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CHAPTER 17

Reed

M y cock throbs painfully against my zipper. I have half a brain cell to go back into the bathroom and tell him to fix the problem he created. But I don’t. I force my feet to carry me back out to the main area.

I had no plans to touch him when I walked in there. Truthfully I was getting worried; he had been in there for longer than I liked. While I knew I should have left him alone to deal with his feelings, I couldn’t just stand here staring at the wall any longer.

But one touch, and I find myself craving more. Even if he’s a little shit, one that talks a big game but doesn’t have anything to back it up with. His smart mouth is going to be the death of me. After a few days stuck with him, I am ready to throw out every rule that I made for myself.

But I can’t.

I have a job, one job. Get to Georgia and hopefully find Ghost and his girl there. Prove to him I’m not like the others, that I’m still me, and pray he doesn’t kill me on the spot. I don’t need to worry myself to death with Noah; I don’t need to concern myself with him. He’s trouble, a walking disaster. I need to keep my hands to myself.

I reach the welcome center desk and unzip my bag. Pulling out a can of SpaghettiOs, I flick my knife open and begin cutting the can open. I’m so focused on opening the can I don’t hear Noah until he’s standing on the other side of the desk, watching me.

“Hi,” Noah says, his voice weak and uncertain.

I peer up and continue cutting the can open. I want him to squirm, to feel uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, he raises his chin. “I just—well, I want to apologize for the, uh, the bathroom. It wasn’t very adult-like of me to just assume you were coming in there to kill me. I’m on edge, and well, I imagine you are too.” He rambles on.

Tilting my head to the side, my eyes travel down from his eyes to his mouth as he speaks.

“Anyways, like I said, I’m sorry for my actions, and for staring at your, uh…” Noah's voice trails off, suddenly unable to look at me.

“My cock,” I finished for him.

Noah chokes, breaking out in a coughing fit. I wait until he finally exhales loudly, running a hand down his face.

“Yes, I suppose that . I’m sorry, I’ll get better at controlling myself.”

“Good.”

We fall into an awkward silence, Noah glancing around the dimly lit room, his eyes casually stopping on me every few seconds. By the fourth round of shy looks and huffs aimed towards me, I've had enough.

“Jesus fuck, just sit down,” I wave a hand at the desk. “Eat.” Sliding over the SpaghettiOs, I reach into my bag and pull another can out.

“Uh, thank you.” Noah gives a smile before jumping up onto the desk and grabbing the can. Doing the same thing I did with the can before, I stab my knife into it, working it around.

“Fuck, I forgot how good these taste.” Noah groans around a mouthful. His eyelashes flutter as he licks his upper lip clean of the red sauce. I thought my cock had deflated, but for some reason around Noah it’s always half hard. Even if I try to ignore that part of myself, it slips through around him.

Fuck. I’m a professional. I’ve killed hundreds of men and around a dozen women. I can handle one twink. Each day is just another day closer to reaching the cabin and one day closer to him being off on his own.

We both fall into silence as we eat. While I keep my eyes focused on the doors, I can feel Noah staring at me. He tries to appear innocent, but the way he fidgets just sitting tells me something else is on his mind. And I have a feeling it has something to do with the fact he has a bulge in his pants.

“So, uh, tell me about yourself?” Noah's voice shakes as he asks.

Peering over at him, a smile tugs at my lips at how nervous he is. Thankfully I have the mask over the bottom half of my face so that he can’t see it. I’m not sure what I would do if he caught me smiling.

“How old are you?” He asks more firmly this time.

“Twenty-four or five.”

His brows pull together in confusion. “You don’t know how old you are?”

“I’m not even sure what day it is, so how can I be sure I didn’t turn another age?”

“That’s a weird way of putting it.” Noah pushes the can over, stretching his legs out. “I’m twenty then, or twenty-one, I suppose.”

I grunt, not caring how old he is. Or trying not to care. I don’t want to care about Noah, but he’s like a dog with a bone. Always yapping, always looking for attention.

“Was your twenty-first fun?” Noah asks. I try to pick apart his question, wondering why he would want to know. He's probably searching for some humility, given the small amount that's left in this world. I should tell him to fuck off, but like I said, a dog with a bone.

“It was like most men want, the usual.” I shrug, not quite sure how to navigate talking normally with him.

The only guys I'm used to shit-talking with was Ghost and Viper. One of them is gone, and the other, well, hopefully he's found that girl he was obsessed with. I was never one who dealt with grief. People die; it’s life. You live, and then you die.

It’s the same motto I’ve gone by since before I became a killer. There’s always going to be someone bigger and better than you. You just have to know when to pick your battles and when it’s time to turn a blind eye.

“You have to give me more than just that. You see, some men want what some men don’t,” he raises a brow, beckoning me to his calling. Of course, Noah wants all the details he can get. The boy had barely lived before zombies rose up and began eating everyone.

“A friend, Wyck, he uh, we went to a bar and I probably had too much to drink. I don’t remember most of it to be honest with you.”

Thinking back to the bar, I’m hit with the memories of the Ghost—Wyck—handing me drink after drink. We had a difficult job, one that I will always remember and undoubtedly regret for the rest of my life. He helped me drown it out for a night, letting me forget the horrors of what I’ve done. Flashes of their screams replace the memories of what Wyck was trying to do for me.

“Reed?” Noah's voice, like an angel's, calls me back. “Are you okay? You look a little, uh… I would offer you a drink, but all we have is water.”

“I’m fine. We should get some rest before we hit the road again.”

I don’t give Noah a chance to argue with me. Backing away from the desk, I hike my bag up over my shoulder and head to the men’s room. If he can hide out in the restroom, so can I.

* * *

Ghost slides his knife into the side of the belt before closing the passenger door softly. Checking my magazine once more, I gave him a nod, letting him know I was ready. We both fall in line next to each other, silent as we track through the wooded area.

The uneasiness sits deep in my stomach, twisting tight with each passing moment as we walk further into the woods.

“What's got you thinking so loud over there?” Ghost asks.

Tension builds at the base of my spine. I should tell him that I don’t have a good feeling about this mission, but I don’t. I have no reason to have this gut-retching feeling. I’ve gone over my checklist a million times. This kill is nothing new; I’ve done this more times than I can count.

But each step feels heavy; the air around me seems to grow thicker.

“I’m fine,” I finally tell Ghost. I don’t need him second-guessing this either. It’s bad enough that the one who's been killing longer is having second thoughts.

“Reaper?” Ghost grabs my shoulder, stopping me from moving forward. I bite down on my cheek, refusing to let him know the thoughts swarming around inside my head. He’d pull the operation, and while I don’t care about the money, this douchebag deserves to die.

“I’m fine, promise.”

Ghost watches me for a second, searching my eyes to see if I’m lying. Even though I am, I hold his stare, holding my breath. After what feels like an eternity, he finally gives me a curt nod.

I silently sigh when he begins walking again. Reminding myself that he depends on me, we both depend on each other. So I don’t say anything, not when the small house comes into view and not when he breaks the lock.

Ghost enters the doorway first, checking left and right before we slowly move inside. The kitchen was clean; thankfully, no lights, making it easier for us to move around without being seen.

The faint sound of the TV hits our ears as we follow the hallway towards the front of the house. The dreadful feeling weighs heavily in my stomach the further in the house we move. I try to stay focused, but the nagging feeling doesn’t leave—it sharpens, and the shadow of nerves creeps closer.

And in an instant, the regret and the dread I was feeling all comes to a head. A girl—the daughter that was supposed to be gone—comes running down the hall. She runs smack-dab into Ghost, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Fuck,” Ghost grunts. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” The father yells. The oxygen from my lungs gives out; the girl screams even louder as Ghost tries to get her to move.

“Reaper!” My eyes flicker up, confusion clouding my head; that voice doesn’t sound like Ghost ? —

“Reed!”

I jerk awake, my hand gripping the throat of the person in front of me. I squeeze, trying to clear my head of the memories assaulting me.

“Re—” Their voice cuts off as I slam them down on the ground. My vision clears only for me to realize it’s not the father I meant to kill; it’s Noah staring wide-eyed at me. My heart pounds against my ribcage; my breathing is fast and shallow. Instead of being disoriented from my nightmare like I’ve been before, the world around me seems to blur and fade, leaving nothing but Noah underneath me.

The space between us suddenly shrinks; my gaze flickers between his eyes and his lips. I expect Noah to be scared with my hand wrapped around his throat, but he’s not. His hands rest on my biceps, his eyes slowly blinking. In a moment, time seems to stretch; my entire focus is no longer on the nightmare I had or the fact that I’m not wearing my mask like normal. I had taken it off before falling asleep, not thinking that Noah would come in here.

With the little courage I can muster up, I don’t give Noah a chance to protest before I slam my lips against his.