Page 14 of Zomromcom

But they should still be on her cell. No internet required.

A few swipes of her forefinger, and there they were. There he was.

She recognized that vast expanse of concrete flooring, although he’d carefully positioned his camera so it didn’t show his furniture or any other identifiable features of his underground home.

His bare, hard chest gleamed as he strode dick-first toward the camera and away again, his lace-up black boots stomping, the capacious folds of his gold lamé MC Hammer pants shimmering and fluttering, alternately molding to his strong thighs and hiding them.

His eyeliner was thick and dark, his mouth lush and rosy, the sharp angles of his face emphasized by glitter and shadow and just a hint of stubbly scruff on his cheeks and chin.

He was electric. A glam god sent to enthrall humanity.

Well, until that freaking clip-on rattail came into view. Ugh.

“Please, Hammer, don’t hurt ’em,” she murmured.

The SUV jumped forward as her currently-rattail-free companion pressed the accelerator to the floor. “Perhaps you could set aside this fateful revelation, human, and return your attention to the task at hand.”

“Perhaps not.”

Despite his aggrieved grunt and the way he appeared to be strangling the steering wheel, she watched another download, then another.

One of his specialties appeared to be ridiculous, uncomfortable—and ridiculously, uncomfortably sexy—underwear.

Velour boxers, which she imagined would leave non-vampires drowning in their own ball sweat.

Macramé bikini briefs that seemed like they would chafe painfully and that simultaneously exposed far too much and far too little.

And soon, she supposed, a furry thong, accessorized by cloven-toed shoes and an open leather hoodie.

He must have been dressed for his next shoot when he’d stepped outside the previous evening, his hair and makeup preparations still to come.

With his authoritative demeanor and cool confidence, he made all the looks work somehow. If she didn’t know that every item on his body would either irritate the hells out of her, bankrupt her, or not be offered in her size, she’d have been whipping out her credit card.

“I only watch Brad and Tonya’s content involving my channel,” Max said. The streets they traveled were getting broader and somewhat better maintained as they neared the access road, and he studied them carefully as he drove. “I didn’t realize they’d featured your work too.”

“They’ve used your videos as inspiration…

what? Half a dozen times already?” Her grin grew.

“I’ll never forget Brad stumbling around in those high-heeled Crocs.

That face-plant into the deviled eggs platter…

” She kissed her fingertips in appreciation.

“Physical comedy is difficult. Also embarrassing, when it’s accidental. ”

Max huffed out an amused breath, his shoulders loosening. “He’s not the most graceful of souls, is he?”

“It’s all part of his charm.” She snorted. “I know he also regretted trying those macramé undies of yours.”

At some point in the near future, she would be revisiting that particular video on a much larger screen.

The bulge beneath Max’s knotted bikini briefs, the shifting shadows she’d spotted through the gaps in the design…

wow. Did he wax everything below the neck, or was lack of body hair a vampire thing?

Because his skin was very smooth down there.

His face creased in a faint wince. “The knots are…unforgiving. And if there’s too large a hole in the design…”

“Did you—” Absolutely delighted, she grabbed his arm and shook it. “Did you get your dick caught in your hand-knotted haute couture briefs, Max?”

She probably shouldn’t be mentioning his dick. Or thinking about it. Or picturing it both caught in a net like a hapless carp and rising unhindered in glorious freedom.

Alas. Here she was, considering various dick-related scenarios in Technicolor detail.

“No,” he stated firmly.

“Your testicles, then.” Assuming vampires actually had testicles.

He didn’t say anything as he turned onto the main access road, but something in his expression shifted. She had her answer. Also a new vision to conjure whenever she needed a good laugh.

“No…one…” She drew out the words to build anticipation.

He turned his head and whipped off his sunglasses to glare at her. “No.”

“…struts like Gaston,” she sang out, with enthusiasm and joy in her heart, “injures nuts like Gaston—”

“ No .” His brows had formed a thick, menacing line. “Human—”

“—puts sheepskin up his butt like Gaston!”

“—don’t make me turn this car around.”

“His macramé briefs are so strang -u- la -ting…”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I just said that. This is a travesty.”

“My, what great thighs, that Gaston!” she finished, and beamed at him. “They really are great, by the way. All firm and muscly and stuff.”

“ And stuff? ” he repeated, incredulous. “Mother of gods, what—”

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her attention caught by what she saw ahead of them. “Max…”

He slammed on the brakes, and his SUV screeched to a halt.

They’d reached the end of Zone A, and the moat and wall separating them from Zone B had come into view.

Whether or not a breach was reported, the government took no chances with such an early line of defense.

The system operated on an independent, tamper-proof power grid whose workings remained mysterious even after twenty years.

And unless a driver swiped a valid passcard and satisfied the facial recognition algorithm for all detected passengers, the drawbridge stayed up and the hulking door guarding the entrance through the wall remained securely shut at all times.

She’d never heard of anyone being able to sneak through the security setup, even in a vehicle’s trunk or underneath its chassis.

There was never a guard at the gate, or another official who could activate the mechanisms without a pass and accepted, confirmed passenger identifications, and there was no known—or even rumored—way to override the system.

Max’s sunglasses tumbled from his grasp and fell to the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, stomach churning. “What the fuck.”

It shouldn’t have been possible. It wasn’t possible. But there they were.

Even though there was no other vehicle in sight, the drawbridge over the moat was down. The door through the wall was open.

Over the course of two decades, she’d seen her share of technical malfunctions on the access road. But when those malfunctions occurred, the system always— always —reverted to closed doors and raised bridges. It was the default state, without exception, for the safety of all.

Maybe zombies could have taken down the cell tower and power lines using sheer physical force. There was no fucking way the creatures had overridden the access road’s security system, though. Not unless they’d secretly spent the last two decades becoming sophisticated hackers.

Here was the definitive proof. A terrible accident hadn’t caused the breach. For a second time, horrifyingly enough—

“This was sabotage,” he stated.

“Yeah,” she said again, and shuddered in dread.