Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(11)

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything so offensive in my life, so much that I can’t articulate a response. After the Final War, at first my days, like everyone’s, were about survival. The initial strikes came out of nowhere. Intercontinental ballistic missiles obliterated a dozen key strategic locations across the US, from major cities to military bases to the Pentagon.

Day Death, they called it.

It was shocking how fast it happened. How quickly everything went dead. International tensions had been growing worse each year, relationships between the major nations disintegrating into masses of sanctions and warnings and weapons manufacturing . . . but no one truly thought anyone would take it this far.

Everyone was desperate for details, for confirmation of who and why and what was being done. It never came. People certainly weren’t turning up for their day jobs to produce the seven-o’clock news, and only a bare handful of emergency radio broadcasts ever reached the public.

We heard a toneless recitation of the cities and military bases that now lay in ruins. An assurance that a national response scenario would soon be implemented. A declaration that martial law was now in place. An instruction to follow local authorities’ guidance.

I know people were desperate for more information. I saw them freeze in place, waiting for it. But from the start, I didn’t care who started it or why they wanted to end it this way. Knowing wouldn’t change the facts.

And knowing wouldn’t keep me safe.

In the wake of all the carnage that was left, it wasn’t enemies across the sea that were the true risk. It was the people around me. As soon as I heard about the initial strikes, I got myself out of town and secluded deep in the woods. It was the only place I could think of that wouldn’t be subject to rioters, or people out of their minds from fear. The only place that might be secluded enough for me to remain undetected.

And so, by the time Day Death drew to a close, I was tucked away. I was safe as hospitals were torn apart for supplies and supermarkets were gutted. When people were attacked for the weapons they had or the food they hid.

And I was secreted away when, just days after the first attack, the second wave hit. Devastating drones prowled our country—as best as I could tell, they were programmed to target masses of heat signatures. Our remaining major cities and military bases were eviscerated. Telecommunications infrastructure went down. The power went out. Smaller cities began falling like dominos.

After six days, there were no more emergency broadcasts.

There wasn’t much of anything, anymore.

I had no idea when the next strike would happen, or which places, if anywhere, were safe. I didn’t know whether aid was coming, or if a land war was imminent. There was no presidential announcement to confirm what had happened in the world beyond.

There was no president left to make an announcement.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Our reckoning was over, and it wasn’t pestilence, or death, or famine that killed us.

It was war.

After the first year, I stopped seeing drones scouting the skies. Some of the panic eased. I survived, and my daily challenge, insidious in its own way, became boredom. Boredom and loneliness. Books were my one true pleasure. The one thing that kept me sane.

And Lucky calls them drab!

Beau laughs. “Don’t get too worked up, darlin’. He’s teasing you. I’ve seen circus boy with his share of books. Not as many as Jasper, of course, but still.”

With a small huff, I resettle myself. He must be part imp. Joking about books, of all things.

I want to ask about the other two, the ones I haven’t met yet but . . . “Circus boy?”

“These are our questions, no hijacking,” Lucky complains.

“Did you really work for a circus?” I press, curious.

“You don’t understand how to play games at all. We’ll have to work on that. But yes, of course. Where do you think I learned to juggle and eat fire and do trapeze?”

I frown at the back of his head. Luscious strands of long dark-blond hair are escaping the tie. I notice there are a few braids scattered through the length and wonder if he did them himself.

“Is he joking again?” I asked Beau. “I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.”

Beau shoots me an amused look.

“Joking! Me? No, no, beautiful, I am never anything but deadly serious. How else could I have tamed the lions?” Lucky protests. “They respect strength, you see. Discipline.”

I can’t help but laugh.

As he adjusts me against his muscular back, he continues, “I’ll have you know that I was the best acrobat in our troupe. It was one of the best and most beautiful shows in the US. I’m also an excellent dancer and am quite good at making balloon animals.”

Beau snorts. “Don’t take it personally. He gave us all so much grief on tour we just about agreed on friendly fire.”

“You were . . . all in the circus?”

Dom is stalking ahead; I try and fail to imagine him performing in front of a crowd. Maybe twirling some batons or something.

Lucky starts laughing so hard he has to set me down. Bewildered, I look at Beau, who rolls his eyes.

“Rapid deployment, darlin’. We were Rangers.”

Oh. I study them both.

“That makes more sense,” I mutter.

Lucky wipes his eyes from where he’d bent over. “Oh, Beau, can you picture Jayk in a leotard? Maybe I should get him one on the next run.”