Page 34
“I’m not intimidated by you. It was your maniacal driving that made me fall off.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, professor.”
“The word maniacal is not highbrow, bro.”
“Quit calling me bro.”
“What would you prefer? Your Highness? Boss? General whatever-your-last-name-is?”
“Brandon’s good.”
“Is he, though?”
He lets out the half-sigh, half-growl I’ve gotten to know well over the past seven days. “Can you not with the comedy show right now? This isn’t a good place to stop.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance. I cross my arms. “I’m not comfortable on the motorcycle when it’s raining.”
“You’re never comfortable on it. I don’t like being squeezed so hard I can’t breathe, but here we are.”
“Oh, please. The big, bad SEAL is bitching about a woman half his size holding on too tight while he rides like a stuntman with a death wish?”
He flicks a glare at me before reaching for the supply bag strapped to the bike behind my seat. I walk to the side of the road, trying to work out the pain in my ass and thighs. I had no idea fourteen hours a day on a motorcycle would hurt this much.
It was the only vehicle at the ILF safe house, so beggars and choosers and all.
Evander reaches toward me with something and says, “Eat.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not hungry.”
It’s a lie. I’m starving. But I don’t like the way he tries to placate me with food when I’m in a bad mood. My hangriness is my business.
A louder clap of thunder sends a shiver down my spine. I’m turning to scan the horizon behind me when the rumble of an engine sounds.
Wait. It’s not just one.
“Get on,” Evander commands, strapping his helmet to the back of the bike.
“You need to wear that.”
“I need to be able to see.”
He eyes the vehicles approaching us from the opposite end of the road. We’re facing them. There are several pickup trucks and an armored van, a massive gun mounted on top of the van.
“Shit.” I slam my helmet on and jump onto the bike, giving Evander room to start the bike back up before I grab onto him.
I press my cheek to his rock-solid back and say a silent prayer. He turns the motorcycle around and speeds toward the ramp we came in on.
A machine gun’s fire showers the pavement around us. I don’t care about the thunder or the potholes anymore. My back tingles with the awareness that a bullet could hit me at any moment.
Evander swiftly gets us back on what used to be a highway, weaving around weeds, abandoned cars, and holes.
There’s a Jeep with its top off, a dog curled up asleep on one of its seats. A few car lengths in front of it, a dirty bra lies on the paved road.
If ever there was a time to say fuck bras, we’re in it. The apocalypse is no time for underwire.
I turn my head as far as I can without loosening my grip on Evander, but it’s not enough to see if the vehicles are following us. He’s not slowing down.
A raindrop falls on my hand and I sigh softly. Guess we’re riding in the rain.
