh. “I thought you were a goner for sure. You’re so lucky that you have such a thick skull and that the bullet only grazed you and didn’t slam into your brain, or you would have been deader chow.”

  “He was aiming to frighten me, apparently, not kill me,” Michael says drolly.

  “You mean—”

  “Yeah, he meant to graze me.”

  I lapse into stunned silence for a moment, not sure what to say to that.

  Michael sighs heavily. “He’s a great shot. I guess that’s where he got the name from.”

  I hadn’t even thought about the reason he was called Shooter, to be honest, but it makes sense now that I think about it. There’s not many people that could drive a motorbike at high speeds, aim a gun at someone’s head, and intend to only graze them—and succeed, of course. The thought makes me smile, for some reason. I wonder about Gunner’s name and decide it must be for a similar reason. I’d heard that bikers were all given their names by crew members, and that the names described them in some way. It had always seemed pretty stupid to me. Until I met Shooter.

  “It’ll be a week before I can really do anything, maybe more. Broke some ribs, apparently, though it feels so much worse. There’s not much they can do other than strap me up and
hope for the best.” He looks incredibly annoyed by that. But I guess it is one of the first times he’s actually been vulnerable. “Anyway, gimme a day or so and we can get going. I’d say let’s leave now but I can barely sit up, and with your shitty driving I’d be dead within the day!”

  “I am not a shitty driver!” I yell.

  “Whatever, I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.”

  “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll protect you,” I snark sarcastically.

  “Fuck off, Nina. This isn’t funny,” he grumbles, and I roll my eyes at him. “I can’t protect us. If anything happens, we’re screwed.”

  “I told you, they’re the good guys. We stumbled upon something decent here, Michael,” I say sincerely. “Shooter said he’ll be in to speak to you soon, he had to sort out something with the crew.”

  “The crew? You say that like you’re one of them,” he says, his stare implying something.

  “The crew, his crew, what-the-fuck-ever, Michael. Don’t read too much into my words, you should know me well enough by now to know that I say what I think and I think what I say.”

  “I’m sorry, did you just turn into Dr. Seuss?” Michael retorts cockily.

  “You are such an asshole, you know that? Seriously, of all the assholes I’ve met in my day, you are the worst.” I sit down in the chair next to him, all of my energy suddenly gone despite my anger. “You haven’t seen this place—it’s incredible. It’s self-sustaining, it’s safe, and…” My words trail off and I put my head in my hands.

  I stand up and walk toward the small window and look outside in much the same way Shooter did earlier. The weather is beginning to turn again. Summer is on its way, and that will bring another set of problems, but it’s better than winter for sure. I can already imagine what this place will be like in the summer; how good it could actually be.

  I think about the women, and how needed I am by them, even if most of them don’t realize it yet. I can really do some good here. I said it to Shooter before, and Amara before that, but I didn’t really believe it until now.

  I think of how frightened I had been when I was thrown out of the walled city. How utterly unprepared I was, and I think of me now. I’m barely recognizable as the same woman. The thought that I could help someone else like that is almost mind-blowing. I couldn’t save Emily; I didn’t know enough then, but I do now. And deep down, if I’m being honest with myself, I know that’s what she’d want me to do.

  “You’ve only been here a couple of hours, Nina. Just you wait until the skeletons start falling out of their closets,” he grumbles. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. You’ll have to do most of the driving for a while, though. Just give me a week to rest up. Maybe less.”

  I nod okay, but I’m not sure if I really mean it because this place has given me a fresh view on things.

  Without the Forgotten hunting Mikey, he’s safe, I’m safe. And that’s all I could ever hope for for him. Yet the worst has already happened, because he thinks I’m dead. If I go and find him, if I take that pain away, at some point he’s going to have to go through it again. This world is far too dangerous for feelings, for stupid things like love.

  Love kills you, and equally it gets you killed.

  Mikey is safer without me.

  Besides, our fates have never seemed to be on the same path. When he finds me, I have to leave. And when I find him, he has to leave.

  So maybe, just maybe, it’s time to just let him go now.

  Chapter Ten

  It’s amazing how quickly your body adapts to sleeping on a bed.

  After sleeping in the flatbeds of trucks, or sitting upright and resting against concrete walls with a gun in my hand, an actual bed is a godsend and one my back thanks me for. I wake up feeling rested and comfy as hell, with no intention of moving until someone opens the curtains.

  I hadn’t thought I would be able to sleep; that the creak and groan of the hut and the heavy footsteps of men keeping guard just outside would keep me awake. And they did for a while. I was on edge, wondering what every noise was and waiting for an attack. But at around three in the morning my body finally relented and started to relax, finally coming to terms with the fact that this place, at least for now, was safe. And so I slept.

  Deeply.

  Wonderfully.

  Blissfully.

  Until morning sunshine glared down on my face and almost burned my eyelids away. At least, that’s what it felt like.

  “Fuck!” I call, pulling my head under the covers in search of sanctuary. “What the fuck?” I grumble, still seeing spots.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Amara says. “Time to get up and get moving. There’s a busy morning ahead of us.”

  I feel the bed shift as she sits down on the edge of it and begins to slowly peel the covers away from my face. I had never been a morning person previously, and that hasn’t changed much now. Though most of the time you just grab whatever sleep you can, whenever and wherever you can, so it hasn’t really mattered. But I’m in an actual god’s honest bed right now, with a freaking duvet and pillow, and I’m not giving this up without a fight.

  The sound of motorcycles roaring to life catches my attention, though, and my head quickly comes out from under the covers. Amara is sitting on the edge of my bed, her hair loose around her shoulders today. Her forehead is crinkled in a frown as she listens to the sound of engines.

  “Trouble?” I ask, startling her.

  She looks down at me, still frowning. “I doubt it. Probably going off on a supply run or to clear a horde or something.” She stands up and goes to the window and looks out, and I take that as my cue to get the hell up out of bed, no matter how much my body desires it.

  I swing my legs out of bed and slip my boots on before pulling my machete from under my pillow and standing up. I walk toward the door, my arms raised high as I stretch and yawn.

  “My arms are killing me from yesterday,” she says, rolling her shoulders.

  I smirk. “Wimp.”

  Amara laughs and blushes. “I guess.”

  “You’ll get used to it. You’ll get strong, and then you won’t have to rely on anyone to keep you safe because you’ll be able to do it yourself.” It feels good saying that out loud. In the middle of the night my words to Michael had come back to me and I’d begun to doubt whether I was right to want to stay here. It isn’t really any of my business, and hell, there are worse things that could be happening to these women now than this.

  But the niggling feeling that it just isn’t right had stayed there, and now, I know that I’m right. There comes a time when you have to put your own needs aside and think of others. Perhaps my reasons aren’t entirely unselfish and I’m running from Mikey, but I’ll also be doing some good here. That I’m damn certain of, and that’s what makes me know this is the right thing to do.

  “Do you think?” Amara asks sincerely. “Because right now I can barely lift my arms up above my head.”

  I laugh. “Come on, let’s go see what’s going on out there.” I pull the door wide open.

  Gunner is outside, leaning against his usual post and carving his bit of wood again. He looks up as I step outside and I wave to him, not bothering to wait for a reply since I know I won’t get one from him.

  Amara catches up to me and we head around to the front of the camp to where the bikes are kept. I take it all in as I walk—the women going back inside their huts, the sound of doors being locked, and the extra security on the gates—and I know instantly that something isn’t right.

  We turn the corner and I see Shooter straddling his bike. He looks up and sees me and then he turns to the man next to him and says something and they both laugh. When he looks back at me he looks mildly amused. The man next to Shooter rolls his bike forward to flank Shooter before pulling on his helmet.

  This place is pretty fucked up when I have to stop and think about it, so I try not to too much. Instead I focus on the good things, like the fact that there’s food,
beds, and no deaders.

  “Nina!” Shooter bellows my name and gestures for me to go to him, even though I’m already heading in his direction anyway. Asshole.

  I’d normally be irritated that someone would yell at me and expect me to just go to them, but for some reason it doesn’t bother me too much with Shooter. Perhaps because I know he doesn’t mean it in an asshole way. He’s just used to being the boss and people doing what they’re told to do.

  Or maybe I’m losing my fight. After all, you can’t stay angry at the world forever, right?

  “What?” I say with as much bite as I can muster when I reach his bike and his blue eyes connect with mine.

  “No training while I’m gone. The women need to stay inside. And that includes you, whether you like it or not.”

  “Are you serious?” I scowl.

  He stares at me seriously and I get my answer in that one look.

  “We’re not cattle, Shooter. You don’t get to just herd us wherever you want. I need to start training them.”

  “Woman, these are dangerous times, now just do as you’re told!”

  “Dangerous times?” I scoff. “Dangerous times? Really? That’s what you’ve got? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the midst of an apocalypse and there’s more to fear than just a few stupid bikers.” I fold my arms across my chest. Looks like I can be angry forever after all.

  “We’ll only be a couple of hours. Just do this for me,” Shooter says, his voice softening and his gaze connecting with mine again.

  I shake my head at him and huff out my annoyance, trying my best to not eye roll in his direction. But I already know that I’m fighting a losing battle with myself.

  “Nina,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Damn it, woman. Why’ve you always gotta be so hot-headed?”

  I shake my head again and pull my arm from under his grip. I’m too hungry and too tired for this shit today.

  “Where are you going?” I ask instead of arguing with him.