Page 11 of After the Burn

Max followed as I approached the door, his eyes alert, watching for danger as I pushed it open just enough to slip inside.

It was in poor shape, but it didn’t seem like anyone had been there recently.

I stuck my head out of the door. “Clear.”

Lila came in, and we got as comfortable as we could without a fire.

We drank another bottle of water each and ate some jerky, then curled up on the floor in our sleeping bags.

Max settled near the door, body angled outward, taking it upon himself to stand guard.

“So, what are you going to do about Adrian?” Lila yawned.

I cracked one eye open. “Why do you keep bringing that up? I have a boyfriend. I don’t need two.”

She smirked. “At the last store we searched, I found two books, and I think you'd really like one of them.”

“I’m already bored,” I muttered, my voice tinged with irritation.

Unfortunately, the girl had lost all fear of me. She knew I’d grown soft on her and was immune to any mean-girl bitchiness I threw her way.

“What was it about, you say?” Lila smirked. “Well, Taryn, let me tell you. This story focused on a lucky, lucky woman who attracted four men and didn’t have to choose between any of them.”

I sighed. “That’s just fiction. Plus, why would anyone need that much dick in their life? To me, it seems greedy.”

She laughed. “You’ve always been a little greedy, so I think that kind of thing would fit you just fine.”

“I really miss the days you were too afraid of me to speak.”

“No, you don’t.” She snuggled further into her sleeping bag. “You love the new, improved me.”

I wanted to argue, but she was right. I found her much more interesting now.

“Wake me if you hear anything,” Lila said quietly, and was asleep in minutes.

It wasn’t that easy for me. I lay there staring up at the ceiling, tracking every sound—the creak of old wood, the whisper of wind against the old shack, Max’s slow, steady breathing.

Waiting.

Dreading the nightmare that would come as soon as sleep took me.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under anyway, and the dream began.

Gunfire exploded around me.

Then heat.

Not fire—just somehow wrong.

Too hot for nighttime and way too thick to breathe.

The air tasted like metal…like blood.

My ears rang, sharp and constant, as if something had burst too close and never quite stopped.

I couldn’t hear words.

Just flashes of sound.