Road's End: Apocalypse Riders Read online

  I let his shaft slide between my palms. It was a tight squeeze, bound as I was, and he thrusted his hips to fit through. I moved my hands along his hot, velvety skin, fascinated as he grew even harder with my touch. Pulsing heat bloomed between my legs. As if my fever wasn't hot enough. What am I doing?

  I squeezed tighter, creating more friction as he rocked up and down, using my hand to get himself off. Sunny's cries were reaching a crescendo; they wouldn't continue much longer.

  Adam lit another match. His eyes latched onto my twine-bound hands stroking his cock. "Shit, Josie..." and he exploded. His milky white fluids spilled over my palms and through my fingers. His body shuddered with the force of it, and he released a suffering groan - satisfied, but all was not well.

  "Let me touch you," he hissed. Fuck, I wanted him to. I trembled with need. Witnessing his climax made me starve for so much more.

  But he was my captor. "I'll do it myself." My hands still wet with his cum, I awkwardly slid them down into my loose old pants and touched my swollen lips.

  He yanked me close, nuzzling his face against my neck. "You drive me mad, Josie. How can I convince you to trust me?"

  My hands ceased their downward exploration as his words gave me a chill. "Goddamn it, let me go!" It came out as more of a wail than I'd intended. Sunny reached her climax, her wails and pants in concert with a Preacher's own unmistakable growls.

  "I can't," Adam said, "I can't."

  We were both trapped. He clung to me like a lifeline and I wanted to cling back, and I wanted to recoil. I felt sympathy for him, then. He suffered just as I did, right and wrong aside. He was human too, and he hurt. It's the fever talking. The fever!

  I shook with sobs, though my tears were unshed. "Let me go, let me go." He shook, too, but he held me tight. We had conflicting needs. And his were stronger. What could I do?

  Finally, in the warmth of his arms and my fever finally breaking, I slept.

  +++++

  We split up from his friends in the morning. “We’ve got more ladies to pick up,” Van explained as they wheeled their bikes out from their hiding places. No matter how much Sunny smiled about it, I wasn’t convinced that they didn’t have sinister intentions. Their end goal was to pick up a bunch of girls and start making babies - but did the girls have a say? Not at the end of the world, they don’t.

  “I’m not convinced Satan’s Assholes haven’t stopped chasing us yet, so we’re gonna get back to town as fast as we can. But be on the lookout, who knows if they’ll change their minds when they pick up your trail.” That raised a lot of questions, but I bit my tongue. His problems. Not mine. I just want to go home.

  “Josie.” Van hadn’t spoken to me once, yet, and I couldn’t imagine he had anything nice to stay. I kept my expression blank. “If anything happens to him, I’m looking to you.”

  I held up my roped hands. “Maybe you all would have less problems if you didn’t kidnap people who just wanted to stay home!” Van only shrugged and mounted his motorcycle. Preacher was on his, and Sunny climbed on behind him.

  “Good luck,” Preacher said to Adam, and they revved their bikes and took off. Sunny waved back at us as they pulled away.

  CHAPTER 5

  We rode down dirt roads and across dry and silent fields. I only spoke up to ask about my knives, and he showed me that they were safe in one of his bags alongside his gun. We only saw the dead once, wandering aimlessly along the treeline of a forest far from us. If they turned in our direction, we were traveling too fast for it to matter.

  I loathed admitting it, but his continuous attention helped me heal much faster than I would have on my own. He knew how to keep the wound and stitches clean. He made me drink and eat, even when I felt ill and didn't want to. He made sure I slept, even when he could have ridden on for hours more. He hunted; he scavenged for more canned goods and clean clothes when we came across houses and sheds.

  I found myself watching him. Trying to figure him out. His leather jacket had that huge patch on the back - “club colors,” he said it was, but it looked black and white to me. It had what appeared to be a devil with angel wings, and above it read, “Devil’s Ashes.” Sometimes I still thought of him as the starving man I’d found and fucked in the street, rather than the man who aimed a gun at me and bound my wrists. It was dangerous thinking that way; I had to make a real effort to banish the memory of that time together. But I couldn’t forget how he’d made me feel, how we’d been so reluctant to let each other go as we walked. That last kiss that I’d had to turn away from.

  Was he doing this because he was decent? Or was it because he was delivering me to more members of that club of his, and didn't want to come home with damaged goods? Was I simply worth more in good health?

  We stopped in a barn one night just as it was beginning to rain. Without my jacket I'd be freezing cold in no time. The barn was empty except for scattered piles of straw. They looked like the most comfortable place we'd seen to sleep in days.

  He quickly lit a tiny fire going in the center of the room. It was too dark to see anything, but he expertly used some papers and matches from his bags to get it started, then added hay from around the barn. It bathed the huge space in dim, dancing light.

  Usually he released my wrists for a little while - just to eat and wash up. Just until he would need to sleep. He’d been ignoring me since we’d stepped inside, though. "We're running out of food," I said. At least the rain would fill his canteens. He'd managed to kill a bird or two as we traveled, but not enough to feed us if the cans ran out. And despite finding a few here and there as we traveled, we were almost out.

  "Gas, too. I'll deal with that tomorrow. There's something else we have to do tonight." My heart skipped a beat. That couldn't mean anything good. "Sit down. Take your pants off."

  "What? No!"

  His lip curled. "You still think I want to hurt you? You still don't trust me." I clenched my jaw shut. "I'm not going to fuck you." He spat the words out. "I'm just going to mark your hip."

  I blinked. "What? Like a tattoo?"

  He nodded and crouched by the fire. Wearing one heavy glove, he held something into the flames. "More like a burn, since I have no ink. But the mark will buy you help from any of my brothers if we get separated."

  "Brothers? Devil’s Ashes?" This sounded more like branding than marking.

  "Yes. With the mark and my name - my real name - it’s like having the club password. They'll take care of you."

  "Yeah? And will they refuse to let me go, too? Are you sure this doesn't just make me your livestock?"

  He glared at me. The fire danced in his eyes. "Low blow, Josie. I'm not a monster. Now sit the fuck down."

  "I don't want it."

  "I don't care. I'm protecting you now, and this is part of it." He sighed. "Don't make me force you, Josie. I really don't want to, but I will."

  Finally, slowly, I removed my pants. The underwear stayed, of course, but still my heart beat fast and hard in my ears. I felt way too exposed. I folded the ratty old jeans and used them as a barrier between my ass and the hay as I sat on a small bale nearby. My hands shook; I did not want this. It would hurt and it would scar; I had enough pain and scars for a lifetime already.

  I flinched as Adam leaned over with the needle. "Hey." He rested a hand in my arm and I flinched again. A looked crossed his face. Hurt? He's holding me captive and he's hurt that I'm afraid? "It only burns for a minute. It fades fast. Promise."

  I gasped when he pressed the red hot needle against the skin on my hip. It hissed. "You bastard."

  "I'm sorry." He made a small line before he had to turn back and reheat the bit of metal. I cringed again when he laid it against my skin.

  We didn't speak as he worked. I watched at first as he formed a letter, taking care to make the lines straight and neat. “D” was the first to appear. The smell of my own burning flesh filled my nose, but he was right - the pain did fade to a dull ache pretty quickly.

  And something else was
happening. He was working close to my underwear, and he came dangerously close to brushing against me there as he stretched my skin taut for his needle.

  The pain should have dulled whatever arousal his proximity might cause, but it didn't. Not at all. My lips parted as I tried to ignore the growing heat between my legs, tried to slow my breathing, but it was no good. Adam and his fucked up branding session was turning me on.

  Maybe he won't notice. My hips twitched when he touched me; I hoped he would assume it was in anticipation of the burns. But I gave myself away. When he looked up at my face, I blushed.

  "Shit, Josie. You're going to drive me crazy."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." I wanted to sound more offended, but I breathed the words, and licked my lips. My denial was downright pathetic.

  "No?" He spoke quietly, his deep voice as dark as the barn around us. He touched the needle to my skin again. I gasped - and it definitely wasn't a gasp of pain.

  Then, the knuckles of his ungloved hand brushed briefly against my mound as he moved back to the fire. Briefly enough to be an accident. But I knew it wasn't.

  I should have said something right then. I should have protested. He's my captor, I reminded myself, he's holding you against your will. Look at your damn wrists. But another part of me, a part that I did not want to acknowledge, held my tongue.

  This time when he pulled my skin taut, his bare fingers rested just at the edge of my panties, warm and rough against my inner thigh. My breathing was audible as he traced another line. "Almost through." He didn't move back to the fire right away, though. He traced the hem of my panties with his calloused digits, gently, following the line of fabric all the way down between my legs before moving back up again. He watched my face, his eyes dark and hungry, reflecting how I felt.

  I knew if I spoke, I would tell him to stop - so I remained silent. I was sure that even in the dim orange light of the fire, he could see the heat in my cheeks.

  He turned back to his work, though, heating the needle and drawing another line. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't really want him to do anything, did I? The war in my head was silenced when his hand trailed to my inner thigh again. He exhaled a long, hot breath over my mound, gently pushing my knees further apart as he did it.

  Oh, God, I have to stop this. He can't do this. But his fingers were pressing the damp fabric of my panties against my pussy. I shook my head in denial but the words never came out.

  "Shh," he said soothingly, rubbing my thigh as he moved over, putting himself between my legs. He pushed aside the fabric and inhaled deeply.

  His touch was like an electric shock. His fingertips merely brushed my soft and swollen lips, but my whole body jerked. I bit my lip to quiet myself. His hand tensed around my leg as he felt my wetness.

  He looked up at me before turning back to the fire - it was a look full of dark promise. And God help me, I didn't want to stop him.

  He burned one more line, squinting close over the design, his breath warm against my skin. Then he was pushing my panties aside again and, with a shuddering breath, he planted his lips on my pussy with a hot, wet kiss.

  The sound I made was more of a yelp than a gasp. My hips bucked, or at least they tried to - he pinned me in place with both hands.

  I knew I should stop him, but the heat of his mouth was incredible, and his tongue dragging along my folds was making my heart race and my whole body shake.

  Words finally rushed out of me as my tight control over myself began to crumble. "Wait, Adam, you can't... I shouldn't -" My body's movements were in contrast to my denials.

  He reached right up my shirt and viciously twisted a nipple until I cried out. Even then he didn't release the hardened bud, only rolled it between his fingers as he spoke.

  "You've said enough," he growled. Damn, he's seriously hurt that I don't trust him. "You're done talking. You're just going to come for me, now."

  I was so close, too. But fear and anger gained a foothold. My wrists were still bound and the mark on my hip felt sore and tight. But more than that, I was scared. I was afraid of the feelings he drew out of me, afraid of the awful, desperate need in my belly and in my chest. You're not supposed to feel these things for your kidnapper. "Branding me wasn't enough? You have to do this to me, too?"

  He recoiled as if I'd slapped him. I had a moment of doubt, then. Maybe I was judging him too harshly.

  He pulled himself up over my body so his face hovered above mine. He radiated heat as he trapped me there in the hay, examining my face, trying to read something in my eyes.

  "I have nothing to give you," he growled, "And apparently my words are worthless. What else can I do? How can I make you trust me?"

  "Let me go."

  His face hardened. "No."

  My body still burned for him, despite our conversation, so when he kissed me, I was not strong enough to immediately resist. His lips devoured mine in a slow, sensual slide, slick and musky with my own fluids . Oh, God. I was sinking; my head was spinning. This has to stop. I whined and he withdrew, breathing heavily. "I think if you'd let me kiss you before, I never would have been able to make myself leave you alone."

  "You would have kidnapped me right then."

  "Goddammit!" He heaved himself to his feet and stalked across the barn, kicking over the pot near the fire as he went. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Let you get yourself killed? Let those guys catch you instead? Nobody will hurt you where we're going. I am not going to hurt you. All I'm trying to do here is protect you."

  "All I wanted was to be left alone," I said quietly. "You don't owe me because I saved you, and you don't get to claim me because you helped me escape those men. Ask yourself, Adam, are you trying to keep me safe? Or are you just trying to keep me?"

  He went cold. It was like a chill entered the room. His face dropped all its heat, all its passion, and turned to stone. "I'm sleeping outside," he said, and that was it. He didn't even slam the barn doors shut behind him; he just pulled them closed with a quiet click.

  CHAPTER 6

  I slept fitfully, but I did sleep, and I was awash with guilt when I rose in the morning. I'd gone too far. But why should I feel guilty? What is wrong with me?

  The mark on my hip was red and swollen, but didn’t look infected. I was surprised to see a tiny round bird. I’d expected angel wings or a devil’s tail or a skull. But it was a simple bird, with the letters “DA” above it and “MC” below it and an “A” to the right side. Devil’s Ashes Motorcycle Club. A for Adam. I wondered if that meant that he intended on keeping me for himself instead of using me to bargain or barter or sell. Stop thinking like that. We haven’t reached the end of this road yet. Anything could happen.

  He'd left one of his saddlebags inside, though not the one with our weapons. I dug out a fresh pair of undies and a t-shirt - the last clean ones. I couldn’t dress with my hands bound as they were, so I stuffed them into the pocket of my oversized pants. We'd have to stop and wash some things soon, anyway. Or just find new stuff.

  We. I was thinking about things we'd do to continue on, not things I'd do when I escaped. Am I giving up?

  Once dressed, I found him sitting on a large stone just outside the front door. I don't know why I felt the need to make at least some sort of peace between us. His face was drawn, tired, and just as stony as the night before. I leaned against his motorcycle, regarding him for a moment.

  “Are we still being chased?”

  “Yes.” He looked off towards the horizon, where the sun was still rising. “I punctured their tires back there, but they would have repaired them by now. Hell, they probably found brand news ones somewhere in that city.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Satan’s Remains. Another group of motorcyclists. Rivals.”

  Rivals. Corpses walk, populations dwindle, and they have time to be rivals. I kept that thought to myself. Instead, I whispered, “Did you kill any of them?”

  His face twitched. He looked grim. “One. The one g
uarding their bikes.”

  I had a vague memory of that gunshot.

  I'm pretty fucking stuck, aren't I. Enemies behind us who definitely wanted to grab me. The dead anywhere and everywhere, waiting for a chance to take a bite out of us. What chance did I have? Why does it all have to be so fucking bleak? I wanted to trust him. But after everything I'd seen and been through, he and his story were just too good to be true.

  I could give in. Live in that pretty dream for a while, before it all goes to shit again. It would have been so easy. Too easy. Not smart.

  "What were you before?" he asked.

  I’d been lost in my thoughts, and his question surprised me so much that I actually answered. "A teacher."

  He chuckled. "Little kids?"

  "Yeah. I did a year of 1st grade and a year of kindergarten before... you know. Why?"

  He shrugged. "Just curious. When you were out of it, you were mumbling about glue sticks and lunch boxes."

  I stared at my feet. I didn't want to think about those kids, that time. Not ever again. "I was there," I whispered. "When it started."

  He reached out and took my wrists in his hand. He tugged on the end, loosening the knot. "What happened?"

  "They locked us down for three days. The parents tried to storm the doors. They were the first real herd of the dead. An enraged mob, already in a violent frenzy... Half of them had been killed and turned before anyone even realized anything was wrong with them."

  The twine fell away. My wrists were raw and sore, and he rubbed them gently, soothing away some of the discomfort.

  "I was there when the kids started turning."

  He released a breath as if he'd been holding it and squeezed both my hands tight. "I was on the highway with my brothers when our town turned. We were away when it started, off at some chapter meeting, I don't even remember. We tried to rush back. We could see the fires from the road."

  I could picture it. Him on his bike, surrounded by other bikers, Van, Preacher, watching the billowing smoke from afar and being helpless to stop it. Being unable to save anyone because it was already too late. I squeezed his hands back.