He couldn’t blame the townspeople for not trusting Pete and Justin. They were slimy bastards full of plans for revenge. But exiling him? That he could blame the folk of Blackstone for just fine.

No one had been able to openly stand up to Emmet. He’d crucified men for less. But Nick would never have let the captain’s plan come to fruition. Not a f**king chance.

No, he wasn’t one of the bad guys.

Eventually, she’d understand. He’d spoil her. Comfort her. Make life as easy for her as he could. Give her whatever the hell she wanted. If she’d just give him a chance.

“This way,” he said, ushering her toward the long wooden ramp leading up to the cabin.

“Mmhmm.” Her nod looked spring-loaded, like a bobble-headed doll.

Shit. What was she going to try?

Her sneakers squeaked noisily as she stepped onto the wooden ramp, stopping at the edge of the meter and a half of platform he’d removed. Like a moat with a drawbridge, it effectively cut them off from attack—by infected, at least. Other survivors were another issue altogether.

“Clever.” She sounded surprised.

He took it as a compliment.

She peered down at the ground a good three to four meters below. The cabin sat up on stilts at the edge of a rocky outlook, positioned to make the most of the view. Handy now for defense reasons, since infected couldn’t climb. Nick knelt and carefully extended the thick wooden plank he kept handy for crossing the gap. She jumped at the thump of the wood falling into place.

With a smile he held out his hand to her. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers were warm and damp, and they didn’t remain in his for long. She gripped the banister nearest the plank with her other hand and carefully crossed with tiny geisha-type steps. Maybe she didn’t like heights. It wouldn’t hurt his cause. Yet another incentive for her to not tear off on her own anytime soon.

Everything would be fine once she got inside. Once she saw the effort he’d gone to on her behalf.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

She nodded.

The minute she cleared the end he strode across, throwing her a quick smile. He pulled the plank back from the gap and ushered her into the waiting cabin. A cold wind shook the trees. The skirt of her uniform fluttered above her knees, her bare legs ripe with gooseflesh.

“Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” he said.

She blinked and gave him a forced smile, staying a step ahead of the hand he would have put to the small of her back. Keeping herself out of his reach.

The sun had slowly begun to sink in the west. For the hour-long drive home he’d taken the most convoluted route possible, mostly to be safe but also to chew up some time. They were right on schedule.

Roslyn wandered inside, head turning this way and that, taking it all in. “It looks nice.”

“I think we’ll be comfortable here.” His chest warmed at her faint praise. Back in the day the cabin would have been on the more expensive side of things. There was a spa bath in the bathroom off to the side and, more importantly, a composting toilet. The kitchen sported black granite benchtops and all the shiny mod-cons. Though they didn’t much matter now with electricity long gone. “Have a look around. I want you to feel at home.”

“Okay.” Her fingers traced over the granite and she half-turned to face him, chin high and forehead creased. “How do you see this going down exactly, Nick?”

He crossed his arms, widened his stance, proudly checking out the room and all his handy work. “Well, it seems to me we can be of use to one another. You need …”

He caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. A dark object—a bottle of wine with her pale fingers wrapped around the neck.

Nick threw himself aside. He was a second too late.

Bam! The bottle clipped the side of his skull, fell to the floor and shattered like a gunshot.

Pain swamped him. He couldn’t see. Blood ran down his face, dripped in his eyes. The rich scent of red wine filled the air.

Roslyn scrambled. He heard the sound of her sudden panting and the crazed squeaking of her shoes. Her leg brushed against his as she threw herself past him, racing back down the corridor, heading for the door. Not happening. Adrenalin surged and pain took a back seat.

She didn’t get far.

Nick clambered to his feet and pounced, taking her down. Mostly, he just collapsed on top of her, half-blinded by blood. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, his chest to her back. He took the bulk of his weight on one arm, but not all of it. Air shot from her lungs with a startled oooff.

The silence didn’t last long.

Roslyn drew in a sharp breath, opened her mouth and screamed, long and loud. The piercing noise echoed through the building, escaping out the back door and through the wide open bi-fold doors at the front. It rose up and out into the open air, exposing their whereabouts to anything listening. The noise was a hundred times louder than the truck engine could ever hope to be. With feet kicking and body bucking beneath him, the woman went nuts.

“Don’t!” Nick crawled up her, knees scuttling on the slippery, wine-splattered floor. His head throbbed bloody murder, forehead fit to explode. He slapped a hand over her mouth and held on. Her teeth chomped, trying to bite him. More muffled shrieks rose up.

“Stop it!” he hissed into her ear. Or he thought it was her ear. Still couldn’t see for shit. Her hair clung to his face, wet with blood and wine. “Fuck, Roslyn. Stop.”