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Chapter 18

Sarge was not a talkative person.

I realized that as we piled into a black sedan. Despite the available front seat, Ryder insisted that he had to sit beside me. He kept touching my hand and shoulder, as if he was reassuring himself that I was there and alive.

At first, the constant contact made me almost uncomfortable. Maybe uncomfortable was too strong of a word, but it wasn’t something I was used to. I’d only ever had bad experiences with physical contact, making it difficult for me not to shy away.

After the fifth touch, I realized that I enjoyed his hand in mine. It brought me comfort, something that I had been severely lacking for years now.

“What happened?” I asked as Sarge - Fallon - pulled out of the parking lot. “How did we get out?”

How did I survive? I thought but didn’t say.

Ryder idly played with my fingers as he spoke, his voice steadily becoming more excited as the story continued. He reminded me of an energetic little boy bouncing around (though I would never dare call him a little boy to his face).

“Well, Sarge here realized that we were still in the resort when it collapsed. He hoped that we would be smart enough to make it to a lower level. They found the majority of people on the level just above ours. But Sarge didn’t give up. No, he got an entire crew to help dig us out. They came in guns blazing.”

Ryder paused, a forlorn expression marring his handsome face. Fallon merely grunted. I figured that the man, the Sargent, had talked himself out with our earlier conversation. All he managed now were noncommittal murmurs and growls. A man of few words, I guess.

“How many casualties were there?” I asked softly, though I dreaded the answer. Ryder squeezed my hand.

“Thirty-seven.”

I told myself that the number wasn’t that bad. That it could’ve been higher. It felt wrong to think like that, but I knew I would fall apart at the seams if I allowed myself to think of the people that had died. Right now, I could compartmentalize the losses. They were nameless characters with no stories. I didn’t want to know any details about them; I couldn’t bear the truth.

“What about the people with us? Elena? And...”

I couldn’t say his name, but my mind conjured up an image of a cold man with cropped hair and a heated glare.

Brad was a monster straight from my nightmares. Ironically, I couldn’t help the thought that the only beings that had ever hurt me were humans.

Monsters did exist, and they too often took the forms of the ones we thought we could trust the most.

“Brad didn’t make it,” Ryder said, eyes dark. Both relief and dread filled me at that proclamation. On one hand, I was grateful I would never see his murderous face again. On the other, he was still a person with a story and a life, possibly a family. He might’ve had a wife and children. He for sure was the son of someone, perhaps even a brother.

And now he was gone. Another person in this fucked-up world that ceased to exist.

“How did he die?” The words came out before I could censor them.

Ryder answered simply, “Shannon.”

I didn’t ask what happened to the blond waitress. I had a feeling I already knew the answer if the tightening of Ryder’s jaw was any indication.

We rode for a while in silence. Ryder would occasionally glance over at me, as if he was assessing how I was holding up.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Ryder whispered after a moment. “Besides hospital food?”

I considered lying to him, but there didn’t seem to be any point.

“No,” I admitted back, just as quietly.

Before I could add that I wasn’t hungry, which would’ve been a lie, Ryder leaned over the center console.

“Can we stop and get some fast-food? Kitten here is hungry.”

My cheeks blushed at the nickname, especially when Fallon’s inquisitive eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. I had the distinct feeling that this man missed nothing.

He did what I had come to expect from him: grunted an affirmative.