Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

Damn. Not the usual god-fearers. Plan B. “Listen fuckers. I’m a hybrid nymph. And I’m hungry enough to dine on your low-grade sap.”

Pencil Neck yanked back my head and wedged the gun barrel in my mouth, prying it open, gagging me. “No mutated bits in there. Aw God, her throat is perfect.” He shut my jaw and turned the gun back to Roark. “She’s going to take my cock in that sweet throat.” He thrust his enlarged groin against my hip. “While her soldier of Christ watches. If he behaves, he can have a go at her ass while we take turns filling her cunt. And I can see the weapons under that coat. Those come off first.”

I met Roark’s eyes. I’d seen that torment before. In my father’s basement.

“No, Evie.”

I rubbed my wrists. I failed Joel. I wouldn’t fail Roark. I removed the weapons and cloak. Roark didn’t lower his eyes from mine when I shed my shirt. The frigid air trailed cold fingers along my scar. Would its hideousness be enough of a diversion? I puffed out my chest.

Broken Nose made a choking sound. “Holy fuck.”

Wide-eyed, Pencil Neck lowered his barrel to bend down for a closer look. I shot my shin up and out, cracking his jaw. Then I kicked again, knocking the shotgun from his grasp and catching it before it dropped.

Broken Nose fired as Roark dove. Confetti of books showered the far side of the room. I flipped the shotgun and reached for the trigger.

“Den’ shoot.” Roark fisted the sword, angled like a hatchet over Broken Nose’s bowed head.

“Fuck that.” I shoved the shotgun against the other man’s trembling chest.

“If we kill them, we’re no different than they are.”

“You have no idea what kind of monster I am.” I put pressure on the trigger.

“Look at them. Look close. What do ye see?”

I looked into the eyes of the man who was willing to take turns raping me. A wet sheen rose over his gaze and broke free in one pathetic plop on his sunken cheek.

“Fear,” I said, “follows evil, and its punishment.”

“It also follows suffering. It weakens a man, makes him desperate. They’re scared, lass. Just like ye. And me.”

My trigger finger wobbled, strengthened. “If we don’t kill them, they’ll come after us.”

“No more blood, Evie. We’ll tie them up, find another way.”

Something moved near Roark’s boot. Broken Nose’s hand twitched over the hem of his bunched-up pant leg. Then a flash of metal. Another goddamn gun.

I swung my aim and fired. His broken nose burst in bits of bone and flesh. A pitted flap of skin hung from his chin, quivering on his neck. His body toppled to the floor.

Pencil Neck launched, barreled into me. His hand wrestled mine for the aim of the shot gun. He was stronger, had more leverage. The barrel rose up, up, up until I was staring into the dark hollow tubes.

The sword whistled behind me. The shotgun dropped, followed by Pencil Neck’s too-large head.

Adrenaline drained from my shaking limbs as I scooted away from the headless corpse. I dressed and strapped on my weapons, fearful of meeting Roark’s eyes.

He was crouched over the bodies, murmuring what I presumed to be Last Rites. When he stood, I approached his back and leaned my forehead against it. His body stilled.

“I’m sorry.” For jumping off his bike. For the blood on his sword. For hiding my scar.

He stepped away and scooped up my abandoned books. “We’re leaving.”

I stepped out of the bathroom. The sweatshirt and cotton pants did little to calm my shivering from the ice-cold shower. Roark sat on the edge of the bed, already showered and in his wool robe.

His gaze swiveled to mine. “Come here.”

When I sat next to him, he gripped me in a painful hug.

“Roark—”

“We have scads to discuss.” He released me. “But right now, I can’t get past the scar.” His fingers yanked through his wet curls. “Tell me that’s not the wee cut ye were stitching the night we met?”

I lowered my eyes.

“Bloody hell. Why?” He knelt before me. “I was right here. I could’ve helped ye. I should’ve helped ye.”

“Well.” I shrugged. “I was still trying to get over the fact that some bastard wanted to give me a mastectomy. I wasn’t really in a trusting mood.”

His jaw set. Red spots bloomed on his neck and cheeks. “And now? If it happened now, would ye let me?”

I cupped his face and rubbed my thumbs over his whiskers. “Of course, I would. I trust you.”

“Then show me the scar. I want to see it.”

I arched my eyebrows and tried to hide my surfacing nerves with humor. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

“Ach, I’m not coddin’ ye. I can’t be more serious in me request.”

“Okay.” I threw up my hands. “Fine.”

He remained on his knees, eyes on mine.