by Clare Murray
When she squirmed in his lap, Cam shuffled her back to his side. Abby tried not to let her disappointment show—she’d been comfortable and warm in his arms. At some point in the night, he’d wrapped her in a blanket, a gesture so thoughtful it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Easy now,” Cam murmured, and she realized she was clinging to his arm with a white-knuckled grip. She forced herself to relax somewhat, but couldn’t bring herself to let go. This man—these men—were safety personified. She looked up at him through the growing sunlight and was suddenly overcome.
“Thank you for rescuing me. I couldn’t have stood it a minute longer. It was terrible. People were so desperate, and some of the senators were awful.” Abby knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “I had to get out. Had to get away. I-I knew I might die, but I couldn’t stay there—”
With expert finesse, Cam tilted her face upward and shut her up with a kiss. When she grabbed his head and deepened it, he made a slight sound of surprised encouragement against her lips.
Abby couldn’t get enough. He tasted of smoke and kissed like the devil himself. She just wanted to lose herself in him. She slid her fingers through his short-cropped hair, needing this too much to care how she might come across.
When they came apart, she realized the armored van had come to a complete halt. Russ stared back at them from the front seat, exactly as handsome and sexy as his brother. Abby swallowed, going a little weak at the thought of both of them…
No. She was behaving like a crazy woman. Shakily, she sat back. “Sorry.”
“There’s no need for an apology. He started it,” Russ said.
Cam only smiled. His full attention remaining on her, he eased away but kept his arm lightly around her waist. In the driver’s seat, Russ turned to face the road.
The van started off again. This time, the silence was charged. Abby wondered whether Cam would kiss her again if she started to babble, or if the gesture had simply been a substitute for the stereotypical slap administered to hysterical women. Maybe Russ would climb in the back and kiss her next time. Her loins clenched at the thought. Wasn’t there something to those rumors?
“Don’t Twins share their women? Slater and—” Abby cut herself off with a flinch.
Mentioning the names of the Twins who’d defected from the Complex to Headquarters was probably a harebrained idea.
“Slater and Arden?”
“You know them?”
The Twins spoke at the same time. Abby’s gaze flicked between them as she reluctantly nodded. Although they’d thrown their lot in with the Shadow Feds, Slater and Arden had displayed remarkable kindness to the servants. Once, she’d come across them comforting a servant who’d been clubbed over the head by an annoyed senator. The Twins had applied ice, tending him gently and with patience. Abby had lingered, hidden behind a door, to listen. She’d thought the Twins would be angry for sure when the young man asked if they shared their bed partners. But they hadn’t. They’d simply said yes, the word spoken at the same time in two masculine voices.
Maybe that incident was what formulated her general opinion of Twins. When Cam had swept her into his arms and carried her from Headquarters, she’d sensed he meant her no harm. Of course, mentioning Grammie helped too.
There was no denying the sheer animal attraction between them now. She had never been so turned on from a mere kiss. The way Cam’s jeans tented was proof he’d been affected too.
Abby told herself to quit being an idiot—just because Cam kissed her didn’t mean Russ wanted her too. And all the rumors said both Twins had to be attracted to the person they shared. Besides, she had no idea if Russ could kiss like his brother.
She wasn’t likely to find out any time soon either, because they were rolling into what passed as civilization these days.
“Roadblock ahead,” Russ said. He rolled down the window, tucked his hand casually into his jacket pocket. He was ready to draw if necessary. That lent Abby some much-needed confidence—if it had been up to her, she would have turned around and driven off at the sight of two assault-rifle-wielding soldiers.
“We’re in an armored van,” she whispered. “It’s bulletproof. Chill, Abby.”
When Cam squeezed her, she realized he’d overheard that whisper, even over the sound of the engine and voices outside. Although she wanted to writhe in mortification, she leaned into the embrace, grateful for his support especially when Russ allowed the soldiers to open up the back of the van to conduct a quick visual search. Their flat gazes swept over them without changing.
“All right, you’re granted a twenty-four hour pass,” one of the soldiers said. She handed Russ a scribbled slip of paper. “We have to regulate traffic through this City because of past problems.”
“Problems?” Russ inquired.
The soldier shrugged. “Move on, civilian. Time’s wasting.”
From the way Cam tensed against her, Abby suspected he was communicating telepathically with his brother. Would Russ push back, demand answers? The soldiers either hadn’t cottoned on that they were Twins or didn’t care, though Abby suspected the former. The woman had infused the word civilian with an extra bite.
She reminded herself that not everyone had the warm fuzzies toward Twins. Some viewed them as tools of a corrupt government. Most were wary around them, knowing the men were genetically modified to be far stronger and faster than a normal human.
Russ stared at the soldier a moment longer before accelerating past the roadblock toward Cleveland’s high walls.
* * * * *
Inside Headquarters, everything was regulated down to the minute, from mealtimes to the biweekly walk in the gardens each indentured servant was allowed for the purposes of getting natural Vitamin D from sunlight. She’d forgotten what it was like to be in control of her own life.
Or as in control as it was possible to be with no money and very few possessions. And, she amended, flicking a glance at the Twins, in the company of two very Alpha males who didn’t seem overly eager to let her go out of their sight. Not even to help them scope out the gas station they were parked next to.
That was a problem, because she was determined to wrest back a semblance of control.
“So how about I go around the corner to the market?” she asked. “I’m positive someone there will buy a commtab or two. I’d feel a lot more confident if I had some money of my own.”
That way if she had to make a break from the Twins, she stood a chance of getting to Chicago by herself.
“Can’t risk it,” Russ said bluntly. “The Shadow Feds might trace us that way. The commtabs are switched off now, but a buyer will want to turn them on, make sure they work before the purchase.”
Abby watched Russ fuel up the van, mulling that over. Each commtab had access to Headquarters’ internal system, although a member of the public wouldn’t be able to log on unless they had a username and password. That meant they’d have to wipe the device clean and install something usable, which would bring the price down.
It was also possible that one of their techs would get a parallel system up and running in the next few days. Abby wasn’t stupid enough to think they wouldn’t have backed up their data. Any tracers they might have on the commtabs might still be accessible.
Which meant she’d have to sell these puppies soon, or not at all.
Russ leaned against the van’s hood, fixing her with an enigmatic gaze as she climbed through the open side door to stretch her legs. She resisted the urge to stare back, pacing instead. Ten medium steps up the length of the van, ten steps back, treading on asphalt so cracked it was mostly dirt inside one huge pothole.
At least the fuel pumps still worked, protected by two gun-toting civilians who were likely employed by the station’s owner. The attached convenience store looked to be thoroughly looted and deserted.
Shame. She would kill for a
candy bar right about now. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for ages. Abby altered her trajectory so that she could pace by the broken windows of the little store.
Nothing on the shelves remained. Not that she’d expected anything different. When Mom was alive, they’d stuck to looting small towns where the pickings weren’t as slim as a fallen city’s. Of course, then they’d had to contend with the presence of the Barks, holing up each night while praying the aliens wouldn’t sniff them out. Ironically, in the end, Mom hadn’t died a violent death. She’d gotten sick—probably cancer, not that they could have diagnosed it—and died relatively quickly and peacefully.
Abby had looted the hell out of a drugstore to make the peaceful part possible. Morphine and more morphine had let Mom die in peace.
A cracked windowpane reflected Russ’s approach, briefly bisecting his image so that there were two of him. She nearly laughed. Triplets. Now that would be something. She stood and watched him approach, his closely cropped hair barely ruffling in the heavy wind. It was strange to feel fresh air, even stranger to recognize the heaviness before a storm. How long had it been since she’d stood in the rain?
“Abby. Come with me now. We’re done here.”
It took the firmness of Russ’s hands on her shoulders to jar her out of her melancholy. He steered her away from the long-broken glass and across the cracked pavement of the gas station. All at once, Abby whirled to face him.
“How do you know my grandmother?” she demanded.
“Cam flew the cargo plane that picked her up out of Scar City.”
The answer was quick and easy, sounding very much like the truth. But Grammie would never have left her house willingly, even if the City was falling down around her ears. Had these men kidnapped her? Was the reigning government just as bad as the Shadow Feds?
If so, Abby couldn’t go with the Twins. The thought of being manacled again, of being stuck underground, made her want to retch. She had no proof Grammie was alive—the info they had could have been dug up in the elderly woman’s house. Had they looted her house when Scar City had fallen?
No, she couldn’t quite believe that—not of these particular men, that was.
“In we go,” Russ urged.
Against her better judgment, Abby trusted him, piling into the back of the van. She settled stiffly atop the bench seat and looked back at Russ. “Where’s Cam?”
Something in his gaze went soft as he looked back at her. “Cam’s rustling up some grub. Are you all right, Abby?”
“Not really.” She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable. And, oh God, now he was coming in to sit next to her, his blue eyes concerned.
“What’s wrong?”
His directness was probably born of not knowing what the hell to do around women. Abby felt much the same around men. Her fiancé, Callum, had been a childhood friend, so she’d more or less always been comfortable around him. The Twins were a whole different league, with their physical prowess, good looks and obvious intelligence combining to turn them into men Abby would never have dare approach in pre-Invasion days.
“I don’t trust you,” she blurted, realizing Russ was waiting for an answer. “No offense.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Yeah, none taken. I wouldn’t trust me either, if I were you. You’ve had a pretty rough ride. When did you last eat?”
She shrugged, her left shoulder rising and falling against the solidness of his chest as he leaned across her to snag a backpack. Before she could startle away, he pulled out a granola bar and held it to her lips. She inhaled, smelling fruit and sugar and spice and everything she hadn’t been able to get her hands on in months.
“Thanks,” she whispered, biting in. She devoured the bar in less than a minute, delayed only by having to chew the sticky oats. She’d never understood a dog’s urge to wolf its food until the Invasion occurred eleven years ago and suddenly gourmet eating was entirely out of the question. Meals weren’t occasions any longer, becoming the mere fueling of one’s body.
Russ looked hungry, too, but he was looking at her, not the food. Abby brushed at her mouth in case there were crumbs there. She stared back, curious despite herself about the man sitting next to her. His muscular thigh was mere inches from her own leg, reminding her that he could easily overpower her. Her innermost thoughts, which had been mulling over an escape, roiled.
“You a little better now?” Russ’s voice was low and a touch hoarse. Her loins gave another twinge. She fought against it, reminding herself that Stockholm Syndrome was real, dammit.
“Not really,” she replied, her throat thickening inexplicably. “It feels weird to be out.”
Had she lost the ability to tell a white lie? He’d probably leave her alone if she bucked up. Then she could be alone with all these tumbling thoughts, and finally let herself cry.
Abby fingered the remaining manacles on her ankles, rattling the stub where the chain used to be. That drew his gaze downward.
“Those bastards. We’d heard reports, but forcing people to stay against their will—that’s not indentured servitude. That’s pure slavery.”
“They told us it wasn’t, because we had the option to buy our freedom,” Abby whispered, her voice halting as tears threatened.
“Nobody should have to buy their fucking freedom.”
It was one thing to think that, quite another to hear it affirmed out loud. A long-suppressed sob shook her body, then another, until even burying her face in her hands couldn’t stop the tide. She’d cried into her bedroll at least once a week, but she’d had to keep it quiet in case it drew unwanted attention. Now it was as if an invisible band around her chest had loosened.
“Hey, whoa.” Russ sounded mildly alarmed. “Easy now.”
She couldn’t whoa, nor could she take it easy. Abby sobbed into her hands, then felt Russ pull her into his lap. Braced within his still-cautious arms, she let herself fall apart. Grief, anger, loneliness, pain—all of it choked their way up her throat, sounding harsh and desperate within the insulated interior of the van.
Russ kept murmuring to her, but she couldn’t concentrate on his words. She only knew that his grip on her grew easier, more comforting, and he held her head against his chest as she began to wind down, hiccupping and sniffing. When she merely breathed again, he dabbed at her face with a handkerchief, which had come back into fashion again since there wasn’t a lot of tissue being manufactured anymore.
“Thanks,” she managed, and leaned back against him. Now that she’d completely lost her shit, she might as well find comfort where she could, and sitting across Russ’s thighs was a lot better than sitting on the hard bench seat of the armored van.
At some point, he’d begun stroking her hair. He resumed that, giving her a kind of bemused pleasure. But she was beyond dignity now—she’d take whatever she could.
And when he tilted her chin up and kissed her, she took that too, deepening the kiss until her tongue flicked against his lips. His hands went from her head to her waist, steadying her as it became clear neither of them wanted to come up for air. Abby kept her eyes closed, not wanting the moment to end.
But it did, with a clatter and a bang as Cam threw open the back door. He stood silhouetted against the sun, making it impossible to get a glimpse of his expression.
“We gotta go. Now. It’s not safe here.”
Russ was already moving, setting her aside as he scrambled for the driver’s seat. Smoothly, Cam transitioned into his place, bracing her against him as Russ started the van.
“What’s wrong?” Abby asked, noticing the armed guards had retreated into a nearby hut and shuttered the windows. Russ gunned it out of the gas station, the sound of the engine not quite eclipsing a siren’s shrill wail.
“Two streets over, there’s a mob of about twenty people going after anything that’s not nailed down. The
y were headed this way.” Cam sounded casual, as though he were talking about the weather.
Abby tried to let his calmness settle her down, but she was rattled enough to brush her hand against her bag when she heard shots behind them. She’d stowed the gun in there as they’d left Headquarters.
“What now?” she asked.
“We hole up,” Russ said. “Someone will deal with the mob, but I don’t want to risk heading for an exit. At this point, it might be choked up with traffic, and I’d rather stay on the move.”
A pair of gunshots caused Russ to swerve down a side road and curse. The roar of an older-model, nonelectric motorcycle intensified as a pair of riders zoomed past. Were they following the van? Unable to see out of the vehicle except through the windshield, Abby lost sight of them, but her heart thumped painfully.
Even Cam’s reassuring hand on her thigh couldn’t distract her from wondering whether the Shadow Feds had somehow managed to track them here.
Chapter Four
Columbus hadn’t seen much action in the post-Invasion days. As a result, it sprawled, having expanded outside its original walls to encompass parts of its suburbs, rebuilding walls as the years passed. Cam pulled up a recently updated map on his commtab, letting his brother grab the image from his mind.
“Got it,” Russ said. “Who do we know in this area?”
Keeping his arm around Abby, Cam paged through contacts, frowning as the name Uther Pendragon came up. Uther wouldn’t have been Cam’s first, or even fifth, choice. The Complex dealt with the man because he was powerful—and because they didn’t want his considerable clout to go over to the side of the Shadow Feds.
Uther was a false name, of course. The guy had a prison record a mile long.
A shot whined past, making Abby flinch next to him. “It’s okay, sweet thing. Armored van, remember?” Cam settled her more firmly against his side.
“Unarmored tires,” she shot back.
“They can’t shoot worth beans,” Russ said from the driver’s seat, skidding hard around a turn. “Uther Pendragon? You couldn’t find anyone else, Cam?”
