Thicker than Blood Page 2

That had been a marriage, and this…this had been a fallacy. A single-sided, self-serving game. This had been torture masqueraded as a duty to the continuation of the human race.

  Killing him, that hadn’t been a mistake. It hadn’t been born of fear, but of anger. Killing him had been a necessity, a necessary evil. For the first time in my life, even if it meant the end of it, I’d finally done something brave. I’d finally saved myself.

  With my bearings back, a steely resolve firmly in place, I turned away from what was left of the man I’d hated, from the life I’d detested. As I walked slowly toward my dresser with the intention of dressing, Evelyn’s face once again invaded my thoughts. Knowing I would be leaving her alone, a sliver of guilt wormed its way into my newfound resolution. She was not without friends, but they were all the same, fair-weather and self-serving, survival their only concern. For so long all Evelyn and I had had was each other; we trusted each other, depended on each other, reminded each other of a life now long gone.

  Shaking my head, I shoved those feelings away. It was too late to do anything about it now. The damage was done, and Evelyn…she would survive this too.

  Fully clothed now in tattered jeans and a threadbare thermal top, I turned toward my mirror and let out a shaky breath. I didn’t recognize this woman, the blood-spattered, bruised, and beaten-down woman. The same long dark hair fell past my shoulders, the same wide brown eyes stared back at me, the same pale, freckled skin shone white under the moonlight, yet I didn’t know her. I didn’t even want to know her.

  Turning away from my reflection, I surveyed the room once again as my nails dug bloody half moons into my palms. Then I took another deep breath.

  “Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help me!”

  A muffled shout sounded, followed by banging on the door and then a loud crash.

  They’d come now. They’d see what I’d done and they’d take me away. Deliver me to my last stop on this long and twisted road.

  Chapter Two

  Evelyn

  Jami pressed my back against the wall, the cold bricks digging harshly into my heated skin. His kisses were persistent, never ending, and I willingly took them, devoured them, greedy for more. I was always greedy for more of him. The more of him I had, the more he’d wash away the bitter and hollow taste my so-called husband left behind. I needed Jami right now, needed him like a drug that could take me away to somewhere new, to somewhere else other than here with a man who repulsed me, in a life I hated.

  Jami’s mouth moved from my lips, traveling down my chin and neck, pushing my thin cotton blouse to one side and exposing more of my flesh to his voracious kisses. His hot breath danced across my skin, lighting my nerves to his every touch. My hands dragged through his hair, my leg wrapping around one of his, pulling him closer. He groaned deep in the back of his throat while his hands palmed my breasts in hunger. It was a sound that I loved to hear. A sound that ignited a fire in me, driving me onward to hear it again. Lowering his mouth to my chest, he pulled free my breast, sucking and biting on the hard nub of my nipple. I groaned again, wriggling beneath his weight, feeling as if I couldn’t take another second of his teasing.

  “Jami…” I said his name, loving the rough sound that followed from him, a satisfied rumble from deep inside his chest.

  “Again,” he murmured, his mouth resistant to leaving my nipple.

  “Jami,” I repeated breathlessly. He didn’t need to ask, I would have said it anyway, would have screamed it over and over again. His name was an aphrodisiac to me, the lone word having so much incomprehensible power over me. It controlled me, controlled my body, and I felt myself melting more, succumbing entirely to his every touch, growing increasingly impatient for more of him.

  Yet, even as hypnotized as I was by this man, my thoughts still turned often to Mason, my husband. His touch was still fresh on my body, his smell still potent in my nose. I could almost feel his fat fingers still pressing against me, intruding and eager, and it made my stomach heave. This was when I needed Jami the most, to replace Mason’s taste and Mason’s touches with his own.

  Whereas Mason wasn’t attractive, Jami was sinfully so. Whereas Mason was a good ten years older than me, Jami was thirty-three, only two years older than I was. No bath had ever done the trick quite like Jami’s rough and zealous hands and his amazing mouth, always eager to please.

  “Eve.”

  My eyes opened slowly and I found Jami watching me with hooded eyes, a grin dimpling his face. Reaching for me, he rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, pulling my mouth open for him.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked.

  Calmer now, I smiled at him. “Nowhere. I’m right here.”

  His grin grew, and then he claimed my mouth once more, his hands deftly moving toward the hem of my skirt, pulling it up and dragging my panties down in a move both proficient and explicit. My own hands moved to his belt buckle, unfastening it quickly. With practiced fingers I undid his button, excited to free him from his clothing. Excited to feel him pressed up against me, pressing up inside of me.

  My breath shuddered free from my lungs. I wanted him. God, I wanted him, needed him…

  And then he was there, hard and ready for me. I whimpered as he gripped my thigh, lifted my leg, and eagerly pressed himself inside me. I sighed, my head lolling to one side, granting him access to the tender skin on my throat. He whispered sweet nothings into my ear as he moved inside me, his hips finding a perfect rhythm against mine.

  Biting down on my lower lip, stifling my cry of pleasure, I allowed Jami to override Mason’s touch, the ugly memories floating away with each pounding thrust that Jami gave me. He breathed heavily, a rumble stirring low in his chest, almost sending me over the edge.

  “Eve!”

  I opened my eyes, my body freezing in the midst of my breathless panting. Jami leaned in to kiss me again, but I shook my head and silently mouthed, Wait. Several moments ticked by.

  “Eve!”

  This time my name resonated through the walls and I paused, my breath catching in my throat as I waited to hear my name called out again. Straining my ears, my heart thudding wildly in my chest, I listened intently for any sort of noise. I heard it then, the distinctive sound of footsteps coming quickly up the path, the gravel crunching beneath boots.

  Someone was coming!

  “Shit!” I hissed, shoving Jami away hard enough to cause him to stumble backward. “Shit,” I repeated, trying to compose myself, the loss of him inside me already too strong. “Someone’s here.”

  A soft knocking sounded, echoing from the front door and through the dark and nearly empty house. Jami glanced around the room, his eyes suddenly wide and wild with worry. He grabbed his pants and began pulling them back up his legs, though I was glad to see that he looked just as flustered and red-faced as me.

  Shit!” I cursed again, dragging my underwear back up my legs. Running toward the window, I looked to the ground beneath. Angela, one of the girls from the cookhouse, was standing at the door, her hands gripping her apron, violently twisting it. Glancing up, she found me in the window.

  “Evelyn, quickly,” she pleaded, gesturing for me to come down. Repeatedly, she glanced over her shoulder, back to me, and over her shoulder again, as if she was afraid that she’d been followed, or worried that someone was watching her. Looking her over, I realized that not only was she still wearing her apron, but she also had flour in her hair, all telling me that she must have departed the cookhouse in a hurry.

  Fredericksville functioned like any other well-oiled machine. Everyone had a job to do, and everything worked fine as long as people did those jobs, and did them well. Just like before the infection, there were certain jobs that held more importance, more sway, than others. Contrary to public opinion, it was my personal belief that every job held just as much importance as any other, simply because a leader could not exist without his citizens, and vice versa. Even the children responsible for recycling our garbage were important, and i
n my humble opinion, much more so than the cruel men in charge.

  Not everyone shared my belief, though. My husband, the superior bastard that he was, was one of the many men around here always looking down on anyone he believed to be lower than him.

  Turning away from Angela, I found Jami sliding his military jacket over his broad shoulders, his pants once again buttoned. Realizing another of our few-and-far-between moments had ended, a pang of regret passed through me. I watched him tucking his gun back inside its holster, until his gaze finally found mine.

  Smirking and without another word, he turned away, already heading for the stairs. No kiss good-bye, not even a longing glance over his shoulder. I wanted to be pissed about his indifference; I should have been pissed. My adoring husband always gave me a kiss good-bye whether I wanted one or not, yet Jami gave me nothing. Nothing to cling to when he wasn’t here, nothing to tide me over while Mason demanded I be his adoring wife. As was his usual MO, Jami just left, leaving me desperate for more of him.

  I heard the soft click of the back door as it closed, signaling Jami’s departure, yet I continued to stand there, waiting for one more minute—the longest of my life—before descending the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, I shook my head, dismayed. That was too close; we were getting reckless. Or at least I was, although I wasn’t exactly sure if I cared anymore.

  No, scratch that. I did care. My thoughts veered to Leisel, my best friend. She was the only family I had left, and I couldn’t deny that I still in fact cared. I had to care, for her sake, because if I didn’t, she wouldn’t have survived this place, this world. Her dependence on me and my strength could grate at times, but then, I couldn’t fault her so completely. I had dark days of my own during which I longed to end it all, to eat a bullet, finally shutting the world out. Then I would think of her, and would be unable to go through with it. In a way, I guess you could say we were constantly saving each other.

  We’d promised each other—back when this all had begun, when the world crumbled right before our eyes, taking with it everything we’d ever known, everyone we’d loved—that we’d never give up. That we’d survive no matter the cost, that we would always stay together. Always. Those promises had been hard ones to keep, and Leisel especially had suffered more than I. Daily, I hated myself for what she’d been forced to endure, for not being able to do more to protect her.

  Reaching the dark foyer, I flipped the lock and pulled open the door, quickly backing away as Angela barged inside. She seemed frantic, a sheen of sweat glistening on her wrinkled forehead, and I began to fear that there’d been a breach in the walls. It had happened once before, during the first year when the walls had yet to be completed. A large group of the infected had managed to find their way inside, and were freely roaming the streets. But it had ended nearly as soon as it had begun. Our soldiers had controlled it, quickly and efficiently. Still, we’d lost people.

  That had been three years ago. Three long years spent in this infection-free…prison.

  “It’s Leisel,” Angela said, and my rambling thoughts came to a crashing halt. Grabbing the short, stocky woman by her shoulders, I lowered my face to hers.

  “Where is she?” I demanded, the quiver in my voice laced with worry.

  “She’s—they took her!” She started to sob, hiccupping sobs that I didn’t have patience or time for.

  Still gripping her shoulders, I shook her hard. “Where is she?” I yelled. But Angela was still crying. I frowned down at her as annoyance and worry wormed their way into my panicked state. It wasn’t as if Angela and Leisel were close, yet the woman was behaving as if they were.

  “Stop crying and tell me where the hell she is!” I shoved her backward, slamming her back against the door.

  My body, that only moments ago had been heated by lust, was now humming with anger. Leisel was a mouse, a quiet little mouse who had never done a damn thing to anyone. She’d never once caused trouble in Fredericksville, always keeping to herself, barely speaking to even me because of that bastard husband of hers. She was a broken and beautiful ghost, my sweet Leisel.

  “I swear to God, if he’s hurt her again…” I cursed under my breath, releasing Angela to begin pacing the length of the room.

  Lawrence Whitney, Leisel’s husband and our oh-so-enigmatic leader, was outwardly charming and charismatic, everything a leader should be. He was what the people of Fredericksville had needed in the beginning, someone to put their broken world to rights, and they’d followed him blindly. But privately, with Leisel, he was a monster. Beating and abusing her, using her in every horrific way possible, simply because he could. Because he knew that no one could or would stop him.

  “I’ll kill him this time,” I mumbled. “I will.” Tears began to form as a sense of helplessness washed coldly over me. Angela and I both knew I was full of shit; we both knew that I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I couldn’t touch that man without bringing hell down on both myself and Leisel.

  Knowing how helpless I was made me hate him as much as I hated the infected that plagued the world beyond our walls. He was a monster, and no better than they were.

  “He’s dead, Eve. Lawrence is dead,” Angela said, her eyes huge.

  I scowled at her. “What?” I cried. “How?”

  And then suddenly I smiled, because I didn’t care how. What did it matter? He was dead and Leisel was free of him, free of his torture. Whoever she was passed on to next, they couldn’t be any worse than Lawrence. So I continued smiling because this was a good thing, as good as life could get inside a walled community that had so easily disregarded a century’s worth of women’s rights in favor of a male-ruled totalitarian state.

  “Where is she?” I asked, laughing despite myself. I suddenly wanted to find her, to be with her that very instant, wrapping my arms around her and sharing in what I could only imagine would be tears of sheer joy.

  It was stupid of me to behave this way. Stupid and reckless. It was dangerous for anyone to know that I was this happy about Lawrence’s death, but to hell with it, I didn’t care. He was dead, and my best friend was free of him.

  “It was Leisel,” Angela mumbled.

  “What was Leisel?” I asked.

  “Leisel killed him.” Angela’s gaze dropped as more tears fell from beneath her lashes. “She killed him, Eve. And they’re going to execute her tomorrow.”

  At her shocking words, I stumbled backward as if I’d been punched in the gut, as if Lawrence had just hit me with one of his vicious blows. Leisel, my innocent Leisel, had killed him? I shook my head, refusing to believe it, yet Angela was nodding like one of those obnoxious bobble-head figurines, smiling and forever bobbing its ridiculously large head.

  Only Angela wasn’t smiling.

  “Take me to her,” I said from between gritted teeth.

  “I can’t. They’ve locked her up. She’s in the tower already. I have to go because if they notice that I’m gone…” Angela pressed her lips together and glanced away.

  I didn’t bother pressing her for more. What was left to say?

  Several seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before Angela turned away and opened the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry, Eve.”

  She really was sorry; I could see how genuinely sorry she was. She knew what Leisel meant to me, the lengths I would go to for her. And unlike the rest of the town, Angela had a vague idea of what Lawrence had put Leisel through.

  Again, disbelief clouded my thoughts. Leisel had just killed a man in cold blood? It didn’t make sense, though I supposed that everyone had their limits. Worry for her began burning through my veins. What had he done to get her into such a state that she couldn’t take any more?

  It all seemed so wrong, considering everything I thought I’d known about my best friend. How had such a sweet and caring woman, a total book nerd who’d taught half the kids in Fredericksville how to read and write, actually hurt someone? And she hadn’t just hurt him, but had
ended him.

  I should have seen it coming, should have realized that she’d been near the end of her rope. There were only so many times a person could be beat down, again and again and again, before they broke entirely. Leisel had obviously broken, and why wouldn’t she?

  Hurting Leisel was like kicking a blind puppy—no one of sound mind would ever do such a thing. Lawrence, I finally decided, had gotten his just deserts, with no one to blame but himself.

  How stupid we’d been, the both of us. Stupid for thinking that a small group of survivors that had happened on us in our darkest hour, promising safety and security, hadn’t had ulterior motives. We’d simply traded one hell for another.

  I found myself sneering at the wall, remembering how happy I’d been for Leisel when Lawrence had chosen her to marry. He’d seemed such a strong leader at the time. In his early forties, charismatic and handsome, and more importantly, seeming so willing to do whatever it took to help rebuild our crumbling world. I’d even been a bit jealous, wishing I had a man who seemed so dependable and caring.

  Until the first bruise had appeared; then I’d felt only anger and regret.

  “How did she do it?” I called out after Angela’s quickly retreating form.

  Turning, she anxiously looked in all directions. “She stabbed him,” she said quietly, swallowing nervously, her eyes still darting back and forth. Another heartbeat passed, then Angela gave me a pitying glance before running off down the path and disappearing into the night.

  Shocked and horrified, I clasped a hand over my mouth. Why stabbing was so much worse than anything else, I didn’t know. Perhaps because it was so much more personal, so up close, and much more vicious than I would have ever expected of Leisel.

  Surely this would help her. How clearly unravelled she must have become to resort to such extreme lengths, killing him in such a brutal and violent manner. In the old world it would have meant something, her defense would have been cut and dried, crystal clear to a jury as the evidence of her abuse was laid out for them. But in this new world, here in Fredericksville…