Page 41 of The Dead Don't Talk
“How old are you?”
I growl but answer anyway if only to get him to shut up. “Thirty-six.”
“You can’t fucking count. You’re thirty-five.”
I throw my hands up.
“Then why ask me?”
“Because I want to know you, dipshit,” he explodes, and I feel my brows jump up.
“What?” It comes out a little quieter than I intended and his eyes squeeze shut.
“We fucked,okay?” he snaps. “Thatmeans something.”
My cheeks puff up and my stomach twists.
“I don’t know what you want me to do about that, Amo.” Something ugly and dark twists around in my middle, making the sugary-sweetness left on my tongue turn sour. “I’m no good. I’m stuck out here while you’re in there. And fucking Wilson is out there.” I gesture vaguely to the forest beyond my cabin, though I know he gets the point. “We aren’t supposed to mix like this.”
His shoulders slump and a noise I don’t like escapes his lips.
“I miss him.”
Pain lances through my chest at his admission and I nod knowingly.
This is all about Wilson.
Not me.
“Well, you’re in luck, kitten. He’s on his way in.”
Shoulders lifting slightly, he drags in a deep breath to even himself out when I expected him to get excited. “You’re supposed to agree with me.”
“Fucking hell, Amo. Just write down what it is you want me to say. Then maybe I’ll stop fucking it up.”
The little sniffle from his downturned face hits me deep enough that I swallow.
“Would you mean any of it?” he asks quietly.
Aw hell.
“Maybe half.”
That earns me a watery chuckle as he works his toe into the floorboard.
Dammit, he’s adorable. Why does he have to be adorable?
“She don’t know either.”
“Didn’tknow,” I correct and sigh. “But what didn’t she know?”
“Cassia. She didn’t know about being infected. Or having to have the virus to be Guard. Said the elders allowed it. Iswear.”
That ugly thing inside me rears again, but this time … this time it’s for a different reason.
“Is it because we won’t procreate, Moros?”
The soft resignation in his tone makes my blood boil.
