CHAPTER ONE ~ Free Read: Hard-Pressed by Queenie Black

HARD-PRESSED

Club Hard, 1

Queenie Black Copyright © 2019

Chapter One 

Rose

I mounted the six shallow steps and faced the double front doors. Twin carriage lights cast a soft gleam over the brass plaque with its discrete lettering:

Club Hard
Private Members Only

I desperately wanted to run back down the steps, leap into my car, and drive home, but if I did, nothing would change, and I’d go back to dividing my time between working out, Candy Crush Saga, and the occasional night out with my friends. I might miss out on learning something about myself, something that could make a difference in my sex life. Worse, I might miss a chance at love.

I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, but the insides of my hands were so damp, my finger slipped on the brass bell, setting off a short, discordant jangling. I winced as I rang it again properly this time. That certainly wouldn’t endear me to anyone.

Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating in my toes, I looked around. Behind me, the gravel drive snaked away to a discreet carpark, and trees and shrubs created shadows within shadows. Autumn had finally reached London and in this exclusive part of it, crisp, clean air and earthy leaf mulch replaced the smell of fast food and exhaust.

I shifted again, starting to get irritated. If you were going to demand a woman wear nothing but a skirt that barely covered her butt, and a top that was little more than a bit of elastic bandage—on me it was ridiculous, if I sneezed, I’d pop out over the top—then you should damn well open the door promptly. Now, despite wearing my warmest coat over the absurd ensemble, there was a distinct draught zipping under my hem and freezing my exposed butt cheeks.

I lifted my finger to stab the bell again, and the door swung open.

Bloody hell. A real butler. I was no stranger to mansions with staff. Working as a bodyguard meant I saw the inside of a lot of wealthy homes, but so far, a liveried butler was a new one to me.

“Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat, wondering if there was any etiquette for addressing a butler, aware that my finger was still lurking in the vicinity of his eye. “Umm, I’m, ah, it’s Ms. Dainty. To see Mr. Dufort. I’m expected.”

He waved me through into a large marble-floored hall with a fire burning at one side. A wide, elegant staircase at the back curved away to the upper floors.

“I’ll inform Mr. Dufort that you’re here, if you’d like to take a seat.” He indicated a collection of sofas and easy chairs huddled as if for warmth around the fireplace. I made a beeline for the heat.

“May I take your coat?”

I crossed my arms tightly. No way was I exposing my scantily clad self. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a bit cold.”

“I see my guest has arrived, Henry.”

I turned away from the fire to see Lucien Dufort crossing the hall toward me. The floor seemed to drop a few inches and I had to grab the back of a chair to steady myself as his delicious, rich chocolate voice with its faint French accent wound around me, setting my heart hammering.

A tall, elegant man, he moved toward me with predatory intent, covering the floor in loose, confident strides, but it was his eyes that held my gaze, dark eyes, sharp with intelligence and power. He wasn’t a handsome man. His narrow-bladed Gallic nose, inherited from his mother, was slightly overlarge for that, but his lips were sensual, and the mix of tenderness and lust in his expression as he looked at me sent electric tingles charging down my spine.

“Rose, welcome to Club Hard.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his tongue flickering into the little hollow between my two smallest fingers, mimicking the act of sex. Normally, that would be an instant turn-off, but when Lucien did it, everything inside me melted. I tugged my hand free and shoved it into my coat pocket. This was bad. We hadn’t even started yet and my hormones were doing a happy dance.

“Your coat, ma petite.”

I undid the buttons reluctantly and he stripped it off my shoulders, giving it to Henry before indicating my feet. “Barefoot, please.”

I obeyed, steadying myself with one hand on Lucien’s forearm. I could have rested it there all day, enjoying the feel of thick bone and the flex of hard muscles, but I quickly unzipped my boots and gave them to Henry, who took them as solemnly as if I was handing him the crown jewels for safekeeping. He disappeared, taking my things with him, and I stood shivering, waiting for Lucien to say or do something. I shouldn’t have felt vulnerable. I fought with this amount of flesh on display, so it shouldn’t have bothered me, yet insecurity and apprehension crept hand-in-hand up my spine. “Lucien?”

He cupped my chin, his palm warm and sure, his thumb stroking my cheekbone in a gesture I found calming. “Tonight, you will address me as Monsieur, or Sir.” His words sank deep inside me, reaching a place I wasn’t aware existed. A place I didn’t want to believe existed. I stepped back, dislodging his hand.

Lucien’s cheek creased in amusement. “So, ma belle perle, the challenge begins. Are you ready?”

No, of course, I’m not ready. Instead, I said, “Bring it on.”

Lucien’s sharp gaze zeroed in on my hands which were clasped tightly at my waist to hide their faint tremor, and I was reminded that nothing escaped this man’s notice. Thankfully, all he said was, “Follow me.”

He led me out of the hall and through an oak-paneled reception area, nodding briefly at the man behind the desk. Then we were in a short corridor where I noted the doors were marked with locker room and toilet symbols. A man wearing a uniform that identified him as housekeeping staff exited what looked like a broom closet. I nodded at him, but he missed it, his gaze fixed on Lucien’s

back. The hairs on my neck prickled. Man, if ever someone’s look needed to be classified as poisonous, it was his.

At the end of the corridor, Lucien pushed a large, carved wooden door open and indicated I should precede him. I stepped through and stopped short, my mild apprehension segueing into deeper anxiety.

The room, which seemed to extend along the whole of the back of the building, was filled with the sound of edgy music. The throb of it vibrated through the soles of my bare feet and the air was heavy with groans, mixed with the slaps and thuds of impact toys. Cleaning products provided a base note for polish, leather, and sex and combined, the scents created a visceral reaction in me that made my nipples perk up.

Roped-off play areas and other sections, some very public, some giving the illusion of privacy, were full of mysterious equipment that sent shivers of wary anticipation up my spine. In one of them, a Dom in leather trousers secured his naked sub to an X- shaped cross.

Chr ... criminy. Ingrained habit made me swallow back the swear words even when I was only thinking them. My boss, the owner of Eagle Protection Services, was particular that we shouldn’t swear. He didn’t want us offending any of the princesses, did he? But man, that room filled me with a strange mix of feelings. I took a step back and came up against Lucien’s hard frame. He drew me more closely into his body, circling my waist with one arm, and his heat and sheer physical presence grounded me.

“Easy, chérie, you’ve seen this before. Calm down.”

I tried, gulping in breaths laden with his spicy cologne. He was right, I had seen this sort of thing before. In the nine months I’d protected Lucien, I’d caught some glimpses of him sceneing with subs. I’d also done enough internet research to fill in most of the gaps in my knowledge. None of it prepared me for the reality, the raw, primal sexuality of it.

“Evening, Lucien.” A Domme sauntered past, leading her female sub on a chain.

Stop being a wimp. I straightened my spine and Lucien gave my arms a quick squeeze that felt like approval.

Just to my left, a gleaming oval bar hummed with customers, and subs carried trays of drinks, flitting to and from seating areas like hummingbirds. Against one wall, a full buffet table provided a hub where people chatted and helped themselves to food. A Domme fed morsels from her plate to the male sub kneeling at her feet.

At the bar, Lucien indicated a stool. “Sit.”

I obeyed, muttering, “Woof,” under my breath.

“Did you say something?”

I shook my head, taken aback by how his expression had
chilled, but at the same time, amazed at how it set off a quiver deep in my core. I placed my hand on my abdomen to still it.

“What can I get you, Lucien?”

I huffed a silent breath of relief as Lucien turned his attention to the bartender. A second later, when I saw who the bartender was, I did a double-take.

“Your brother?” I whisper-yelled at Lucien.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Why not? Because his brother, or to be precise, his half-brother, was a freakin’ Lord, an Earl of somewhere or other. Their father had been a very naughty young man and had ended up marrying the English girl who he’d gotten into trouble rather than the French one, even though both women had been from the same sort of upper social class. He’d acknowledged both boys though, and Lucien had grown up with all the advantages of being a Lord’s son and none of the disadvantages, such as crumbling estates and heritage, to worry about. As young men fresh out of university, the brothers had gone into business together and now had a very successful line of seriously elite kink clubs and a huge chain of less-contentious spa and gyms.

I stared at this aristocratic barman who was also Lucien’s brother, trying to dig his name out of my memory while a whole lot of thoughts went whizzing through my head. I’d have had to be dead not to notice his air of authority and his good looks. Other than the nose and eye color, he and Lucien were very similar. Calthorpe! That was it. George Julian Humphrey Calthorpe. The file on Lucien, which we had all seen when we took him on as a client, contained some basic information on his brother too.

Calthorpe smiled at me and said, “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I shot back, unhappy at being seen in any way vulnerable, “I’m just wondering if I should curtsy.”

His expression darkened at my sass, all his previous warmth disappearing, and I sucked in a breath at the sudden chill. 

Ignoring me now, which felt distinctly better, Calthorpe addressed his next comment to Lucien. “New subbie? I’ve not seen her around before but she looks familiar.” His gaze assessed me, lingering over my body. When it reached my face, I met his stare head-on with a frown to let him know I didn’t approve of his blatant appraisal. Instead of being intimidated, amusement lightened his expression and he said, “Looks like she needs some training.”

“When you last saw her, she was my bodyguard.”

“That’s where I know her from.” His gaze sharpened on me again. “Not your normal type, is she?”

I should have felt irritation at the way he was discussing me. Instead, a sliver of hurt wormed its way into my heart. Not your normal type... Okay, so I didn’t fit Lucien’s usual mold. I didn’t need anyone to rub that in. Firstly, it was rude and secondly, it was obvious. The truth was that compared to all the subs, usually Disney- princess types, I’d ever seen Lucien with, I was more like Mrs. Shrek, except without the green. A bit harsh maybe, but a girl had to recognize her limitations, and at six-feet tall and ripped—yes, I did actually have the whole eight pack happening—I didn’t look the part. I was fit and I worked as a bodyguard, and in my spare time, I did MMA. That tended to mean kicking the shit out of opponents, not watching other people do it, and it meant I did intimidating, rather than pretty or sexy. In fact, I didn’t really do sex at all anymore. Finding a man who wasn’t scared to date a woman who could whoop his ass one-handed was difficult and usually not worth the effort. Sex was overrated, in my opinion. It was boring and messy, and to put it bluntly, the juice just wasn’t worth the squeeze.

Lucien was the only man who’d tempted me in the last two or three years, but he came with a hell of a lot of kink.

Could I live with that or, more to the point, could he live without it?

That was the question I was here to find the answer to. “Rose.”

Lucien’s voice broke in on my thoughts. I scowled. I hate
people calling me Rose.

“Call me Ro,” I said automatically and then when I focused on Lucien and saw his expression, quickly added, “Sir.”

“Well recovered, ma perle, but you know the rules. Where should a sub’s attention be at all times?”

I swore my core did this involuntary clenching thing at his stern look, and my nipples bunched. It took me by surprise and I hated it and liked it at the same time. It was nice to know I wasn’t dead sexually from the neck down. On the other hand, if this kinky lark was turning me on, that meant Lucien might be right. He believed I was submissive and that was what tonight was all about. Him proving I was, and me proving I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be submissive, because I reckoned being submissive made me fundamentally weak and I couldn’t afford to be weak. So having my body come alive and proving me wrong wasn’t part of the plan.

Okay, I was confused, so what? No one ever said it was simple.

“Rose, where should your attention be?”

His annoyed tone drew me back with a start and I tried to focus on answering his question. “Umm, on my Dom?”

“And who is that, Rose?”

I glared at his repeated use of my full name.

“Lose the look.” Lucien’s silky tone held a clear warning and when I cast a quick glance at his face, his brows were drawn together. Yup, I’d managed to seriously piss him off. I didn’t like the feeling of letting him down, so I forced my facial muscles into something less confrontational.

“That’s better, now answer my question.”

I scrabbled around in what was left of my brain and said, “You?”

“I like the question mark on the end,” Calthorpe said with a grin. “She sounds as if she isn’t sure.”

“No worries, Cal, she’ll be very sure by the time the evening ends.” There was a delicious threat in his words that made me do a little wriggle on the barstool. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to find a bit of relief from the growing ache.

“Uh-uh.” Lucien shook his head at me. “Spread those thighs. You need to be fully accessible to your Master at all times.”

I looked around to check if anyone was watching and damn if Lucien didn’t read my thoughts. He caught my chin. “It doesn’t matter if anyone else is watching. I should be your only concern right now. I’m getting tired of your inattention and disobedience. Continue like this and there will be a punishment before the evening is over.”

I parted my thighs a little to placate him, and he nodded encouragingly. “That’s better, but it’s not enough. Spread them further or you will be punished.”

Punishment? My lungs constricted, and I sucked in a panicked breath. Uh-oh. No. Quickly, I obeyed, spreading my thighs as widely as I could, hooking my ankles around the legs of the stool. My skirt rode up and, aware that I was flashing the world, I tried to smooth it down. It didn’t work, and the skirt kept rolling back up. Thank heavens I’d put on a thong, otherwise, there’d have been no end to what I was showing.

Lucien’s smile at my skirt quandary dropped. “What is that?”

Hot color flooded my face when I saw where he was looking, and I hid my embarrassment under sass, pulling a Duh! face. “A thong.”

Thankfully, he ignored my grimace. “Did I specify underwear?”

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

“I figured you must have forgotten to include it.”

The brief deepening of the lines that bracketed Lucien’s mouth hinted at amusement but his voice remained unyielding as he commanded, “Remove them now, Rose.”

I shook my head.

Lucien turned to Cal, who was following keenly from his place behind the bar. “Do you have a knife behind there?”

“Sure.” Cal handed over the small, plastic-handled serrated blade he’d been using to slice lemons.

Lucien flowed off his barstool in one graceful movement. “Stand up,” he instructed.

I hesitated, eyeing his knife.

“You have two seconds, Rose. If you don’t obey, you’ll lose the skirt as well as the thong.”
I obeyed, pleased that at least my own movements were graceful too. It seemed all those martial arts I did had extra benefits. I smoothed the skirt back down my thighs.

“Raise your skirt.”

“What?” I’d just lowered the damn thing and he wanted me to raise it?

Lucien sighed and turned to Cal. “She’s questioning me again.

What do you suggest?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Cal rubbed his chin. “She’s had one warning already so I’d chalk up three, I think.”

Three? Three what? “Are you talking about spanking?” My voice squeaked embarrassingly.

“Your only acceptable response is, ‘Yes, Monsieur.’” 

Uh-oh, I was meant to give instant obedience and here I was digging in my heels and being mouthy again. “Yes, Monsieur,” I said meekly and raised my skirt until it just uncovered my lower cheeks, which wasn’t very far since it was super-short anyway.

“I might have allowed that,” Lucien said, harshly, “but your disobedience means now you’re going to pull it right up until it’s around your waist.”

Keeping all my swear words tucked safely behind my teeth because I was in enough trouble already, I pulled the stupid thing up as high as he ordered, doing it sharply like tearing off a Band-Aid.

A satisfied look settled on Lucien’s face at my obedience and he shifted me out from the cover of the barstools with one large hand framing my hip, exposing my nearly naked butt to anyone who happened to be walking by. My face went scarlet and my insides clenched.

No way! I closed my eyes against the realization. How did I not know this about myself? I didn’t want to be turned on by being put on display, but dammit, I was.

“Eyes on me, chérie.”

Lucien’s voice had that deep Dom command to it and my eyes popped open before I could even think about it. He caught my gaze briefly and his look was so full of predatory intent and promise, it rocked me back on my heels and made me lightheaded. While I was recovering, he slid the blade under the elastic at my hip. The cold, blunt back of it dragged against my skin as the fabric gave. Shivers radiated out from where smooth metal touched me, hyper-sensitizing my skin.

“Now the other side.” When he’d cut both sides, he sent the knife spinning back across the bar to Cal who dropped it in the sink before moving on to serve another customer. The only thing holding my underwear up was the pressure from my thighs, which I’d clamped together, and the thin piece of fabric separating my cheeks, which I’d also clamped together.

Lucien made me the focus of his attention again. “Spread your thighs.”

When I didn’t move fast enough or spread them wide enough, he gave my thigh a little two-fingered warning tap of encouragement. “Wider.”

I obeyed reluctantly, and he slowly and deliberately tugged my panties loose, sliding the white lace between my cheeks and over the tender flesh between my legs. Shivers and sparks danced across my skin, raising goosebumps. I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped.

Download HARD-PRESSED here:
Evernight Pub | Amazon | iTunes | B&N | Kobo | Smashwords

First Chapter: FORGIVEN ARE THE STARRY-EYED by Christine Doré Miller

FORGIVEN ARE THE STARRY-EYED

Christine Doré Miller Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

My eyelids closed as if they were being drawn down by sluggish, unhurried weights. When I forced them open after several seemingly endless moments, nothing had changed. I could still make out a blurry image of Josh standing nearby, Mr. Thompson's hands clenched firmly on Josh's shoulders from behind. There was a crowd, I think, and muffled voices. The steel school locker felt cold against my back and I recognized the familiar feeling that lately seemed to just dwell and ache in my bones. Fear, I think it was, mixed with just enough madness to keep the blood racing through my veins ... fast. Too fast.

"Why did you do that, Andrea?" Josh shouted in my direction.

My eyes fell closed again. I don't remember what else he said. I just remember the feeling of each overly pronounced syllable piercing the air while he said it. I stared through the darkness that danced behind my heavy eyelids. What had I done?

I tried to pry open my hazy eyes to examine the faces of the expanding crowd as they stood, mouths agape. I only recognized a few. There were hardcover music books sprawled open on the tile floor at my feet. Confused, I looked to Josh, but the heavy silence of the room deafened any words he may have been saying. I gripped the ends of my soft, thin hair between my slender fingers and waited. Each thought sunk deeper than the last.

There was a poster taped sloppily against the locker behind me. I turned my head to face it and focused. The ends were curled up and there were ripples in the masking tape adorned to the edges. "Oakwood High School Invitational—TONIGHT" it read in handwritten purple block letters. There was a pixelated saxophone image pasted underneath the words, "Brought to you by Mr. Thompson and the Oakwood High Jazz Band." I brought my hand up to trace the edges. The poster board felt crisp and thick under my fingertips. I could smell the aftermath of the permanent marker. The loud reverberating voice behind me got softer until it resembled a deep echo I could easily ignore. I started to pick at the tape from the bottom left corner of the poster until I felt the sticky residue ball up underneath my fingernail.

Suddenly the life reentered my body in one abrupt breath when I felt a strong tug on my arm. I turned and saw Ethan Marks. Everyone else was gone. Had it been minutes this time? Hours?

"Andrea! Come on," he barked at me, interlacing my arm, tucking it quickly under his. He jerked me to a standing position and pulled me down the hall, speeding up his gate as I stumbled to catch

up.

"Where's Josh?" I asked worriedly, but he didn't answer. We were silent as we walked through the empty hallway. I lifted my gaze, trying to catch Ethan's eye, trying to read his thoughts. His light blue eyes, usually sparkling with laughter, were steely and somber as he charged forward, dragging me with him, away from the wreckage I'd caused.

He stopped short and took a deep breath. His eyes were unyielding and dismal as they studied me, and slowly his frustration melted into a deep sadness.

"What happened, Andrea? What was that back there?"

"I don't know..." My voice began breaking. My thoughts were muddled beyond recognition and I couldn't form the right words, or any words, to explain.

Ethan wrapped himself around me in a gentle, firm embrace. It felt kind. And warm. And wonderfully different. My muscles unclenched for the first time in months, and I didn't know I was crying until I tasted the salt as it stained my face. I buried my head into Ethan's chest as he tightened his hold on me. I wanted him to say something, to tell me everything would be all right, but we both knew better. So we just stood there, Ethan supporting me as I clasped the back of his cotton

t-shirt between my fingers.

After a few minutes, I fully returned to my body as my breathing calmed. I steadied my stance and took a step backward, shakily holding Ethan's forearms as I regained my balance. Wiping smudged mascara from my pale face, I met Ethan's eyes and quickly looked down, fixating on a crack in the tile below me.

"Hey," he started, "Andrea ... it's..."

"I'm okay. Ethan, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to ... I'm sorry I ... ugh your shirt." I motioned to the tear stains on his light green tee that crept from his chest to his shoulder.

"Oh God, don't worry about that. Andie, I just..."

"It's fine." I wiped my face and took a deep breath. "Thanks," I said, squeezing Ethan's hand and looking in his eyes sincerely, so he knew I meant it. "I should go. But thanks." I shook my head and turned around to walk back into the havoc and face what I had done. I felt Ethan staring at me as I left. He was just another person whose life would've been better if he hadn't met me. I swallowed, took a breath, and kept walking.

It was over for now, that latest incident, and there was no way to tell when there would be another one ... but there would definitely be another one. I was too broken for it to be any other way.

After walking a short distance, I finally recognized Josh amidst dozens of hurried students and parents milling toward the cafeteria. I meekly smiled and gave a half wave, unsure of how he'd be feeling after what had just happened, unsure if he'd even want to see me. But I was drawn toward him like the strongest magnet, unable to stay away no matter how much I resisted or how much damage I'd caused.

"Come on, babe, we've only got an hour until we have to be back at the awards ceremony," Josh said, his dark brown eyes transfixed on me with concern. He didn't mention the incident. I didn't either.

Josh's words were soft, but I couldn't shake the horror from my body. How could he still love me after this? He deserved better. Everyone did.

Josh motioned for me to follow him outside the double doors that led to the parking lot. As the cold Michigan air hit my face, I went to grab Josh's hand. He quickly dropped it when he saw Harper and jogged to catch up with her. I tried to follow briskly but was still carefully avoiding the ice patches on the black asphalt as I heard a car start.

"Come on, slowpoke!" Harper teased from the driver's seat. I piled into the backseat of her 1980s white hatchback and had barely buckled my seatbelt before we started moving.


*************************************************************
Love what you read? Download FORGIVEN ARE THE STARRY-EYED here!

Read Chapters 1 & 2 of (NOT QUITE) THE SAME OLD SONG by Lindsey Ouimet!

(NOT QUITE) THE SAME OLD SONG

Lindsey Ouimet Copyright © 2019

Chapter One

I was going to kill my brother.
Yep. Kill, as in maim brutally until he succumbed to death’s cold, dark embrace. Because a slow death wouldn’t do. No, he deserved to suffer. I didn’t know much about Chinese water torture, but I could learn. And the leaky faucet in the bathroom, the one he’d promised to fix months ago, would do the trick. A couple of hours of that would surely drive him insane. His brain might even start to liquefy. Maybe dribble out of his ears a bit.
I wondered if that would be painful enough. Or painful at all, considering he’d killed most of his brain cells already, taking hit after hit of whatever his crackhead friends put in front of him.
I hoped wherever he was at that moment, whatever he was smoking was laced with some bad shit. I didn’t even feel bad thinking it. This always happened. He’d disappear, lifting cash from Mom’s purse and leaving her sick with worry instead of anger. One day turned into two, three, eight at the most. He’d stumble in eventually, visibly worse for the wear, but with a sheepish I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, Darcy. I promise I’ll be better from now on smile plastered on his face. And then he’d do it 

Getting clean was part of Quinn’s regimen. Staying clean was a different story.
Eventually, he’d fall back off the wagon. He’d get picked up in the alleyway behind a bar or hanging out at one of the other trailer parks in town, the ones far worse than our own. He’d spend time in the county jail but would never be dumb enough to call us from it asking for bail. He knew we wouldn’t have it. Mostly because he’d pocketed what we did have to score whatever shit landed him there in the first place, but also because ... well, the residents of Whispering Oaks Mobile Home Community weren’t exactly rolling in dough in the first place. And even though Mom had started doing clients’ hair in our poorly lit kitchen on the side, we were barely getting by.
Really, he was no worse off than half of our meth-addicted town, but it was bad enough to make Mom cry at night when she thought I couldn’t hear her. Our trailer walls were paper thin though, and I hadn’t slept soundly since I was thirteen and woke up to find one of my brother’s acquaintances rifling through my dresser drawers at three AM. Junkies were the goddamned worst.
Beating the snot out of him always crossed my mind. I’d tighten my fists at my sides when he inevitably made his reappearance, or when I’d find him sitting at the kitchen table in the mornings before I left for school, smiling nervously as he pushed a plate of apology pancakes—dusted with powdered sugar the way I liked—in my direction.
Every time, I’d bite my tongue and forgive him. Every time, I’d wonder if one day those apologies would actually mean something. I hoped they would.
Whatever apology he offered this time, though, it was going to have to be good. And it damned well needed to mean something.
The guitar case slipped in my sweat-slicked hands and I nearly lost my hold on it as I pushed through the heavy glass door, the bell jingling to signal my entrance to Addams Gold & Pawn. My fingers tightened around the handle of the battered and beaten-to-hell case. The leather was cracked, torn, and covered in stickers from dozens of different bands—some long-forgotten, others legendary. And it held my favorite thing in the world. When I was little, my father let me have the honor of opening this case for him each time he played the guitar inside it. Later, he taught me how to play it myself. Letting it go, even temporarily, was going to hurt like a bitch.

I straightened my shoulders and walked to the front counter.
This time... Well, this time I really was going to kill my brother.
****
“I know what this guitar is worth.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself at this counter. Even though it was embarrassing and I’d die if anyone from school ever saw me, I’d patronized Addams Gold & Pawn—much more pawn than gold in the shop, by the way—for years. Our entire DVD collection came from the place, as well as the piece-of-shit, way- outdated iPod that resided almost permanently in my back pocket and the headphones around my neck. I’d sold and bought back the flat- screen television Mom had splurged on at least four times.
“I know what it’s worth too, Miss Andrews.”
I found that highly unlikely considering there was a wall full of Wal-Mart’s First Act brand guitars behind him. He wouldn’t know a quality guitar if it bit him on the ass.
“I don’t think you understand,” I started, barely able to hold it together and hating every trace of vulnerability in my voice. “What you’re offering me—”
“Is a better deal, with better terms than you’re going to get from anyone else in town.” He cut me off with a satisfied smirk.
I wanted to slap it off his smug, I-own-this-joint face. “This is the only pawn shop in town.”
“Exactly.”
I flinched. There were at least three pawn shops I knew of two towns over. I didn’t know if they’d offer me a better deal than the man in front of me, but I would’ve given anything to throw their names in his face. Then I glanced out the front window to where my bike leaned against the side of the ice machine on the sidewalk. It was old, rusted in places, and not even worth chaining up. No one in their right mind would want it—and no one in their right mind would use it to make the twenty-mile trip to Franklin in one-hundred-degree heat. My shirt was still damp from the ride over.
One look at Mr. Addams’s face told me he knew these things just as well as I did.
I took a deep breath and stood up straighter. “$650.”
He let out a terrible, condescending little laugh before he turned his attention to something behind the counter. He didn’t care

that I was practically pawning my soul. He didn’t even have the decency to look me in eye as he countered with his original offer. “With the interest rate you want? $600.”
It was barely enough to cover rent and the past-due portion of our current power bill, but we could scrape by until the end of the month on it. I thought of the wad of cash Quinn had stolen from Mom’s purse—at least $900 from a wedding party she’d worked on the week before. He’d probably already blown it all before passing out on someone’s ratty, molding sofa.
“$625,” I spit out, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached. The extra $25 wouldn’t make much of a difference, but it would mean an extra tank of gas for Mom’s car. “Surely you can give me the same rate with only a measly $25 extra.”
“I can give you a lower rate with a bigger loan, Miss Andrews. You know that.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “And owe even more money in the long run? No, thank you.”
“Fine.” He shook his head and pushed a clipboard across the counter. He shoved a pen into my hand and nodded to the paperwork. “You know the drill.”
I sighed. Yeah, I did.

Chapter Two

“Still no word from Quinn?”
I groaned and dropped the old US Weekly I’d been reading into the grass. Despite their age, the pages had still left my fingertips smudged with ink. I swiped them across the towel I was lying on before wiping the sweat from my forehead. Turning to my best friend, I shook my head. “Nope. Not a word. As usual.”
Maddie fidgeted from the corner of my eye. She tied three additional knots in the side string of her bikini bottom before finally spitting out what I knew she was going to say.
“I mean, you think he’s okay, right?” She cleared her throat. “You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Not you, too.” I narrowed my eyes at her, forgetting she couldn’t see them through my dark sunglasses. “Look, Quinn has enough admirers, Maddie. How exactly, I don’t fucking know, but you’re way too good to count yourself among the ranks. And of course, I think something’s happened to him. Somethingalways happens to him.”
She wanted to argue, probably even say how she wasn’t interested in Quinn. But she was a shitty liar, so she kept quiet instead. She might not have been interested now but she had been in the past. Maddie could romanticize the hell out of a person like it was her job. She’d talked about Ryan Wadley for months after she found out he’d adopted a dog with only three legs from the shelter. As if his parents hadn’t had a big part in the decision-making process on that one.
So, of course, she still managed to bring up how Quinn had saved her life once every time someone mentioned summer, or swimming, or near-death experiences. Like it was a scene from an epic romance movie and she’d been on the verge of going into the light.
I hated to burst her bubble, but the Quinn we grew up with— the one she’d looked at with hearts in her eyes after he rescued her from that awful, life-threatening leg cramp at the deep end of the pool at the YMCA—was long gone. Some days, when his eyes were clearer and he actually ventured out of his room, I would catch

glimpses of that big brother. The older we got, though, the fewer and farther between those glimpses were. I didn’t want to think about it. It hurt too much.
We sat in silence. A couple of yards over, a neighbor cranked up their lawnmower, and I wondered how they could stand the heat this time of day. I was roasting, both underneath the harsh Georgia sun and in the remaining anger my brother had left in the pit of my belly.
I’d intended to make the most of the summer before my senior year. I knew that soon I’d be back at school, slaving over homework assignments and studying as hard as I could for all my tests. Hoping with all I had that my grades would be worth it. That I’d be able to land a scholarship that would get me out of our crappy little town. I could go away to school and get a jump start on a new life. A better life.
I shifted a little, trying to dry the sweat that had pooled in the small of my back against the scratchy towel underneath me. After another thirty or so seconds, I gave up any pretense of enjoying our sunbathing session and pushed up onto my elbows. “I’m bored.”
“And I’m sweating like a pig,” she countered, sitting up with each of her long, lean legs crossed over in her lap. Maddie was built like a freaking supermodel. At almost six feet tall, I swore her legs made up four of them. My legs were short and, like the rest of my body, chubby. Maddie smoothed her somehow still perfect hair back from her face and huffed out a sigh, tilting her head toward the back door. “What do you think the chances are of your AC automatically working double-time and actually cooling it off in there?”
It wasn’t likely. Window-unit air conditioners in tiny metal cans didn’t stand a chance against a summer in the south. I stood up, pulling my bikini bottom out of my asscrack before the creepy neighbor kid next door peeked out from his bedroom blinds again, and tossed my towel over my shoulder. “About as good as Quinn suddenly showing up not only sober, but with enough money for me to buy Darlene back from the pawn shop.”
“You’ll get her back,” she assured me.
I wasn’t as confident. The $625 I’d gotten was long gone and my shifts at Mama Jo’s weren’t stacking up nearly as much as I wanted them to. I was banking on Mom helping me out after she paid the phone and gas bill, but I knew I’d be cutting it close. I was still

short about $90 on my payment for the month. There were only three days and two shifts left before the cut-off day, and tips needed to be good at Jo’s. I tried not to think about it, though, like so many other things. There wasn’t an option. I had to get that guitar back.
Quinn had been gone for a record twenty-eight days. And I was a lot more worried than I let on.
Worried, but still pissed about my guitar.
I shrugged. “It’s got to be cooler inside than it is out here. Let’s go.”
After we were settled on the couch, a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips between us, Maddie dug her phone out of her purse. Mine had been out of minutes for weeks, but she kept a careful eye on hers— sometimes not even answering it when I’d call, opting instead to run the two streets that separated our trailers and knock on my bedroom window to see what I wanted. That was how I knew she must have really been bored when she started to scroll through her contacts.
She muttered something about giving someone a call, but I was too engrossed in an episode of House Hunters International to pay much attention. I hadn’t seen the episode yet, but I knew the couple would pick the five-bedroom split level just seconds from the beach, despite the ugly paint job and outdated guest bath. I couldn’t get enough of House Hunters. I doubted I’d ever be in their situation myself, but it was good to be prepared.
I realized Maddie was waiting for me to say something. “Uh huh,” I said, nodding while my eyes were still glued to the screen. I usually felt guilty about the stolen cable Quinn had rigged up years before, but never when House Hunters was on. During their exit interview, the wife was explaining how they’d expanded the kitchen when I heard Maddie saying, “...your combat boots?”
“Wait, what?” I said, snapping out of it. “Why do you need those?”
“Well, dur. I’m going to look totally out of place if I go to the show in a sundress and sandals.”
“Show? Wait... What?” I looked over to where she was swinging her clasped hands back and forth in front of her, fluttering her eyelids. Classic oh please, oh please, oh please in Maddie-speak. “Oh, you bitch.”
“I took advantage of your distraction. And they should’ve picked the house with the big backyard.” She grabbed for my arm to

yank me off the couch. “Now come on. We only have a couple of hours to get ready!”
I stood my ground. Or I planted my butt as firmly against the couch cushions as possible.
“How much is this going to cost?”
“Jake said the cover’s like, $5.00, but he can get us in for free.”
“I don’t know...”
Her on-again, off-again boyfriend Jake wasn’t the most reliable of sources when it came to well, anything. And it might not have been much, but every penny counted. I was already having visions of being exactly $5.00 short when I totaled up my money to make this month’s payment at Addams Gold & Pawn.
“Sean will be there.” Maddie grinned.
I shrugged. “Meh.”
“Meh? That’s not what you were saying after Austin’s party
last month.” She wiggled her eyebrows and hips at the same time. “I believe it was something more along the lines of ‘mmm... mmm ... Mmm!’ Oh, wait. That was during Austin’s party.”
I chucked a pillow at her head and she laughed as she released my hand to back away.
“Sean’s cute, but he’s such a slut. And people probably thinkI’m one too just because we hook up sometimes.” I tried not to let it bother me, but people were quick to associate words like whore andslut with your name when they already considered you trailer trash. “And ... well, he’s kind of dumb.”
He was. Cute and dumb. Kind of like a puppy. Incessant licking included.
“So?” She backed up the two steps that put her into the short hallway leading to my room. “So are you.”
She barely made it to the bedroom door before I slammed against it.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She held her hands out in surrender when I finally shouldered the door open. The locks barely worked. You only had to jiggle it the right way and put a little pressure on it. “Forget about Sean. There are like, a hundred bands playing tonight, though. New music! Maybe they won’t all suck. Doesthat pique your interest?”
Unfortunately, it did.

**** I looked around at the venue.
Venue was a strong word, really. We were at the American Legion on the other side of town. It was pretty much one big room with space for maybe fifty people and a small stage. The acoustics were awful and there was no sound system. We’d have to rely on whatever shitty equipment the bands playing brought with them. I wasn’t optimistic. But at least cement floors and cinderblock walls would make it easy for the cleanup crew.
Which was definitely a good thing because there was somehow way more than fifty people here.
Outside, there were cars parked on both sides of the dark, narrow side street the Legion was on, the parking lot of the bank it was tucked behind, and even in the church parking lot across from the bank. I didn’t think that the First Methodist Church of Arnoldsville would appreciate any of the music coming from a bunch of high school bands, but at least there weren’t signs telling people not to park there.
“I can’t believe they’re charging for this shit,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, well, there are like, eight bands playing tonight, so...” Jake let his words fade into the crook of Maddie’s neck, along with his nose, lips, and tongue. I guessed they’d flipped the switch back to “on” in their relationship.
I didn’t bother with a response as I pushed my way through the crowd. I wasn’t surprised. They would hook up tonight, it would go great for a couple of days, a week tops, and then they’d each be back to thinking the other was an asshole. I also wasn’t surprised that Jake hadn’t come through with his promise of getting us in for free and that Maddie showed up with empty pockets. I was $10 poorer and irritated as hell, so I hoped at least one of the bands wouldn’t suck ass.
But three bands in, I was starting to lose that hope. I was hot, sweaty, and seriously underwhelmed. A punk band who’d only mastered two of the three chords needed to play their songs was on stage and making my ears bleed when someone wrapped their arms around my waist from behind.
“Hey, sexy,” a deep voice said just beside my ear.
I relaxed and tensed at the same time. Relaxed because at least I wasn’t being accosted by a stranger. Tensed because I really, really

wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit.
“Hey, Sean.” I wormed my way out of his hold, glancing
around to see if anyone was watching, but still ended up stuck in a sort of sideways hug that left his slightly sweaty armpit over my shoulder. He smelled like Old Spice deodorant and really rank weed. Not the best combo, but I’d dealt with worse. His hand drooped over my other shoulder, dangling perilously close to my boob. He took a slightly classier route and plucked at the bra strap peeking out from the tank top underneath my cardigan instead, running his finger underneath the satiny material, down, down, down... I shivered despite myself.
“You look hot tonight.”
“Thanks. You look high as shit.”
He giggled and I pushed away from him. When he was high,
he was even more clueless than usual. And handsy.
He didn’t seem to mind the brush off, but that didn’t mean he
wouldn’t keep trying. He leaned closer to be heard over the music. “What are you up to?”
I gestured at the crowd around and then to the guys on stage. It was pretty obvious, but Sean wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. “Just checking out the bands.”
“Cool, cool.” He nodded and pushed his hair back from his eyes in a move that I admitted made me just a little bit swoony. He had pretty arms. “So maybe after the show is over...”
Sean said something else, but a sweet Peavey 6505 being carted on stage grabbed my attention. The punk band had finished their set. I couldn’t tell if they’d played more than one song since it had all sounded the same, with barely a ten-second pause between renewed bouts of screaming. This new group had much better gear. I could only see bits and pieces because the crowd was thicker near the stage and I was so damned short, but I was impressed.
Until they were about a couple of verses into their first song. I cringed as the drummer missed a beat. Then the guitarist missed another note and continued not to notice he was out of tune.
They weren’t terrible, exactly. The song was a little predictable—a cover I’d heard done a million times—but it had a good beat. But they played their instruments like a bunch of rich boys who thought it might be cool to be in a band. Maybe because it would get them chicks. Even if they liked the music they played, they hadn’t

dedicated enough time to practicing and getting it right. I’d seen it happen before. People who thought expensive or even overpriced equipment would hide the fact they didn’t fully comprehend the instrument in their hands.
Looking around the crowd, it seemed like everyone was into it. Bobbing their heads and listening intently. Girls, falling for the trap, pushed closer to the stage, forming a barrier of skirts, eyeliner, and tight tank tops between the crowd and the band.
The guitarist missed another note that went unnoticed by everyone else in the building, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see how he was screwing up such a simple chorus.
I turned to Sean who—surprise, surprise—was staring at my ass while he went on with whatever he was saying. Rolling my eyes, I told him I’d be right back.
I needed to get closer to the stage. I popped up onto my tiptoes, trying to get a better look. I need to see exactly who—
I stopped. Someone slammed into me from behind and I clutched onto the shoulders of the guys in front of me to keep from falling face-first into the cement floor. They shouted something at me over the music, but I just snarled and pushed past them to get closer to the stage.
Because there was Grey Addams. On stage. Looking nothing like I remembered him looking in my fourth-period English class. Holding my fucking guitar.

Find (Not Quite) The Same Old Song at these links --->

Evernight Teen | Amazon | iTunes | B&N | Kobo | Scribd | Smashwords

FIRST CHAPTER: You Taste So Sweet by Erin M. Leaf

You Taste So Sweet
by Erin M. Leaf

Blurb: 

When a meteor explodes over Atlanta, infecting the world with a virus that turns people into zombies, Lark knows survival will be difficult. Her roommate and best friend insists that her father and his best friend will come and save them, but Lark isn’t sure if she wants to put her life into the hands of strangers. Unfortunately, when the zombies come, she may have no choice. And when Ben and Dillon break into their dorm in the nick of time, Lark finds herself reevaluating her insistence on independence.

Tragedy brings them together. The fight to survive creates a bond stronger than blood in a few short days. What’s a girl to do when faced with the zombie apocalypse? Does she trust in the two men she knows will keep her alive, or does she strike out on her own?

Be Warned: menage sex (MMF)

You Taste So Sweet

Erin M. Leaf

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

You Taste So Sweet by Erin M. Leaf: Chapter One

“Olivia, they’re coming up the outside walls!” Lark yelled, gripping the bat in her right hand so tightly she couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. Her heart beat so hard her head swam, but she refused to let the adrenaline rushing through her system freak her out. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Maybe if she lived through this she could have a good cry later, but for now… She glanced out the window, pressing her lips together as the zombies literally climbed up the sheer brick face of the dorm. “Shit! Get the hairspray. We need to burn them.”

Olivia was directly behind her in the room and her best friend was breathing way too fast. If Olivia kept it up, she’d hyperventilate. That would be bad. Lark couldn’t handle the zombies by herself. “Where’s the lighter?” she asked, hoping to distract her roommate enough to calm her down. “Grab it for me, too. No, wait, it’s in my pocket.” She fumbled it out, willing herself to be calm. If she dropped it now, she’d have to duck down to pick it up. She did not want to do that. The zombie below her bared his jagged teeth and she fought down a shudder of revulsion.

“I don’t know where the hairspray is! I can’t find it.”

Lark listened to Olivia rummaging around in the nightstand. “Hurry,” she urged, staring at the rotting face only a floor below her. He sniffed and she swallowed hard. He could smell her. Not good.

Olivia cursed. “We don’t have enough hairspray to do any good. It’s our last bottle. Forget it, just shut the window,” she said, frantic. “We can’t risk it. My dad is coming—”

“Olivia, I swear to God, get the damn hairspray. We don’t have time to argue about this.” Lark held out a hand, not even looking to make sure Olivia listened. She couldn’t take her eyes off the creatures directly below them. They were hideous: grey faces under scraggly hair, chunks of skin missing. Every time she remembered that they were once human, and that some of them might have been her friends, she wanted to vomit.

Focus, Lark. No time to think of that now! she told herself, not for the first time. She adjusted her grip on the bat, making sure she had a good hold. When Olivia slipped the cool bottle of hairspray into her free palm, she tucked the bat under her arm and flicked her lighter on in one smooth motion. “Stand back,” she warned, then leaned out the window, lighting the aerosol. A tongue of flame shot down, catching the last bits of ivy still clinging to the brick. It also caught the three zombies clawing their way up. Their bodies flared, heat rising so fast Lark had to duck back inside before she could tell if she’d got them all. She slammed the window shut, hands shaking.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asked.

“Jesus, Olivia. That was close,” Lark replied, slumping down. “Why didn’t you give me the can sooner?”

“My dad is coming,” Olivia insisted again. “He’ll save us.”

Lark didn’t know what that had to do with anything. She still had to keep the damn zombies from getting in now—they’d almost come up to their freaking window! She eyed her friend tiredly: Olivia’s light brown hair was haphazardly tied back and her fading summer tan didn’t disguise the exhaustion in her face. Her red-rimmed green eyes glanced away apologetically when she saw Lark glaring at her. Lark was fairly certain she looked just as bad. She sighed. Olivia couldn’t change who she was just because the world was ending. She depended on her dad. Lark’s parents were dead so she was a lot more used to taking care of herself than Olivia.

“Even if he’s coming, that doesn’t mean I want to get eaten before he gets here,” Lark offered, shifted the bat back into her hands. No telling how soon she’d need it again.

Olivia gave her a shaky smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” She ran a shaky hand over her hair. “I’m just so tired. We haven’t slept in two days.”

Lark rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the muscle ache from using the bat. “Doesn’t matter. If we want to live, we stay awake.”

“I don’t know if I want to live anymore,” came the soft answer.

Anger rushed through her and Lark shot to her feet. “Shut up! Just… No. We are going to live. What would your dad say if he could hear you? Your Uncle Dillon?” She’d never met Olivia’s dad and his best friend, but from what Olivia had told her, they sounded like good people. “How can you even say that?”

Olivia had turned away. “I dunno. My mom’s gone already, and now I think it’s a blessing. It sucked at the time, you know. Her dying.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lark.

Lark did know. Her parents had died in a freak carbon monoxide accident three years ago when she was nineteen. She’d missed a year of college trying to deal with everything. “Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean you should just give up, Olivia.”

Olivia lifted a shoulder. “It sure would be easier.” She moved to the window and peered out. “The ivy is still burning.”

Lark bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. Olivia had always been like this: fine one moment, depressed the next. She’d taken her mother’s death from cancer hard. Even so, Lark didn’t understand why Olivia found it so easy to just let herself disappear. She’d done it before—forgetting to eat. Not getting out of bed. Even after all Lark had been through, she didn’t react like that. Sometimes it made it hard to be Olivia’s friend.

“I hope the building doesn’t catch fire,” Olivia murmured. She was leaning against the windowsill now, as if zombies hadn’t just tried to climb in that very spot.

“Stop it, Olivia. You drive me crazy,” Lark said, using the only weapon she had left to cheer up her friend. She poked her until Olivia laughed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be good. Give me some of that chocolate,” Olivia said.

Lark dug under the mattress and pulled out their last bar. “This is it, you know.”

Olivia nodded solemnly. “Well, if you hadn’t barricaded the floor, we’d be able to check the vending machines downstairs.

“Oh please, this again? We would’ve died if we hadn’t closed off the doors. We were lucky the dorm was mostly empty because of the football game or we would never have been able to lock ourselves in here.” Lark absently broke the candy bar in half as she remembered dragging heavy furniture out of the lounge to put in front of the stairwell doors. They’d kept themselves alive for four days now. She wasn’t sure how much longer they could last without doing something drastic. She offered Olivia some of the candy and then flopped down on the bed.

“Yeah. Lucky,” Olivia said flatly, nibbling on the chocolate.

Lark rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was a little older— because twenty-two is so old, she thought sarcastically—or if it was because she’d been fending for herself for so long, but she wasn’t as fatalistic about life as Olivia. She wanted to live. She’d worked her ass off after high school, after her parents died, saving for college. She was older than most of the rest of the students in her year, but she didn’t care. Her parents would have wanted her to do everything she could to have a life. She knew it.

“When was the last time you heard from your dad?” she asked Olivia, trying to distract her friend with something positive.

“Two days ago.”

“Two days ago. Okay,” Lark repeated. “So, he’ll be here really soon. The meteor fell, what, a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah. If he’s still alive,” Olivia said, predictably.

“You can’t think like that, Olivia. We know a few things: the meteor was as big as the one that hit Russia last year. It broke apart in the atmosphere and managed to infect a large part of the population with…” Here she paused, trying to think of a way to put it. “With something that turns people into zombies, as ridiculous as that sounds.”

“It was ridiculous until it started spreading,” Olivia muttered. “And they started eating people. Then it went from ridiculous to horrible.”

Lark ignored her and kept talking. “Your dad got in touch with you before we lost the phones, and that was only a few days ago. Don’t forget, he’s coming from where? Outside Philadelphia?”

Olivia nodded. “There is no way he’s going to make it. We’re on the other side of the state from there. If he was going to make it, he’d be here already,” she said, contradicting what she’d said just a few minutes ago.

Lark drew breath to sigh again, loud and dramatic so that Olivia would know how aggravated she was, but a loud boom from the hall made her flinch.

“What was that?” Olivia asked, her voice rising. “Oh my God, what was that?” She stood up and wrapped her arms around herself, eyes wide. The chocolate she’d been holding fell to the floor.

Lark pushed herself up from the bed, stuffing the last of the chocolate into her mouth. “I’ll go see,” she mumbled through the sweet treat.

“Oh, God. Be careful, Lark,” Olivia said, going with her to the door. The boom sounded again.

“I think someone’s knocking on the stairwell door,” Lark said, opening their door and peering into the hall. It was dark; only the emergency lighting still worked. The audio-visual armoire she’d dragged in front of the metal door was still secure.

“I’m going to bang on it,” she said, edging into the hall. She checked both ways, still paranoid that something might have gotten in, but there was no sign of anything. She took a deep breath and walked down to the armoire. It wasn’t far from their door because the floor’s lounge was only a few rooms down from them. When she got to the door, she lifted her bat and banged on the top part, barely visible behind the furniture.

When another boom-boom-boom came from the door, she jumped. She could hear some muffled shouting. “Is anyone there?” she yelled.

“Olivia?” a man’s voice called through the thick metal door.

“Oh my God, I think it’s your dad,” she called to her friend. Her heart had started banging against her ribs again. Zombies didn’t talk. Even if it wasn’t Olivia’s dad, he was human. She had to let him in. “I’m going to move the armoire.”

“Are you sure?” Olivia came out into the hall.

“No, don’t come out here! Stay in the room. Seriously, Olivia. We can’t risk both of us and if it isn’t your dad…” she trailed off, knowing Olivia would understand all the things she didn’t say. Things like: At least you have family and If I die, no one will miss me.

The boom sounded again, a little louder. “Jesus, hold your damn horses,” she muttered under her breath, putting her back against the heavy armoire. She heaved with all her strength. Another boom and then she had the door exposed. She tapped on it with her bat. The returning boom was slightly less frantic. “I’m going to open the door!” she yelled, hoping they could hear her. “Stand back or you’ll get a whack in the head.” She wondered if they’d take her seriously, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to be weak. If they were zombies, or infected, she’d push them down the stairs with her bat and re-barricade the door, with no regrets.

“Is it them?” Olivia called anxiously.

“I don’t know yet.” Lark put her right foot on the handle, balancing so she would have both hands free if she needed them. This way she could lunge forward and put her weight behind her movement. “Okay, let’s do this,” she murmured. Heart in her throat, she counted to five under her breath. “Stay in the room with the door shut, ok?” she told Olivia. It wasn’t until she heard the door click that she shoved down on the handle, then kicked the stairwell door open. The moment she set eyes on the men in the dim space, she knew they weren’t zombies.

****

Benedict Greene, Ben to his friends, stared at the ridiculously beautiful woman holding the bat over her head. She had light blond hair cut in funky chunks so that it slid over her shoulders as she moved. Her light grey eyes snapped with bravado and he could tell by the way she held the bat that she wasn’t afraid to use it. The fact that she was tiny didn’t seem to faze her at all. Good lord, she barely comes up to my shoulder, he thought, smiling tentatively at her. She wasn’t a zombie, thank God, but she also she wasn’t his daughter. “Are you Lark?” he asked, knowing his daughter’s roommate had holed up with her. In fact, he was pretty certain the only reason Olivia was still alive was because her roommate had an innate instinct for survival. He’d figured that out after numerous phone conversations with Olivia.

She slowly lowered the bat. “Mr. Greene?”

Benedict stared at her, trying to think. He was so damn tired, and the woman in front of him was so freaking beautiful.

“Mr. Greene is a little formal for the zombie apocalypse, don’t you think?” his best friend Dillon said from behind him, saving him from being a total idiot, like usual.

The woman’s eyes snapped to his best friend and she lifted her eyebrows. “You must be ‘Uncle Dillon,’” she said, the fingers on her bat twitching as if she wanted to use air quotes to emphasize her statement. She refused to let go of the weapon, though. He liked that. She was plucky.

“Call me Ben,” he said, scraping his wits off the ground.

“I’m Lark. Lark Stone, Olivia’s roommate,” she said, stepping back. She looked around, then studied him and Dillon closely.

She must be checking we aren’t infected, Ben thought approvingly.

The moment they’d stepped through the door, she began shoving at a huge entertainment center, trying to get it back across the entrance. She looked like David fighting Goliath. He couldn’t believe she’d managed to move the thing all by herself.

“Leave it off,” he said. “We’ll be heading out again soon enough. Is Olivia okay?” He’d managed to keep it together all through the hellish ride here, but now he wanted to see his daughter. He might have been way too young to have a kid when she was born, and he might not have been able to see her as often as he’d liked when she was growing up because of her mom, but he loved her, regardless. He needed to know Olivia was okay.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but left off shoving at the furniture. “She’s fine. This way.” She pivoted and led the way down the hall.

Ben glanced at Dillon and caught his friend looking at her ass. He shoved at him, giving him a look.

Dillon shrugged, smiling, then turned to scan the hall behind them. Ben was having a hard enough time dealing with his sudden and completely unwanted attraction to his daughter’s friend himself. The last thing he needed was for Dillon to be just as stupid.

She stopped in front of a door and knocked three times. When nothing happened, she frowned. “Shit,” she said under her breath. “Olivia?” she called, louder. Still no response. “Jesus Christ, she was just standing there a minute ago.” Lark’s voice was strained as she reached for the knob.

“Fuck,” Ben said, shoving her aside and opening the door. What he saw in the room made his blood run cold.

****

Lark darted past Olivia’s dad, swinging her bat at the creature latched onto her roommate’s arm. She didn’t cry out, or curse, or do anything except concentrate on obliterating the zombie’s head. The thing was half-burned, and only had one good arm, but his teeth, his fucking teeth were intact and sunk deep into Olivia’s forearm. Lark couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything except the fucker’s mouth stuck to her best friend. The best friend she’d ever had in her entire life, even with the moodiness. She would not let this nightmare creature have Olivia.

“Die motherfucker,” she muttered, swinging again and again. She banged at its face grimly, pointlessly, and then a blade came out of nowhere and sliced through its neck like magic. The zombie’s eyes went white-hot, and then the entire thing vaporized in a flash, leaving the acrid smell of ozone to linger in the room like a shroud. “Fuck,” she said hoarsely.

Olivia fell down, clutching her arm to her chest. Lark dropped her bat and went to her knees next to her. She grabbed her friend’s hand and looked up, tears screwing with her vision. Olivia’s hand was already cold, dammit. Dillon, Olivia’s dad’s best friend held a machete over them, panting. His face was white and he swallowed, hard, as though he needed desperately to throw up.

“Fuck,” Lark said again as reality crashed back into her. She tossed the bat out of the way and leaned over Olivia, ripping at the sheet on her bed. She tied it around Olivia’s upper arm, tourniqueting the wound. In the back of her mind, she knew it was too late, but she couldn’t accept that Olivia was already gone. She just couldn’t.

“Dad,” Olivia said quietly, voice thick.

Lark’s let go of the sheet as her heart broke. She looked at her best friend’s face. Fuck. Olivia knew she was dead. “Olivia, don’t talk. We’ll get you out of here,” she found herself saying, uselessly.

“Dad, I love you,” Olivia said, looking past Lark. Her eyes shifted. “You too, Uncle Dillon.” She gritted her teeth and looked at Lark. “You’re the sister I never had.”

Lark’s face was wet, and she couldn’t see right. She felt Olivia’s dad near her, his body large and warm and she had to stifle the urge not to lean back to feel how alive he was. “You too, Olivia. You too,” she said instead, clutching her friend’s hand. It felt wrong. Cold and corpse-like. The stupid zombie virus worked so fucking fast.

“Dad,” Olivia said again, and then he was even closer to Lark on the floor.

Lark stared at him, trying to decipher the look on his face, then gave up. Nothing could be as horrible as losing a child, she realized.

He reached out, hand shaking, and touched her face. “It’s okay, little Olivia,” he said, and Lark didn’t know how he did it, but he smiled at his daughter. “It’s okay. You go to sleep now.”

Lark sucked in a horrible breath as she realized what he meant. She had a moment to think, oh no, and then she understood. His green eyes, so like Olivia’s, glittered with unshed tears.

“We love you, Olivia,” Dillon said, still standing. He looked behind him quickly, then dropped down and kissed Olivia quickly on the forehead before standing back up.

“Dad, take care of Lark,” Olivia managed, but her skin was already changing.

“No, no, no,” Lark said, gripping Olivia’s hand more tightly. “No—”

“Promise—” Olivia said, eyes filming over. “Dillon, promise—”

Lark looked at him just as he glanced at her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such devastation in a man’s eyes, but it didn’t scare her. She understood. She’d felt the same way when her parents died. She felt the same way now, with Olivia on the floor of their dorm, no longer laughing and alive. Above them, Dillon stood sentinel, his face carved from granite. He was just as wrecked as Mr. Greene— no, he said to call him Ben, Lark thought idiotically. She forced herself to let go of Olivia’s hand and back up.

“I promise,” Ben said, voice breaking.

“We promise,” Dillon said, hands clenching on the machete so hard his knuckles went white.

Lark looked back at Olivia. Her friend smiled faintly, then her head lolled to the side. “Oh, no. No,” she murmured as her best friend’s eyes flashed white, then settled into dead grey. She blinked, and faster than she could comprehend, Ben snatched the machete from Dillon’s hands and chopped her head off with one horrible swipe. Olivia’s body flared white-hot, then vanished with a crackle of electricity that had Lark choking. She staggered up, barely making it to the bathroom before she vomited all the chocolate she’d just eaten into the toilet.

Evernight / Amazon US  / AllRomance eBooks

Erin Leaf will choose one commenter to receive a $25 Amazon GC! Leave a comment or question below. Be sure to include your email address.