AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Nope.”
“Is something going on with you?”
“Nothing is going on with me,” I lie. “And even if there was, it’s none of your damn business.”
“It’s my business whether you like it or not.”
Furious, I grab my things and storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of my soul, I know I’m being irrational. I’m so racked with guilt over Maisy, I’m punishing Alistair because I hold him responsible for bringing me here to live a good, cushy life while my sister…
I shake my head because the moment I feel sympathy for that man, I’ll hate myself even more. This isn’t about his happiness or mine, it’s about Maisy, and if I want to get her to safety, I’m going to need to negotiate.
* * *
ALISTAIR
Being forced to spend time at the apartment I share with Britney is torture.
I’d kill a legion of dead if it meant I got to avoid stepping into Britney’s territory.
Which is what this apartment is.
After she disappeared into the bedroom three hours ago, I’ve drunk beer, watched football games, and tried to come up with guilt-free excuses for leaving this fucked up arrangement.
But if I do, there’s no telling what the man who claims her next will do to her, and I promised I’d take care of her.
Caspian isn’t a bad dude. A little rough around the edges, but he’d take care of Britney. And who knows, the women around here have a way of changing men. It was rare that I’d witness that before the apocalypse, but here, in the Keep, it’s undeniable.
Gage is the most extreme example. He’d do anything for Remi, and while deep down he’s still a beast, for her, he’s whatever she wants him to be.
Ironically, I never had to change. I’m not pretending to be perfect, but before the dead rose, I was known as a pretty decent guy. I can’t recall a single girlfriend that held any ill will toward me. Women loved me, moms adored me, fathers tolerated me well enough.
But Britney can hardly stand being in the same room as me, which is ironic considering she was working in a brothel before I showed up.
There’s no point in dwelling on it. We’re like an old married couple that’s grown to hate each other over the years.
Except I don’t hate Britney. Just the opposite. I’d do anything to make her happy, but that’s not an option for her. She’s determined to be miserable every day of her damn life because she doesn’t have control over it.
And I can’t say I blame her. We were all dealt shitty hands. The problem is, she blames hers on me. Which isn’t fair.
Even before the apocalypse, everything came with a cost. If a woman wanted to stay at home with three ankle biters? Fine. Get married, be faithful, cook meals, clean the house, and suck some cock. If a man wanted a hot chick? Put a ring on it and make six-figures. Nothing was free. The biggest difference between the world before and now is that we used to have more control over the terms.
I recline on the couch, determined to get through another night. I’m exhausted, even though I didn’t complete the baby-making assignment. That’s just not happening.
Well, maybe it is. In a Catholic sense.
I shove my hand down my pants and ride the length of my cock, replaying the same scene in my head that I do each night.
It’s not Britney wrapped around a pole or in skimpy lingerie. It’s her settled into my nook as I breathe in the perfume of her hair, and it’s not just lust she feels. She knows she’s safe with me and that I’ll do anything to protect her.
She wants to be here just as badly as I want her here and we live lives that aren’t controlled by fear, and when I fuck her, which is often, we turn the goddamn universe over on its head.
But that vision just ain’t cutting it tonight. Our interactions have left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I just can’t see her the way I used to.
Instead of her sweet smile, I imagine her lip curled up in a sneer as she saunters towards me, wearing only a pair of flimsy black panties, her blonde hair cascading over her perky tits.
Sure, she hates me, but she has needs.
