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Cool wind swishes past us. The jungle around us is like a dark cave. But in this moment, I feel more determined than ever, knowing that Callie is right behind me, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
Crone didn’t bother us the entire day, so it was surreal to spend it with Callie. Just the two of us. Locked up in the bungalow. Not letting her get dressed. Not letting her leave the bed except to eat when the maids brought food. Then having my way with her body again. Making love. Kissing her endlessly. Talking. Torturing her with slow caresses. Then fucking her again until we could barely breathe. All the time aware that we might be dragged out of the bungalow any moment. Which made it so much more urgent and intense.
Four? Five? I don’t remember how many times I took her, because I never let her farther than one foot away from me.
I grin against the wind.
Another half an hour, and we are riding downhill as the road starts widening. I pull the ATV to the side of the road and kill the engine.
“We’ll walk the rest of the way,” I say, helping Callie down. There might be security. We can’t take chances. Even if there are cameras surrounding the town, we will be less obvious without an ATV that is a dead giveaway.
We walk fast. Heads low. Callie’s hand in mine.
“Don’t look up. Don’t pay attention to anyone,” I say quietly as we enter the streets.
It’s dark, barely any lights, but plenty of voices around. The smell of burnt rubber mixes with the stench of waste. The deeper we get into the streets, the louder and brighter it gets. Music blasts from a distant corner.
Several stray dogs lift their heads off the dirt and sniff in our direction like they can tell we are not from here. A group of older men stare at us but continue talking and drinking.
Life goes on even in the ghettos. Except, while the rich carry on, it’s the poorest that feel the blow the hardest, sink lower, but still somehow manage to live on.
It gets brighter as we get closer to the central part of the town, where most shops and businesses are closed for the night, but the air is thick with smoke and humidity—taverns and food stalls are busy.
I scan the street as we skirt the building, trying to be discreet. We look like tourists. There haven’t been tourists in these parts since the Change. And most young nice-looking people come from the resort. Everyone knows that.
My eyes dart to a building up ahead with a bright Coco Lounge sign,open doors, and a group of people smoking outside but—shit—all tall and buff, military cuts.
I yank Callie by the hand toward a dark alleyway, taking a detour.
And suddenly, I hear it…
The music is like a drifting breeze coming from different directions.
Butthatsong isn’t.
It’s a slap from the past.
It’s haunting.
It stops me in my tracks as I pull Callie toward me in a hug, and we stand still amidst the smoke and darkness of the back alley.
My heart pumps in my chest at the sound that, four years ago, was so magical but reminds me of the night that became a tragedy.
“Kai,” Callie whispers, her cheek pressed to my shoulder.
She hears it too. It’s closer than the other songs, somewhere a block away, blasting from the second floor—that Doja tune that haunted me while the world was falling apart.
“It’s my favorite song,” Callie whispers. She knows why we stopped.
“I know,” I say, wanting to stay together for a minute.
“That night,” Callie’s voice cracks when she speaks, “I danced to that song for you. Knowing you watched me. Wanting Archer and Jules to disappear off the face of the earth.”
I close my eyes at the words, then press my lips to her forehead.
“I know,” I whisper.
Everything dissipates for a moment as we stand in the middle of the dark dirty alley—Callie, me, and the memories.
