by Clare Murray
“No. He’s the only known head honcho around here.” Cam tabbed back to the map on his screen, zooming in on Uther’s abode, formerly a set of warehouses. The man ran the post-apocalyptic equivalent of a motorcycle club, but he at least paid lip service to President Wright and lent some extra muscle to the army when needed.
“So he’s not a renegade. Doesn’t mean he’s not bad news,” Russ grumbled.
“He’s better than dealing with a mob jacking our van.”
“I’ll give you that much. But we’re outta here tomorrow, crack of dawn.”
The gunshots tapered off as they rolled into Pendragon territory. The first indication that this area was different came in the form of a roadblock. This one was more casual than the one outside Columbus yet clearly just as enforced. Russ brought the van to a stop and rolled the window down, holding out a government badge in a seemingly casual move.
Abby shivered against him. “Shadow Feds?” she whispered.
“No, baby. This is a…government subcontractor, shall we say.” The fear in her voice concerned him.
“What about the soldiers outside? Why aren’t they in here regulating things?”
“There aren’t enough of them,” Cam told her. “Their job is to guard the walls, keep the City standing. Their secondary job is to keep the immediate roads and highways clear.”
“So they just…allow this stuff to happen?” Abby sounded disgusted.
“Well, even pre-Invasion, police were hard-pressed to keep up with crime. There’ll always be people who take advantage, sweet thing. Or try to, in this case.”
Her lips seemed fuller, perhaps from her earlier kiss, which Cam had felt through Russ. His initial attraction, easily explained away as an itch he hadn’t scratched for many months, seemed to be morphing into something deeper. Besides that, Russ had never seen the appeal in any of Cam’s women—nor he in his Twin’s choices. This…this could very easily turn into a thing that pitted brother against brother…
“No, Cam.” The certainty in his brother’s voice steadied him. “We give her the choice—both or neither.”
“She kissed you.” He didn’t mean to come across so petulantly.
“Yeah, and she kissed you too.”
That was true enough. Cam realized he was staring at Abby as if trying to commit her face to memory. He wanted to make her come, dammit, to scream his name as she arched against him in pleasure. Christ, did he want to make her come—again and again.
“What’s your business?” A bearded, gun-toting man sauntered over to peer into the open van window. He gave Russ’s ID a heavy once-over before handing it back.
“Safe haven for the night.” Russ tucked the ID back into his jacket.
“Gotta radio in to clear you ahead.” The guard stepped away to mutter into a handheld. It wasn’t long before a voice crackled back. Cam caught the gist of the conversation, and nothing struck him as wrong, but as they rolled through a pair of chain-link gates, his unease grew.
This was Pendragon territory, clearly and deliberately fenced off from the rest of the City, as if to underscore the fact that the rules were different in here.
Cam kept Abby close as they disembarked from the van, absorbing her flinch at the sound of a distant gunshot. He was glad they were away from the shooting, but he didn’t delude himself—in here was as dangerous as out there. That was made abundantly clear when they came face-to-face with Uther Pendragon himself.
“Twins.” His cool words were assessment and greeting both.
“Russ and Cam.” Russ’s words weren’t quite frosty, but they weren’t friendly either. For a good thirty seconds, they took each other’s measure. Not a big man, Uther stood a few inches shorter than them, with narrow brown eyes and long, lank hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail. There was a faint blue tattoo on his cheek, the Roman numerals XVI. Inside his mostly leather clothes, he looked to be wiry yet muscular. Nothing either of them couldn’t handle in a one-to-one fight.
It wouldn’t come to that, though. Uther was too canny to force such a power play. He’d exert his authority in other ways. Cam suspected they weren’t going to get off lightly—having Twins land on his territory was a perfect way for Uther to throw his weight around, get the government to cede him a little more power and control. Men like Uther never quit pushing boundaries.
“I’ll have one of my boys hook your van up to the juicer,” Uther said, jerking a thumb toward a solar-powered electric pump. “That’s assuming it runs on anything but gasoline. If it’s gas, I’ll have to charge you.”
“It’s a hybrid,” Cam said, stepping in to let Russ take the measure of the place. “Solar power will do us fine, thanks.”
Uther made no answer to that, but swaggered forward with them in their wake. Having obviously overheard the exchange, one of the men sitting on an old engine block got to his feet and headed toward the solar pump. He moved with an alacrity that suggested he was either afraid of Uther or wanted to impress him. If it was the latter, Cam felt sorry for the guy, because Uther didn’t take a jot of notice.
They made their way deeper into the warehouse, through an area stained with old patches of oil. Now it held salvaged items: old doors, plastic and wooden crates, several stacks of tires. A sheet of corrugated metal teetered against a forklift, sheltering a pallet of clean glass bottles. Farther in, burlap bags of compost lined the wall. The place looked like a post-apocalyptic cross between a hardware store and a gardening center.
Mixed, Cam reminded himself, with a large dash of motorcycle club, as evidenced by the hard eyes of the men who watched them from the sideline. One wheeled a Harley past them, an older model chopper bike tricked out to run on electricity. Cam wondered if these men missed being able to sit around and rev their engines. Then he caught the look the man tossed over his shoulder.
“Doesn’t seem to be much love for Uther around here,” Cam sent.
“I caught that too. Keep Abby close.”
She was already as close as he could get her without hugging her to him—which was incredibly tempting, of course. She’d stayed quiet so far, although he sensed she was nervy, maybe on the edge of fight or flight. When they reached Uther’s office, she relaxed somewhat, heaving an almost soundless sigh at his side.
“Sit down,” Uther said, sliding behind a desk as he gestured to the chesterfield couch along one wall.
With Abby in the middle, they complied. Uther made them wait a minute while he messed around with the crap on his desk, rearranging paperweights before he fixed them with his full attention. It was such an obvious, petty power play that Cam nearly rolled his eyes.
“Tonight I plan on letting my boys blow off some steam. It’s our monthly fight night. Anyone who wants goes toe-to-toe in the ring, no-holds-barred. We categorize into featherweight, bantamweight and heavyweight, but if two men really wanna fight each other, they fight. You dig?”
“What about women?”
Abby speaking up seemed to bemuse Uther. He looked at her and gave a delayed shrug. “Sure, women can fight, but they ain’t do that much. Too busy servicing the guys, if you know what I mean.”
His eyebrow waggle was just short of lewd. Abby didn’t respond.
“Anyhow, rule is, if you’re challenged, you fight.” Uther sat back, watching for a reaction. “That means outsiders too. Got to prove yourself if you want to stay in Pendragon Territory.”
“That all you wanted to say?” Russ’s bored-sounding answer was almost-but-not-quite rude. It was enough to take the wind out of Uther’s sails. He leaned forward, chair creaking, and slammed his palm down on the corner of the desk. A distant buzzer went off.
“My second-in-command will take you to your quarters.”
That was a clear dismissal, but Cam and Russ dragged it out, taking their sweet time about rising from the couch and heading out the door. All the while, Cam kept an eye on
Uther. There was a gun concealed inside that jacket of his, maybe two. A shot to the head could kill a Twin just like a normal human.
A gunshot to Abby anywhere could kill her. Modern medicine was dead, slain by invading alien motherships. Life itself was pretty much a gamble these days. So Cam watched Uther until the door closed between them, and only then did he lessen his grip on Abby—only to shove her behind him as another man approached. It was one damn thing after another, and for a moment his temper flared. Cam craved the hell out of some peace and quiet. He was tired of gambling.
“Snake Eyes,” the man said, taking their measure. For one tense moment, Cam thought the man somehow had the ability to mind read. Then he realized he was merely introducing himself.
“Russ and Cam.” Russ stepped forward, neatly enveloping Abby between them. He didn’t introduce her.
“Boss says you can shack up here for the night. You all staying together?”
“Yeah.” The Twins spoke simultaneously. Cam felt Abby stir at his side, but she didn’t open her mouth. Damned if he was going to let her sleep apart from them. Not here. Cam would doze sitting up if she required privacy—Twins only needed about four hours per night anyway.
“All right.” Snake Eyes flicked an unreadable look at Uther’s closed door before leading the way out of the warehouse. They passed through a kind of courtyard, which was filled with various edibles, including a small herb garden and a vegetable patch. Out of necessity, people had gotten really, really good at gardening over the past decade. Even hardy motorcycle types developed green thumbs.
The warehouse across the courtyard held rows and rows of bunk beds. Flimsy partition walls lent a semblance of privacy, sectioning off four beds at a time. Most of them looked to be claimed, with personal possessions strewn atop covers and bags shoved under metal frames. Come to think of it, the place didn’t differ all that much from the dormitory Cam and his brother stayed in as teenagers.
The place didn’t have scientists observing through a one-way mirror, though, nor was technology strewn about the room, keeping track of temperature, air quality, and the movement of the boys in that particular dorm.
Cam picked up his pace. Those days were over.
“But not forgotten,” was Russ’s dark comment.
Snake Eyes led them through to the other side, then out of the warehouse and into a large shed tacked onto the rear of the place. A double bed hogged most of the floor space, leaving a narrow aisle between it and yet another metal-framed bunk bed. As a touch of almost-luxury, there was an attached bathroom with a solar shower.
Cam took his surroundings in through his peripheral vision, keeping most of his attention on Uther’s second-in-command. The man didn’t give off the same unstable vibe that his boss did. He was calmer, more collected—but there was a ruthless edge to the way Snake Eyes kept one hand tucked into his pocket, as if ready to draw a weapon at a moment’s notice.
Unforgivably, he was giving Abby the once-over.
Goaded beyond rationality, Cam placed a possessive arm around her waist. In the other man’s full view, Cam let his hand slide down to Abby’s ass, cupping it. The sound of her indrawn breath was covered by Russ’s footsteps as he came to stand next to them in the doorway, subtly but effectively blocking Snake Eyes from entering the shed.
“If we fell asleep and didn’t come out for tonight’s festivities, how much fallout would there be?” Russ inquired.
Snake Eyes shifted his attention from Abby, leaning a hip against the doorjamb of the shed. “Let me put it this way—Uther doesn’t trust the government. He communicates that distrust every chance he gets. He likes running his own show.”
“So why invite us to the fights?” Cam kept his hand spread across Abby’s utterly delectable ass, feeling her relax into the possessive hold.
“Why miss an excuse to drink?” Snake Eyes shrugged, but his feet remained stiffly planted, as if the rest of his body didn’t agree with his outward nonchalance. He could have walked away at that point, but he remained.
“He’s warning us.”
Russ gave the barest of nods in acknowledgment. “I should have holed up somewhere else. The van could have made it thirty or forty miles on that half-tank of gas.”
“So if anyone can challenge anyone, why doesn’t someone take Uther into the ring?” Abby asked. Her feminine voice seemed to crank up the heat in the immediate area.
Or maybe, Cam reflected, it was just him who felt hot.
“Someone challenges Uther, that’s a fight for leadership. A dirty fight for leadership, involving that hidden knife in his boot and a nice cold grave for a bed. And some people get even meaner when they’re drunk.” Snake Eyes paused for effect, then straightened up. “You step careful, now. See you at the fights.”
* * * * *
Abby was tempted to squirm against Cam’s hand, which surprised her, since she hadn’t enjoyed a man’s touch for years. But she wanted him to keep holding her, to stay pressed against his muscular side until she worked up the courage to initiate a kiss. Or perhaps she’d kiss Russ, since he was in front of her, and Cam could hold her from behind…
Her breaths came shallowly now, as Cam and Russ both continued to look at the door Snake Eyes had closed behind him. Abby didn’t dare move, fearing the loss of Cam’s warm hand, the crashing down of reality. Theirs wasn’t a stable situation. They couldn’t leave now without offending Uther, who would see it as justification for his distrust of the government. He might even use it as an excuse to do something crazy.
Like killing them. She’d seen the noose that hung to the rear of the courtyard. The rope was worn, as if it had been used before. Maybe that was because it had been hanging out in all weather, and she was overthinking the situation…
“I think Abby ought to feign sickness tonight,” Russ said as if resuming a previous conversation. She flicked her gaze between both men, realized they’d likely been mentally discussing the situation.
“I think you ought to feign sickness,” she shot back.
Both men’s faces lightened in amusement. “Twins don’t get sick, sweet thing,” Cam told her. “At least, we’re immune to most serious diseases. Scientists still haven’t cured the common cold.”
“Slackers,” she muttered, aware that his hand was moving, caressing her.
Having accepted Cam’s touch, she was still relaxed, but every brush of his fingers seemed to make her loins ache almost painfully. Unconsciously, she moved to spread her thighs, giving him greater access. Any embarrassment was immediately erased by the brush of his lips across her forehead. His other hand went to the fly of her jeans, tugging the zip down. Then his palm was against the thin fabric of her underwear, exploring yet not pushing, keeping a leisurely, unpressured pace.
Russ watched them from several feet away, leaning against the metal bedframe of the bunk beds. With glazed eyes, Abby took in his avid gaze and the length of his cock against his jeans. She trembled against Cam, letting him absorb her reaction.
Everything that had been ramping up between them seemed to be coming to a head. Was there really something to the idea that Twins and certain women had complementary pheromones? The glossy magazines had started to pick up on that right before the Invasion, distilling articles from the Lancet and other medical journals into layman’s terms, then jazzing them up for a different audience. Sex positions, pheromones, and relationships—those things sold a magazine.
Or used to, anyway.
Thing was, Abby figured there was truth to the pheromone idea. Certainly she was incredibly attracted to both men. And she’d always known some dudes just couldn’t intrigue her, plain and simple. They didn’t stink, but no matter what toothpaste they used or how much deodorant they slathered on, they never came across as right.
The movement of Cam’s hand against her—that felt right. He’d moved around to her front now, and was drawing her face u
p. Not for a kiss but to study her reaction to him as he touched her, flicking his finger against the thin fabric barrier that covered her clit.
She couldn’t help but breathe raggedly, staring helplessly into his eyes, unable to pull away from this sheer pleasure. He seemed to know exactly where to stroke her merely by observing her expression and the reactions of her body. It wasn’t long before she was on the verge of coming, unsteadily supporting herself against Cam’s outstretched arm.
When she looked over at Russ in mute appeal, his hand clenched around the bedframe, causing it to bend slightly. Releasing it, he stalked to her side and ran a hand down her cheek, studying her just as intently as his Twin did.
After a few seconds, something behind his eyes eased, and he went to stand behind her. “Relax, baby. It’s okay—I got you.”
He balanced her against his thigh, supporting her so that Cam had even greater access. With her jeans partway down, she couldn’t have stood on her own without great difficulty.
Now she was completely at their mercy. Far from being scared at the lack of control, she embraced the feeling wholeheartedly, her body crying for more. As Russ cupped her breasts, she inhaled in mingled shock and pleasure, arching her back as his thumbs rubbed across her nipples.
They took their sweet time with her body, keeping her balanced between them and utterly dependent, until even the smallest movement threatened to send her over the edge. As she was beginning to writhe in frustration, Cam finally kissed her, easing back to let his brother dip in between her legs. Russ stripped the underwear aside, his bare hand nudging against her until she cried out against Cam’s lips.
“I think that was a please,” Russ said. Amusement and desire made his voice hoarse. “Was it please, Abby?”
“Mmm,” was all she could manage against Cam’s lips.
“No?” Russ started to withdraw his hand, then laughed as she thrust against his arm. “All right.”
His fingers settled against her clit, circling lightly but keeping the rhythm slow enough to be frustrating. Then Cam’s hand was there, one finger sliding inside her. He quickly made it two, and the pressure felt so good, Abby nearly collapsed. Only the combined strength of their arms kept her upright.
