Chapter 8
Eight
W e must walk miles through the dark and humid tunnel. My dress makes it difficult to move as it becomes saturated with perspiration and weighs me down. Accompanying my aching body is my rattled nerves. They have me constantly glancing behind us and straining to hear the telltale sounds of being followed. Things would be too easy if we just walked away. We can never catch a break. It's a miserable feeling, even when countered by knowing we're on our way to freedom. Who would have thought I’d be happy about returning to the Z-infested real world?
The guys are spent, their feet shuffling as they try not to pass out from lack of energy. They had no choice but to sleep on a dirt floor and consumed only bread and water while imprisoned. The goal of their captors was to break them to the point of hysteria and send them out to fight, adding to the entertainment value of the games. The people of Morhaven misjudged the resolve of these four men.
We reach a door made of wooden slats. The sun seeps through the thin cracks with the promise of open spaces just beyond. It takes both Ryland and Wes to force the door to budge. When it opens, we're greeted with the fresh late afternoon air.
Noah spots the first blue marker on the trunk of a large pine tree. It's a chore to find them as we walk through the forest. We have to turn around a few times, but we eventually reach what looks to be a decrepit house built into a rocky hill covered in moss. It reminds me of somewhere serial killers take their victims, so no one hears them scream as they're hacked to pieces. But with the sun setting in the sky, we have no choice but to knock and pray whoever is on the other side doesn’t have murderous tendencies.
“What do you want?” asks a muffled voice from inside.
With wide eyes, I glance at the faces around me and shrug my shoulders. “My name is Quinn, and I was sent here by Mrs. Lockhart. She told me you'd be able to give my friends and me shelter for the night.”
The door creeps open but only enough to reveal several security chains still in place and a set of withered hazel eyes looking through the crack.
I force a smile, letting the gatekeeper know we mean no harm.
“There are men with you,” the woman says.
“They were also enslaved and really need a place to rest.”
The woman looks the guys up and down. I guess it's not every day she comes in contact with men who need her protection, but it's easy to see that the boys have been through hell and are as much of a threat as River and me.
The door slams closed.
I slump against the frame and rub my eyes. “Why can't anything be simple?”
I'm jolted upright by the clanking of the locks from the inside. The door swings open, revealing an old woman. Her dark-brown skin is a sharp contrast to her white hair, and her frame slightly hunches forward. She waves a crooked finger at us, and we cautiously follow her inside.
The cabin is a single room with a bed in a corner, a dining table for two, and a recliner in front of a stone fireplace. It’s small and quaint, but we’ve crammed ourselves into worse places. And none of us will turn our noses up to a safe place for the night.
Our host sits in the chair with her legs crossed and her fingers steepled against her full lips. She scans us with her rich brown eyes before saying, “Well, I'll be damned. Lockhart said she thought that bastard Holden's bride would want to make a run for it, but I doubted it. I figured he would find a poor, complacent girl like his daddy did.”
River squares her shoulders and says, “With all due respect, ma'am, I was never Holden's bride. I was his captive.”
She nods. “That you were, dear girl.”
One of the dining table chairs scrapes across the wooden floor and Noah stumbles forward. Wes and River hurry to either side of him, pulling him back to a standing position.
“I'm just a little lightheaded,” he says, placing his hands out to steady himself.
A heavy feeling settles over me, and not just for Noah, but for all the boys. They have been running on empty for days and have reached their breaking points. It's only a matter of time before one of them becomes sick from exhaustion and hunger.
“Can I get the boys settled in and make some food for them? I have nothing of physical value to offer you, but I can lend a hand around here, doing whatever you need,” I say.
The older woman smiles, and for the first time since we entered her house, she looks happy we're here. She rises and straightens her orange tunic. “We'll work something out. For now, let's get you all situated. I'm Ms. Angela.”
I shake her outstretched hand and introduce myself and my family.
Ms. Angela shuffles over to a bookshelf in the back of the room. Her gnarled hand reaches for a thick hardbound book and pulls down on it. The shelving unit swings open, revealing a passageway. We follow her into a cave lit by oil lamps, audible sighing comes from us when the passage gives way to an open area. She explains the rules of the safe house as she shows us around and introduces us to several people tending to simple daily chores throughout the cave.
In the dining area, Ms. Angela calls to a woman in the back who brings us bowls of soup and crackers. While the boys and River collapse at one of the many picnic tables and eat a proper meal, I follow Ms. Angela out of the dining area. I intend to discuss payment arrangements with her, but she shows little interest in the topic.
We walk side by side through the vast tunnels, and she shares her story about how the safe house came to be. Her late husband had built the cabin against the cave prior to the quarantine, and after his untimely death at the hands of one of the Afflicted, she moved in. On a food outing, she came across a terrified Mrs. Lockhart, who had escaped through the same underground tunnel as we had. Ms. Angela offered her refuge in her home, and the two became friends. When Ms. Angela learned about Morhaven, she knew she wanted to help those trapped within its walls. The two women came up with a plan which helped Ms. Angela's dwindling food situation and gave Mrs. Lockhart a new purpose. They have been guiding people, especially women and children out of Morhaven.
“Where do most people go when they leave here?” I ask as we come to the end of our stroll in front of the living quarters.
“Everyone's different. Some head home and others to places they believe to be safer.”
“Mrs. Lockhart gave me a hint to a riddle from the Sanctuary. Have you known anyone who's gone there?”
She nods. “There've been several people who've chosen that route.”
“Does it exist?”
“Take this as you will, my dear. I've had no one come back here after heading out that way. Does it mean it's real, or have they fallen victim to the Affliction? I don't have the answer to that.” She places her hand on my shoulder as if she is trying to stop my sinking heart. “It's no different than it was before all of this mess happened. Life is a gamble—you pray and hope for the best.”
“That's all I do, Ms. Angela,” I confess.
She smiles and pats my arm. “Get some food in your belly and sleep. A clear head will do you some good.”
The three so-called rooms assigned to us have walls made of solid rock and wood with open tops. I slide the first curtain aside to find Noah and River wrapped around each other, fast asleep on a mattress on the floor. In the next room, Wes tends to the slash on Aiden's arm. They glance up at me from their place on the stone floor and I flash them a weak smile.
“Have you guys seen Ryland?” I ask.
“He was coming into the bathing area as we were leaving,” Aiden says, running his hand through his wet hair.
“Thanks,” I say, drawing the curtain shut.
I enter the last room where a single oil lamp sits on a simple table. Two crudely-constructed mattresses stuffed with hay lay on the floor with fleece blankets folded at the foot of the beds. On top sits a towel, a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt, which I’m guessing are for me.
I dig through the contents of my backpack; it's one of the two Mrs. Lockhart returned to us. I feel a considerable amount of gratitude toward her as I find the atlas we used to navigate our travels, River's first aid kit, my hunting knife, and Ryland's old revolver with a box of bullets. I'm especially ecstatic when I come across the small clear bag of my hygiene products. I'm missing a ton of stuff, but thankfully, my toothbrush isn't one of them.
Retracing my steps through the dim tunnels, I search for the area deemed the bathing room. It doesn't take long for me to come upon Ryland's shoes sitting outside of an entrance as a warning sign that someone is using the bath. I kick my shoes off beside his before zigzagging through the rock formations that make it impossible to see the inside of the cavern. I clear the final corner and pause at the sight before me.
Small openings between the rocks of the cavern's high ceiling allow sunlight to cast a soft glow and warm the water. Ryland crouches next to the stream, washing his face after shaving it clean. Facing away from me, he lifts his filthy shirt over his head, revealing angry red lash marks covering his back. They are fresh, crusted in blood that has run down his spine. I clasp my hand over my mouth and close my eyes, wishing I could unsee the horrific image, but his wounds are seared into my mind.
The Morhaven guards hurt him in ways I don’t want to imagine, inflicted pain that nobody should have to endure. I should have put more effort into finding him, should have devised an escape plan sooner, should have never let this happen to him.
Without taking off his jeans, Ryland steps into the stream. When the water reaches his waist, he leans back, wetting his hair. Droplets slide down his body, and I follow their path over the black tattoos along his arms, across his chest, and down his abdomen. I’ve spent months memorizing them, and I’ve missed the comfort I’ve found in tracing their outlines with my fingertips.
I step forward and he turns in my direction. After setting my pouch of necessities on the jagged floor, I reach behind me, pulling loose the string on the back of my dress. The fabric falls to the ground leaving me in nothing by a white bra and matching underwear.
I step in the stream and shiver as the chilled water flows around my legs. It doesn’t stop me from pushing forward until it reaches my waist, and we are face to face.
“I thought I lost you today,” I say.
“I know,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
I step closer and place my hand on the back of his neck, urging him toward me until our lips touch. Our kiss is slow, lingering. Almost like if we take too much too quickly, we’ll wake up to find this moment a dream.
After everything we’ve been through, I can’t believe we are here. The moment he walked onto that field, all I could think about was how I couldn't lose him. I’ve had my fair share of close calls, but nothing scared me as much as what I witnessed today. My entire world was on the verge of shifting, turning upside down. He is like the sun, feeding me with light and life. If he were gone, I would be empty, so fucking empty.
Needing him closer, my hand slides down his back, pulling him to me. He moans, breaking our kiss. His face contorts in pain as he rests his head on top of mine, taking labored breaths. I release him, but the raised lesions on his back still burn against my palm.
“I'm so sorry,” I whisper.
“It's all right, Quinn.”
But it isn't. Nothing that happened to him is all right.
He curls his fingers around my wrist and pulls me back to him. “Don’t. I need you close right now.”
I kiss his knuckles and gently remove his hand from my arm. I can’t stomach it if I hurt him again. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, stepping around him. I scoop water into my palms and trickle it over the lashes on his back, washing the grime and blood from his wounds. His shoulders tense at what I imagine is unbearable pain. But with each careful scoop of water, he relaxes. When the angry red cuts are clean, I place a kiss on his shoulder.
“What did they do to you?” I ask, my voice cracking, struggling to hold back a sob.
He shakes his head and humorlessly chuckles. “I did everything I could to keep the guards busy and away from the others. I’d rather it be me than watching them be harmed.”
My chest aches at his limitless loyalty and love for his friends. It's one of the many reasons I love him, but it breaks my heart into millions of shattered pieces to think it led to him being beaten. Nobody deserves what he endured.
Ryland turns to me, trying his best to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “I'm okay. This will heal.” His arms wind around my waist, pulling me to him. The heat of his skin penetrates through the fabric of my undergarments, and thousands of tiny bumps rise all over my skin. My reaction to him reminds me that we're a little worse for wear, but we’re alive.
“Are you all right? Did anyone hurt you?” Ryland asks, cupping my cheek and raising my face to look me over.
“I'm fine. I just had a nasty bump on my head.”
Ryland releases a puff of air that rattles his lips. “I’d kill them. I’d march into that hell again and kill them all for you. Just say the word.”
I grip the hair at his nape, grounding him in this moment with me. I’m done with Thomas, Holden, and all of Morhaven. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll never think of them again. “I have what I want right here. No marching or killing needed, Ry.”
“I love when you call me Ry,” he says, his full pink lips form into the lopsided grin I love so much. It has a thousand meanings. It takes the place of a blush when I say something that embarrasses him. When I'm being ridiculous, it's the equivalent of an eye roll, and once in a while, when he's feeling a little frisky, it's the look that makes my knees weak. This is the last of the three.
His gaze sweeps to my chest and the flesh overflowing from the top of my bra. he bites his lip, trailing his callused fingertips over my skin, and I tremble. “So soft,” he says, his eyes darkening with desire. Leaning down, he brushes his lips over the wet trail his fingers leave, and butterflies flutter their wings in my stomach.
He reaches for the straps at my shoulders and asks, “May I?”
This is new for us. My sweet boyfriend has a habit of skinny dipping, and I've gotten glimpses here and there of his perfectly muscular and tattooed body, but he's never truly seen me naked.
I take a deep breath and say, “Yes.”
His hands shake as he moves the straps down my arms, and I hold back a smile. The man can face a horde of Zs and not think twice about what he must do, but now he’s a bundle of jittering nerves.
“I'm a little disappointed. I was positive you'd be an expert in undressing a girl, Shaw.”.00
His eyes meet mine, and he says, “When it comes to you, there’s no comparison, love. Everything about you has me out of sorts. It all feels new to me.”
He unclasps the hooks, and with a flick of his wrist, my bra hits the rocky shore. Ryland moves back to take in the sight of me. His gaze roams over every inch of my skin like he's burning it to memory. Every physical imperfection exposed for him to critique, yet he’s making me feel so goddamn beautiful.
I concentrate on the droplets of water spiraling down his hair and falling onto his chest. They travel down to the waist of his dark jeans that sit low on his slender hips. I bite my bottom lip as I catch the petals of the red roses tattooed on each side of his pelvic bone peeking over the band of his pants. They have fascinated me from the moment I laid eyes on them. I’ve spent many sleepless nights fantasizing about the reaction he'd give if I used my tongue to trace the outline of each petal.
He runs his knuckles down my arm, drawing my eyes back to his. Like he is whispering a prayer, he says, “When I was lost in total darkness, I collided with a supernova. You're a breathtaking burst of color in my universe. Even in the middle of utter annihilation, it's your pure requited love I live for, Quinnten Ellery.”
My heart races at this declaration and sends the rest of my body into motion. I tangle my fingers into the wet waves at his nape, pulling him to me. His lips press into mine, and I raise on my tiptoes, opening my mouth to him. The brush of his tongue makes me lightheaded and sends heat simmering through my veins. I savor the feeling as I take my fill of him.
Without breaking our kiss, he moves us deeper into the water. The stream whirls around us while he guides my legs around his hips. The hard length of his cock presses against my center, sending my hips into motion. I grind against the zipper of his jeans, desperate for enough friction to ease the growing ache between my legs.
My back meets the slick surface of a boulder at the far end of the cave, and he dips his head, gliding his tongue over my collarbone.
“You feel so good. You, this, touching you again is what kept me going,” he says.
He cups my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples followed by his lips. My breath hitches and I grip his hair holding him in place as I arch my back in offering. He sucks and pulls with his teeth until I’m a panting mess.
“Do you like my mouth on you?” he asks.
“God, yes.”
“Good because I need to taste more of you.” He lifts me onto the boulder and hooks his fingers into the sides of my underwear. Like he is gingerly unwrapping a gift, he slides them off. He licks his lips like he is hungry for what he sees and says, “Spread your legs for me, love.”
I do as he commands, and he lifts my feet to rest on the edge of the rock, leaving me completely exposed. He studies me while his hands slide up my legs. I shudder when he brushes his thumbs along my center and opens me. He leans in, his warm breath fanning over the most sensitive part of me as he says, “Tell me to put my mouth on you, Quinn.”
“I need your mouth on me,” I say, lifting my hips closer to his parted lips.
His tongue glides from the bottom to the top of me. My eyes flutter closed and my head tilts back. I thought nothing could feel as good as his fingers, but I was so fucking wrong. The slow glide of his tongue steals my breath. I concentrate on every swirl and long lap.
“Eyes on me while I take care of your pretty pussy,” he says.
A new rush of need pools low in my stomach. My fingers lace through his hair bringing him and his wicked tongue back to me. Our gazes lock over the landscape of my body.
“Good girl,” he praises before sucking on my clit.
He drinks me in slowly, like a delicacy he wants to savor. Every lick and nip have me pressing harder against his mouth, wanting more and more. As if he can innately know what I need, his fingers dance at my entrance, teasing me with the promise of feeling them deep inside of me. I reach between my legs, his tongue lapping against my hand as I guide two of his fingers inside of me. He curls them, rubbing against my G-spot. I sigh and my eyes roll to the back of my head.
I’m already addicted. This craving will never subside. I need him like water and air.
The warm feeling in my abdomen swirls, and with every flick of Ryland’s tongue, it becomes a tight knot. My body grips his fingers, pulling him in deeper. I want to absorb him, keep him always inside of me.
“Come for me. Let me taste how sweet you are when you fall apart for me,” he says against my pussy.
Like he commands my body, I fall over the edge. His name slips from my mouth over and over again. He doesn’t let up, moving inside of me while sucking my clit. I shudder as every muscle in my body finally releases. Collapsing on the boulder, I relish in the languid strokes of his fingers and tongue. When he finally pulls away, I’m nothing but a puddle of skin and bones.
He pulls me along the slick rock until I’m back in his arms. My body wraps around his. His hand glides up my spine until his fingers are in my hair. Our mouths meet and I moan at the taste of me mixed in our kiss. Together, we are intoxicating.
He bucks against me, the wet fabric covering his cock pressing against my sensitive clit. My desire for him flares back to life. The insatiable need to taste him drives me forward. I kiss along his jaw and the soft spot beneath his ear.
“I want you to take me,” I whisper.
He groans and thrusts against me. “I’ll need all night, remember?”
“I’m offering you what we both want,” I say, kissing down his neck. “Take it.”
“Not here, love. We don’t have condoms.”
I pull back and find a hungry need that matches mine in his green eyes. We shouldn’t fuck without a condom. The risk of bringing another human into this world should be enough to stop me. But I want him to use my body to quench his need. “I don’t care.”
“You do, love.”
His statement shakes awake the nagging responsible side of me. “I don’t know if you’re being chivalrous or sadistic,” I say with a sigh.
One side of his mouth quirks. “I suppose a bit of both.”
He has endured enough torture, been deprived of basic human kindness. I don’t have to let him suffer with a raging hard-on.
“Then let me help,” I say, unbuttoning his jeans and taking out his cock.
“Fuck, Quinn,” he groans, thrusting into my hand.
I watch through the clear water as his smooth wet skin glides through my vise grip. He sets a quick pace that has me imagining him driving into me. I ache to be one with him, to have him filling me. But I can settle for just a taste of what it could be like. I slide the tip of him against my clit. His warm slick skin sends a shockwave through me.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Ryland says, his neck stretching as his head falls back. His hand curls around mine, and we stroke him as he rubs against me.
“Can you come for me one more time?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my lips trailing the swooping tattoos along his collar bones.
He ups the tempo, the movement of our arms causing small waves in the water. We grip the back of each other’s necks with our free hands and bury our faces in the crooks. Our labored breathing and uncontrollable moans trapped against our wet skin.
“I’m going to come,” he says and bites down on my shoulder.
His cock pulsates in my hand, and I lose myself. In a world filled with wrong, we are so right. Every touch and kiss. Every exchange of words. Every glance. Ryland and I are the only thing that makes perfect sense to me. Even in this moment of pure lust, we are right.
We tremble against one another, slowly floating back to the here and now. He cups my cheeks and kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips.
“I love you,” he whispers between sweet, soft kisses. “I love you so much, it hurts.”
I totally understand what he’s saying. That fear of losing him, it’s a constant ping of pain in my heart. I can’t imagine this life without him. He isn’t just the reason I survive; he’s the reason for my next breath and the one after that.
“I love you, Ryland.”