Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1 (15 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Adam wasn’t breaking up with her. Or passing her along to his friends. She took a deep breath. Instead, he wanted to invite another man into their bed so they could both have sex with her at the same time.

Yikes.

She scrubbed the countertop harder.
Oh, forget it.
She threw down the sponge. She wasn’t going to think about this right now.
Later.
She’d think about this later. Right now, she needed a break from all the drama. It was too much.

Rachel finished tidying up the kitchen, grabbed her iPod and solar charger, some snacks and water, and went outside. She’d spied a sad and unkempt garden the day they’d driven up, like a secret garden that needed a friend to bring it back to life. She knew a little about gardening from summers spent helping her grandmother tend to hers, and if she was going to ever eat tomatoes, bell pepper and zucchini ever again, she knew she’d better get cracking.

Her shoes crunched on the soil as she walked around the side of the house. The weather was nice today. Spring was always so changeable, rain one minute, fluffy clouds the next, but today was dry and warm. She lifted her chin, loving the feel of sun of her face.

The garden was on the other side of the driveway and consisted of two large raised beds surrounded by a high fence. There was a shed filled with plenty of equipment and irrigation materials. She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. Half the plants were brown and weeds choked each row of vegetables.

“Shit.” She sighed. “This is going to be a big job.”

Thirty minutes later, a dark image caught the corner of Rachel’s vision. Concerned, she threw down the trowel and popped out her earplugs. A low animal growl hit her ears. A steady, monotonous drum. Like a lawnmower. Her hands froze and her breath turned choppy. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” she muttered.

The rumble turned snarly. Louder. Dangerous and violent.

Swallowing against the golf ball-sized lump in her throat, Rachel peered over the plants she’d been weeding. Three large dogs crowded the entrance to her garden and more fanned the outside perimeter.

Pets gone wild.

Dammit
. Not again. Why her? Shit, this was starting to feel personal.

Her eyes darted to the open gate. Son of a bitch. Why had she brought that snack food along for any passing animal to smell and left the entrance to the garden wide open? And where was the walkie-talkie? She patted her pockets. Where was it?

Shit. She might as well have put out a sign—here doggy, doggy. Come and eat me.

A shiny black Doberman stood in front of the pack. It stepped forward, blocking her only escape. Its body a perfect muscular specimen of the breed with straight-up pointy ears and a thick leather collar. If the thing were cleaner, it could have been a show dog. Someone’s prized possession. Someone’s spoiled pet. The dog had probably lived a cushier life than she ever had. But now, it looked mean and feral, with ribs standing out in relief, ready to tear her apart over a bite of food.

Dark lips folded back to reveal black gums and dense rows of snapping sharp teeth.

A mangy German shepherd backed the Doberman, bringing along his friend, a stocky pit-bull mix. They flanked their leader like two mob enforcers ready for a fight. She could almost hear them cracking their knuckles.

Her stomach went into free fall. “Oh shit,” she whispered. Fight-or-flight kicked in. A reaction she’d grown used to since her life had been shaken up and stirred like the interior of a snow globe.

She’d survived this once before, she could survive it again.

The only exit was blocked. The three men she lived with were at the barn milking cows. Would they hear her cry for help? Probably not. The walkie-talkie wasn’t next to her either. She’d left it next to the pile of tools, right where the dogs were all standing. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together, and breathed through her nose.

Her mind flew over the options.
What else…what else? Wait. The shed behind her. She panted in relief. Far, but not too far. Could she make it? She wiggled her toes. Thank God she’d put tennis shoes on today. It was her only chance.

The Doberman broke the silence with a vicious snarl and leapt forward, muscles bunching, black inky eyes focused on her with unerring intensity.

Rachel screamed at the top of her lungs. She scrambled to her feet and ran. Faster than ever before. Like a track star or a quarterback. Like her life depended on it. Because it did. She sprinted, feet flying, muscles screaming in agony as she lunged for the shed and the sweet salvation of sturdy metal doors.

Omigod! Omigod!

The dogs were right on her heels, a din of sounds ringing in her ears—barking, growling, snarling, claws grinding in dirt. The pack rushed behind her, eager to take her down.

She fell into the door with a metallic clash and groped for the handle. Rachel threw it open and immediately turned behind it and pulled it closed, creating a shield against the chasing animals. Bodies slammed against the portal in front of her. Claws screeched along the exterior.

She braced her shoulder against the door and planted her legs in the dirt floor, pushing against the weight of three feral dogs trying to pound their way inside. Immediately, she knew she was outnumbered. They were too big and powerful. She groaned as a wet black nose snorted next to her hands through an open crack in the door. A mouth full of sharp fangs wedged in the widening gap. A hot breath flew out of her mouth. Her sweaty hands lost purchase and her shoes skidded across the ground as the door started to fall open.
Oh no!
A sharp claw swept over her arm, leaving a trail of burning scratches.

Rachel’s vision blurred as fear overwhelmed her senses. This was it. She wasn’t going to make it.

Chapter Nineteen

A shot rang out, and an inhuman whine pierced the air. The snarling jaw in the doorway slipped out and fell. There was a second shot, and she heard a yelp and the thud of another animal dropping to the ground.

Adam? Relief flashed through her veins. She turned and leaned her forehead against the inside wall of the sweltering shed, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Trying not to cry.

“Yeah, you’d better get the hell outta here!” a deep voice bellowed.

It was Adam. Never again would she tease him about his ginormous gun collection. Or the fact that he made her jog every morning. Between the two, he’d probably just saved her life.

Again.

“Rachel? Rachel!” Adam yanked the door open.

She swayed and blinked up at him as light flooded in. He tipped his rifle to the ground and stared hard into her eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she managed. Her bottom lip quivered. Damn, how many times had he seen her cry since they’d met? Too many. She wished she could stop. Turn off the waterworks by pressing an easy button. But how did you get over all this crap, get over being chased and almost killed by a pack of dogs, get over the end of the world? It wasn’t like she could go to therapy, the therapists were dead too.

Adam’s hard face softened. He pulled her in tight and she leaked all over his shirt. “Thank you.” she stammered, shoulders shaking. “If you hadn’t gotten here when you did…”

“Shh, it’s fine.” He rested his chin on top of her head. One hand petted her hair. “I’m just happy I got here in time. Jesus, you scared the crap out of me. Seeing those dogs after you, knowing they’d cornered you in the shed. You’re not hurt, are you? Any bites or scratches?” He leaned to the side so his eyes could scan her body.

“I’m fine. Just a scratch on my arm.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he examined her wound. “I want you to go inside, wash this and spread Neosporin on it.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Just do it.”

“But it’s just—”

“Do it, Rachel,” he said firmly.

“Okay.” She exhaled.

He engulfed her small hand with large fingers, “Let’s get out of here.”

Rachel shielded her eyes with an open palm as Adam tugged her into the bright sunshine. She stepped over the dead Doberman and pit-bull and warily scanned the chain-link fence, looking for any lingering sign of the demon dogs that had attacked her moments before.

“Don’t worry, they’re all running scared—” His words broke off as he glanced over his shoulder and spied the walkie-talkie and her lonely bag of snack food sitting in the dirt next to her tools.
Uh, oh.
She chewed her bottom lip.

Fun-and-games Adam left the house.

Permanently.

“Why isn’t the gate locked?” Adam snapped. “And why is the walkie-talkie over there and not on you? Where’s the goddamn pepper spray?”

Her stomach dropped into her shoes. She swallowed at the lump in her throat and tried to think of a really smart excuse. “Well, um…”

“What the hell happened here?” a booming voice interrupted their Q and A. Rachel jumped and turned her head to see Christian and Trevor pounding into the garden like two avenging angels.

“Great,” she whispered. “Now they can all gang up on me.”

“What the fuck?” Trevor exploded. His head jerked toward the two dead dogs and back to her. Perfect lips formed a hard line. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Just shaken up, that’s all.” She smiled involuntarily and rubbed sweaty palms down the front of her shorts.

Christian walked around slowly, examining the scene like he was on an episode of a
CSI:
Crime Scene Investigation
. Penetrating obsidian eyes bore into hers and then darted to Adam. “What happened?” he questioned.

“At least five dogs entered the garden and attacked Rachel. I walked out of the garage and heard her scream. I grabbed my rifle and ran over. They had her trapped in the shed. I killed two and the others ran off,” Adam reported, ticking off the events with military precision.

“Yeah. What he said,” Rachel quipped. It bugged the hell out of her when they didn’t let her speak. And she’d started to notice that when the three of them were all together, they did it often.

“You ran and held them off in the shed?” Christian asked.

Rachel nodded.

“Smart,” he commented.

She tried not to smile, but there it was, stuck on her face like glue. Praise from Christian? She may have only known him for three days, but she could already tell receiving this was as rare as a store that hadn’t been looted.

All three of them stood around her now, forming a semi-circle, looming over her like giant redwood trees. Yep, the world had ended, everyone had died from a freakish virus, and she’d been left alone with three alpha men. Was this a blessing or a curse? Depended on which day of the week you asked.

Christian looked confused. “How did they get in?”

She opened her mouth, but Adam cut her off. “She left the gate wide open and brought beef jerky to snack on.”

She gasped in indignation. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus.”

Adam took a step toward her, face hard, eyes blazing. She moved back. “Hell of a lot of good that fence did to protect you when you can’t even be bothered to lock the fucking gate.”

Rachel sighed. “I know, I know,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What did you say?” He eyed her suspiciously.

She met his gaze. “I said I know and I’m sorry.”

“You could have been killed, Rachel,” he said, his voice deepening. “Next time I might not be so close.”

All three men frowned at her like a school girl in the principal’s office.

“Are we done cataloguing my errors?” she asked.

“Rachel, it’s just that—” Trevor said.

“I’m the only female any of you have seen alive, so you’re overprotective? I know, we’ve been over this before.” If it were up to them, she’d be inside all day, covered in bubble wrap.

“She’s right,” Christian pronounced.

“I am?”

“Maybe we
are
overprotective.”

She raised an eyebrow. This was way too easy. Even she knew they weren’t being overprotective, she’d been stupid and could have gotten herself killed.

“Rachel, there’s a way for you to put our minds at rest, a way for you to get more space and for us to be certain of your safety. A win-win situation.”

She lifted her chin. “Go on.”

“You could agree to carry a gun at all times.”

Her eyes darted to Adam. Had he told them? He’d promised he wouldn’t. Her gaze returned to Christian. “I’ve already told you I can’t do that. Why do you guys keep bringing it up?” She’d admitted to the other men that she feared guns, but she hadn’t said why. They didn’t know about her past or her phobia, and she planned on keeping it that way.

“Probably because it’s a great idea,” Trevor said with a dazzling smile full of movie-star teeth. “Help us—” he jabbed both pointer fingers at his chest, “—to help you,” then pointed both of them at her.

“Oh,
please
,” she groaned.

“Rachel,” Adam cut in. “The pepper-spray idea didn’t work. You need to listen to us for once and stop being so damn stubborn about this. We all carry a pistol. Why not you? Hell, you need it more than we do. If you don’t have the walkie-talkie for some reason, at least you’ll be packing.”

He was right. She
should
have a gun at her hip in this world gone mad. Of course, it made sense. But Trevor and Christian didn’t know her history. They didn’t know what had happened the last time she’d fired a pistol. It was so long ago
she
hardly remembered, the memories of six-year-old girls being naturally fuzzy and unreliable. But the gut-wrenching fear and agony remained vivid in her adult brain.

“Rachel?” A hand cupped her shoulder. Adam leaned his head close to hers and pulled her into his embrace. Oh, it felt so damn good. She’d never tire of resting her cheek against his hard chest. She inhaled his familiar scent. Soap. Toothpaste. A hint of coffee.

“You’ve seen me,” she whispered so only he could hear, anxiety flooding her senses. Imaginary walls enclosed around her, boxing in tight. “You know I can’t do it.”

Dammit, she wasn’t Annie Oakley or Billy-the-fucking-Kid. Guns were those things people used in movies. But now her world had shifted, tilted on its axis. And her greatest nightmare—having to fire a gun—kept popping up like Jason from a
Friday the 13th
movie.

Adam inhaled deeply and blew out a sigh of resignation. “There’s something else. Trevor and Christian found tire tracks on the road in front of the farm. They were fresh. Also, we found a few cigarette butts. It looks like there was a car out there, with how many people, we don’t know. This could be good, or this could be bad.”

“More people?” she exclaimed.

“Someone with unknown intentions scoping us out. Hopefully, they’ll have positive intentions.”

“Or it could mean we all need to watch our backs,” Christian pointed out.

“Rachel?” Trevor said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips. “You do realize this is an intervention. Right? We want you safe.”

Oh God
. Her flush increased from a sixty to a hundred-megawatt bulb. His words hit like a slap on the face. She let go of Adam and stepped back, all wound up and raring to go. “An intervention?” Her voice grew louder, strident. “I’m not some raving drug addict you need to ship off to Betty Ford. I’m just afraid of guns. Okay? Lots of people are—” she paused, “—or were.”

She swallowed to slow her erratic breathing and looked around at the three men, all staring at her with varying degrees of pity.

“I don’t need your help. I’m fine,” she said. “I can take care of myself.” Of course it was total bullshit, but maybe if she said it enough, it would become real.

“Rachel…” Adam looked at her like she was a person he might need to 5150.

Depression crept back in—an old friend she couldn’t shake. Being near a gun, thinking of guns, especially a pistol that looked too much like the other one…it brought back all the old feelings. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to remember her calming techniques. She reined in her demons and gritted out between clenched teeth, “It’s hard… It’s hard for me, guys. Thank you for your help. I’m not saying no. I’m saying…” Her stomach turned to jelly, but she was determined to get the last words out. They were right. She needed to get past this. Somehow. “I’m saying I’ll think about it.”

Adam met her eyes with a warm gaze.

Oh God.
The fear was clawing her up inside, with deep grooves.

“All of us want you to be safe,” Adam said. “I’ll train you, and you’ll know what to do the next time those dogs, or anything or anyone, comes around.” His lips, those gorgeous lips, tipped up at the corners.

“Okay,” she forced out.

What had she just gotten herself into?