Twisted World: A Broken World Novel (12 page)

B
y the time
I dragged myself out of the bar, I was pretty sure I knew exactly how the zombies felt: Dead on their feet. The street was dark, but not deserted, and the echo of music and voices bounced off the walls around me. It was impossible to tell where they were coming from, though. Here and there a glow broke through the darkness when someone lit a cigarette, and every shadow that moved seemed threatening.

I pulled my plaid shirt tighter against body and kept my head low as I walked. Thankfully, Donaghy and his guards were right behind me, because I hadn’t even made it to the end of the street before someone called out to me from the shadows.

“Fifteen credits for a blow.”

I reached for my knife, but before I’d even had a chance to wrap my fingers around it, Donaghy was at my side. “If you want to keep your dick intact, you’ll shut your mouth.”

The man, barely visible in the darkness, slinked back until he was nothing more than a memory.

“Thanks,” I said, shooting Donaghy a smile as I picked up the pace.

It was so dark that I could barely distinguish more than an outline of the man next to me, but I could see it when he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

We were silent once again as we moved side by side down the street. Donaghy’s body heat was oddly comforting. Not because the night was cold—it was hotter than hell on steroids—but because it once again reminded me of Dad and how soothing his silent presence had always been.

Maybe the two men shared more similarities than just a scar.

We reached the end of the street and turned right, but when we made it to the next intersection, I paused. My apartment building was in the northern part of the city, but Jackson’s house was south.

“I go this way,” I said, turning to face Donaghy.

The spotlights from the nearby wall were just bright enough to illuminate the intersection, but they also threw deep shadows across the area and made the man at my side seem twice as big. The fighter’s gaze moved from me to the street at my back, almost like he was trying to decide if it was safe enough for me to go on my own, and I appreciated it more than he’d ever know. I hadn’t felt like anyone cared what happened to me since Dad disappeared. Anyone other than Jackson, that was, and his concern could be suffocating at times.

“Maybe we should go with you,” Donaghy said, his icy eyes moving back to mine.

I opened my mouth to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, but before the words could make their way past my lips one of the guards stepped forward. “We don’t got time for that.”

With the shadows stretched across the street the way they were, it was impossible to know which one of the men said it, but I couldn’t miss the fury that flashed in Donaghy’s eyes just before he turned to face the men.

“You do what I say,” he hissed.

The man who’d spoken moved his hand toward his waist, and even though it was too dark for me to see what he was doing, I could only imagine that he was reaching for a weapon.

“It’s okay.” I stepped between Donaghy and his guards. “I know how to defend myself.” The uncertainty in the fighter’s expression probably had a lot to do with how we’d met, but I squared my shoulders. “I was raised by survivors. They taught me how to look out for myself.”

Donaghy’s hand wrapped around my wrist, firm but gentle at the same time. “Be careful.”

“I will.” My heart pounded so hard that I was sure it would send me into orbit.

“Let’s go,” the guard at my back growled.

Donaghy nodded, his gaze still holding mine. A second later his hand slipped away, and I turned to watch him follow his guards down the street.

Suddenly, I felt more alone than I had in my entire life. The darkness surrounding me seemed heavier somehow. Oppressive.

The fighter faded into the shadows, his form getting darker and darker until he was barely more than an apparition. Just before he disappeared, he glanced over his shoulder, and the look was enough to make every inch of my body hum.

When the three men disappeared for good, I turned away, heading toward my apartment. I had my knife out before I’d made it even a block. Just in case. Guns were prohibited inside the walls—even though everyone knew you could get them on the black market—but knives were a survival staple.

Unlike the entertainment district, this part of the city was silent. I passed apartment buildings with only a handful of windows illuminated, and businesses that were cloaked in silence. It stayed that way for two blocks, and then I turned the corner, making my way past the shantytown that led to my neighborhood. Most of the shacks I walked by were silent, but occasionally the hum of someone breathing or a moan of ecstasy broke through the quiet.

Tonight, the sound sent a shiver down my spine. Just twenty-four hours ago Jackson had been concerned that these same noises would flick some kind of switch inside me, and I had dismissed his worries like they were infantile. Now, though, as I passed a shack that’s walls were practically vibrating, heat flooded my body. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. I wasn’t thinking about that asshole from the bathroom or what could have happened. No, I was thinking about Donaghy. About his intense gaze and how it had felt to have his body pressed against mine as we made our way into the dark basement. About his firm grip on my hips.

“Get a grip, Meg,” I whispered as I walked faster.

Despite my confrontation with Suzie yesterday and the stigma of living in the shantytown, I’d never felt threatened walking past these little shacks. Even now, nearly two o’clock in the morning with almost no light, I was walking fast more out of habit than fear. Most of the people living in these shacks didn’t want to hurt me. They were just trying to survive.

My apartment building came into view, and I slowed. Out front, leaning against the wall like he didn’t have anything better to do, stood Jackson.

“Shit,” I muttered as I worked to come up with an excuse as to why I was out this late.

There wasn’t a good one and I knew it. Other than Charlie, I didn’t have friends. Especially not any I would go to the entertainment district with, and based on the hour and my attire, there was no way I’d be able to convince Jackson that I’d been anywhere else.

My last name had always been a hindrance when it came to relationships. Often when people heard the name James they treated me like I was someone special, bending over backwards to do anything and everything for me. Other times, however, they avoided me. Whether it was because they didn’t know how to talk to the niece of the savior of the human race, or because they thought I was too good to talk to them, I wasn’t sure. I just knew that whenever someone new found out who I was, I had to prepare myself for one extreme or the other.

I was still fifteen feet away when Jackson pushed himself off the building. “Where the hell have you been? I looked for you on the wall, but you weren’t there. I thought maybe you’d gone home to check on your mom, but she was out of her mind with worry when she answered the door.”

Out of her mind with worry, or just out of her mind?

“Charlie and I went out.” I pressed my lips together and held my breath, hoping that he bought the lie.

It was unusual, but it would be an easy lie to pass off. Charlie had stayed behind with her dad last night, which would explain her absence now, and I knew she’d be willing to lie for me if I asked her to. Plus, Jackson had been around long enough to know that Charlie was constantly begging me to go out with her.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I’d expected him to be hurt to learn that I’d gone out and not invited him, but instead something that sounded a lot like anger coated his words. Jealousy even. “Who else were you with?”

The accusation was as bright as day: he assumed I’d been out with another guy. I guess it was an easy assumption for him to make. The only other time during our friendship that I’d gone out with someone other than Jackson was when I’d dated Colton, and that hadn’t gone over well. In fact, Jackson had acted exactly like he was now. At the moment, I was too exhausted to sooth his ego. I’d never tried to lead Jackson on and I wasn’t about to start now.

“Jackson, I love you. You’re like a brother to me.” I exhaled, dragging it out while I chose my words. I wanted to tell him that he had no right to ask me questions or tell me what to do, but I doubted that would go over well. “This is getting to be too much. I need space. I need to be young and single and not feel like I’m constantly working to buffer your ego.”

It was the truth as plainly as I’d ever dared speak it, and even though there was some relief in saying the words, there was a part of me that was scared. Afraid of how he would react and what he would do. Which was nuts. This was Jackson. He was my friend.

“Seriously, Meg?” He took a small step toward me and I forced myself to hold my ground even though I wanted to shrink away from him. “I’ve done everything for you! I’ve been patient and understanding. I’ve listened to all your bullshit about how my dad isn’t doing everything he can for this settlement.” The venom in his voice was so thick that this time when he stepped toward me, I couldn’t stop myself from flinching away. He paused and looked me up and down before saying, “Are you scared of me?”

“No.” My voice shook, giving me away, and even though it was dark, I swear I saw a little bit of glee in Jackson’s eyes.

All day my brain had been so full of Donaghy that I couldn’t help comparing the two men right now. Jackson was the son of someone powerful and my closest friend, but there were times when I felt like a switch inside him flipped, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d been playing a part this whole time. Like he was hoping I’d fall for the charade long enough to get trapped in his web. Donaghy, however, was a convict, but being with him made me feel secure in a way that I’d never felt with anyone other than a family member. Almost like I knew that the fighter would do anything he could to keep me safe. Even risk his own life.

Did I think Jackson would do that?

No. I didn’t.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, squaring my shoulders even though something in the back of my head told me I should be. “And I’m not going to let you bully me into being in love with you, either. I don’t know who I want, or if I will ever want anyone, but I know you aren’t the right person for me.

“I’m not trying to bully you,” he whispered, the words pushing their way through his teeth and sounding a lot like the hiss of snake.

“I know.” I reached out, my hand shaky, but he backed away. “I want to be your friend, Jackson, but if that isn’t enough for you, then maybe we need to spend some time apart.”

I pressed my lips together while Jackson stared at the ground. His jaw twitched and his hands were clenched into fists. It only took thirty seconds for him to turn away from me. His eyes were still down and something about him reminded me of how Donaghy looked when he was in the ring, right before he ripped a zombie apart.

Jackson didn’t even look back at me when he said, “I don’t know why I wasted all these years on you. I’m
Jackson Star
. Who are you? Nobody. You may have the last name, but you don’t have the blood. You’re nothing.”

The sting of his words was sharp and painful. He didn’t look back once as he headed down the road and into the dark night. Even though the shantytown didn’t scare me, I tensed when he reached the edge. He was right about one thing, he was Jackson Star, and I had no doubt that there were plenty of people in those shacks who would slit his throat and piss on his corpse and not lose any sleep over it.

I stayed where I was, my fingers flexed around my knife until he had finally disappeared around the corner. Once he was out of sight, I exhaled and headed into my building. Thankfully, the elevator was working, and once I was inside I pulled off my heels and wiggled my toes. Tomorrow I was going to have to make sure Charlie covered for me with Jackson or anyone else who asked, but I’d worry about that later. Right now, all I wanted to do was get some sleep.

The lights on our floor flickered as I headed down the hall, and I braced myself for a fight when I opened our front door. The apartment was silent though, and I’d only taken one step inside when I realized why. Mom was passed out on the couch, fully dressed and snoring with her mouth hanging open.

Something about it brought to mind the time Charlie, Luke, and I had gotten our hands on a bottle of moonshine. We’d been young—Luke and I just fifteen, and Charlie only thirteen—and by the time the booze was gone, Charlie had been passed out on the floor, her mouth hanging open just like Mom’s was now. Only, that couldn’t be right. Mom didn’t drink. Her dad had been an alcoholic, and so had Dad’s mom. Booze had always been a rarity in our house.

I sighed as I slipped my knife back into its sheath. “I’ll get her to bed, then I’ll sleep.”

When I shook Mom’s shoulder, her lips moved and she shifted, but she didn’t open her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d have wondered if someone had drugged her.

“Mom,” I said, kneeling at her side. Once again, it was useless.

It took everything in me to lift her off the couch. She was dead weight, but manageable since she was nothing but skin and bones at this point. Her head flopped to the side when I lifted her, straining under the weight, but I made it to the bedroom.