As far as Jimini is concerned, Adam
City has everything he needs. It has a well that provides much-needed water,
food, and safety from the dangers of the outside world. When his bookworm of a
brother leaves to chase waterfalls, Jimini must follow even though he knows it
will probably mean his death. When the first person he meets on the outside
pulls a gun on him, he’s proven right. No one who calls himself a slaver and has a gun has Jimini’s safety in
mind, even if he is sexy. The journey Jimini expects isn’t the one he gets.
“Help me,” the man whispered,
so lightly Jimini could barely hear it.
Jimini nodded, taking the jug from the man with
his free hand. “Let go of my hand and I’ll prop you up so you can drink. In exchange, I ask that you do not shot the gun
again.”
The man still held on to his hand as if his
life depended on it. Jimini put his hand over the man’s and tried to pry his
fingers away. It was pointless. His grip tightened even more. Jimini sighed and
started working around the restriction.
“Why?” The man croaked out when Jimini moved
his body, so he was cradling the man’s
head in his lap.
Jimini pushed the man’s back up and wriggled
around until he was sitting up, leaning against him. “I’m misunderstanding the
question.” Jimini handed the jug back to the man. “Drink slowly, not a lot all
at once.”
The man tipped up the jug and took a long
drink, some spilling out of the corners of his mouth, not listening to Jimini’s
words of caution at all. “Do you not understand my words?”
Jimini reached up for the jug with one hand,
the other bracing them both with a fist in the dirt. He took the jug and set it
down between his legs. “You need to go slow with it, let your body adjust to
the water. Going from nothing to full
could make you sick.”
The man was heavy against him, his long dark
hair tickled Jimini’s face as it came to rest against Jimini’s shoulder.
“Why are you helping me?” The man asked. His
voice was deep, and he sounded better
this time as if the water wetted his throat
enough to speak clearly.
“Why wouldn’t I extend help?” Jimini asked.
The man tried to laugh, but he winced instead.
“Where did you come from?”
Jimini wasn’t sure if he should answer or not.
“What happened to your water, sir?” he asked instead.
“It got stolen.”
“Did you not pull the gun on them the way you
did me?”
“You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No.” Jimini wasn’t stupid enough to tell this
man where he lived. “What is your name?”
“You tell me first.” The man picked up the jug
and took another drink of water.
“That is very rude, sir.”
The man set the jug down again. “Aaruth. My name’s Aaruth.”
The man sat up, moving off him and letting go
of his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to stitch a wound, would you?”
“Yes. On more than one occasion. My mother was
very good at that task before she passed on and taught me well. I’ve even had
to sew up a cut on myself before—”
“I don’t need your fucking life story. Just sew
up the cut on my stomach, will ya?”
Jimini sighed. “You’re manners are astonishing.”
Author Bio:
outside playing with the animals or taking a long walk in the woods. If you wish to contact her, email authoraprilkelley@gmail.com. Please visit her website at authoraprilkelley.com
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