Forlorn Redemption (The End We Saw Book 4) by Leif Spencer

Author:Leif Spencer [Spencer, Leif]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-24T16:00:00+00:00

9

Stars gleamed through the bare trees, and the smell of smoke coming from the bonfire near the entrance tickled Chloe’s nose. She sneezed. It was only February, and already her allergies were flaring up. Her thoughts drifted to Felix’s words about growing food. It’ll be hard. She cleared her throat and for the first time in her life smiled at the discomfort. Her allergies signified the potential for growth, the promise of spring.

Chloe approached the caravan where Clive sat with his hands and feet cuffed and almost bumped into Egbertyne. She heard her before she spotted her silhouette against the dim light of the fire in the distance. Silence, since the Pulse, had been absolute, only disturbed by the leaves rustling in the wind. Without birds and crickets chirping, without cars rumbling by, footsteps and coughs had turned boisterous.

“I just—” Egbertyne stammered, pointing her thumb at the caravan. She looked guilty whenever she visited her brother, as though she considered it a forbidden act. Something to be ashamed of.

Chloe smiled and nodded in a way she hoped was understanding. “Me too.”

Mae hadn’t allowed them to visit Clive at first, but after a few days, she’d stopped assigning her own people to guard his caravan.

Egbertyne pursed her mouth. She balled one fist, relaxed her hand, then rotated her shoulders like a professional boxer about to enter the ring. She unlocked the door with a trembling hand.

“Are you all right?” Chloe asked.

A huff followed by a snuffling sound was the only reply.

It was dark inside, and Chloe lit the candles on the table with a match. Egbertyne lingered by the door as if afraid to approach their brother. She pushed her back against it, her eyes never leaving Clive, observing him much like a zookeeper might observe a lion prowling in front of them.

He sat on the bed, his hands and feet cuffed. He rubbed his wrists.

“You should talk to her,” Chloe said to Clive. Chloe sat on the bed next to him and studied his face in the dim light of the candles. His blond stubble had thickened, barely visible against his pale skin, but it was an unfamiliar sight. They’d shackled his feet together, barely allowing him to shuffle from one end of the caravan to the other. The purple bruise still adorned his face from where Rick had punched him during their fight.

“What do you want me to say?” Clive asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “I can serve up a sob story if you’d like.” He curled his lower lip into a mocking pout. “Once Dad left, I was stuck with my good-for-nothing-mum who drank herself into an early grave.” He sniffed, exaggerating his pout further. “Nobody cared, and the only person who was willing to look after me was a cruel, heartless bitch AKA my grandmother.”

Chloe flinched at the sound of his voice—mocking laced with bitter memories. How had she missed the resentment eating up her beloved brother?

Clive spat. “Nan used me as her own personal housekeeper. I cooked, cleaned, did the shopping and the laundry and fixed everything that broke.

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