In a dystopian world where the rich get richer and the poor struggle to survive, Tessa is a mad scientist. Or, more accurately, she’s a pissed off one. Her father was killed for sport by the wealthy and ever since, Tessa’s had one goal and one goal only -- revenge.
Wanting to watch the world burn, she creates a virus no one has ever seen before. One that will turn the evil rich into mindless zombies. There’s only one problem. The virus doesn’t work on the one man Tessa wishes she didn’t know all too well: Rory.
When her plans go awry, Rory and Tessa are forced to work together to survive. But can survival ever turn into something more?
Praise for Gridlock (Revenge and Zombies 1)
"I had a good time reading this and I am looking forward to read more of Torri Heat!
If you like "the walking dead", I definitely recommend this!"
-- 4 Stars from Kirsten, Goodreads Review
"This was a quick and spicy read. You can always count on Torri to give you a strong and witty FMC. I loved the back and forth with Tessa and Rory and the bond they formed through survival. I look forward to continuing Tessa and Rory’s story and seeing how they overcome the obstacles that keep coming their way."
-- 4 Stars from Taryn Adlington, Goodreads Review
"...a spicy, quick read. Which I would not expect anything less from Torri. Despite Tessa and Rory starting out as enemies, I felt the physical attraction to one another. Undead or human...love is love and when the chemistry is there, you go for it! So come get your zombie fix with Gridlock by Torri Heat!"
-- 4 Stars from Cheryl, Amazon Review
"Gridlock has everything you could want in a fast paced short read... and a little bit of spice for good measure. Torri Heat does not disappoint!"
-- 4 Stars from Ashlee, Goodreads Review
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Gridlock (Revenge and Zombies 1)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Torri Heat
In the beginning there was Adam and Eve. At least, that’s the story they told in school. My elementary school wasn’t the best, situated on the wrong side of the railroad tracks. Most of the students were kids of domestic servants -- gardeners, and maids to the richest of the rich. Our clothes were cast offs, retrieved from garbage bags tossed outside their golden gates. Our tablets were refurbished, at least three generations behind the latest tech. Cast offs. Our teachers were still real-life people, not the private holograms other districts had been using for years. They made it clear they didn’t want to be there any more than we did. Most of the kids barely made it through middle school, the rest scraping by through high school. College was a joke, something our teachers didn’t bother even pretending we cared about. My classmates knew their place, and they were destined to take over the jobs their parents would retire from. Kids of chefs became chefs. Children of seamstresses became seamstresses. We didn’t move outside of our carefully worn tracks, following closely in the footsteps tread before us.
But I digress. I’m sure despite the teaching methods, the story was still the same. In the beginning, there was Adam and Eve. Adam was flesh and blood, a man of the finest calibre. He was something of a legend, more of a superhero than anything else. Now, Eve though. Eve was something else entirely, created by Adam. Now this where the stories differed, depending on who you listen to. Some groups say she was a cyborg, once a woman adapted by Adam for his own needs. We weren’t supposed to question what those needs were. Others say she was an android, completely built from scraps in the Garden. The one I relate to most was the least popular. The idea that Eve never existed at all but was nothing more than a desire blooming from a lonely man’s mind. This concept appealed to me, because it meant that even when a man was given everything they needed to survive, they still couldn’t do so without even a mirage of a woman.
Because even a man of the finest calibre was just that -- a man. Flesh. Blood. Decayable. This was what I told myself when I worked through the night in my lab, lack of sleep blurring my vision and cramping my hands. It was what got me through the long hours juggling work and school, killing myself to get the only scholarship available to a girl like me. I was going to escape the tracks of my parents, even if it killed me. It got me through my father’s murder. They labelled it an accidental death, but everyone knew better. Because if man was rotting on the inside, then they were corruptible as well. And that’s what I planned to take advantage of.
Flesh smacking against flesh filled the room, attempting to eliminate any space for my thoughts, revenge or otherwise. It wasn’t the best I had, but it wasn’t the worst either, and I wasn’t one to complain. Usually.
“Harder,” I groaned. “Fuck me harder.” I gripped the sheets, propping myself up on my forearms while he took me from behind. It was good, but I needed it harder. Faster. Enough to drive out the vicious thoughts leeching their way back into my vision. I should’ve known when I asked him back to my room he wouldn’t be enough. But I had been hopeful. Naive, really.
His hands gripped my hips, slamming his cock deeper into my pussy. “Is this what you want, baby? You want my big cock?”
I want you to shut the fuck up and screw me like you mean it. “Harder!” Hard enough to fuck all the anger out of me.
I couldn’t comprehend how these men I took to bed didn’t understand the difference between harder, faster, and deeper. They all pulled out the same moves, the same dirty talk, everything just more of the same. Of course, I was the one who kept taking them back to my bed, so what did that say about me?
I was weak. I was looking for something I wasn’t sure existed. And my search led me again and again to these random men in my bed, much to my dissatisfaction.
He thrust faster from behind, my thoughts still cycling through, a never-ending stream of everything I needed to do, what I was behind on, what I was working for. I would come. I always did. I had learned a long time ago how to take my own pleasure from a man, despite his flaws. My orgasm was already building, a combination of his rapid thrusts, and my own hand I had snuck between my legs, letting my other arm carry my weight.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he grunted. “God, you’re beautiful.”
I tuned him out, letting my fingers circle my clit before rubbing a steady rhythm against the swollen bud. It wouldn’t be great, but an orgasm was an orgasm, right?
“Fuck, baby, you love this big cock, don’t you?”
Go away. There was my release -- right there -- if only he could keep his stupid mouth shut.
I groaned around my fingers, and the useless cock, as I came, my mind blissfully silent for the briefest of moments. Somewhere in the silence, I heard him as he came, pulling out of me with a groan.
Useless. Sex was great for drowning out the noise, but revenge kept me alive. My mind had a tendency to drift back to my lab, to the samples neatly organized in my fridge. The moans and strangled gasps I stole from the men in my bed weren’t enough. I took what I needed from them, but it was never enough. The world would know my name one day. The name of the girl from the wrong side of the railroad tracks.