Thicker Than Blood (Thicker Than Blood #1)(98)

Shivering now, my teeth chattering, I glanced back toward Alex. Apart from the subtle trembling still racking his body, he was as still as a statue, his wide, wild eyes on me now.

“Finish it!” Liv screamed, startling me. Her tiny features twisted with fury as she thrust her index finger in my direction. “Kill him, you weak little cunt!”

Still shaking, I refocused on the man. His hand was raised now, his mumbled words indistinguishable between his sobs and the pounding of my own heart.

I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want his blood on my hands, but what I wanted and what I felt were two starkly different things. And all I could feel were his hands on me, Lawrence’s hands on me, their mouths, their hands, their penises, taking and taking and taking, uncaring that I wasn’t willing, that it wasn’t something I was giving to them, but it never mattered, they took it anyway.

With an ear-splitting scream, I pulled the trigger, the bullet missing its mark again and sinking into the man’s stomach instead. He screamed loudly, his scream fading quickly into a groan, and he slumped even farther to the ground. I pulled the trigger again, hitting him in the leg, and then again, hitting him in the stomach. I continued pulling the trigger, unable to stop, consumed by emotions, even long after the clip was empty and the man had gone deathly still.

I felt a hand on me, on my arm, and I flinched, jerking away and turning the gun on whoever had touched me. It was Alex, I realized belatedly, yet I still couldn’t seem to lower my weapon, couldn’t seem to stop shaking, couldn’t seem to feel anything but the deep-rooted cold that had taken hold of me.

“Lei,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around the barrel of the gun. “Lei, look at me.”

I did, blinking rapidly, and raised my eyes to his. Gone was the rage I’d seen in them only moments ago, replaced by the genuine gentleness I was familiar with.

“It’s me,” he said softly. “It’s Alex.”

I blinked again, trying to see through my tear-filled eyes.

“You’re alive…” A fresh wave of tears filled my eyes. “You won the fight.”

“I won the fight,” he said, pulling the gun free from my hand.

“And your woman just killed one of my men.” Jeffers stepped forward, his arms folded across his chest and a calculating smile on his face. “Which means you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Alex spat. “I fought your men, I won your fight.”

“Let me rephrase,” Liv interjected, glancing up at Jeffers. “You don’t just owe us, we f*cking own you.”





Chapter Thirty-Six



Evelyn

It was dark when I awoke. My eyes opened sluggishly, trying to make sense of the dark shadows all around me. Gradually, with the aid of the moonlight streaming in through the windows, my eyesight adjusted, and with it came the realization of where I was. I was in our room, and I was alone.

My thoughts muddled, my head pounding, I tried to push myself upright in bed, but my body protested as aches and pains flared to life from what seemed like every inch of me. I blinked slowly, trying to remember, trying to recall.

Bringing a hand to my aching chest, my heart suddenly hammering like a runaway train, I gasped. My breath was staggered as I struggled to breathe, to catch a breath without nearly choking on it.

They’d tried to kill me.

Liv and Jeffers and Misty. They’d all wanted me dead.

My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat. Why were there no good people left in this world? What the hell was wrong with everyone?

I squeezed my eyes closed, forcing back my threatening tears while attempting to steady my breathing. It didn’t matter why. None of this mattered. This place, these people, the insane way they lived, none of it mattered because we were leaving. And once we were free of this hell, we would chalk it up to another lesson learned on the road to somewhere safer.

The lesson being we could trust no one. No one but each other.

Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, my body protesting my every movement, I gently touched my face. Jagged stitches stretched across my left cheek, the skin around them tender and painful to the touch.

Still, it could have been worse. I could have been Misty. I could have been dead.

My thoughts stuttered to a stop. I’d killed her and I didn’t feel bad or guilty; I’d simply done what I had to do to stay alive. But shame was another story, and I felt it in spades. The shame of the realization that I was becoming like the people of Purgatory, by selling my body and then killing a fellow survivor without remorse. How easy a transformation it had been, how easy it was to become even more of a monster than I’d already become.

Standing now, I felt woozy, slightly drugged, and parched with thirst. I scanned the room searching for anything edible, my gaze landing on the countertop and all the treasures it held.

My eyes wide, I lurched forward, reaching for the edge to steady myself. There was a veritable bounty of supplies here, and I found myself again searching the room to ensure this was actually our room, that I hadn’t been brought elsewhere.

Once positive that this was in fact our room, I turned back to the countertop, perusing the items. There were several handguns, ammunition, blades of all shapes and sizes, short stacks of clothing, jars filled with a yellowish liquid, as well as food, both canned and fresh.