Read Backs Against the Wall (Survival Series) for Free Online

not exactly…”
    “What? What aren’t I, Ryan?” I ask sharply, glaring at him.
    He grins. “Friendly.”
    “Oh shut up,” I grumble, knowing he’s right.
    He goes back to arranging my medicines, chuckling to himself. I take my disgusting herbal blends without complaint, promising to continue taking them at regular intervals. Ryan has brought me food to eat as well, and I swear old dry carrots have never tasted so good. They’re absolutely dripping with freedom.
    “I have to go,” Ryan admits reluctantly. “I don’t want them to come looking for me.”
    “Okay,” I reply evenly, feeling relieved and anxious at the same time.
    There’s nothing about Ryan that doesn’t bring out contradiction in me. I want him to stay but I don’t know how to be with him here. I want him to go but I’ll miss the feel of him nearby. I hated it the first night I met him, how he confused everything and filled the room nearly to bursting with just his laugh. But now… I don’t know for sure. Now I’ve learned I can be around people, and if I have to be around anyone, I’d rather it was him.
    “You’ll be okay?” he asks.
    I give him a pointed look.
    “Right, of course you will. Alright, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    He rises from beside my bed, backing toward the door.
    “So soon?” I ask, surprised. “Isn’t that risky?”
    He shrugs. “Maybe, I guess. When do you want me to come back?”
    Tonight .
    “Tomorrow.”
    He smiles. “You sure?”
    “No,” I say, sh aking my head with a wan smile, “but come back anyway.”
    He leans down abruptly, taking me by surprise. His lips brush across my forehead once quickly, then, before I can freak out, he’s heading for the door.
    “Lock this behind me, okay?” he calls to me.
    “I will.”
    He pauses, halfway out the door. His brown eyes find mine, holding onto me for a long, silent moment. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Finally he says quietly, “Goodnight, Joss.”
    “Goodnight, Ryan.”
    When he’s gone, I close my eyes and picture him heading down the stairs, his strange weapon in his hand. He’s crossing the street, heading parallel to the park, back toward the building with the wood burning smell and the real mattress and the books in the walls. He’ll sleep on the bed with the scattered blankets smelling of soap and sweat. And maybe they’ll smell a little of me. A little like Colony soap, harsh laundry detergents, vomit, fear and longing. It’ll smell like a caged animal newly released to the wild. Shaking scared, disoriented. Angry.
     
    ***
     
    A week later, Trent shows up at my door.
    Alone.
    Ryan has been visiting every other day, checking on my arm to make sure infection isn’t running rampant. That I haven’t turned green. That I’m not jonesing for human flesh. It’s a worry you have these days no matter where you got your cut. Open wound means open to the sickness. No exceptions. I’m on full loft lock-down until I’m better healed and I am going out of my mind with boredom. My new favorite past-time? Knife throwing. It won’t do you a bit of good with a Risen, but with other people (something I am surrounded by lately), it’s a good talent to have.
    Too bad I suck at it.
    When Trent knocks on my door, I have a knife raised in my right hand. I was ready to throw but now I’m statue still. Waiting.
    “Joss.”
    That’s all he says. Just my name. Just once, low and deep in the way he says everything. Even. Methodical. Creepy as balls.
    I tip toe to the door, my hand still raised high with the gleaming, sharp blade at the ready. I suddenly wish I had a peephole on my door, though I don’t know what it would matter. I know what he looks like. He won’t have a weapon showing, even if he intends to murder me.
    “What do you want, Trent?” I demand quietly.
    “Little pig, little pig, let me in,” he whispers.
    “Not a chance in Hell, wolf. How do you know where I live?”
    “Is it a secret?”
    “I’m