Moros
The air inside thecommunity feels thicker. Smells heartier. Like lost hope and stew.
And our reputation clearly precedes us as we walk the main road, its cobblestone path worn in the center, with eyes that dart both away and to us.
Some run inside their shops and homes.
Others look downright angry.
There’s even some pinched brows aimed at Amo and the way he’s walking close to Wilson, assumptions behind their heavy gazes.
Idon’tlike that.
But they all have something in common as the three of us pass, silencing the street by merely existing inside the walls together.
“They’re afraid.”
“Memories are long, Moros,” Wilson mutters back, his shoulders stiff in front of me.
“Your name doesn’t help much,” Amo adds like I need a fucking reminder, and I huff at the curls bunched on top of his head.
“Don’t be a little shit, kitten.”
His snicker lines my gut, making this all seem just a little bit lighter than it was before him.
I always hated coming inside these walls. The looks, the scurrying away, the assumptions. It’s all been too much to face by myself for the last decade since Wilson and I battled it out and he decided that being infected meant he’d be better off out there on post twenty-three. Away from people.
In case he turned.
The people inside here had no problem relying on me, onus, to protect them, so long as I kept the rest of those like us out and myself hidden away like I was asked. In the woods. Outside the gates.
Hypocrites.
“C’mon,” Amo whispers to us, tugging on Wilson’s hand to pull him down a side street to the left. “They’ll be meeting soon.”
Following close behind them, the need to rest my hands on their shoulders hits me so strongly, I almost do it. My palms itch to feel their heat. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch.
Not yet.
Jeopardizing them before we have a shot to make this right is not what I aim to do. Not again.
But if I have to slit throats all over again, I fucking will.
Steeling myself with a breath as we come up to the building at the dead end of the street, its ornate door sticking out like a sorethumb against the ivy-infested walls, I stop Amo before he can just walk in.
“Last chance, kitten.”
The sunlight dancing between the buildings hits his rolling eyes just right, making them look like they’re glowing in the daylight.
My stomach flips over.
“Stop asking me that, asshole.”
I scoff.
Great. Wilson getsBig Guyand I’m the asshole.
“Fuck you,” I murmur low, my normal heat behind my words softened for him. He can tell, I know he can, because he smiles at me before flipping me his middle finger and pushing his way inside.
