Flesh 02 Skin(51)

“Roslyn.”

She shook her head, turned and walked away.

Fine. They both needed time. They also needed blankets or they were going to freeze their asses off. He set about searching the rows of shelving lining the walls. No comment from her. Not a peep.

He was not the bad guy here. He wasn’t. He’d done every-fucking-thing he could to please her.

Some crappy old camping gear stood in a corner. A moth-eaten canvas tent and a sleeping bag that had seen better days. A ratty-looking tarp with a couple of burn marks. A moth took flight when he nudged the tarp. He shook the sleeping bag out and clouds of dust filled the air. Quickly, he turned his face away before he copped a lungful of it. Roslyn stood by the pickup with her arms wrapped around herself.

The infected’s mouth had been bare centimeters off sinking its teeth into her toes. Its filthy fingers had been clawing at her legs. If she hadn’t been wearing jeans, if he hadn’t woken when he did and heard her screaming. If he’d been a second later, just one second, it would have been too late. He couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t stand it, but it wouldn’t stop repeating inside his head.

If he’d lost her … No.

Nick cracked his jaw and bundled up the tarp, took it and the sleeping bag over to the vehicle. It should be enough to keep them warm at least. He doubled the tarp over the ratty old mattress and placed the sleeping bag between the layers. “We’ll sleep up here. Come on.”

She gave him a blank look.

“You’ve got no shoes on. No jacket. It’s cold.”

She nodded dully and moved to the end of the bed, climbed up. The tarp crackled as she slipped beneath it, into the sleeping bag. Nick switched off the pickup’s parking lights then followed, pulling off his boots. He hadn’t stopped to put on socks. She’d be dead now if he had.

Having both of them in the sleeping bag made it cozy. He put an arm beneath her neck and the other over her waist. Her feet felt freezing so he pressed them between his, trying to warm her. She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t exactly help either.

“You should have told me,” she said.

“You were upset enough that day.” His stomach growled, loudly. Sex always made him hungry. It had been hours since they’d eaten and it would be hours before they stood a chance of finding food—tomorrow morning at the earliest.

A mattress spring stuck into his hip. He’d slept on floors that were more comfortable. The air in the shed was frigid. They should have been in the cabin, curled up in bed with a roaring fire. They should have been fucking like bunnies. Everything else smelled like dust but she smelled like sex and feminine sweat. His dick gave signs of life and he angrily ignored it.

No matter how pissed he was at her, he still wanted her. Not a surprise.

There’d be no sleeping. He wouldn't risk leaving her unguarded. This place didn't feel that secure. Besides, every time he closed his eyes he saw that thing about to sink its teeth into her. One second later and she’d have been gone. Maybe he should take her to Blackstone. She’d be safe there, even if he wasn’t welcome. The walled community was still probably a hundred people strong. They were organized. She could have a life there.

The thought of it made his guts burn. Maybe she’d given him a stomach ulcer. But maybe Blackstone was the only choice.

Had their cabin burnt to the ground yet? Probably. Place had gone up like someone had poured on kerosene. What a balls-up. All of his plans had turned to shit. How would he protect her now?

“Were you really coming back?” he asked in a hard voice. He needed to know for sure. Inside of him felt like a fucking mess. He couldn’t make sense of the feelings.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why? You finally got away from me.”

“I told you. I realized we needed to talk things over.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything.” Her voice was so quiet that he had to strain to hear her.

“Because we fucked?” he asked, choosing his words with care.

She sighed. “Honestly, Nick, I don’t know.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN





Roslyn stood patiently on the curb and watched as Nick broke into a clothes shop. They’d already gone through the drugstore across the street. Or he had. She’d been instructed to stand outside within view and wait. Like a dog being trusted off its chain, barely.

He still wouldn’t give her any more of the details of what had happened at the school. It had obviously been bad. The lost look in his eyes when she’d asked had stalled further questions, for now. It seemed surreal. Her brain wouldn’t quite wrap around the information.

The last of the people she’d known were gone.