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That’s going to bother me.

On a whim, I grab the bottle of Red Label and take several swallows of it. I tuck the bottle under my arm. I already know I’m going to need it again, and soon. There will undoubtedly be more torments ahead.

After all, my suffering is just beginning.

Chapter 11

We leave notan hour later after the nameless man expires. Pestilence leads me out with a hand on my shoulder, his golden bow and arrow never far from my sight.

Just a reminder of what he can do to me.

His steed waits for us, its reins not tied to anything, just standing there like the creature has nothing better to do then wait on its master.

Pestilence grabs the rope that’s been shoved into one of the saddlebags. Unwinding it, he wraps one end around my wrists, which are still covered in bandages.

All my aches and pains come roaring back at the sight of my bound hands.

Running again. I should’ve known.

But instead of tying the other end to the back of his saddle, he threads it through one of his belt loops.

I raise my eyebrows. That’s unexpected.

Pestilence makes careful work of avoiding my eyes as he turns to me and grabs either side of my torso. Even though he’s carted me to and from the bathroom for the last two days, I still jolt at the press of his palms beneath my armpits. Before I can do more, he hoists me onto his horse. A second later he swings himself on behind me.

The leather creaks as Pestilence settles himself in the saddle. I hiss out a breath at the pain that flares up as I’m pressed against his armor. His left hand loops around me, his hand splayed across my lower stomach. His other hand takes the reins.

He leans in close. “You jump,” he warns, his breath hot against my ear, “I’ll make you run behind me again.”

I don’t doubt him, but right now, all I can think about is how repulsive and intimate it is having him this close.

Pestilence clicks his tongue, and his horse is off.

I’m riding with one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.

Holy shit.

I’ve now got front row seats to the end of the world.

Even with allthe aches and pains that pull at me, riding is a far better means of travel than running, wrists bound, behind a horse.

“I was really close to death, wasn’t I?” I ask, referring to when Pestilence dragged my already injured body down the highway.

“Must you talk?”

So pleasant, this one.

“Must you spread plague?”

He doesn’t respond, though I can feel him brooding at my back.

“Why did you save me?” I prod.

“I didn’tsaveyou, human. I kept you alive. There’s a difference. And I kept you alive to make you suffer. I thought I had made myself clear about this.”

I touch my chest. Beneath my layers of borrowed clothes are the bandages that bind my wounds.

“You went to an awful lot of trouble to keep me alive.”