Chapter 19
NINETEEN
RECKLESS
JACOB
This, right here, is paradise.
I push closer, tongue sweeping into her mouth, devouring her like a starving man, because I am. Want coils low in my gut, sharp and consuming. My hand grips her hip, dragging her closer, taking more, stealing whatever I can before the world rips it away.
She moans into me, the sound hitting like a drug.
I snap.
I drive her back until she slams into the wall, glass crunching beneath our boots. Reckless. Insane. Perfect. Her grip tightens in my hair, a jolt of pain shooting down my spine, straight to my cock.
I groan into her lips, pressing until there’s nothing between us but heat, breath, and the electric thrum of want.
My hand wraps her throat, the other skimming her waist, memorizing every curve.
I grind against her, slow and hard, the friction deliberate.
She gasps, arching into me, pleasure and danger blurring together.
We break just enough to breathe, foreheads touching, chests heaving. I rake my eyes over her face, branding her into my memory. Then she grins—that devastating smile that could break hearts or save souls.
“Just in case we get eaten,” I rasp.
A breathless laugh escapes her, wicked and knowing. Her fingers fist my shirt. “If we’re doing final requests,” she purrs, voice dripping with sin, “I want your head between my thighs.” She nips my lip.
Jesus Christ Superstar.
“If there was time,” I growl in her ear, “I’d drop to my knees and show you exactly why I was always late to class.”
A hum slips from her throat, nails biting my scalp before she lets go. “Shame,” she murmurs, that one word dripping with disappointment.
Fuck.
Her eyes drag over me like she’s already plotting how to get me alone.
Oh sweetheart, if you only knew the filthy things I want to do to you.
I consider saying screw it, let the world burn while I take her apart piece by piece.
But then, the pounding against the barricade. The moans of the dead. Our people fighting for their lives.
I suck in a breath, shaking off the haze, every muscle still vibrating with need. “Later.”
Because fuck yes, we are definitely getting back to this later.
She twirls Sweetness between her fingers, catching it with ease. Great, now I’m using the damn knife’s name.
What the hell is this woman doing to me?
She takes a steadying breath, gives a firm nod. “Ready when you are.”
Trish’s voice crackles over the walkie at my hip. “Jacob? Lyla? You there? Over.”
I pull it free, locking eyes with Lyla. “We’re here. I see you made it to Clair before us. Over.”
Relief colors Trish’s voice. “Technically, Leon and Joanie beat us to her.” Joanie’s gloating comes through in the background.
“Please tell me you’re both okay. Over.”
“Banged up but alive. How’s everyone else? Over.”
“All good here,” Trish says, then adds, “Earl twisted his ankle. Again.” Static hums for a second before she comes back on. “We were damn lucky, Chief. Over.”
My fingers tighten around the walkie, my jaw flexing. Damn lucky indeed. “Do you see Pete anywhere? Over.”
“No, but you need to get here. Leon’s about to start breaking shit. Over.”
Fucking hell. What now? “We’re heading your way. Coast clear? Over.”
There’s a pause, then Trish’s voice returns, softer now. “Mostly. We’ll make some noise to clear the rest. Just get to the entrance. Over and out.”
I clip the walkie back onto my belt. Lyla’s ready despite the exhaustion in her shoulders.
“Let’s go.”
We move fast and quiet out the broken window and across the campus quad. Stragglers groan and stumble toward us, but they don’t make it far. My machete carves through bone, slicing clean through the rot. Lyla moves just as efficiently, her knife puncturing skulls with ruthless accuracy.
We stay close, steps in sync—protective, but not crowding. When Lyla rushes ahead to smash open a classroom window, I cover her, then follow. We climb through the jagged opening and slip into the dark hall beyond.
Our footsteps echo faintly as we move, careful and quick. Then, up ahead, the main entrance comes into view.
Outside once more, Joanie slams into Lyla, arms tight around her waist, nearly knocking her over. “I knew you’d make it! I was beginning to worry.” She breathes, scanning her for injuries like she doesn’t quite believe it.
Trish grabs my arm, flicking a penlight to my eyes. “Iris looks good. Not cloudy. No sign of infection.” She holds it there for thirty seconds, watching. Then she’s already moving, hustling toward Lyla for the same check.
Earl claps my shoulder. Small, fleeting reassurances. We’re okay. We’re alive.
Lyla winces under the penlight. Trish mutters, “Figured you had a concussion from that fall.”
Then I see Leon pacing next to Clair, fury rolling off him in waves.
Earl leans against a rusted-out car, cringing on his ankle.
I move to Clair. She’s slumped against the wheel well, blood streaking her temple, fists clenched, breath shallow. I kneel. “What happened?”
Leon’s hands fly in sharp signs, anger etched into every motion. “He smashed his gun against her temple.”
Heat spikes in my chest, molten.
Leon starts pacing again, rage looking for somewhere to land.
Lyla kneels beside me. “What did he say?”
My voice comes out low, dangerous. “Pete blindsided her.” Saying it feels like taking a hit to the ribs. “Did you see where he went?” I grind out.
Clair’s eyes drop. “No. I went to help him, to ask what was going on. I heard the gunfire and tried to pull him back in, but then he—” Her voice breaks.
Lyla grips her shoulders. “This isn’t your fault. How could you have known?”
But the guilt crushes my ribs. I should have been there. Should have protected her. Why can’t I protect the people I care about?
Clair whispers, “I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”
The air shifts. Expressions harden. Leon’s knuckles whiten around his hatchet, so tight I swear the handle might splinter. His whole body is rigid, vibrating with fury—but his eyes, when they land on Clair, are heartbreakingly soft.
Lyla sends me a look of confusion, the silent question written all over her face. What does she mean?
I give her a look that says I’ll tell you later.
Right now, we have a more pressing issue.
I stand, pacing like Leon, rage burning under my skin. “Lyla’s right. This isn’t on you, Clair. It’s on me.”
Earl shakes his head. “Now, son—”
I don’t let him finish. “I should have kicked him out before. I knew he was a problem. But I didn’t.”
They still look at me like I’m someone worth following.
They shouldn’t.
Earl exhales. “He should never have been part of our group at all. And that’s on me.” He turns to Clair, voice soft. “I’m sorry, darlin’.” Then to the rest of us, “I’m sorry to all of you.”
Clair stands, moving until she’s in front of him, waiting until he meets her gaze. “There’s nothing to forgive, Earl.” Her voice is firm. Then, she turns to me. “Let’s get back before the others start to worry.”
I nod once before turning on my heel, striding toward camp.
Trish catches up, adjusting her gun strap. “Where do you think Pete will go?”
“I don’t know, but if he comes around, he’ll regret it.”
Leon rolls his shoulders, falling into step beside me.