Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,55

lying on the ground. Over the last five years, I’ve drank precious little liquor, and what little I did drink was done far, far away from The Painted Angel. Elvita had a strict rule against drugs and alcohol, one she forced all her girls to comply with.

But now Elvita is gone.

I pick up the liquor bottle and tip its final remnants into my mouth, enjoying the harsh burn of it.

Another thing I’m going to read into: the fact that at some point, Famine managed to find better alcohol to clean my wound with, and he packed it. That’s a level of consideration I can’t even imagine the horseman having.

“Ana.”

I drop the bottle and head back over to Famine, letting him help me back onto his steed. When he joins me in the saddle a moment later, I jolt a little at the press of his body against mine. And when his hand drapes itself over my leg, I feel awfully happy about it.

Please, God, tell me that’s just the alcohol’s doing.

It’s quiet for one tense, long minute.

“So,” I finally say, “are we going to talk about what just—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Damn you, Ana—no.”

Someone’s uncomfortable about tending to me.

I smile a little. “Awww, I think you don’t half mind my company.”

“You’re making me reconsider.”

“Nonsense.” I lean back against the horseman, letting myself enjoy the feel of him around me. “And guess what? I don’t half mind your company either.”

This really had better be the alcohol’s doing.

Chapter 21

In Registro, the next big city we ride into, people line the roads of the old, crumbling highway, waiting for Famine. They cheer when they see him, their faces jubilant.

My stomach curdles at the sight, and for a moment my horror is so strong I feel like I’m choking on my breath.

What have they been told? That the horseman is going to spare them? Or did they just make that assumption like our town did? That maybe if they throw enough valuable items in his direction, he’ll forget his purpose and skip them over.

Either way, Famine has too much hate inside him to do anything but kill, kill, kill.

Most of our audience’s eyes are fixed on Famine, who is a head taller than me in the saddle. However, I get plenty of looks too. I can tell they’re trying to figure out how I factor in. One or two of them meet my gaze, and they tentatively smile at me.

Don’t be so reassured, I want to shout at them. I can’t stop him either. My shoulder throbs then, echoing my thoughts.

“Do the people in these cities ever turn on you?” I ask, taking the crowd in.

“More often than you can imagine,” Famine murmurs.

And now I’m vividly picturing an arrow spearing me through the heart. It could happen so easily. But it never comes. Just like my city, this one believes that they can win this monster over.

We wind our way through the streets, and everywhere I look, I see pre-apocalyptic buildings that’ve been repurposed into something else. Stables, taverns, produce markets, butcher shops, homespun clothing stores, bicycle shops, tanneries, smitheries, and on and on.

By the looks of it, Registro has done well for itself. Up until today, at least.

At some point, another man on horseback separates himself from crowd, entering the street to wave at the horseman.

I lean back against Famine. Once again, I’m vividly imagining an arrow slicing through me.

“Relax, flower,” the Reaper says, reading my body language, “that’s one of my men.” Famine steers us towards him.

“Good to see you again, Famine,” the man calls out. “We have a house on the edge of the city that we’ve prepared for you.”

“Good,” Famine says. “Take us there now.”

The man’s gaze moves from the horseman to me, then he turns his horse forward and begins moving.

Up until now, I hadn’t thought about being seen with the horseman. Famine had me shackled and locked away like a real prisoner. But now the cuffs are gone and the Reaper has that arm draped over my thigh.

I know what it looks like. Even if I had never been in the business of sex and intimacy, I would know what this looked like.

Like Famine and I were together.

I glance over my shoulder at the Reaper, but his eyes are on the rider ahead of us. A sinister smile tugs at his lips.

Shit.

Excitement from this guy means that we’re all probably fucked.

We follow the rider down several side streets. People still stand by and cheer, but the crowds are a little thinner