Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1 Read Free Page B

and planet. Christ, he could write a book on the subject.
    “Is he dead?” Rachel yelled from the open car window.
    He pivoted and shouted back. “I’m gonna check on him. Stay there.” She nodded and leaned back into the leather seat.
    Adam strode past the cobalt blue cab of an enormous delivery truck with Walmart emblazoned across the back. A dead body slumped in the driver’s seat.
    He shook his head. Jesus, get me the hell outta here.
    His boots crunched on broken glass as he walked over, fully expecting to find a corpse in a widening pool of blood. Instead, he found a man passed out on the freeway—without a single rash or welt. What the hell? He blew out a breath. They always had a deep burgundy rash that started on the chest and spread up to the face. Always.
    Adam crouched next to him and found a weak pulse on his filthy wrist. The guy was hot as a furnace with perspiration beading on his face. The trench coat fell open to reveal his bare chest, simple blue shorts and scratched knees. Thank fuck. At least he wasn’t naked.
    “Sir, can you hear me? Are you sick? Do you need help?” Nothing. Adam glanced at the noticeable rise and fall of his chest. Damn. Alive but unresponsive. Sick, but not far enough along to show the worst of the symptoms.
    He hung his head. What in the hell should he do now?
    He could drag this diseased stranger, who would die anyway, into the Hummer and take him with them. Try to give him a few worthwhile minutes as he bled all over the frickin’ car.
    Or he could leave him here and go.
    Fuck.
    His eyes sliced to the Lexus. What would Rachel think? Should he ask her opinion? His mind flashed to the mass burials, all the people he’d nursed, everyone who’d died. He was so done with death. His gut twisted at the thought of ministering to one more patient. One more sick, diseased, messed-up, confused, desperate and vomiting patient. His hands clenched into fists and he ground his teeth in frustration.
    He knew what to do. He wouldn’t burden Rachel with this decision. It was his and his alone. Adam stood up and turned his back on the last Ebola victim and strode back to the Lexus. Rachel opened the door and stepped out.
    He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s dead.”
    She glanced toward the distant body. He noticed then that her hair wasn’t actually brown, but auburn. A silky wave of red highlights shone in the morning sun, thick and touchable. His lips thinned into a straight line. What the fuck? Why was he responding to her like this? His dick tightening, his hands itching to tear her clothes off? She was a fellow survivor, a companion, a comrade in this hellhole situation. He tried to refocus, but his asshole mind wouldn’t let it go.
    If she is the last woman alive, and they stick together, at some point they would need to fuck, right?
    Adam cursed under his breath. He desperately wanted to peel those baggy clothes off, drag her to the Hummer and fuck her blind with a slamming session of I’m-alive celebratory sex. He turned his head, examining the industrial neighborhood next to the freeway. He needed to get his mind out of the gutter.
    “Adam?” Rachel caught his attention, innocently unaware of the graphic images racing through his head. She took a deep breath, a pained expression on her face. He worried for a moment she guessed his primal intent. Or wait, did she want to check on the guy behind them? He curled his fingers into fists. Dear God, no. What a mess that would be.
    Her eyes locked with his. “Have you seen anyone else alive?” she asked.
    Adam exhaled. Good, she had no clue. “No one,” he answered. Nada. Nothing. Big fat zero.
    “I haven’t seen anyone on the streets in two days.”
    “I’m not surprised,” he replied, doing his best to keep his head in the game and his eyes off her lips. For chrissake, they were in the middle of San Diego, surrounded by dead bodies. “Yesterday, the last few people on the base died. I’ve been on the radio