“Liked what you saw?”
He huffs, the little snarl in his lips coming back, as if trying to act repulsed. Only, the dark blush betrays him.
I tilt my head. “How old are you—eighteen?”
Maybe older.
His eyes narrow. “Old enough to not wanna starve to death.”
I nod and smirk, amused I struck a nerve. Scratching my stubbled jaw, I consider his proposition.
My gaze trails over his body once more, lingering on the corded muscle in his arms, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. Claiming him fiercely, rutting into tight, young heat . . . it’s an appealing thought.
Too appealing.
I tamp the ember down. Business first.
“Here’s the deal. I tap that tonight, you get fed. Weapons stay outside. You stay ’til morning, got it? No garroting me in my sleep.”
His lips pinch thin, but his traitorous stomach rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. We’ve got an accord. That blade vanishes behind his back, smooth as silk.
Consider me impressed.
Haven’t seen anyone as smooth with a knife since Talia.
I gesture left with my chin. “That way, you walk in front. I’ll steer us straight. At the door, strip and ditch your shit. I’ll whip up some chow after.”
He scowls and stalks off, back rigid. Probably hates me calling the shots. But I didn’t get this far by being reckless.
I trail a pace behind, eyes drawn to his shoulders’ lean strength beneath the frayed shirt. His worn jeans pull taut over a trim ass as he walks. I imagine grasping those slim hips, railing into his . . .
I shake my head.
“What’s your name?” I ask, tamping down the urge to satisfy my growing lust.
“Devon.” He bites as those intense eyes rake the empty street, aware and calculating.
More boy than man in attitude, though his body tells a different tale. I need to verify. “Again, how old are you?”
He glances back, eyes narrowed, lips sealed stubbornly.
“Gotta make sure you’re legal. So if you want food, tell it to me straight.” The rest of the world may have lost its morals, forever stuck living in shades of gray, but got my own lines I won’t cross. Couldn’t live with myself if he wasn’t legal.
“Eighteen, old man. Almost nineteen.”
Old man. Since when is thirty-eight one foot in the grave? But out here, guess I’m goddamn ancient.
“Name’s Rex,” I offer.
Chapter 2
I steer us through the corpse-streets, but Devon strides ahead like he owns the damn place. Irritation prickles my neck.
Of course the cocky little shit knows where I’ve been staying. My molars grind. Still can’t fathom that I hadn't noticed him.
Need to train the basics more. Keep them sharp since apparently some of my skills are getting rusty.
As we approach the cabin, Devon slows, faking hesitation. We both know it’s bullshit. His eyes meet mine, hard and resigned. We’ve got a deal to uphold, and we’ll both get something we need: him something to eat and me human contact.
