Page 155 of Famine

For kilometers after we ride out, the land lies in ruins. Dead stalks of corn lean against each other in brown, brittle heaps. Fields of orange trees have all but withered away. Usually, these plants don’t die until we pass them, but today as I stare out at the horizon, I see that the destruction extends as far as I can see.

It doesn’t end with the crops, either. We pass through another city, and there are so many corpses on the road that Famine has to weave his way through them. Next to many of these bodies are trailers full of valuables. I realize belatedly that we’re seeing at least part of the wave of people who fled São Paulo ahead of the horseman.

“When did you do all this?” I ask, covering my nose against the smell.

Not recently, that’s for sure.

He makes a noise in his throat. “After I confronted Heitor, I got a little carried away.”

Alittlecarried away? That’s putting it mildly.

But at the mention of the drug lord, my mind flashes back to that ominous night when Famine and I fought for our lives. I can still see the horseman’s mutilated body even now, and the thought tightens my chest.

That memory, in turn, leads me to another—the sight of Famine fighting for me,defendingme.

This is not what I should be thinking about right now. The fact that Iamthinking about it right now, amongst so many dead, feels wrong.

Thisallfeels wrong.

It’s felt wrong from the moment I woke up. The lightness in my stomach, the intimacy that I should be regretting but don’t. Or that I’m acutely aware of every part of me pressing against every part of him like I’m some virgin who’s never been touched before. And now this—having soft thoughts towards the Reaper while riding through a graveyard of his own making.

That’s wrong on so many levels.

When these thoughts aren’t spinning through my head, my mind drifts back to last night and the way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The way hetastedme.

At the memory, I feel that same fluttery sensation low in my stomach. It eclipses the last traces of my nausea. For the first time I actually take note of it.

It’s not desire, though that’s there, too.

The last time I felt like this, it had been with Martim, the rancher who had told me he loved me and who I foolishly believed was going to marry me before he broke my heart and married a proper woman.

Oh my God.

It actually hits me then.

Fuck my tits and my asshole too.

I’m falling for this psycho.

Chapter 38

I try to walk the realization back.

Famine was just a really good lover.

You’re just curious, and it’s been a long, long time since you’ve had a genuine sexual encounter.

No one in their right mind would fall in love with a man who’s wiping out entire cities.

“What’s wrong?” Famine asks at my back.

Of course the horseman would notice something was off theinstantI recognized my own feelings.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say way too quickly. “Why would you even ask a question like that?”

There’s a long pause, then suddenly, Famine is pulling his horse to a stop.

No-no-no-no-no—