"I hate everyone."
"Except me, right?"
"No, especially you."
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It's funny, isn't it? That when the whole world decides to become infected with a brutal and fatal virus, the real monsters are the ones still alive? Blake Finnegan lost most of...
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I THINK I GOT ALMOST THREE HOURS OF SLEEP BEFORE I WOKE UP TO THE SUN RISING. Gray, who's staring out at said sun clearly didn't sleep at all (much like Blake) and still looks the same last I saw him, the only thing that's changed being his lack of a helmet (which I'm decidedly never getting over).
"Morning." I mumble, rubbing my eyes.
"Morning." He returns.
"Taking me back to ACE now?" I beam.
"Nice try."
"I stitched you up. And won the arena. This is my prize." I frown.
"Surely you can ask for more than a quick trip?" He looks genuinely disappointed.
"Right now that's all I want. I doubt you'll help me get Blake back, so I'll figure that one out on my own - but in the meantime what you can do, is safely escort me to ACE and kindly fuck off forever." I smile.
"Fine."
"Wait, seriously?" I perk up.
"Yeah sure. We need to stop by The Slums again though okay? I need to know how many I lost yesterday." He grabs his leather jacket and helmet, standing up from the ground - no expression indicating he was shot in the fucking shoulder hours ago.
What on Earth, I think, must this kid have gone through to not so much as wince or grimace at a gunshot wound? Kid - because he's literally eighteen. Still not over that as well.
"Yeah how many of your middle-aged friends." I scoff, standing up with him. Usually I'd have a backpack and nailed-bat to pick up - but nope! Those were taken from me. How nice.
"You're funny." He notes.
"Very."
"Mm. I see that." He shrugs his jacket on with one hand since the other is holding his helmet - and seriously, the lack of struggle should not be as hot as I find it, but it is. Maybe it's because I'm deprived. Because I've never even kisses someone and now I'm almost eighteen and have literally had zero action. So even teasing-psychopathic-bikers become appealing.
"Do you guys have my bat still?" I ask remembering when all our stuff was confiscated after we ran into the bikers.
"You mean the one with the nails and blood stains?" He raises a brow.
"That would be it, yes." I say with a blank face.
"Yeah we do."
"I'd like that back."
"Sure...ever used it?"
"Once." I lie. Twice, if you count the time I totally missed Holland and Blake pushed me down an aisle. I push back the shiver at my inexperience. Which...I still technically have. Getting a solid hit on one widow isn't anything to brag about just yet.
