Page 8 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)

My Ego-Personified whimsically dances over to Darius, inspecting his face with extreme thoroughness. “Oof, Marine Corps training does the body good.” She raises her hands, gesturing to my (our?) ex . “Just look at him! All that caramelly skin. And you know how much we like caramel. Amiright?”

Ok. That’s enough out of you.

But she doesn’t listen to me. At all. “All yummy and delectable. I just.... Can we lick him? Yes? Oooooh, just think of all the places we can taste....” She sticks out her tongue and leans in. Millimeter after millimeter, she closes the distance until—

“Ok. Fine, then,” he interrupts... whatever the fuck this is.

“What the hell would you prefer me to call you?” I can tell his level of frustration with me has reached a new all-time high as he grits the words through his teeth.

But fuck him and his superiority complex.

I’m going through some shit here, so he’s just either going to have to deal with it or get the hell out of my way.

“Uh, durr. My fucking name, ass hat! You do remember my fucking name, yes?”

“Of course, I remember your name; how the hell could I forget it?” He rolls his eyes while looking at me like I have two heads and am trying to figure out which one I want to use to eat an ice cream cone. Which... at this point... tracks.

“Wonderful, you’re not an imbecile. You may also refer to me as Your Highness, Goddess Divine, or, if you really wanna go back in time and pay homage to the amazing Paul Simon, you can call me Al.”

Frustrated beyond belief at my overzealous assertiveness, he slaps his palms against his very muscular, denim-encased thighs, instantly drawing my eyes towards his legs and, inadvertently, everything else he’s packing down there.

Son of a fucknut. Can’t a girl just get a break?

“Can I call you Storm Cloud? Because you’re raining on my fucking parade here.”

“Call me whatever the fuck you want, just not that .”

“Fine. Aly it is.”

I put my hand up so quick I almost smack myself in the face with it. “AH! No. That one’s off limits too. But you could always revert back to what you originally called me when we first started dating. That’s fair.”

“Sandy?” he says instantly, not needing to think about the name at all.

I point to him with gleaming approval. “That’s the one.”

Shaking his head and huffing a sigh at his own miserable failure, he backs down.

“Whatever. Look, that isn’t important right now.

What is, is the fact that you need to get the hell out of here.

Like now. Get as far away from this place and those guys as you can.

Preferably anywhere north and at least a hundred miles away. ”

He must be as delusional as I am if he thinks I’m going anywhere besides back towards the Palace to find the guys. I place my hands on my hips, assuming a dominant stance. “No. Absolutely not.” The guys need me and, unlike him, I’m not going to leave them stranded in their hour of need.

A sudden epiphany barrels into me, causing my arms to fly into the air as I scoff in his general direction, absolutely and irrevocably done with today. “I don’t even know why I’m standing here arguing with you right now. You’re not worth the aggravation, and you’re not fucking real!”

“His bootylishious little tush certainly looks real from this angle.” My mythical-self bends down at the hip and tilts her head, adjusting a pair of wide-rimmed glasses I have no idea how she even has, while getting far too up-close and personal with his ass.

Upon assessing the... situation ... a quarter randomly manifests between her finger and her thumb.

With a flick of her wrist, she flings it at him, the imaginary coin bouncing off his ass with a flourish before sailing to the ground a few feet away only to disappear back into the ether.

Seemingly satisfied with her scientific analysis, she whips out a random clipboard and writes something down on it before nodding and also poofing out of existence right before my very eyes.

Ok... so this is happening. Greeaaat.

Dare’s freakishly accurate ghost sighs, sadness coating his words. “Alessandra, they’re gone. You heard what they said. Those guys already got them. You’re not getting them back.”

I shake the words from my ears, refusing to let them take root, and step away, creating distance from what is real and what’s not.

They’re not gone.

They can’t be.

The man before me is the one who should be dead.

Was dead to me long before those zombies decided to resurrect themselves.

I loved Darius more than I could say, but.

.. he left... and I moved on. Completely and without him.

I lived my life, survived the end of the world, and found three guys that absolutely set me free in every way imaginable.

So I refuse to believe for a second that they left me too. Willingly or not.

“They’re not gone. I know your ghostly ass can’t possibly fathom reality but there are only two possibilities: either I’m dead and so are they, which means I just have to go find them and live happily ever after in the afterlife, skipping through the clouds or whatever people do on the other side, or I’m alive, in which case, I know they are too. ”

He bites his tongue and sighs, aggravation coating his tone. “First of all, those aren’t the only two possibilities. And, secondly, how could you possibly know they’re alive? You don’t even know if they’re still on the grounds to check!”

“I would know if they were! I’d feel it!

” I press my fingers into my chest over and over again, knowing my heart would stop if any of theirs did.

“Right here. They’re not fucking losers that just give up at the first sign of trouble.

” He scoffs, turning his head away in frustration, but I don’t let him avoid the obvious—that he gave up and surrendered at the first little speed bump of our relationship.

I march around him, standing as tall as my toes can possibly carry me, and get all up in his face, putting every bit of bite, every bit of conviction I can muster into my words.

“They fight . They survive . At all costs.” My fingers poke into his chest this time, driving my point home.

“They’d never give up on me. So, I’m not going to give up on them until I see their bodies lying limp at my feet. ”

His arms cross in front of his chest, creating what little distance he can while I give him none to cower behind. “You’re really not going to do as I ask?”

“Nope,” I reply, popping the P at the end while crossing my own arms over my chest, raising him with a lifted eyebrow to boot.

If he thinks I’m backing down on this one, he’s got another thing coming.

My feet are planted, solid as a fucking rock, as is my resolve.

I will not abandon them. Alive or dead. He can go fuck off, get out of my way, and let me do what I need to get my guys back.

No one, not even Darius-motherfucking-Cruz, is going to stop me.