Chapter 6

"You," I snarl, bending down to place my hand on the edge of the car and leaping off.

As my feet hit the dirt, Wolfe reaches out to take hold of me, steadying me. The touch of his hand to my arm is so fraught with sensation that it almost burns. I jerk my arm away from him and take a step back, my ass pressed against the car.

"I didn't expect to see you again." My words come out with a harsh edge. I don't want him to know how much his leaving the Tucson Sanctuary affected me, but I can't keep the pain and anger from my voice.

"Told you I'd see you again." His voice is a dark drawl that sends shivers racing up and down my spine.

"You here for fuel?" I ask him, jerking my head back toward the pumps. "We're finished. We'll move our cars so you can get in here."

Wolfe steps toward me, backing me into the vehicle and crowding me with his big body. I suck in a sharp breath as my breasts touch his leather-clad chest. It's been a year since I last saw him, but everything rushes back as though it was only yesterday. The way he smells, the way he talks, everything about him.

"We're here for you."

"Thanks," I say, deliberately misunderstanding him. "But we don't need any help."

He doesn't answer back right away. He looks around, his gaze settling on the two vehicles that belong to my team, and the people surrounding them. His eye is assessing, cold and calculating as he contemplates my people.

"You heading to Santa Fe Sanctuary?" he asks.

I wonder if he's been keeping tabs on me or if he's just making an assumption based on how close we are to Santa Fe. I try not to let a thrill of excitement go through me at the thought that Wolfe might be tracking us. There aren't that many usable roads to Santa Fe. He could easily make the assessment that Santa Fe is our destination based on our tracks, the road that we're travelling and the lack of destinations hereabouts.

"Yes," I confirm. "I have a vaccine to distribute."

"Heard about that," he says, his gaze is still on everything except me.

"We're travelling from Sanctuary to Sanctuary, spreading the vaccine. It seems to be working. We're hearing rumours as we travel that the Sanctuaries we've visited are gradually becoming more and more Primitive free." I speak nervously, giving him information as though he requested it. This is what Wolfe does to me; I can be in perfect control, but the moment he's around I become either tongue-tied or the opposite.

"Heard about that too."

Wolfe's Ôman of few words' thing is starting to irritate me.

"We'll be on our way then," I say, attempting to turn away from him to organize my people.

"We'll escort you." Wolfe makes it clear that there's no room for argument in his words.

Still, I argue. "We don't need an escort."

"Come." He takes my arm and gives me a tug, turning back toward the lineup of cars he came with, as if fully expecting me to follow.

I dig my heels into the dirt, but he still drags me. Wolfe is a big man, even bigger than I remember. His shoulders are incredibly broad, stretching his shirt until the seams look as though they'll split. His leather pants are also tight, the muscles of his thighs bulging. He was always a big man, but he seems somehow more massive than the last time I'd seen him. He must've spent time over the past year doing intense physical labour. I'm curious about what he was doing, but not enough to ask.

I grab hold of the hand that's wrapped around my bicep and yank on his finger in an attempt to get him to release me. He lets go of my arm for a second, readjusts his hold and continues pulling me.

"Hold up!" Deacon shouts from the car behind us. I hear the click of his gun cocking.

A cold sweat settles over me. I know Wolfe. He won't stand for anyone pointing a gun at him, whether they're an enemy or an ally.

"Put your gun down," I call quickly to Deacon. "He's not an enemy."

I don't know if this is true exactly. I don't know what's happened to Wolfe over the past year. He seems to know what's been happening with me. What if he's become an Outsider? He always had it in him. Back in Santa Fe, when I was married to Warlord Silas, I always got the feeling that Wolfe merely paid lip service to the people around him. He was so completely his own man, he could walk out of the palace, out of the Sanctuary, and into the desert and be completely fine.

In fact, that's exactly what he did after the fall of Santa Fe. He travelled with me to Tucson, helped me reunite with my sister and her husband, then he walked out of my life, leaving only a cryptic message behind. "Come find me when you're ready." The words that would haunt me for an entire year.

Was I ready? He had been the one to leave me behind, not the other way around. He told me to come find him, yet here he is. He's the one to find me.

When Wolfe continues walking, dragging me toward his car, I twist around to shout at my people, "Follow us!"

Wolfe opens the passenger side of his car and shoves me inside. I'm so shocked by the entire exchange that I don't do anything but stare at him as he strides back around to the driver's side, opening the door and climbing in.

"Seatbelts." Wolfe says it like it should be automatic, but seatbelts in vehicles rarely work, so most people don't use them. Collisions aren't common anymore. It's more likely that a vehicle will just break down.

I stare at him in consternation and he reaches over to pull the belt from a spot just above my shoulder, tugs it across my chest and buckles me in. I'm amazed when I hear the click. Even the seatbelts that do work are rarely used. There's just no point anymore. We live in a dangerous world; car accidents are the least of our difficulties. I wiggle experimentally, pulling at it where it sits on my chest.

"I don't like it, it's uncomfortable."

He doesn't respond to my complaint but buckles himself in and turns the key in the ignition, starting the car.

Vehicles all around us come to life, their engines rumbling in the desert. I turn my gaze to the car next to us, focusing on the young man driving. I don't recognize him. I don't recognize anyone. Who are these people?

"Where are we going?" I ask Wolfe as he hits the gas and turns the car back on to the road.

"Sanctuary," he says cryptically.

"Any specific Sanctuary?" I ask him sarcastically.

"Santa Fe."

"Well that's convenient." When he doesn't say anything back, I fall silent. There's so much I want to say, to ask him, but pride keeps me silent. He left me. I'm not sure what he's doing back in my life now. I don't even know if we're on the same side. Is he kidnapping me or is he helping me get to the next Sanctuary on my list?

I turn in my seat, staring out behind us. Looking for the cars that belong to my team. With the dirt being thrown up as the cars race away from the fueling station, I can't pick them out. I hope they're following close behind. I don't know what this is, don't know why it took Wolfe six cars and one year to find me, but I want my people for backup. Even just for emotional support. These are the people who have fought at my side and my back. People that I trust, and who trust me. People who will defend me in a heartbeat, if I ask.

Wolfe is driving an early century car, one I don't recognize, but some kind of sports car, I think. As the world fell to the Primitives, luxury items such as sports vehicles were some of the first to go. Anything built for looks over durability didn't sustain. This one seems to be doing okay as it flies over the rutted road.

"Nice car."

He grunts. "I found it in the Tijuana Sanctuary."

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought Tijuana fell thirty years ago."

"Thirty-four," he corrects me. "They rebuilt. I went there after I left Tucson."

I look at him, my eyes drifting down his arms to land on his knuckles where they rest on the steering wheel. I forgot how scarred his hands are, some of the fingers twisted at the knuckles, clearly having been broken at some point. Despite that, his hands look capable. Capable of building, capable of destroying. Capable of touching a woman.

"What happened in Tijuana 34 years ago?" I'm not sure if I care, but Santa Fe is at least half a day away and sitting in complete silence for the entire trip will be boring.

"The city fell."

"Why'd the city fall?" Jesus, this is going to be a long ass conversation if he doesn't start volunteering more information.

Finally, he glances at me and speaks. "I was five. We were warring with neighbouring Sanctuaries, including Tucson. We didn't have enough resources and went after others for food, water and medical supplies. We weren't prepared to defend ourselves against the fallout."

I shiver at his short but brutal explanation. War. It's almost better when cities topple from things outside the hands of humans, like flu and Primitives. It's worse when we're the cause of our own downfall. It breaks my heart imagining the five-year-old Wolfe getting caught up and displaced in the war.

"So you're originally from Mexico... or where Mexico used to be?"

When cities, regions and nations fell, borders became meaningless. The only borders that matter anymore are the ones staked out around Sanctuaries. Everything else in between is a lawless no man's land, where Primitives roam and Outsiders take refuge. Still, there are enough surviving people who remember the time of the Great Fall. They keep the memory of our former geography alive.

I'm originally from what used to be Canada, from somewhere in the west. We lived in a secluded wooded area with many natural resources, but the winters were harsh and the area was lonely, mostly devoid of other people. When everything fell to shit, what was left of my family travelled south.

He shrugs. "I guess. Never knew where my parents came from."

"What about your family? What happened to them?" I'm almost afraid to ask. If his story ended happily, his parents would be alive and well, and he would know about his heritage. If his family had survived, I suspect he wouldn't be the hardened killer that he is today. Our pasts have shaped us, his and mine. We're both killers now.

"Dead. They fell when Tijuana went down."

"I'm so sorry," I murmur, lifting my hand to touch him. I drop it to the seat between us. He doesn't want my sympathy.

Then he surprises me. He reaches out and takes my hand in his, giving it a squeeze. As though he knows I wanted to touch him and aborted. I can feel my face flushing with emotion.

"Don't be sorry for me," he says. "I don't remember them. I was lucky enough to be picked up by a group of refugees heading north, toward Santa Fe. They could've easily left me behind as dead weight, but they took pity on a filthy, starving, injured child."

"Is that how you lost your eye?" I want to call the question back immediately. It's personal and I'm crossing a line. Wolfe never talks about his eye. Yet from the day I met him, I've always been curious.

"Yes," he says simply.

In the space of just half an hour I've learned more about Wolfe than I had in the years I lived with him in the Santa Fe Warlord's palace.