“Boom, boom…”

  Billy Jean was tied to a chair, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

  She kept growling, eyes glued to the bathroom door.

  Michael Joke had been in there for nearly two hours.

  They were holed up in a hotel.

  Billy Jean never saw this coming—Michael Joke dragging her here.

  What was his game?

  Some kinky bondage thing?

  Was it payback for what just went down or their blowout from years ago?

  Come to think of it, didn’t he skedaddle out of this city way back when?

  Why’d he boomerang?

  He was from Sea-city, not Ri-city.

  He’d only come to Ri-city to hit the books.

  That year, he trashed their love nest and bounced, transferred schools and all.

  Since then, she’d been radio silent.

  Three years, give or take.

  Fate sure had a twisted sense of humor.

  They crossed paths again.

  End of the world, no less.

  Why not stay put in Sea-city instead of hoofing it thousands of miles to Ri-city?

  What about his sister, Yasi?

  “Click…”

  The bathroom door swung open, yanking Billy Jean out of her head trip.

  She looked over and her eyes nearly popped.

  The guy was ripped.

  A towel slung low around his waist, abs like a washboard, chest glistening, every muscle carved to perfection, oozing strength.

  Holy cow!

  His testosterone was practically jumping off the screen.

  “Gulp…”

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Billy Jean swallowed hard.

  Damn!

  This new-and-improved Michael Joke was hotter than a jalape?o in July.

  She realized the wide-eyed kid who used to call her “sis” had morphed into a full-grown stud.

  Just then, a damp towel came sailing through the air, landing smack on her head, blotting out her view.

  Then came the sound of him getting dressed.

  Not being able to see was driving her nuts.

  "Dang it! If we weren’t from different sides of the undead divide, I’d jump his bones right here."

  "Hey, wait… I forgot any species can get it on with humans. Let me loose…"

  Michael Joke’s hand, hovering over his zipper, froze for a sec.

  Something flickered in his eyes, then he gave the zipper a tug.

  …

  Michael Joke was sprawled on the sofa.

  Long legs sheathed in black casuals, a white shirt hanging loose, buttons undone, showing off his chest.

  There was a gash on his chest from a sharp something, the flesh gaping.

  But it wasn’t too bad.

  Billy Jean was squirming in the chair, snarling at Michael Joke like a rabid dog.

  "Michael Joke, you jerk, cut me loose. I’ll show you…"

  Michael Joke shot her a lazy glance and brushed her off.

  On his left index finger was a vintage black-gold ring.

  It had an air of old-money mystery.

  He gave the ring a slow twirl and, presto, a soft golden glow lit up.

  Next thing you know, medical supplies for patching up his wound materialized out of thin air on the table.

  Billy Jean’s eyes went wide as saucers.

  Good grief, Michael Joke had a portable pocket dimension.

  Who wouldn’t be green with envy?

  She was dead certain he was a psychic.

  No way he could hang onto that space without the mojo.

  Since the world went kaput, she’d seen it all.

  People killing each other for psychic crystals, brawling over supplies, even throwing their pals to the vampires to save their own skins.

  End of the world, and human nature’s ugliness reared its head, all kinds of freaks crawling out of the woodwork.

  No one could bank on their buddies not stabbing them in the back tomorrow.

  Billy Jean was just sick and tired of living on a knife’s edge.

  That’s why she’d checked out of the human race and into vampiredom.

  At least the undead didn’t play dirty.

  Michael Joke scooped up the medical supplies and started dabbing and bandaging his wound.

  All the while, Billy Jean’s gutter thoughts were ringing in his ears.

  Michael Joke gritted his teeth until his temples throbbed.

  His face was darker than a thundercloud.

  He must’ve lost his marbles, tying a vampire up and then sitting there, listening to her plot to chomp on him.

  Just off her.

  Letting her roam free would be a death sentence for humanity.

  Michael Joke stood up, stalking toward Billy Jean, who was tied to the stool and thrashing like a banshee.

  Billy Jean saw him coming, those black eyes flashing danger.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Here he comes.

  He was gonna ice her for sure.

  Michael Joke planted himself in front of Billy Jean and whipped out a gun from his space, aiming it at her noggin.

  Even though he despised her down to his bones, his hand was shaking like a leaf.

  All kinds of emotions were churning in his eyes, but his trigger finger balked.

  The tremors in his hand got worse.

  “Bang…”

  The gun went off by accident.

  Michael Joke watched the bullet streak toward Billy Jean’s head.

  His face drained of color in a flash.

  His body reacted on autopilot.

  He kicked the chair over.

  Billy Jean tumbled, the bullet just grazing her hair.

  “Boom”

  The bullet buried itself in the wall.

  Michael Joke was panting like a dog, beads of sweat popping on his forehead.

  Looking at Billy Jean sprawled on the ground, his emotions were a train wreck.

  Why? Why’d he spare her?

  He’d defied his family and trekked thousands of miles back to Ri-city.

  He came to settle the score.

  If she croaked, wouldn’t that bury the hatchet?

  Michael Joke’s hand, clutching the gun, was spasming out of control.

  He couldn’t bring himself to lift the gun and take aim again.

  “Too easy to let you bite the dust.”

  He tossed the words over his shoulder and hightailed it out.