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“I’ll escort her back to my room,” Jonah says, intercepting the guards who’ve been assigned to me today.

“Yes, sir,” the guards say, not bothering to question Jonah’s authority.

He’s rising among the ranks, proving his loyalty whenever he can.

Which is why I can’t confide in him.

And yet, I still care about him.

He’s Jonah Rosenberg.

The guy I’ve crushed on my whole life.

My boyfriend? Is that even a term we use anymore in this new world?

And he is kind to me, as kind as he can be in this underground hell.

Before I can say anything to Jonah, he scoops me up in his arms and sprints to his prison cell.

After closing his door, he slides my joggers down my butt, pulling them over my ankles.

While kneeling in front of me, he locks his gaze with mine and says, “I love you, Laurel Hill.”

“What’s this all about?” I ask, shivering from the rapid change in temperature.

Jonah doesn’t answer as he stands up, towering over me with a crooked smile on his beautiful face.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine, giving me a kiss that is soft with a hint of urgency, like he is holding himself back, savoring me.

I moan against his lips and he pulls me closer so I can feel his hardness against my belly.

He kisses me like he has been starved of kisses his whole life.

My arms wrap around Jonah’s neck as he lifts me up on the bed, laying me down so my legs dangle off the edge.

The feel of his warm hands as they travel down my body ground me to this moment.

I know where he is going, and the anticipation is agonizing.

He chuckles as I wiggle to bring my core closer to his hands, but he obliges by slipping his long fingers between my thighs.

“Jonah,” I moan, as he expertly explores the sensitive folds there.

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Lori, you are so fucking sexy like this.”

I arch my back, pushing into his hand, needing more of him.

Needing all of him. As he stands in between my legs, I reach the buckle of the belt on his pants, but my shaking hands fumble to unfasten it.

Sensing my need, Jonah assists me with his free hand and helps me slide his pants down to his knees.

And, oh, what a glorious sight it is to see Jonah so ready.

I grip him with both of my hands, but he only lets me stroke him a few times before he pulls away.

Before I open my mouth to complain, he throws off his shirt and steps out of his pants.

Jonah is so beautiful.

He’s always been beautiful.

Now that he works out, his tight, flat stomach and long, muscular legs are toned to perfection.

As I continue to devour him with my eyes, I remove my underwear and shirt.

His smirk tells me he’s very aware of my admiration.

Our eyes lock as he pushes my legs apart, settling himself between them.

Jonah kisses my forehead, then turns me to my side.

At first, I’m confused when he slides into bed behind me, thinking that maybe he just wants to snuggle.

Jonah’s hand trails down my stomach and I have to swallow a moan as he plunges two fingers inside me.

My back arches into him, placing my ear under his mouth, which he gently nibbles on.

This sensation is my absolute favorite.

Why can’t I feel like this every minute of the day?

Tingly, careless, warm.

Good. I feel so good with Jonah’s fingers pulsing inside me and his tongue licking my ear.

I bite through the pain of my recently healed arm and reach back to grab Jonah’s solid length.

Taking my cue, Jonah effortlessly slides himself inside my entrance.

“Lori, fuck,” Jonah moans as he thrusts deeper.

“More,” I plead.

“Hmmm, yes. More.” His voice is hoarse, lost in the passion of our joined bodies.

The more we have sex, the more I need it.

The escape from reality.

The escape from pain.

The escape from fear.

For one moment, I am free.

I just have to stay in this moment.

Focus on Jonah’s breathing.

Remember that he loves me.

Pretend that we are in the before, in my bedroom at home.

As long as I can keep up the illusion, I can feel something more, something good.

Really good.

“Lori,” Jonah yells into my ear, finishing inside me before that something good can erupt in me.

It’s okay though. At least he made me feel something.

Jonah wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against him.

I wince at the pain, an instant reminder that my arm had been sawed off during my morning session as the bunker’s lab rat.

It only took six hours for my arm to reattach itself and another hour to close up the wound entirely.

While eating dinner, the redness began to recede so that by the time Jonah swept me off my feet, the evidence of my torture was no longer visible.

I should tell him. I know I should.

But would he do anything to stop it?

I don’t know. And that scares me more than getting my arm sawed off.

A pair of hands yank me from sleep, pulling me away from Jonah’s bed.

The both of us are thrown to the floor and told to get our clothes on.

My hands shake as I pull on my clothes while Jonah’s hands are steady.

He dresses as if he’s on a mission, no traces of fear lining his face.

“Did we do something wrong?” I ask the guard, a man I have seen with Jonah many times.

His superior officer, I think.

“You did not have approval to take Doctore’s property into your bed last night, guardian,” the man says to Jonah.

“What?” I shout, disgusted at being called property.

Even more disgusted that Jonah says nothing against it.

“I will accept the punishment, Legatus. She should not have to answer for my error.”

“You will both be punished. She has her own crimes to answer for.”

“Crimes?” I ask, fury vibrating through my body.

“Stealing rations from the Praetorian Quartam.”

Two guards enter uninvited, one grabbing my arm, the other guard grabbing Jonah’s.

There’s no chance for apologies.

No trial. Just punishment.

That means we are being taken to the Colosseum.

I don’t put up a fight knowing I need to conserve my energy for whatever awaits us in Doctore’s arena.

We are ushered into an elevator which brings us up to the surface.

My eyes strain at the harsh light burning down from a cloudless sky.

I haven’t been outside since the day these assholes kidnapped me.

For over a year I’ve been kept inside the bunker where there are no windows to the outside, only dim fluorescent lighting.

The guards throw Jonah and me unceremoniously into a black SUV.

Once the doors slam shut, the vehicle lurches forward.

A few minutes later, we arrive at the Colosseum.

It’s not what I imagined, but exactly how it was described to me.

A high school football stadium.

The exterior walls have been fortified, though I’m not sure if that is meant to keep things from getting inside or staying inside.

We pull up next to the fortified walls and a beat later, two armed guards open the car doors and pull me and Jonah out.

The both of us go willingly enough that the force is completely unnecessary.

But I get it. Show of strength.

Looking closer at the fortification, it looks like a complete addition on the side of the stadium.

When we walk inside, I understand why.

This is an armory. A gladiatorial armory.

On the other side is a walkway that likely leads directly onto the arena floor, just like the real Colosseum.

Jonah’s hand wraps around mine, making me realize how badly I’m trembling.

He doesn’t risk pulling me into a hug while the guards keep watch, just a quick squeeze to my hand.

I can’t look at him.

I can’t acknowledge that he is okay with this.

Punishment. Because I stole some bread to feed hungry children.

Because Jonah wanted a night alone with me.

His girlfriend. Doctore’s property.

My bones rattle from the force of my trembling body.

But it’s not just fear coursing through me.

It’s anger. I feel like I could rip Doctore from limb to limb with my bare hands.

This is the strength I hold on to as one of the guards tells us to pick a weapon for the arena.

I grab a mace. It helped me in that cement box.

It will help me again.

Holding it in my hands emboldens me, making me feel stronger.

Fight. Survive. Live.

The guards escort Jonah and me through the walkway.

As I had thought, it’s a tunnel that leads out into the football field.

Once my feet touch the gritty sand of this new arena, the doors close behind us with a loud bang.

The stands are filled with living people, cheering to be entertained by witnessing death and dismemberment.

I think of the cement box where I defeated five zombies.

I can do this. I will kill anything that Doctore throws at me.

Then I think of Jonah.

He’s strong. He can fight.

But what if he gets bitten?

I can’t let that happen.

He’s all I have at the bunker.

I don’t want to be alone.

The crowd quiets as Doctore begins his announcement.

Jonah and I take a stance in the middle of the field–or rather, the arena.

“As many of you know, I have been developing a cure to the virus which has caused the end of civilization as we knew it. Through my research and experimentations, I have created something better. A gladiator.”

Oohs and ahs drift across the stands at Doctore’s words as he continues.

“The girl you see before you is immune to bites. Perhaps another time I will give you all that demonstration, but for now, it is punishment she and her companion are in the arena for. They will fight to the death. Only one of them may leave this arena with breath in their lungs.”

“No,” I say aloud.

Then louder, “No!”

I turn toward Jonah whose face is ashen with fear and tormented with agony.

Acting on instinct, I drop my mace and close the distance between us with a few steps.

Before he can react, I grab his hand–the one gripping a large hunting knife–and plunge it into my heart.

“Lori!” Jonah shouts.

He tries to pull my hand from my death-grip but I won’t let go.

Then I’m falling to the ground, bringing Jonah with me.

He cradles my head as blood seeps through my gray shirt.

We stare at each other, neither of us able to come up with anything to say.

What is there to say?

I will heal. That’s my theory at least. But I won’t let Jonah remove the blade from my chest. Doctore won’t let Jonah live if I’m breathing, so I have to die.

Temporarily.

A large shadow cascades down on us.

When I look up, Doctore looks happy even though the crowd is booing and calling for more action.

He moves his gaze to Jonah and demands, “Remove the blade.”

Jonah grabs the handle of the knife, pulling it out of my chest with no effort.

I’m too weak to stop him.

When I look at his face, I notice a tear escaping from his right eye.

“Now stab her again,” Doctore says as if he’s just asked for extra hot fudge on his ice cream sundae.

I try to lock eyes with Jonah, but he looks away from my face, raising the knife in his shaking hands.

I don’t look away when the blade pierces my skin.

It takes everything in me to not let out a scream.

Not from the physical pain, but because my boyfriend, a guy I thought I loved, stabbed me.

All because Doctore told him to.

“Again,” Doctore says.

“Again. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

A scream shatters the silent awe of the crowd.

But it isn’t my scream.

It’s Jonah’s scream as he stabs me over and over.

I lose feeling after counting to twelve.