Read Paired Objective: Matched Desire, Book 2 Online
Authors: Clare Murray
Tags: #ménage;aliens;m/f/m;sf;futuristic
“They won’t get us.”
She made a sound between a grumble and a sigh, the weight of her head increasing slightly as she relaxed against him. He stayed quiet, and Abby was out like a light in less than two minutes’ time, a sweet bundle against his side.
Chapter Three
Abby wriggled and stretched, rolling over with her eyes closed. This was the most comfortable bed she’d had in years. The pillow was a little lumpy, though.
Still in that gray stage between sleeping and waking, she slit her eyes open—then blinked. Her pillow was Cam’s jean-clad thigh, and she lay with her cheek pressed into blue denim. Early morning light filtered into the armored vehicle, which was still moving down the highway.
They were here because those two opportunistic dickwads had blown up their plane. She wondered if the two men had lived through the night. Once upon a time, she might have been concerned for them. But she’d learned there was little point worrying about strangers.
The thigh under her cheek moved incrementally, prompting Abby to wriggle to a sitting position. She felt absurdly bereft when she lost contact with Cam. Before she could overthink things she slumped back against him, glad of his warmth and support. His arm went around her immediately.
Abby let out the breath she’d been holding, letting herself snuggle into the man’s chest. There was only so much a person could take, she told herself rationally, before they needed some sort of human contact. And Cam felt safe. Safe and protective.
For now.
If she were part of his mission, he’d simply walk away once they reached the Complex. He’d no longer be obligated to put up with her.
Maybe she could finagle a job in Chicago. If the Complex was as safe as the Twins said it was, she could be happy there. She was used to hard work, so maybe they’d take her on. She’d have to find some kind of stable job—Grammie belonged safely behind high walls at her age, not gallivanting around looking for bottles of shampoo, cutlery, and whatever else they could trade for food.
“Where are we?” she asked, raking a reddish-brown lock of hair from her eyes. Her lips twisted in a slight grimace. She missed being able to dye her hair a brighter red. Hair dye was easy to scavenge. Unlike food.
“The outskirts of Columbus.” That was Russ, speaking from the driver’s seat. He’d heard her over the rumble of the engine? Impressive—but then again, these were Twins. That reminded Abby to be cautious around these men. There was a lot of hype surrounding them. She couldn’t be certain what was true and what was not.
Besides, hadn’t some of the Twins defected to the Shadow Feds?
“We planned to go around Columbus and continue on to Chicago,” Cam said. “Less trouble that way.”
“Planned?” she asked.
“Fuel’s running low,” Russ said.
So they didn’t want to stop, but they had to. Abby couldn’t blame them for being tense—she knew next to nothing about the lay of the land. After she and Mom had left Scar City and traveled east, she’d realized how fragmented things had become. Each City had rules unto itself.
Most densely populated places were fairly civilized, maintaining at least bare-bones civil services like police forces and fire departments. The president still controlled the Armed Forces and didn’t hesitate to deploy the National Guard when necessary. The latter’s ranks had swelled thanks to its policy of feeding and housing recruits.
As Abby well knew, food and safety was scarce these days.
The feeling of security she now experienced was so strange that she was briefly afraid she might be coming down with the flu or something. That would have been a death knell back in Headquarters. There was a sick bay, but it was underequipped and barely staffed.
The van jolted over a series of potholes, rocking Abby against Cam. He seemed to be all hard muscle, holding her tight so that she didn’t fly halfway across the vehicle. Still, when they hit another series of bumps, she wound up half in his lap.
“Sorry,” she gasped.
“Don’t even think about being sorry,” he muttered. His grin as she looked up, startled, was equal parts mischievous and amused.
He was flirting with her? That was both surprising and thrilling. After her fiancé had died, Abby had thought herself done with romance. For the past few months, all excess emotion had been tied up in simply trying to survive—and dodging the lechery of the worst senators.
When she squirmed in his lap, Cam shuffled her back to his side. Abby tried not to let her disappointment show—she’d been comfortable and warm in his arms. At some point in the night, he’d wrapped her in a blanket, a gesture so thoughtful it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Easy now,” Cam murmured, and she realized she was clinging to his arm with a white-knuckled grip. She forced herself to relax somewhat, but couldn’t bring herself to let go. This man—these men—were safety personified. She looked up at him through the growing sunlight and was suddenly overcome.
“Thank you for rescuing me. I couldn’t have stood it a minute longer. It was terrible. People were so desperate, and some of the senators were awful.” Abby knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “I had to get out. Had to get away. I-I knew I might die, but I couldn’t stay there—”
With expert finesse, Cam tilted her face upward and shut her up with a kiss. When she grabbed his head and deepened it, he made a slight sound of surprised encouragement against her lips.
Abby couldn’t get enough. He tasted of smoke and kissed like the devil himself. She just wanted to lose herself in him. She slid her fingers through his short-cropped hair, needing this too much to care how she might come across.
When they came apart, she realized the armored van had come to a complete halt. Russ stared back at them from the front seat, exactly as handsome and sexy as his brother. Abby swallowed, going a little weak at the thought of
both
of them…
No. She was behaving like a crazy woman. Shakily, she sat back. “Sorry.”
“There’s no need for an apology. He started it,” Russ said.
Cam only smiled. His full attention remaining on her, he eased away but kept his arm lightly around her waist. In the driver’s seat, Russ turned to face the road.
The van started off again. This time, the silence was charged. Abby wondered whether Cam would kiss her again if she started to babble, or if the gesture had simply been a substitute for the stereotypical slap administered to hysterical women. Maybe Russ would climb in the back and kiss her next time. Her loins clenched at the thought. Wasn’t there something to those rumors?
“Don’t Twins share their women? Slater and—” Abby cut herself off with a flinch.
Mentioning the names of the Twins who’d defected from the Complex to Headquarters was probably a harebrained idea.
“Slater and Arden?”
“You know them?”
The Twins spoke at the same time. Abby’s gaze flicked between them as she reluctantly nodded. Although they’d thrown their lot in with the Shadow Feds, Slater and Arden had displayed remarkable kindness to the servants. Once, she’d come across them comforting a servant who’d been clubbed over the head by an annoyed senator. The Twins had applied ice, tending him gently and with patience. Abby had lingered, hidden behind a door, to listen. She’d thought the Twins would be angry for sure when the young man asked if they shared their bed partners. But they hadn’t. They’d simply said
yes
, the word spoken at the same time in two masculine voices.
Maybe that incident was what formulated her general opinion of Twins. When Cam had swept her into his arms and carried her from Headquarters, she’d sensed he meant her no harm. Of course, mentioning Grammie helped too.
There was no denying the sheer animal attraction between them now. She had never been so turned on from a mere kiss. The way Cam’s jeans tented was proof he’d been affected too.
Abby told herself to quit being an idiot—just because Cam kissed her didn’t mean Russ wanted her too. And all the rumors said
both
Twins had to be attracted to the person they shared. Besides, she had no idea if Russ could kiss like his brother.
She wasn’t likely to find out any time soon either, because they were rolling into what passed as civilization these days.
“Roadblock ahead,” Russ said. He rolled down the window, tucked his hand casually into his jacket pocket. He was ready to draw if necessary. That lent Abby some much-needed confidence—if it had been up to her, she would have turned around and driven off at the sight of two assault-rifle-wielding soldiers.
“We’re in an armored van,” she whispered. “It’s bulletproof. Chill, Abby.”
When Cam squeezed her, she realized he’d overheard that whisper, even over the sound of the engine and voices outside. Although she wanted to writhe in mortification, she leaned into the embrace, grateful for his support especially when Russ allowed the soldiers to open up the back of the van to conduct a quick visual search. Their flat gazes swept over them without changing.
“All right, you’re granted a twenty-four hour pass,” one of the soldiers said. She handed Russ a scribbled slip of paper. “We have to regulate traffic through this City because of past problems.”
“Problems?” Russ inquired.
The soldier shrugged. “Move on, civilian. Time’s wasting.”
From the way Cam tensed against her, Abby suspected he was communicating telepathically with his brother. Would Russ push back, demand answers? The soldiers either hadn’t cottoned on that they were Twins or didn’t care, though Abby suspected the former. The woman had infused the word
civilian
with an extra bite.
She reminded herself that not everyone had the warm fuzzies toward Twins. Some viewed them as tools of a corrupt government. Most were wary around them, knowing the men were genetically modified to be far stronger and faster than a normal human.
Russ stared at the soldier a moment longer before accelerating past the roadblock toward Cleveland’s high walls.
* * * * *
Inside Headquarters, everything was regulated down to the minute, from mealtimes to the biweekly walk in the gardens each indentured servant was allowed for the purposes of getting natural Vitamin D from sunlight. She’d forgotten what it was like to be in control of her own life.
Or as in control as it was possible to be with no money and very few possessions. And, she amended, flicking a glance at the Twins, in the company of two very Alpha males who didn’t seem overly eager to let her go out of their sight. Not even to help them scope out the gas station they were parked next to.
That was a problem, because she was determined to wrest back a semblance of control.
“So how about I go around the corner to the market?” she asked. “I’m positive someone there will buy a commtab or two. I’d feel a lot more confident if I had some money of my own.”
That way if she had to make a break from the Twins, she stood a chance of getting to Chicago by herself.
“Can’t risk it,” Russ said bluntly. “The Shadow Feds might trace us that way. The commtabs are switched off now, but a buyer will want to turn them on, make sure they work before the purchase.”
Abby watched Russ fuel up the van, mulling that over. Each commtab had access to Headquarters’ internal system, although a member of the public wouldn’t be able to log on unless they had a username and password. That meant they’d have to wipe the device clean and install something usable, which would bring the price down.
It was also possible that one of their techs would get a parallel system up and running in the next few days. Abby wasn’t stupid enough to think they wouldn’t have backed up their data. Any tracers they might have on the commtabs might still be accessible.
Which meant she’d have to sell these puppies soon, or not at all.
Russ leaned against the van’s hood, fixing her with an enigmatic gaze as she climbed through the open side door to stretch her legs. She resisted the urge to stare back, pacing instead. Ten medium steps up the length of the van, ten steps back, treading on asphalt so cracked it was mostly dirt inside one huge pothole.
At least the fuel pumps still worked, protected by two gun-toting civilians who were likely employed by the station’s owner. The attached convenience store looked to be thoroughly looted and deserted.
Shame. She would kill for a candy bar right about now. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for ages. Abby altered her trajectory so that she could pace by the broken windows of the little store.
Nothing on the shelves remained. Not that she’d expected anything different. When Mom was alive, they’d stuck to looting small towns where the pickings weren’t as slim as a fallen city’s. Of course, then they’d had to contend with the presence of the Barks, holing up each night while praying the aliens wouldn’t sniff them out. Ironically, in the end, Mom hadn’t died a violent death. She’d gotten sick—probably cancer, not that they could have diagnosed it—and died relatively quickly and peacefully.
Abby had looted the hell out of a drugstore to make the
peaceful
part possible. Morphine and more morphine had let Mom die in peace.
A cracked windowpane reflected Russ’s approach, briefly bisecting his image so that there were two of him. She nearly laughed. Triplets. Now that would be something. She stood and watched him approach, his closely cropped hair barely ruffling in the heavy wind. It was strange to feel fresh air, even stranger to recognize the heaviness before a storm. How long had it been since she’d stood in the rain?
“Abby. Come with me now. We’re done here.”
It took the firmness of Russ’s hands on her shoulders to jar her out of her melancholy. He steered her away from the long-broken glass and across the cracked pavement of the gas station. All at once, Abby whirled to face him.
“How do you know my grandmother?” she demanded.
“Cam flew the cargo plane that picked her up out of Scar City.”
The answer was quick and easy, sounding very much like the truth. But Grammie would never have left her house willingly, even if the City was falling down around her ears. Had these men kidnapped her? Was the reigning government just as bad as the Shadow Feds?
If so, Abby couldn’t go with the Twins. The thought of being manacled again, of being stuck underground, made her want to retch. She had no proof Grammie was alive—the info they had could have been dug up in the elderly woman’s house. Had they looted her house when Scar City had fallen?