Page 71 of Ronan

“Oh, for the love of the gods,” Cameron scoffs. “She’s my dog. Pet her.”

Reyes stares between us again. “I’m going to be really honest… I don’t know what to do right now.”

“What you can do, rebel, is explain why you’re here.”

“This ismyhome,” he stresses, not hiding his irritation. “You’re the ones who came in and gathered up my supplies.”

“We weren’t taking everything. I was simply categorizing our finds into a system that would be easier to decide what to keep and what to leave behind. There’s only so much room in our vehicle, after all. Priorities have to be given.”

Cameron leans forward, hand blocking his mouth as though he’s sharing a secret. “He has an organizing kink.”

Eyes narrowed into slits and a low growl rumbling in my chest, I twist to glare at Cameron right as he pushes the needle through my skin. “Motherfucker!” I shout, and Reyes jolts, spine straight as though good posture makes him appear more innocent.

“That hurt, Ro? Maybe you shouldsit stillbefore I tie you up, too.”

I grumble, focusing on Reyes again. “How did you come to be here?”

He reaches to pet Boomerang before hesitating, and I find endless pleasure in his discomfort. Finally, his hand rests on her head, as if it’s a loophole that’ll satisfy both me and Cameron. “I’ve lived here for years.”

“In thisrebelcamp?”

Annoyed, he huffs, and his eyes flick upwards as if he might roll them, before a visible effort smooths his expression. “Outsiders like to call it that, yes, but the group that lived here was full of good people. I mean, did they steal and scavenge? Of course. It’s the only way to survive out here in the wilds.”

Cameron hums his agreement from behind me. “We were so well-stocked because we produced our own goods. The leaders were friendly with the other local camps, and we had a lot to trade.” He gestures towards the northwestern corner of the camp. “The field beyond thehouses was once a garden that grew more fresh food than we could consume. Much of it was canned, but the rest was traded along with the seeds we collected every year.”

“Everyone had a trade, and if they didn’t, they learned one. Candlemakers, soapmakers, beekeepers, cheesemakers…”

“Ugh, cheese,” Cam groans, and Reyes slips into a small grin.

“We generated products that most camps didn’t have the knowledge or capacity to make, so we traded it. It’s what kept the camp stocked. Raiders have passed through since I’ve been alone here, but scavengers only take what they can carry. Once they clear out a couple houses, I restock a few cabinets and closets so the next ones will be satisfied with their haul and move on.”

“Okay, let’s back up a second,” I say, and he looks at me expectantly. “Rewind to the reason you’re the only person here.”

He mindlessly rubs Boomerang’s head as she wags her tail. Useless guard dog, that one. “You found one of the cellars, but secret rooms are scattered all over the camp.”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “There’s even more stuff?”

“Yes,” Reyes says with an annoyed glare. “Tip of the iceberg, monster. Do you really think I’d let scavengers wipe me out?”

“I haven’t studied your particular brand of idiocy enough to make that assessment, rebel, though the signs are pointing to yes.”

“What he means,” Cameron interrupts, “is we’re listening.”

Reyes sighs, the sound absolutely filled with defeat. “Several years ago, I was working in one of the hiddenrooms when there was a loud commotion from outside. I… I don’t know if it was a powerful group of raiders or military, but they came in and slaughtered everyone.”

“You mean to tell me you hid in your rat hole while your friends were murdered and didn’t even bother to help?”

He offers a careless shrug, but the way his eyes dart away, and the subtle clench in his jaw, betray his guilt. “One extra set of hands wouldn’t have made a difference, and I’m a gardener, not a fighter. I’m not proud of it, but if I had the chance to go back and do it again? I’d still stay in that damn ‘rat hole’ and be alive to tell the tale.”

The whole time we’ve been talking, Cameron has worked on my stitches, his fingers tugging and tying in a process that’s becoming all too familiar. Knowing how much he hates blood and gore, I wish it was something that wasn’t necessary, but even with my advanced healing abilities, some wounds require more than time. He reaches around me to grab a knife from the table, trimming the excess thread. The sting of alcohol burns once more before he covers the wound with a bandage.

He parts my hair to inspect the knot, and I suck in another sharp breath as he gently prods at it. “Stop being a baby,” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in his tone. After deeming it nonlethal, he brushes my hair back into place, giving a gentle squeeze to the back of my neck.

“You’re the one that called me baby earlier.” He rolls his eyes, pressing a barely-there kiss to my lips.

“Never going to live that down, am I? Call it a moment of insanity,” he teases, full of affection as we grin at each other. “I don’t even like you.”

“Don’t lie, you love me,” I murmur, and his smile falters as his eyes dip to my mouth.

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