Page 1

The July sun beats on me like an unstoppable furnace as I pick through abandoned cars and ransacked shops, sweat dripping down my back. With each step glass crunches beneath my heavy boots, the sound echoing off the silent ruins.

Abandoned cars line the streets, their windows shattered, interiors stripped bare by desperate hands. Shopfronts gape open, ransacked shelves dusty and desolate.

I pass the shell of a diner, its sign swinging mournfully in the hot breeze. The door hangs ajar, revealing a scene of chaos within—overturned chairs, a counter littered with broken dishes.

Scavengers already picked the place clean.

Same old shit, different town.

I can’t wait to ditch this wasteland of a town and get back to the mountain cabin where I’ve been staying. Not sure why I picked it. Place reminds me of Mac.

Can’t believe my best friend chose to settle down.

But the cabin is safer. Secluded. A far cry from where Carrionites roam. The cannibals prefer populated parts of towns and cities.

My molars grind as bile claws its way up my throat, my chest constricting.

Talia.

Even after all these years, the pain of losing her haunts me. Came across a large pack years back. My teammate sacrificed herself so Mac, Colt, and I could get away.

We wanted to go after her, but it was no use. There were too many, and those fuckin’ cannibals are deadly. They will gut each other over a damn stale cookie. Even eat their own dead.

Just another bitch to deal with in this world gone to shit.

All it took was for some super virus to wipe out most of the world’s population.

Now electricity is gone, cities are breeding grounds for serial killers and cannibals, and loyalty flew right out the fucking window, especially when it comes to food.

It’s like living in a zombie apocalypse without the damn zombies. Thank fuck for that because not sure I could take another obstacle to fight against. Lucky enough to not have gotten sick, or maybe I’m immune.

Who the fuck knows why some survived and some never got sick. Isn’t my field of expertise.

Staying clear of the urban sprawl in Massachusetts, I’ve been trekking through the southern Vermont stretch of the Connecticut River Valley. It’s mostly rural here, with fewer people around, which suits my need to avoid encounters with any living person.

When it comes to survival, most of the time humanity gets thrown out the window. Saw it in war and saw it after the viral outbreak.

Doesn’t make my choice to be alone any easier.

Still miss human contact. Miss my friends.

But not sure I can deal with losing another.

I turn to head out of town when a scrappy young man jumps between two trucks, knife pointing right at me. My gaze goes from his blond, unkempt hair obscuring half his face to the blade he wields with an understated confidence that betrays his skill with it.

I smirk.

Kid’s got no clue who he’s fuckin’ with.

And apparently no one’s taught him you don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. Though, not sure I’d draw my Sig and waste a bullet. Easier to disarm the kid and slit his throat.

I study him closer. While his clothes are ragged, they’re clean. The knife’s blade appears sharp as if he’s taken care of it. And he holds the weapon like it’s part of him.

Maybe he’s not such a dumbass after all.

His face is lean and hollowed but not starving. He’s beating the odds, finding a way to survive.

Staying alive’s an achievement. Hell, I haven’t seen another soul in the past two days. Longer before then. Most of the time I feel like I’m the last man on Earth.

“Gimme your food.”

That sly tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. It’s the only tell in his poker face.

The ruthless part of me wakes up, the part that does what it takes to play this grim new game we’ve all been made to play. But I have an advantage being I was special forces before everything changed.

I meet his gaze. “Yeah, that ain’t happening.”

My refusal doesn’t faze him. Those shrewd blue eyes sum me up, calculating. I smirk again, hoping to agitate him enough to show a weakness.

He takes it in stride, but the gears grind behind those intense eyes that travel over me, most likely noting my height, health, and relaxed stance despite the knife.

All things I’d be paying attention to if roles were reversed.

One wrong step out here earns you a shallow grave—if you’re lucky. Death is a luxury compared to the other atrocities people have endured.

The set of his bony shoulders says he knows he’s outmatched. Smart kid, even if he has no idea the government made me into a cold-blooded killer long before society went tits up. But it just honed my skills further.

And despite the slight lines of silver beginning to thread through my brown hair, I’m still a weapon.

He doesn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll trade you,”

he rasps, voice rough but steady as shadows cut his sharp cheekbones.

I eye the backpack crossing his shoulders. Maybe he’s actually got something worth trading.

But instead of finding out, I shrug, bored tone on point. “Doubt you got anything worthwhile enough to trade me.”

He rolls with it, those discerning eyes cataloging the street’s resources and weaknesses. I dig his awareness. If not for him likely knifing me in my sleep, I’d team up with the kid.

“I’ll trade sex then,”

he says with a bold glint in his eyes.

Only, color rises on his neck the moment the words leave his mouth, and I bark out a laugh. This kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that, even if it appears he might be regretting the offer.

His lip twitches into a little snarl, and he juts his chin out. “Heard you four nights back—with the guy in the store. You took payment in pleasure.”

Well, fuck me sideways.

I hadn’t noticed him lurking around.

Guess I was too busy rutting.

Met a former accountant by chance. He gave my package a look and offered himself for the night in exchange for the meat I was getting ready to roast.

Sex—human contact in general—is rare and fleeting out here. So, it’s become a form of currency.

No way I was turning the accountant down. Been alone too long. Ended up doing him twice that night and once more come dawn. We parted ways with no drama.

But this kid got close enough to hear the exchange yet evaded me noticing him.

Fuckin’ hell.

A low growl escapes my lips, shoulders squaring on instinct. I’ve never appreciated being stalked. “You watched me?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, his neck reddening even more.

My cock starts to swell a bit and I give his lean frame another look. His offer’s not a bad one, and his audacity intrigues me. Even embarrassed, he holds my gaze like a defiant little shit.

Not gonna lie, love the fact he watched me dominate the accountant. Railed that hole real good.

“Liked what you saw?”

He huffs, the little snarl in his lips coming back, as if trying to act repulsed. Only, the dark blush betrays him.

I tilt my head. “How old are you—eighteen?”

Maybe older.

His eyes narrow. “Old enough to not wanna starve to death.”

I nod and smirk, amused I struck a nerve. Scratching my stubbled jaw, I consider his proposition.

My gaze trails over his body once more, lingering on the corded muscle in his arms, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. Claiming him fiercely, rutting into tight, young heat . . . it’s an appealing thought.

Too appealing.

I tamp the ember down. Business first.

“Here’s the deal. I tap that tonight, you get fed. Weapons stay outside. You stay ’til morning, got it? No garroting me in my sleep.”

His lips pinch thin, but his traitorous stomach rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. We’ve got an accord. That blade vanishes behind his back, smooth as silk.

Consider me impressed.

Haven’t seen anyone as smooth with a knife since Talia.

I gesture left with my chin. “That way, you walk in front. I’ll steer us straight. At the door, strip and ditch your shit. I’ll whip up some chow after.”

He scowls and stalks off, back rigid. Probably hates me calling the shots. But I didn’t get this far by being reckless.

I trail a pace behind, eyes drawn to his shoulders’ lean strength beneath the frayed shirt. His worn jeans pull taut over a trim ass as he walks. I imagine grasping those slim hips, railing into his . . .

I shake my head.

“What’s your name?”

I ask, tamping down the urge to satisfy my growing lust.

“Devon.”

He bites as those intense eyes rake the empty street, aware and calculating.

More boy than man in attitude, though his body tells a different tale. I need to verify. “Again, how old are you?”

He glances back, eyes narrowed, lips sealed stubbornly.

“Gotta make sure you’re legal. So if you want food, tell it to me straight.”

The rest of the world may have lost its morals, forever stuck living in shades of gray, but got my own lines I won’t cross. Couldn’t live with myself if he wasn’t legal.

“Eighteen, old man. Almost nineteen.”

Old man. Since when is thirty-eight one foot in the grave? But out here, guess I’m goddamn ancient.

“Name’s Rex,” I offer.