The Dead Saga (Book 5): Odium V

by Claire C. Riley

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sun is high in the sky when Highlander drops his hammer on the ground at our feet. It lands with a heavy thud that startles me, and when I look up he has that same glint in his eye that I saw earlier.

  “Come on then, little one, let’s go eat.” He pats me on the head and then turns and starts to walk away, and I cuss at his turned back but follow him regardless. I do not like being called little one, but it’s better than bitch so I don’t say anything.

  We head over to the food hall and line up for something to eat. Highlander leaves the line to go and talk to one of the other bikers over by the entrance, leaving me to wait on my own. Not that I mind, or care, of course. I roll my shoulders to ease the ache in them, and flex my hands. Looking down I can see the bruises and cuts on my knuckles and palms from fighting, and I shake my head and look back up.

  By the time I’m at the front of the line I’m feeling ravenous, and I grab three bread rolls, a bowl of granola, an apple, and I let Balls serve me a huge bowl of mashed potatoes and don’t even mention what a psycho I think he is. He tries to get my attention several times, but I ignore him and turn away.

  I haven’t heard anything regarding Gunner yet, nor have I seen either man since this morning, and until I do—until I know he’s safe—I don’t want anything to do with Balls. I may not understand the hierarchy of a biker club, or the mentality of what goes into belonging to such a group, but I know the difference between right and wrong, and that’s good enough for me.

  I turn to look around the room to find where I can sit and eat, but everywhere is full, and I feel like I’m back in high school again. Except that I was actually one of the popular girls in high school and always had a seat saved for me by Crystal, the head of the cheerleaders. Fucking Crystal was a major slut and tried to sleep with my boyfriend until I punched her in the nose, though, so fuck you, Crystal. I wonder whatever happened to her. Did she meet a handsome millionaire like she said she would and make a ton of babies? Because if so I bet she and those babies were safely tucked away somewhere before the outbreak reached them.

  I take my tray of food outside and find a bench to sit on so I can eat in silence. Just me, myself, and my confusing thoughts to keep me company

  I plow through my food in no time, and feel a little sick from eating so much too quickly. My stomach isn’t used to having food regularly yet, and so far it’s not coping too well. Or perhaps it’s just the stress of everything that’s making my head spin and my stomach twist in on itself. Tiredness is pressing against my eyelids, but I’m not ready to sleep yet. The worry of what’s happening to Gunner and Amara and the image of Mary’s rotting corpse somewhere in the woods, not to mention the finality of a decision I came to this morning, is enough to keep me going for a little longer.

  I stand up and take my tray back inside before turning and heading toward the front gates again in the hopes of helping Highlander some more. But when I get there I see that he’s not there yet, so I feel at a loss as to what to do. I decide to go and check on Michael, and I hear my name being called as I start to walk toward the hospital, but when I look up I can’t see who called it so I drop my chin to my chest and trudge onwards, dreading speaking to Michael but knowing that I have to.

  Inside the hospital I find Michael sitting by the window. One hand is one his side, the other on the glass pane as he looks outside at the world. He turns to look at me as I enter, and I offer up an apologetic smile for disturbing him.

  “Mind if I sit?” I say, pointing to a wooden chair by his bed.

  He shrugs, and I take that as an okay and I sit down. I’m not really sure how to start the conversation with him. His words from the other night about getting those women killed are still ringing in my ears, and part of me wants to be obnoxious and let him know that I didn’t get anyone killed—that I’m a good teacher and we all made it out of it okay. But I don’t.

  He seems melancholy and depressed, and for once I don’t want to make him feel worse. Michael is a good man. Sure, he’s made some mistakes, but haven’t we all? I’m tired of judging him and everyone else. I just want to stop for a while.

  Stop judging, stop arguing, just stop moving altogether.

  It’s been too long since I got to stand still and take stock of my life, my situation, and the crazy world that we live in. Every day is a battle, a fight that we have to get through to survive just one more day, and I’m tired from it. This world is full of so much hate and death all the time, and there’s always so many new rules to follow that I can barely keep up with them. For a world gone to rot and ruin and chaos and disaster, there’s still a surprisingly long list of rules left to follow.

  Michael moves to the bed and sits down. He scowls and hisses in pain as he swings his legs up and onto it and then turns to look at me with a serious look. “What’s going on, Nina?”

  It’s my turn to shrug now. “Just thought I’d come and check in on you.”

  “Bullshit,” he says, calling me out.

  He looks away from me, his gaze straying to the window again. I’m trying to find the right words, but for someone who was once an English major my words are suddenly eluding me.

  “I’ve been watching this place, these people,” Michael says, making me look back up at him. “Nova, she would have liked it here, ya know? But not Rachel. She was always the dark horse of the family, never mixed well with others. Preferred her microscope to people.” He smiles, though he’s not looking at me. Instead his gaze is far away, his mind on memories of his sisters.

  “I think she would have too,” I say, letting myself smile.

  “I remember, Nova used to date this biker, back in college. Ma hated the guy. He was fifteen years older than her and got her into all sorts of trouble. But damn, he made her happy. That whole way of life made her happy.”

  “Michael?” I say, deciding it was now or never to tell him something I have been thinking over for the past couple of days. “I think I want to stay here, at least for a little while.”

  “Are you serious?” Michael looks back at me.

  My cheeks flush hot. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Why?” he says, and he looks vulnerable—more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him look before, but I don’t know why.

  I shrug. “There’s many reasons, Michael, but none of them matter. What matters is that I’ve made my mind up, and I’m not going to change it.”

  Michael huffs out in annoyance. “Name me one good reason, Nina.”

  “I feel like I belong here, Michael. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m home.” I drag my hands down my face and look at him seriously. “The chaos here, it just makes sense. In a world where nothing makes sense, where the killing and dying and living and loving all seem like complete chaotic insanity, it works here. It makes sense.” I let my words die out, letting him process what I just said.

  Michael looks sad, like he understands, but his sadness quickly turns to anger. “What about Mikey and the kid, and the crazy old bat Joan? You just going to leave them to die?”

  “They’re not going to die. Mikey’s with them; he’ll keep them safe.” I shrug, though it’s a pitiful attempt at pretending I don’t care, and he knows it.

  “So you’re going to leave them all. Just like that? For this group that you barely even know? Just like that, huh?”

  “It’s not as easy as that, don’t misinterpret my words. Mikey thinks I’m dead anyway,” I say. “And he’s probably better off thinking that.”

  “But you’re not dead, Nina. You’re alive and we need to go and find him and put him out of his misery,” Michael snaps at me. He forces himself to sit up straight, and his face creases in pain.

  “Misery?” I snort out a laugh, feeling my own anger now. “Let’s not over-exaggerate. Mikey’s a big boy, I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”

  “You really have no idea, do you? He thinks you gave your life for his. Do you have any idea what that can do to a man’s mind?” Michael sha
kes his head, as if he can’t quite believe what I’m saying.

  But fuck him. He doesn’t know anything. He’s not been here for everything Mikey and I have been through—the pain we’ve caused each other, or all the close calls we’ve survived through. We made it through them all, despite the odds being stacked against us every time.

  Every time but this one.

  Because I’m tired of fighting for him when it’s so obviously not meant to be. I believe that we were put in each other’s paths for a reason—to save one another, and we’ve achieved that. We achieved that time and time again, and now it’s time to move on, to cut our losses before it’s too late and we run out of luck.

  “He loves you, for god knows what reason,” Michael carries on. “So we have to go and find him, Nina.”

  When I don’t say anything it only seems to anger him further.

  “Don’t you love him?”

  I listen to Michael’s words, really listen to them, but it makes no difference to my decision. Of course I love Mikey; I went back inside that mall expecting to die for him, didn’t I?

  Only I didn’t die, I lived. I survived. Again.

  There’s no denying the connection that we share, or the love that we have for one another. But Mikey has let me go, I know it in my heart—I can feel it in my bones. He’s healing from my loss, finally, and I can’t take that away from him by finding him and letting him see that I’m still alive. That would be the cruelest pain of all. Because I survived this time, but what if next time I’m not so lucky? Will Mikey survive losing me for a second time?

  I know I wouldn’t survive the loss of losing him.

  “What are you so afraid of?” Michael says, his anger subsiding. “Maybe I can help.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not afraid of anything, not really. I just think I can help here.” And it’s only a partial lie. “These women, they don’t know how to fight, how to defend themselves—against the dead and the living. That’s not right, not in the world we live in. I want them to see they don’t have to be protected, but that they can protect themselves.” I stand up and move closer to him. “These women have been through hell, Michael. They’ve had everything taken from them, but I can give them some power back. This is bigger than Mikey and I—it’s way more important than two people.”

  “But why is this your job?”

  I let out a heavy breath. “It isn’t, I guess. But it has to be someone’s, so why not mine?” I think back to my time behind the walls, to how I felt—helpless, defenseless, weak. I think of Emily and how one of these women could have so easily been her, and how she would have been defenseless, and I know in my heart why this is my job. Why it has to be.

  Michael lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m giving it a week, Nina, and then I’m gone.” He looks away from me before adding, “With or without you.”

  I nod, feeling my shoulders drop. “Where will you go?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but you should come.”

  I place my hand on his arm and look down at him. “You know I can’t,” I reply. I turn and start to walk out of the room, looking over my shoulder as I get to the door. “Michael?”

  He looks up. “What?”

  “If you find him, don’t tell him I’m alive. Don’t hurt him even more.” And then I leave before he can reply.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On my way to the infirmary I see Shooter coming out of his building with Nitro by his side. He doesn’t see me at first, and I get a moment to take him in properly—the slant to his shoulders, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them, and the way his forehead is screwed up because he’s so deep in thought. He’s talking to Nitro about something and he doesn’t look happy, though that’s not really what worries me, because he never actually looks happy about anything. His expression is constantly one of a state of annoyance or frustration, either by scowling or by frowning. Happiness would be a nice change for him. What worries me is that I still haven’t seen Gunner or Amara since this morning.

  He looks up at me as Nitro walks away and we share a brief look. He walks toward me, his footsteps heavy, but I can’t tell from his expression whether he’s going to give me good news or bad news in regard to Gunner.

  He pulls his hands through his hair and huffs out, already sensing the question that I’m about to ask before I even ask it.

  “It’s club business,” he says abruptly.

  “Come on, Shooter, just tell me if he’s okay,” I reply.

  He locks me in his stare. “I told you, it’s club business.”

  “Why are you men always so damn pig-headed?” I’m too mentally exhausted to argue with him anymore, so I shake my head. “Fine,” I say and turn my back on him and start to walk away.

  “Nina!” he bellows, but I ignore him in favor of finding answers and I go in search of Amara in the hopes that she can tell me what happened after I left this morning, and hopefully soothe my mind that Gunner is okay. I don’t even know why I care so much, but I do. So I walk, heading to Amara’s hut, but when I get there she’s not inside. I turn around, feeling frustration burning through me, and then I start to walk aimlessly.

  I come to the far side of the camp and I head around the side of one of the first buildings I come to, my pace brisk and my mind running in slow motion. I pass the entrance to the beach and feel a slight incline under me as I keep on walking, sweat beginning to slowly trail down my spine. At the top of the incline I look around to catch my breath, realizing that I’ve ended up in a part of the camp I haven’t been in before.

  It’s quiet around here with no one about, and with the sun on my back I think I’ve found my new favorite spot to be alone. Who needs a brain- and skull-covered beach anyway when you can have a secluded corner in a Girl Scout camp?

  It’s almost like this part has been abandoned, and I’m wondering why it hasn’t been utilized. There are buildings on either side of me, but no windows facing me, so I don’t feel uncomfortable or worried walking around, which are the famous last words, right?

  And they should be, because that’s when someone grabs me from behind and drags me through a doorway and into the dark confines of a small room that smells like piss and rat droppings.

  I’m about to scream bloody murder but a hand clamps over my mouth before I can get anything out. I’m shoved against the wall harshly, but not so harsh that it hurts, just enough to make me stop fighting for a split second. I blink against the darkness and look up into the face of my captor—Shooter.

  The blue of his eyes is bright, even in the darkness, and despite the fact that he has his hand over my mouth and has shoved me against the wall in such a violent way, I already feel calmer knowing that it’s him and not anyone else. Which is ridiculous, of course, because I mean, he’s dragged me into a smelly abandoned building and has me up against the wall. Those are all the telltale signs of you’re going to die, but there’s no point in arguing with myself about it. Because I already know he’s not going to hurt me.

  “I’m going to move my hand now, okay?” he says, his voice throaty and raw, and I nod okay. “Don’t fuckin’ scream.”

  I raise an eyebrow in disgust at him and he smirks at me.

  “All right, all right, you’re too stubborn to scream, I get it.”

  He slowly moves his hand off of my mouth, though he doesn’t move his body away from mine. His thigh is jammed between mine, and his hands are now on either side of my head, his body effectively boxing me in place.

  We stare at each other in silence for several seconds, and I’m determined not to speak first, though I’m dying to because I have so much to say right now. Thankfully, he speaks up first.

  “Why did you walk away from me?” Shooter says, and I’m almost certain that I can hear the hurt in his tone.

  “Because you were being an asshole,” I reply.

  “It’s club business, woman, it’s nothin’ personal.”

  I roll my eyes. “Shooter, you can dress it up anyway you want, bu
t we both know that you could have put me out of my misery and told me if he was okay without it breaking your stupid club rules. But you chose not to, because you’re an asshole.”

  “A woman like you will never understand this life,” Shooter replies, and I feel hurt by his words for reasons I can’t explain. Shooter reaches for me, his thumb running down the side of my face. “Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you,” he says, his hand moving to my hair. “You’re different from the other women.”

  I shiver, my body trembling from my toes right through to my teeth.

  “Are you afraid, Nina? You don’t need to be, not when I’m around.” Sincerity tinges his voice.

  “I’m not afraid,” I scoff and roll my eyes.

  “Then why’d you ignore me? Why’d you walk away when I was callin’ your name?” He leans in closer, so close his breath washes over my face.

  “I didn’t hear you call my name,” I reply.

  “Now I know you’re lying,” he accuses.

  I roll my eyes again and turn my head to the side. “You’re being paranoid, Shooter.”

  “You really that stubborn that you expect me to put my club before you?”

  I look back at him, trying to avoid his gaze but finding it insanely difficult because of his proximity to me and the fact that his eyes feel like they’re literally staring into my soul.

  “I don’t expect anything from you, Shooter,” I reply.

  “Sure you do,” he replies, his eyes narrowing, his hand still in my hair. “Everyone wants something from me, especially women. But you’re different from the others. You don’t need me, and that makes me want you even more. You’re strong—stronger than you know. But there’s things, no matter how much I want to, I can’t tell you about.”

  I’m both angered and flattered by his statement, and I’m not sure which emotion to go with. It turns out he makes the decision for me. Shooter moves his hand to my chin and he tips my face up to look at him. I want to tell him to back off; to give me some space, but I find the words won’t leave me. I swallow down the lump in my throat and ignore my heart that’s raging inside my chest. My hands are balled up by my sides, unsure of what to do with themselves.