Kill For You

by Michele Mills

  “I can’t imagine changing my mind.”

  “You might. I’m not an angel. I can be difficult.”

  “Difficult doesn’t bother me. I’m not exactly easy myself.”

  She chuckled. “I bet you aren’t.”

  “Come on,” he said, rubbing her pulse point with his thumb. “How about you show me the inside of that RV of yours? It’s time I met Justin. Let’s get this party started.”

  “Sure,” she answered. He watched as she looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him and grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter Three

  Rebel walked across the parking lot with her hand entwined in Trevor’s big, rough palm and felt a sense of joy and lightness she hadn’t felt since…since before the end.

  She couldn’t get over the warmth between her thighs, the spot where his fingers were just minutes before. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses.

  And he wanted her to continue this when she and Justin visited on their farm. At this point, she could hardly wait to get there so they could do all of this all over again, this time in an actual bed.

  She couldn’t help the goofy grin that was spreading across her face.

  “Is he awake?” Trevor asked.

  She shrugged. “Probably not. Justin’s not exactly a morning person.”

  Yesterday they’d hit a surprisingly still half-stocked grocery store and pharmacy on the way to Casa de Fruta, picking up food, drink that wasn’t expired and any type of remedy or painkiller that looked useful—and antibiotics, because you never knew when you’d need them. Antibiotics and painkillers were like gold now.

  And she’d covertly picked up condoms, too. Because Trevor wasn’t the only one who’d shown up prepared, hoping to find someone to let off some steam with.

  She and Justin had also loaded up on caffeine in all its forms because Justin routinely needed about two cups of coffee each morning before he started to act human.

  “You want some coffee? I’m going to fire up the coffee maker.”

  “Sure.”

  Rebel stepped up into the RV and found Justin snoring, spread out on the small couch in the front living area, instead of on the queen bed in the back of the RV like she'd expected. His large, muscular frame took up all the available space, and he wore nothing but a pair of black knit boxers.

  Talk about awkward.

  “What the heck!” she exclaimed.

  “Somethin’ wrong?” Trevor asked from behind her.

  She glanced back, nervous at the thought of waking Justin and introducing these two titans. Justin had become her best friend during the last few months they’d spent living in isolation after the virus hit, and she cared for him deeply.

  She bit her lip.

  She knew Justin had been circumspect before the end, keeping his personal life private from his family and coworkers. She’d learned that he’d been quiet about his sexuality at his workplace and didn’t say much about it to his religious, conservative family. He hadn’t felt the need to hide his orientation, but he’d led a life where he’d felt it was better to not advertise.

  They’d commiserated over how both of them had been single at the end, so neither of them had a boyfriend/husband or kids to mourn. They’d grown close and learned so much about each other, but they’d never talked about what she should say about his orientation to anyone new. Probably because they hadn’t been sure for a long time if they’d meet anyone else who was still alive, and it hadn’t occurred to either of them that they’d meet anyone new, alone, without each other. So she didn’t know if Justin was comfortable with people in this new setting knowing he was gay or not, or if he wanted to wait and tell people later himself, in his own time, as he saw fit.

  But, come on, it was the end of the world now, so really, who fucking cared about any of that homophobia shit anymore? Or at least they shouldn’t, right? Couldn’t Justin just be himself now, judgment-free?

  Rebel bit her lip. Shoot, she just really wanted to do right by her friend. So here she was, in a position where she’d blurted out his orientation like an insensitive idiot because, in essence, she thought of it as a non-issue.

  Damn.

  She hoped with all her heart it was a non-issue to Justin and to Trevor.

  She glanced back at Trevor, the man who was looking at her with so much tenderness in his eyes. On their walk to the RV, while they were chatting and she had her hand in his, Rebel had finally noticed a small swastika tattoo on the side of Trevor’s neck. She’d done her best to hide her surprise and the unease that fluttered in her mind. Because, what kind of person casually walked through life with a swastika displayed on their neck?

  Which lead her to wonder—how was Trevor going to treat Justin?

  She’d felt a connection with Trevor immediately and wanted very much for their “hookup” to continue during her visit so she could get to know him better. But no way could she spend any amount of time with a man who was disrespectful to her friend.

  No way in hell. This thing would be over in an instant.

  Before she could make a decision or say a single word on the matter, Justin cracked open his hazel eyes. “Whut?” he moaned.

  Her brow furrowed. She turned and looked at him again. He didn’t sound like himself. Rebel walked over and opened the blinds to let in some light to get a better look. Justin winced at the light and hissed.

  “Something you need to tell me?” Trevor asked. “Like the fact that your friend is a vampire?”

  Rebel snorted. At that moment Justin did look and sound like a vampire, it really was kinda funny. “He hasn’t drunk my blood yet…”

  “Uh huh…it’s only a matter of time.”

  She leaned over, noting Justin’s fever-bright cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “Something’s not right, Trevor. His cheeks… I know you don’t know him, but…his skin looks like… Hey, Justin…Justin. Wake up, we’ve got company.”

  He didn’t say a word. She pursed her lips and glanced back at Trevor.

  He shrugged.

  She put a hand to Justin’s forehead and sucked in a breath. “He’s so hot!”

  Justin hadn’t missed her encounter with Trevor because he’d been a slug, sleeping in. He’d missed it because he was sick with a raging fever. And she hadn’t even noticed because she was busy being fingered by a stranger outside.

  Her stomach felt like a lump of stone.

  God, she was a terrible friend. The worst friend, ever.

  “How bad is it?” Trevor asked.

  Her voice trembled. “I don’t know, but his forehead is hot as a furnace. Shit.”

  She whipped around, stepped over to the RV’s tiny kitchen and banged open an upper cabinet door. She riffled through their stash of medicines. “He’s been a little sick these last few days,” she explained as she grabbed a few things. “Out of sorts. Just a cough, but neither of us thought much of it. It was small, not a big deal. The kind of sick where it’s just annoying and you keep moving on and it’s gone in a few days.” Rebel walked back over, carefully sat next to Justin and placed a digital thermometer in his ear. She continued to hold it as she met Trevor’s gaze. “But we stopped at a pharmacy we saw, because we always stop at pharmacies to see if there’s anything worth saving, and while we were there we got him some cough drops, over-the-counter stuff, yesterday. He was fine last night, just coughing. He must’ve gotten worse overnight and I didn’t realize it.”

  The thermometer beeped. She looked down. “One hundred and three?” she squeaked. She showed Trevor the display. “What the fuck? I should’ve checked on him before I left. Why didn’t I do that?”

  Trevor put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed. “You didn’t want to wake him up. I would’ve done the same thing.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Goddammit…Dammit… There are no doctors anymore,” she whispered.

  She and Justin had always worried about this. The day one of them got really sick. And here it was. And she felt just as helpless as she
knew she would.

  Trevor gestured to the cabinet. “Look at all the medicine you’ve got. You guys prepared for this. You did all you could. And you’re not alone. I’m here with you. We can help him, together.”

  Rebel took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

  Trevor was there. The sexy man with the mysterious swastika on his neck, who was acting surprisingly normal.

  She wasn’t alone in this.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get him some medicine and in the shower to get his fever down.”

  Rebel gave him a wobbly smile. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s get going.”

  They worked together. She woke Justin. He was bleary-eyed and not too alert, but more malleable than if he’d been fully asleep. Trevor held Justin up, and Rebel kept the cup of water at his lips. It was precarious, but they managed to get him to swallow a few pills.

  It wasn’t so easy getting Justin in the shower. He coughed constantly. Scary coughs that initiated deep in his lungs. They ended up leaving his boxers on and propping him up against the back of the narrow stall as they turned the water on. Justin gasped and fought them, wetting both Rebel and Trevor in the process. Trevor was surprisingly strong and gentle throughout. He held Justin in his arms, and finally, they got him out of the shower, rubbed him down with towels, and onto the bed in the back of the RV.

  It was an arduous task, but someone had to do it. And she was so, so freaking grateful that Trevor was right there, helping every step of the way.

  Afterwards, they were both so wet Rebel had to change into shorts and a different T-shirt. She offered some of Justin’s clothes to Trevor. He borrowed a plain black T-shirt, which meant she had a moment of shock and awe, watching Trevor strip. He pulled the old shirt up from his back and over his head. His washboard abs contracted and his tatted biceps bulged. A thing of beauty.

  He noticed her staring at him and winked back. Her face heated up. She was freakin’ blushing, like a teenager. Crazy, what this man did to her.

  “Later,” he said huskily. “Later, I’ll have you in my bed, but for right now”—he pulled his shirt all the way down, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, then reached down and patted her ass—“we need to check Justin’s temperature to make sure it’s gone down.”

  Trevor handed her the thermometer, and she plopped on the bed next to Justin and took his temperature again. They waited in silence for it to beep.

  “One hundred and one.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Not perfect by any means, but still, a ray of hope.

  Trevor nodded. “Better.”

  “Justin, do you hear me?” she asked her friend. “How do you feel? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?”

  Justin slowly opened his eyes and moaned. But this time he blinked and his gaze focused, really focused like he was looking at them and processing his environment for the first time.

  Rebel smiled. “Hey, Justin. How do you feel?”

  “Like crap.” He grinned ruefully and then broke into a body-shaking series of coughs. He finally settled and took a sip of the water she offered. “Sorry. I’m sorry to put you through this,” he rasped.

  “Sorry? Sorry for what? You’re sick. You can’t help that. We’re helping you. And we’re going to take you to meet that other group and see if they can help you, too.”

  “We? What?” Justin looked up then and focused in on Trevor, noticing carefully the stranger who was now in their RV.

  Rebel watched as Justin sat up straighter. His dark eyes narrowed as they roamed up and down Trevor’s body, taking in every square inch. His eyes seemed to linger on the tats that were on Trevor’s neck.

  “Who the hell are you?” Justin slurred.

  “Justin, this is Trevor, one of the survivors we were supposed to meet,” she said. “He pulled up about an hour ago. Remember that group that was living near Fresno we talked to on the radio? He’s one of them. He arrived a day early. He’s here to help.”

  “Help?” Justin snarled. “He’s not here to help.”

  Then suddenly, all six feet something of Justin was off of the bed, eyes blazing, muscles bunching—like a monster reanimating from a horror movie—lunging with his hands out and grabbing for Trevor’s throat.

  Rebel screamed.

  What. The. Fuck? What was Justin doing?

  “Stay away from her, you asshole,” Justin snarled between gritted teeth as his clawed fingers dove toward Trevor’s neck. Trevor easily slid out of his reach. Justin’s arms fell uselessly to his sides and he fell back against the bed, panting, his face sweaty.

  “Omigod, what the hell was that about?” Rebel exclaimed, her face flushed.

  She met Trevor’s gaze. They stared at each other, wordless for a moment. Then she grabbed a washcloth out of a kitchen drawer, wet it and put it against Justin’s sweaty forehead, needing to keep busy.

  God, she was so embarrassed. So, so embarrassed. What had possessed Justin? Like, literally, what had possessed him?

  Justin lay with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling, like he was recovering after being possessed, because what else could explain that bizarro episode?

  She looked back up at Trevor, needing to say something, feeling like the worst hostess ever created. She’d invited him in to meet her friend, only to find him violently sick and he’d been attacked. And all this after Trevor had stepped up and spent all that time helping her shower and take care of Justin. Jeez. “God, I’m so sorry Trevor. It looks like he’s passed out. I swear, I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know why he acted like that. It must be his fever talking. He’s so sick, he’s not acting like himself.”

  “Rebel?” Trevor asked, looking quiet, thoughtful.

  “Huh?” she responded, still trying to sooth Justin with the wet washcloth.

  “What was Justin? What kind of work did he do before the end?”

  “I think he said he was a DEA agent,” she answered absently.

  Chapter Four

  A fucking DEA agent.

  The world was over, only a tiny percentage of people born with a natural immunity had survived the worldwide epidemic of Ruyigi Ebola, and one of them was a fucking DEA agent.

  And he was his woman’s best friend.

  Fucking hell. Justin must’ve recognized the four-leaf clover tat on his throat representing his membership in the Aryan Brotherhood, the worst prison gang in the country. It was why the guy had gone for his neck. Justin understood the symbolism of that tat, what Trevor had done to earn it, and he didn’t want any of that crap tainting Rebel.

  Trevor didn’t want it around Rebel either. And it wouldn’t be, not anymore.

  “Trevor?” Rebel asked. She was still trying to soothe her friend and bring down his fever with wet cloths. He liked seeing her like this—the sympathetic look in her eyes, the warm tone in her voice. He imagined her caring for him in this way one day. Caring for a child.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “What do you think we should do next?”

  He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the meaning behind that we question. He could easily get used to her thinking of them as a team, a couple. “Let’s get the hell outta here ASAP and get him back to the farm so we can all take care of him there.”

  She met his eyes, her face stamped with worry. “They’d still help us? I mean, maybe they don’t want someone sick there.”

  “They won’t care about that. Of course they’d be happy to help. They’re all Boy and Girl Scout types. Believe me, they’ll fall over themselves trying to help you two.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Let’s do this.”

  Thirty minutes later they were ready to leave.

  “What do you mean you’re driving the RV?” Rebel threw her hands up in disgust, those gorgeous eyes flashing at him, her breasts pushing against her top as she breathed heavily. “I can drive it. I drove it part of the way here. Do you even know how to drive one? It’s not that easy.”

  Trevor ha
d explained to Rebel that he was going to drive the RV with Justin safely medicated and asleep in the back and Rebel following directly behind, driving his Mustang.

  Rebel had thrown a fit over this arrangement.

  He could watch this for the rest of his life. She was damn cute when she got mad.

  “I have a tour bus I’ve been driving all over the state,” he answered.

  “A tour bus? Like, from a band?”

  “Yeah, it’s twice the size of this RV. So actually, I have more experience driving large loads than you do, all over the state, on every kind of road and in every kind of situation. I’m driving the RV and you’re following behind in the Mustang.”

  “Does that mean you’ve got a Class One driver’s license, then, to drive it?”

  “No I don’t, do you?”

  “No,” she sighed. “But at least I knew you needed one.”

  “And who the fuck needs a license anymore, if it’s the end of the world?”

  She grumbled and looked away toward the golden hills that surrounded the rest stop. It was late morning. He needed this argument out of the way, fast. If they got going now they could make it back to the farm before the hottest part of the day.

  “Okay,” she sighed, shaking her head and glancing back at him. “But I want to see this tour bus later.”

  “Sure,” he smiled, imagining her there, with him, both of them naked on the bed in the back bedroom. “I keep it at the farm. You’ll like it. It was Nickeltop’s tour bus.”

  Her mouth curved. “No way. You’ve been driving around in Nickeltop’s tour bus?”

  “Yep.”

  He’d been a fan of Nickeltop from way back in the day. He knew people made relentless fun of Nickeltop, calling them the Crocs of rock, the most generic of rock bands. He didn’t give a shit. Nickeltop was his favorite. He’d owned every album and he’d seen them in concert, twice. He hadn’t admitted to the others on the farm of his fan status, but yeah, driving around in Nickeltop’s tour bus was damn cool. A way to preserve their memory and a way for him to preserve the past.