Page 8 of Outbreak

Ghost

I’ve killed more people than I care to count, but this fucker just won’t die. I’ve slit his throat, made a mess of his entire torso, even stabbed him in the heart, but he keeps coming at me. There’s something really fucking wrong here. I thought the social media rumors were a hoax, but when I stagger to my feet, pulling Death’s blade from his heart, he sits straight up.

What the fuck?

I don’t panic. I don’t buckle under pressure. It’s quite literally my job to kill people and make sure they stay dead. But panic floods my veins anyway when I see Death darting past us, doing exactly what I told her not to.Little brat.I can’t protect her if she can’t followSimple. Fucking. Instructions.When I catch her—and I will catch her—I'm going to turn her ass red.

Blood coats my body, soaking through my clothes. This fucker should be dead. There’s no logical reason why he should be able to get to his feet with as much blood as he’s lost. My eyes snag on some decent-sized rocks lining the flower beds around the porch.

Pushing the fucker away from me, I shove the knife in my hoodie pocket and sprint over, grabbing the biggest one I can.The ‘not dead’ guy is right behind me again, moving quicker than should be possible with me wearing so much of his blood.

Spinning around, I shove him to the ground once again, straddling his mutilated torso. The rock connects with his face, blood spurting out as I keep smashing over and over, crushing his skull. Adrenaline replaces the fear, and I don’t stop until his whole head looks like a smashed pumpkin and his body has finally stopped moving.

It's got to be a headshot.

I make a mental note as I get to my feet again, hoping like fuck I don’t ever have to use that little tidbit of knowledge again. Death took off a few minutes ago. She’s headed in the same direction we came from, probably hoping to gain someone’s attention back by the road or store. Too bad for her; my legs are longer, and I’ll gain on her quickly.

I don’t particularly want to, but I’m not above killing any motherfucker who tries to stop me from getting to her. Just like the ‘not dead’ dead fucker laying outside his house right now.He got in my way.I make no apologies for protecting what’s mine, even if it means protecting her from herself and taking out anyone who wants to fuck around and find out.

My long strides eat up the distance as I pound through the woods. When the gas station comes into view, so does Death. She’s just reached the edge of the woodline, not yet made it to the parking lot. I can tell the moment she realizes I’m behind her. Her spine goes rigid, and she stops in her tracks. She spins around, searching for me in the darkness, but I’m stopped now, too. Hidden behind a big oak tree, she won’t be able to see me. Her eyes scan the trees, but she shakes her head as if she’s just being paranoid.

No, Death. It’s not in your head. You feel my eyes on your body. I’m already buried so deep inside of you—you could suffocate on me.

CHAPTER 8

Rue

This motherfucker is playing with me. I can’t see him, but I feel him watching me in the dark, lying in wait, biding his time for me to let my guard down.

Not today, asshole.

Shaking off the feeling of his eyes on me, I decide to make a run for it. My feet hit the pavement, but before I can even gain any speed, arms band around my stomach, pulling me back into the darkness of the woods.

“You don’t listen for shit, you know that?” He grits out in my ear. “I told you not to run.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to kidnap me, fuck face!” Irritation makes my tone sarcastically snappy, but fuck him. “I’m sorry… Did I make it too inconvenient for you?”

“That mouth is going to get you into trouble, brat. Do I need to stuff it for you?” His threat does things to me it has no business doing.

I don’t know if he meant it to be dirty, but given my history with assholes who can’t keep their hands to themselves, I’d say he meant it exactly how I think he did. However, unlike the previously mentioned assholes, his threat makes me clench my thighs. There’s just something about this man that my bodyresponds to in all the wrong ways. He might as well be slapping me in the face with all his red flags, but all my body sees is neon green.

Choosing to ignore my body,because that bitch is psycho, I kick my short legs back, trying to connect with some part of him—preferably his balls—but I’ll take what I can get.

“Ah-ah-ah, none of that,” he mocks, twisting me with embarrassing ease and swinging me over his shoulder.

“Hey! I’m not a rag-doll you can just throw around!” I’m aware I sound like a petulant child, but who does this fucker think he is? Only he ignores me, which infuriates me more. “Hey, asshole! Put me down.”

A sharp sting explodes on my ass as he smacks me. “Do I need to drug you again, or do you think you can behave back to the truck?”

He’s giving me a choice? How fucking considerate.But as much as I want to tell him what I really think, I can’t defend myself if I’m unconscious. So I choke down my pride and sarcasm like a bitter pill and relent.Kinda.“Fine. I’ll behave. But put me the fuck down.”

To my surprise, my boots hit the ground with a gentle thud, and I stumble on the uneven roots coming out of the ground. His hands are steady around my waist.

Big hands. I wonder what else is big on him?

No! Stop it! Bad Rue!

Before I can finish mentally scolding my inner slut, my back hits a big tree trunk, and he has his previously mentioned big hand wrapped around my throat.

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