Bound To The Disabled Apocalyptic Tycoon

ilar estate. The air was thick with the smell of wet cement and

rieve the small wooden box from the backyard shed containing her adoptive mother's old farming j

bright red Ferrari sped up the driveway, slamming on its

oor swung open. Dax

o the top of the Manhattan social ladder-Dax had long ago appointed himself as Harley's fiercely loyal guard dog

lass with calculating, gleeful eyes. She had specifically complained to D

e a chivalrous knight, and then turned his head to glare at Jess

could hear. "You can put a Rust Belt rat in a Manhattan penthouse, but you stil

ing, leaning on their shovel

ical worry. She gently grabbed Dax's forearm. "Dax, please don't," she whispered, looking at Jessi

dn't calm Dax; it fueled his masculine ego, making him feel

rom Jessie's nose. "You stay the hell away from Harley. If you e

eadable canvas. She looked at Dax the way one might loo

x. He felt his ego bruising in front of

r personal space. He raised his hand, aiming to shov

her weight. Her eyes, previously dull, s

off mutated hounds and clawed her way through hordes of infected corpses. It was an unf

heart seized in his chest. His lungs forgot how to pull in air. It was

violent tremor started in his k

said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it

ard, his face drai

ed champion, cowardly backing down from a country girl. She pinched t

ealizing he had just cowered in front of H

ear. He pulled his arm back and swung a heavy

ey's lips curved into a

apocalypse-honed reflexes, hi

hand shot up like a viper, her fingers wrappin

ntum against him. As she twisted his arm down, she dro

ac

buckled instantly. His b

ith cold, detached eyes as his body laun

massive, shallow mixing tub filled