Breakout Read online

  On the downside, she hadn’t gotten far when it started to rain. Pour was more like it. Now she was soaked to the bone, freezing, and miserable. The sun was setting and she just wanted to get to the house and make sure her stash was still intact.

  She ran up the steps to the porch and opened the front door, which she noted had been repaired. At least Corbin was good for something, though it wouldn’t have needed fixing if he hadn’t broken it in the first place.

  She was barely inside when she froze in place, shivering on the threshold as she took in the room. Corbin had a fire going in the fireplace, a luxury she had not allowed herself because she hadn’t wanted the smoke to alert any passersby on the road to the house’s presence. But seeing the comforting flames and feeling their glorious warmth seemed to melt all her doubts away. Besides, she wasn’t an unarmed woman alone. She had guns. And a huge scary male as a companion. She wasn’t so worried about anyone outside. The biggest threat to her stood ten feet away in the kitchen. Which led her to the other surprise besides the homey fire.

  Corbin.

  He was preparing dinner. The bottle of wine was out on the counter with two mugs next to it and Corbin was on the other side of the kitchen doling out various items on to two paper plates. Monarch felt her jaw drop a bit at his appearance. He had changed clothes, now wearing a plaid flannel button down shirt and jeans that fit him almost too perfectly. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his veined forearms, which were sprinkled with a few tattoos. She could make one out, a lone star on his left inner forearm.

  He also obviously washed and found a razor, his face now clean shaven and his hair cropped short to his head. The transformation was amazing. He looked…he looked gorgeous. A six-and-half-foot combination of sexy and dangerous. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to that?

  This woman, that’s who, Monarch told herself as she stared. Her nerves were shot, that was all. She hadn’t been around another human in so long it was to be expected, that this frustrating man would occupy her mind all day, and she would be drawn to any form of contact.

  At that moment, Corbin turned to give her his attention. There she stood, just inside the front door soaking wet from head to toe while he looked like he just stepped out of a magazine. He set down the dinner fixings and limped toward her, coming to a stop a foot in front of her. Monarch could smell him, a crisp masculine scent that was part soap and part just him.

  “Jesus, I knew you’d be soaked,” was all he said.

  Corbin grabbed a towel that was sitting on the arm of the sofa, one he’d obviously set out for her. Monarch hadn’t noticed it though, standing like a dummy while she dripped all over the laminate wood floor. For a second she thought he might start toweling her off himself, and in her daze she probably would have let him. But then Corbin shoved the towel into her hands before turning back toward the kitchen, looking at her like she should be in a padded cell.

  “Don’t just stand there, get dry and go sit by the fire. Unless you want to make yourself sick. And flood the living room floor in the process.”

  His snide comment snapped Monarch back to reality. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t allow this stranger to disarm her so easily. She needed to be on her toes at all times and she needed to hide the damn guns! Because of the weather, she’d forgotten her plan to hide the guns and ammo in a crack of the house skirting outside. Monarch toweled off quickly and made a beeline for the master bathroom and locked the door. After stripping her sopping clothes off and laying them over the shower curtain rod to dry, she toweled off again, changed into old yoga pants and a fleece pullover, and brushed out her damp hair. Then she hid the guns in a place she knew Corbin would never look.

  Feeling good about that, she headed back out to the kitchen. Corbin poured wine and Monarch picked up her mug, a white one with small purple flowers painted on it. She sat at the small table, where Corbin was already eating and taking large swigs from his mug. He had set out her plate and Monarch stared at the portions of canned pasta, crackers, and fruit salad. She wanted to pass, to tell him she wasn’t hungry and turn away from the plate he made. It seemed too intimate somehow, for him to make dinner and prepare her plate as if it was commonplace. But her stomach and her conscience told her not waste the food, so she ate.

  They shared the meal in silence for a bit until he asked the inevitable question. “Did you find any guns?”

  “No,” Monarch shook her head, thinking of the guns that were safely tucked away behind a few tampon and sanitary pad boxes under the bathroom sink. “I went to two houses but no luck. But I did pack up some candles, matches, batteries and other stuff that comes in handy.”

  Corbin stared at her for a while, chewing his pasta in thought. Monarch refused to meet his gaze and took a small sip of wine. She would only allow herself this one mug, it wouldn’t be wise to drink too much with the proverbial fox in the henhouse.

  “Man, hard to believe that out in the country like this you would keep stumbling upon houses with no guns.”

  “Well, maybe they took the guns with them when they split.”

  “Maybe.” Corbin finished his meal and stood. He winced.

  Though she didn’t want to ask she did. “How’s the leg?”

  “I think I might have done too much while the ibuprofen was in full effect. Can you take a look?”

  The last thing Monarch wanted to do was see his bare thigh again, but his polite request had her immediately agreeing. “Yeah. Go lay on the couch while I get the kit. Probably should put more antibiotic ointment on it anyway.”

  Monarch retrieved the kit from the bathroom, reminding herself this was her part of the bargain, and walked back into the living room. She nearly passed out. Corbin was standing in front of the couch, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  Corbin’s head whipped around. “What the hell do you think? You can’t treat the wound through my jeans.”

  Feeling like a complete idiot, Monarch just stood there. He was right of course, it just hadn’t occurred to her. Last night she accessed the wound easily through the rip in his jumpsuit. Tonight he was wearing clothes and would have to strip down in order for her to see it. Her mouth went dry as she watched him pull his jeans down over his hips. “Well…of-of course I knew that. I just thought you might be a bit more modest about it. I mean you could lay down under a blanket and just stick your leg out or something. I don’t want to see—”

  His jeans fell to his ankles. “I’m wearing boxer shorts for Christ’s sake. What are you, a nun?”

  Monarch stared at his bare legs. They were thick and muscular and covered with crisp light hair. His boxers covered everything important. But it was just…it was just so intimate. Personal. They were alone, a man and a woman, and he was in his underwear.

  He lay down on the couch and lifted the leg of the boxers so that the entire wound was accessible. Monarch knelt in front of him, seeing that the bandages were lightly stained with blood. She undid the bandages as delicately as possible, trying not to pull hair or skin. Her fingers shook badly and she cursed herself.

  Corbin reached over and gripped one of her hands with his own, startling her. “You don’t need to be nervous. If I was gonna attack you don’t you think I would have by now?”

  Monarch blanched. Of course he would bring up the elephant in the room, mannerless oaf that he was. “Why would I know that? I know absolutely nothing about you or what you are capable of. I know I don’t trust strangers.”

  “Especially strangers who are convicts, huh?” Corbin said softly, and for a moment Monarch thought she detected hurt in his voice. But then his tone shifted, becoming aggressive, raspy. “I might as well be a caveman or an ape, is that it? A male with no scruples or impulse control. One who acts on his basest sexual urges whenever he feels like it, right?”

  Monarch’s pulse was racing at highway speed. His hand still gripped hers, pressing it into his bare thigh, the heat from it scorching her. Her voice was ba
rely a whisper as she said, “Wouldn’t you think that if you were me?”

  Her barb hit its mark. Corbin’s jaw tightened and he released her hand. Monarch treated his wound in silence, her hands still shaking. She felt intensity coming off Corbin in waves, as if he was doing everything he could to hold himself back. What he was holding himself back from she didn’t know, but whatever it was couldn’t be good.

  Monarch finished and put away the first aid kit. When she came back into the room Corbin had his jeans back on, thank God, and he leafed through an old magazine from the end table. Monarch was uneasy, unsure of her next move. Her end game was to get to Austin and Corbin was necessary for that. Which meant she needed to take the good with the bad. The next several days would be awkward and she would have to deal.

  She sat in front of the fireplace, savoring the heavenly warmth of the flames, thinking of something to say that would ease the tension. “So, how long were you an auto mechanic?”

  “Pretty much my whole life,” he replied, tossing the magazine down on the table. “I always liked tinkering with cars. I owned my own garage, ran it for several years before…I went to prison.”

  There his past was again, rearing its ugly head. “You really think you can fix my car?”

  “Depends on what’s wrong. If the guy who lived here has some halfway decent tools in that shed out back that would help. And if we could find a car nearby, to yank parts if I need them then, yeah, I should be able to. Could maybe even use parts from the bus depending but that’s less likely to work.”

  Joy surged inside Monarch. “There’s an abandoned car behind the corner store. Hopefully we can get parts from it.” She was impatient for Corbin to heal already and get her car running. She fantasized about what it would be like at Camp Malloy, a community she could be a part of. And if she could only find Duke and Jordan…

  “What did you do for a living, you know, before?” Corbin asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “I was an accountant for a tech company in Dallas.”

  “You don’t look like an accountant.” Corbin observed, his study of her making her face heat up.

  Monarch tilted her head. “How so?”

  “Well aren’t accountants supposed to be nerds, you know, all plain and big glasses?”

  “That’s a stereotype. And not true. Several of my co-workers were gorgeous Barbie types. I was the plain one.”

  Corbin shrugged and changed the subject. “How did you make it through the outbreak?”

  “I guess I’m immune to the P virus. I kinda figure anyone left at this point must be immune, I mean surely we were all exposed at some point. I was surrounded by it in my apartment building.” Monarch turned to the fire, her mind filled with images she tried to forget. “I was so scared, just waiting to die. And then once I realized I wasn’t dying, the fear turned to other things, surviving in this horrible new environment where I was alone, where the few people still around would hurt each other over a jar of peanut butter.”

  “Sometimes being alone is better than being surrounded by people. Trust me on that,” Corbin replied.

  His sympathetic voice startled Monarch, and she realized she’d revealed too much. She didn’t need to tell this man about her fears. “I packed up my car and decided to head to Austin. I couldn’t use I-35, it was a parking lot of cars, just sitting there. I had to take back roads and make my way around the abandoned vehicles. It was slow going but everything was fine, until I got here, and of course my car died in the middle of nowhere. Thank God this house was close to where I coasted off the road. The one lucky break I guess. And out in the country there aren’t many people, which meant less danger.”

  He didn’t take the hint. “Yeah, all of the major roadways are clogged. We ran into the same problem.”

  “Do you think Byron is dead?” Monarch asked him, her worry over the unknown man resurfacing.

  “I expect,” Corbin said, “He wasn’t in the bus when I crawled out so I think he was thrown out. Since he was the one standing in the front going at the driver, it makes sense. Couldn’t have gone well for him.”

  Relieved, Monarch yawned. It had been an exhausting day, and being on edge didn’t help matters. “Well, I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  Corbin said nothing but rose and began following Monarch into the bedroom. She whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We’ve been over this, Monarch.”

  “Why would I leave and or kill you when you are my only hope to make it to Austin?”

  Corbin stared at her for a long moment. Finally he relented. “Fine. I’ll be on the couch. With one eye open.”

  Monarch restrained herself from flipping him off. Five minutes later she was huddled under the covers, shivering. After spending time in front of the cozy fire, the master bedroom was drafty and cold. She imagined Corbin snuggled on the couch under a blanket, warm and toasty. God, he was an ass.

  She turned on her side, hitched the covers up to her ears and went to sleep, irritated and freezing.

  ****

  Bang!

  That night Monarch sat up from a deep sleep, roused by the loud sound. What the hell was that? Disoriented, she scanned the pitch-black room, trying to register what happened. Had it been a dream? No. There were muffled, odd sounds coming from the living room. Despite herself, she found Corbin’s presence in the house a comfort. It was nice not being all alone in the dead of night when creepy things happened. Unless, of course, Corbin was the one doing creepy things.

  “Corbin?” She called from the bed, wondering if he might have tried to get up and fallen or something, hindered by his wounded leg.

  Nothing. Silence was her only response. Small rivulets of unease traversed through her stomach. This wasn’t good.

  “Corbin!” Monarch called again. Still nothing. Her breath came in bursts as she leapt from the bed, intending to pull a loaded gun from under the sink. Something was wrong. Had someone hurt Corbin? Had he turned into a psychopath after all?

  Monarch was two steps from the bathroom door when, for the second time in twenty-four hours, she was grabbed in the darkness by a stranger. She screamed.

  It wasn’t Corbin. This man was shorter, stockier, and he smelled dreadful, the pungent odor of his sweaty body making her gag. Monarch reached near hysteria when she caught sight of an orange jumpsuit, realizing this must be Byron, a man dangerous enough that even scary Corbin suggested a gun for protection.

  Oh God!

  “Shut it, bitch!” The man hissed in her face, his breath as rank as the rest of him.

  “No! Get the hell off of me!” Monarch struggled against him with everything she had. And then, seemingly against her will, she screamed for help. From him. “Corbin!”

  The man spun her around and back handed her. Monarch saw stars, the coppery taste of blood on her tongue as she reeled from the pain. No one had ever hit her before. “Corbin ain’t gonna help you. I clubbed him good. And as soon as I have you taken care of, I’ll finish him off. I never did like that son of a bitch.”

  Byron shoved Monarch down on the bed. She was still dazed from the hit and barely struggled, managing nothing more than a moan.

  “I was just gonna strangle you real quick-like, but I think I might need to have a little fun first. A slit sure beats a man’s ugly ass any day. And I haven’t seen one in eight long years.” Byron spat as he ripped at her yoga pants.

  Monarch snapped back to life and hit at him, hissing and scratching with every ounce of energy. She couldn’t bear this man touching her, violating her. “Never! I’d rather die!”

  She could see his flat ugly face in the shadows, his beady eyes narrowed. “I bet you didn’t say that to ol’ Corbin. You opened the front door and your legs for him right away.” He ripped her shirt up, exposing her breasts to the air. She struggled harder, her right hand hitting its mark, smacking his face. Then with her left she went for his eyes, scratching with all her might.

  “Dirty little whore!”
Byron grabbed her hands, pinning them over head as he tried to shove her pants down.

  Monarch screamed and screamed, praying for death, for help, for anything to end what was happening.

  Her prayers were answered. Suddenly Corbin was there, grabbing Byron by the throat and wrenching him off her with such force both men went careening into the wall. As they both fell to the floor, violently fighting, Monarch raced toward the bathroom, desperate to reach one of the hidden guns. She only needed a few seconds, just a few seconds, and she would put a bullet right between Byron’s beady friggin’ eyes.

  She slammed into the sink, banging her knee before throwing open the cabinet door and frantically feeling for the tampon and pad boxes. After knocking them aside, her shaking fingers closed around the gun. She had never fired one before and could only hope her aim would be true.

  Monarch raced back into the bedroom where the two men were brawling. “Corbin, get off him! Now!”

  He didn’t listen to her, he had rolled on top of Byron and was punching at his face and neck.

  What should she do? She didn’t want to accidentally hit Corbin. She held her hands out, pointing the gun at the interior wall, and pulled the trigger.

  Blam! The gunshot echoed through the room, both men freezing immediately.

  “Corbin, move!”

  Corbin rolled so fast she barely saw it. There was Byron, exposed, an easy target lying on the floor. Monarch didn’t allow herself time to think, she pointed the gun at the man’s chest and fired. And then fired again. She kept firing until the gun was empty, clicking uselessly as she pulled the trigger. Blood pooled around his lifeless body.

  She cried now, tears streaming down her face as she continued pulling the trigger for no reason. Corbin got up slowly, and eased toward her. “Monarch, it’s okay. You got him.” When that didn’t work he reached over and softly placed his hand over hers. “It’s empty, Monarch. You can stop now.”

  She dropped the gun. Corbin reached for her and she collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Monarch didn’t know how long they stood there, Corbin holding her head against his chest as she cried into his flannel shirt. The feeling of his giant arms around her, so terrifying not even a day ago, now made her feel safe. It was official, she’d lost her shit.