Afterglow: An Apocalypse Romance (3 page)

“Now I know I’m dreaming,” he said. “Pretty girl coming in here to handcuff me? Unless you want me to handcuff you?” He tried to grin suggestively, but ended up wincing as new pain surged through his arm.

She frowned. “These? Are for safety. Not pleasure.” With that she attached one of the cuffs to the leg of the coffee table and the other around his right wrist. It was cool against his skin, and the
clink
the cuffs made when she locked it sent shivers down his spine.

“You know,” he said. “I could just lift up the coffee table and slide that right off in a second.”  He wiped at the sweat beading up on his brow and blinked to turn the two of her back into one.

“I know. But a second is all I’d need to get away from you. You’re big but I’m quick. In case you didn’t notice.”

He grunted. It wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed.

She crouched down at his left side and removed the bandage and gauze he’d put on earlier. It was soaked through with blood. “I’m going to clean this up, then I’m going to sew it shut. It’s going to hurt. Can you handle it?”

“I can handle anything.”

“Ooh, big brave man,” she muttered, as she began to clean the wound.

He hissed out between his teeth at the sting. To distract himself, he said, “Sweetheart, you’re here sewing me up and I don’t even know your name.”

“Once again, it’s not
sweetheart
,” she commented casually, rolling her eyes, but he saw the look of concern, the furrow in her brow as she gazed as his wound. She picked up the needle and thread, which she’d had soaking in some solution. Probably disinfectant.

He wondered what kind of training she had, but he didn’t want to piss her off by asking too many questions when she was about to work on him. And she was all he had right now. “Then tell me what it is and I’ll stop calling you
sweetheart
.”

“It’s Nina. Now hold still. This is going to hurt.”

“That’s usually my line,” he teased, but as soon as the needle pierced his skin he grunted, holding back the yell.

“Does it hurt?” Nina asked, pulling the thread through and piercing his skin again.

“No,” he muttered. “It feels amazing. Like goddamn kittens and cupcakes.”

“Kittens and cupcakes?” She laughed, the sound light and pretty.

Maybe it was the best thing he’d heard in days. Weeks, even.

“So what’s your name, big boy?” asked Nina, continuing to sew up his arm.

“Creed. But you can call me
big boy
if you want.” The pain was dull and sharp in turns, sending waves of nausea rocketing through his body. He took a deep breath to guide himself through it and focused on her voice.

“I don’t think we know each other well enough for nicknames.”

“Are you sure it’s just
sweetheart
you don’t like? I could call you
killer
. It might be more appropriate.” He was joking around to take his mind off the pain, but it was hard, and he leaned back against the coffee table and closed his eyes as his forehead broke out in a cold sweat.

“I’d prefer
killer
to
sweetheart.
Hey, you don’t look good. Here,” said Nina, and Creed heard a cracking sound, then felt a cold ice pack being pressed to his forehead. “Hold that there. Oh crap. You can’t. Give me a second.” She unlocked the cuff, and he brought his right hand up to his forehead, holding the ice pack in place.

“Just finish it,” he growled. Then he added, “please.”

“OK. Hold on.” In a few minutes she was done, and she wiped the area clean, then bandaged it up with gauze.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him, worry in her face. “How are you doing?”

“Just great, sweet... uh, Nina.” He raised an eyebrow at her and attempted a grin.

“Take these. With this.” She dropped a handful of pills into his hand and passed him an uncapped water bottle.

“What is all this shit?”

“Advil and antibiotics.”

“I already took Advil.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“You can take more.”

“What are you, Nina? A fucking nurse?”

She gave him a long look as he took the pills. “No, I’m not a
fucking
nurse. Or a pediatric nurse or an ER nurse or any other kind of nurse. I’m a teacher. Seventh grade.”

“So how does a seventh grade teacher know how to sew up an arm like that?”

“Here and there.”

“Here and there... where?”

“Why do you care?”  She put down the bottle and crossed her arms.

“Just making conversation,
Nina
. You’re the first person I’ve spoken with in about two weeks, so...”

“Huh. I guess me too,” said Nina, beginning to pack her first-aid kit back up. When she moved, her curls danced, and sunlight streaming in through the windows glinted off of them. She was in profile, her cheek creamy white with just a hint of pink, and her neck looked so bite-able. But then she turned her head, and he saw, once again, the angry purple welt, the bruising under her eye. Because of him.

“Jesus, Nina. Here.” He thrust the ice pack he was holding to his forehead at her. “Your face. I’m sorry.”

“Right. Thanks.” When she took the ice pack, he fought the urge to grasp her hand, to hold it, so small, in his huge rough fingers. That’d probably freak her out, though, and they’d both done enough damage to each other today.

She winced slightly as she held the ice pack to her eye and the side of her head, and a pang of remorse coursed through Creed. He’d done that. He’d kicked her in the head. Yeah, OK, so the circumstance was definitely extenuating. Still, though, hurting a girl was pretty much the biggest dick move possible.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“I’ll live.” She shrugged.

“Hopefully we both will,” he muttered, but he wasn’t really talking about their superficial injuries. The gravity of their new world was hitting him again, and he felt drained. “Anyway, are we even now?”

“What are you talking about?” A hint of a smile graced her pink lips.

“You broke into my house. I kicked you and tied you up. You sliced my arm. Then you fixed it up.”

“Well,” she said, grinning now, “let’s see. I broke in and cut you, but then sewed you up. You kicked me. Tied me up. And didn’t make it up to me yet. I’d say I’m up one, so you owe me.”

“Fine. What do you want? Got a few dozen cans of beef stew. Some beef jerky too.”

“I don’t need food.”

“Then what do you want?”

She looked at him for a solid ten seconds before she spoke. He waited her out, curious about what she was going to request. Finally she spoke, her voice completely even and confident. “Your bike. The one in the garage. I want it.”

* * *

Creed’s laughter filled the living room. “That, sweetheart, is about the funniest thing I’ve heard in a very long time.”

Nina cocked her head to the side and watched him while he laughed. She didn’t even crack a smile. “You asked what I want. I told you,” she finally said.

“You’re not getting my bike.”

“I’ll trade you, then.”

“Oh yeah? What could you possibly have, Nina, that would be worth my motorcycle?” Creed loved that bike, and there was no way he’d give it up. Yes, she’d sewn up his arm. And she was hot as hell. But she’d been the one to cut him in the first place. And he had more sense than to give something as useful as a motorcycle to the first pretty girl who came his way.

“What do you need?” She tilted her chin at him, her face calm.

“Well, let’s see,” he drawled, giving her a suggestive look.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a gun, don’t forget.”

Even with the warning in her voice, he couldn’t stop thinking about those lips, about kissing them, hard enough to leave her literally breathless. About her lips kissing his neck, then his stomach, then wrapped around his cock.

He cleared his throat. “Money’s not worth much these days. And I’ve got food. I could use a gun. That revolver of yours is pretty sweet. And ammo. You got ammo?”

“Yes. Fine. But not this revolver. It’s my favorite. I can give you a .22 or a .44 pistol. Plus ammo.”

Creed shook his head, unable to speak. He’d been joking about wanting a gun, but she seemed perfectly serious. “No, Nina, I don’t need a gun. I was messing with you. My bike is worth a lot more than a gun. And I have my own, anyway.”

For a second desperation crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by the tough expression he was getting used to. “Fine. Then one of the other bikes. Are they running? Can you fix one up?”

“How soon do you need one?”

“Now. Today. Tomorrow, if not today.”

“No way. I don’t even think I have all the parts I need. I’d have to hit the repair shop and get some shit to finish them. Repair shops might be looted.”

Nina made an exasperated sound and sank down onto the floor, still holding the ice pack to the side of her face.

“What do you need a bike so bad for anyway?” Creed shifted his arm, wincing at the pain.

She gave him a sharp look. “To sit on it and take selfies. What do you think I need it for?”

“Calm down, killer, it was just a question.”

“A stupid one,” she muttered under her breath.

“Do you even know how to ride?”

“I learn fast.” She shot him a haughty glance. “And,” she added, looking down, “I’d trade extra for lessons.”

Dirty thoughts shot to his brain—and his cock—and he was about to say something with a double meaning, when the front window glass shattered. In a split second, without even thinking, he was on top of Nina, pushing her down onto the living room rug as glass rained down around them.

For a moment they waited to see what would happen, and when a second shot didn’t come, he army-crawled across the floor to the side table, where his loaded gun was in the drawer.

“Stay down,” he hissed, but by the time he had his gun and had turned around, Nina was already at the window, peering through while keeping her body as low as possible underneath the frame. Any other girl would be cowering down behind the couch, he though. Hell, most guys would too. But not Nina.

“There’s three guys,” she whispered. “I think I saw two of them breaking into the old lady’s house across the street from me. They killed her.”

Fighting down the urge to vomit from the pain in his arm, he made it to the window in a crawl and looked out. Three armed men were closing in on the house.

“I scared them off with a warning shot before,” said Nina, raising her gun. “I’m going to do it again.”

“And they came back. With another asshole. As much as you know about guns, you should know the basic principles of gun usage,” he whispered as the three men cautiously approached the house, getting a little closer. They were about thirty feet away now.

“Never aim your gun at something you’re not willing to destroy. I know, OK?”

“That’s exactly right. And these guys used up their warning. No more chances.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Nina, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“I know what I’m talking about, Nina. I’m the only trustworthy person you’ve encountered since things went to shit, am I right?”

“You? Trustworthy?” She gave a tiny whispered laugh.

The men came closer, and the one on the right pointed and gestured, whispering something Creed couldn’t hear to the two others. The man looked straight at the house then and yelled, his voice loud in the otherwise silent surroundings. “Hey, pretty lady. I know you’re in there. We’re coming to get you.” He said it in a sing-song voice, and Creed felt Nina shiver next to him. Anger, red hot and fluid, coursed through his veins like molten lava.
Fuck this bastard.

“I’ll take them all out if you can’t do it. Just remember, he wouldn’t give you a warning shot. They followed you here, Nina. Do you know what they’d do to you if they got their hands on you right now?” With shocking ferocity, his anger swelled even more when he imagined these men putting their hands on Nina.

“Fine,” Nina whispered. “I’ll get the middle guy and the one on the right. You take the one on the left.”

Was she messing with him? But there was no time to argue. The men crouched low and began to run for the house. “Go,” he whispered.

Both of them raised their bodies as little as possible as their hands came up, guns pointed at the men. He aimed at the running man, his finger steady on the trigger, his body solid and relaxed, and with a gentle motion squeezed the trigger. The man fell, and he noticed the man in the middle falling too. The man on the right was already down.
She was fast as hell.

Nina sank to the floor, and Creed winced at the knowledge that she was sitting down in the broken shards of glass from the window.

“Get up,” he said, reaching out his hand.

He was surprised when she took it, and even more surprised at how impossibly small her hand was compared to his. This immediate comparison made his heart twinge.
No. Not going there
. He squeezed her hand a little harder than he needed to as he led her to the couch.