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She runs her finger along the rim of the glass, looking down into the amber liquid. Huh, I never realized how beautiful whiskey was before. There’s something familiar about the color. “I haven’t touched alcohol since the dead rose. Need to stay sharp and alert, never know what’ll happen, what danger is around the corner.”
“We’re the only living souls in this town. The only thing around the corner is a mosquito, and I’ll take him out, too. Besides, if a rotter stumbles in, I’ll take care of it. I’ll even remain sober to protect you better.”
She looks at me, and her eyes fill with something I haven’t seen in a very long time. At least, not geared toward me. Toward William, maybe, but never me.
Trust.
“I’m not joking, pet. Drink to your heart’s content. I promise I won’t swallow a drop.”
Lifting the glass, she tips her head back and downs the liquid before setting the glass back onto the bar again.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought you were going to be all girly and take a sip, then make a face and ask for something fruity instead.”
She scrunches her nose. “Not a fan of fruity drinks. Too sugary.”
I lean across the bar and grin. “Yeah, I guess something as sweet as you don’t need any added sugar.”
She opens her mouth to respond but then freezes when a noise sounds from somewhere off to the side. We both look in the direction it came from and see a door, likely leading to a back room.
I push off the counter and don’t have time to reach for Debbie before the door opens and three men walk in. Dregs. Or maybe survivors. I can’t tell if they’re dangerous yet, but they’re definitely alive.
Well, that’s surprising. I guess I was wrong. The mosquito isn’t the only other living thing around here, after all. I’m not a big fan of being wrong about things like this.
The first man looks me up and down before grinning from ear to ear. I don’t like his grin. It’s the kind of grin that looks pretty but holds something sinister. “Well, we haven’t seen another living person in months.”
“I’ll be damned,” the second man says, running his fingers through his hair and messing up his ponytail. What a stupid ponytail. It’s perfect for rotters to grab. Or crazy bastards like me who want to swing him around until his head pops off. Oh, that could be fun.
The third man is the largest of them all, with his arms crossed over his chest. He says nothing, but I sure as hell don’t like the way he’s looking at my pet right now. I’m tempted to put a hole in this bar between us so I can slide her over by my side.
The first two men jump into a series of questions. They’re laughing and smiling as though they found the jackpot of two survivors, while the third man doesn’t stop leering at Emily. If it weren’t for him, this encounter might not be too bad, though I also don’t like their questions. I’m barely paying attention to them. I’m too busy watching big, dark, and grumpy. The only big, dark, and grumpy one I’ll tolerate is Griffin.
“Just passing through,” Emily says with a breathy laugh, snapping my attention to her. I don’t like her giving her laugh to them, but there’s something in her laugh that has me on edge. She’s uncomfortable.
“So what’s your story, sugar?” the first guy asks, picking up a bottle of whiskey from the floor and dusting it off before taking a drink straight from the bottle. “Oh, that aged well. You know, we haven’t seen a living woman in a long time.” He chuckles when her body stiffens at his implication. Dreg. “Relax, sugar, we’re only talking. So, what’s your story?”
“I don’t have a story.”
“Everyone has a story.”
They’re asking way too many questions. I should feed them to Debbie for that alone. The only thing stopping me is the gun in his waist holster, and I’m willing to bet the other two are packing as well. We tend not to travel with guns much. We have a couple in the car for emergencies, but all guns do is attract rotters, being noisy and all.
“We’re just passing through. Saw a town and thought we could stock up on supplies. Turns out there really isn’t much here, only what’s in the bar here is worth the effort,” I say, drawing their attention away from Emily. I even slam down a few more glasses onto the bar and pour them drinks because I’m a great fucking guy like that, though Mr. Drink From The Bottle prefers to act like an animal.
The ponytail man accepts my drinks and downs it in one gulp before sliding the glass back to me like I’m the fucking bartender. He better tip well. I’ll accept payment in the form of his life if he doesn’t. “She with you?”
“Absolutely.” I should have done this the moment they stepped inside.
I reach over the bar top and hoist Emily over it until she’s sitting at the edge, facing me, with me standing between her parted thighs. Her hands land on my shoulders and I step in close. I smile when I hear her breath hitch once she realizes what I’m doing, but she doesn’t stop me. She leans into it. When I hold her beautiful face with one hand, her eyes flutter to my mouth before I press it against her soft lips. I kiss her hard. Sensual. And she’s responsive as fuck. A little noise sounds in the back of her throat and I wrap my other hand around her waist, pulling her closer, so that my hardening cock presses against her warm center, aching to become acquainted. In time, fella, in time.
My eyes open to watch the men. As much as I want to get lost in this woman right now, I don’t trust these guys any more than I trust the rotters that attacked us, and I’m right. The large silent one leers at us with an uncomfortable look of longing. The first man runs his tongue over his bottom lip, slowly. And the ponytail man shamelessly readjusts himself right in front of us, as though we’re the first porn he’s ever watched in his pathetic, insignificant life. He’s marked for death.
I pull away from Emily, feeling better now that we don’t have this long counter between us. She’s in front of me, in my arms, where she should be. Where I can protect her better. Because I know that I’m going to have to here real soon.
“So, you up for sharing?” the ponytail asks.
Emily holds my gaze when I answer. It’s difficult to do, but I keep my words light. Well, sort of. I throw in a touch of I’ll-cut-you, too. “I absolutely don’t share. She’s mine, and mine alone, so you guys should scat.”
Her fingers curl against my shoulder and I know what she’s thinking, but that’s not a conversation for right now. No. Right now, I need to get rid of these guys.
