Lucky figured if Natalie had beaten Braxton up, it only meant he deserved a bite. Braxton howled in pain, swinging a hand to fling Lucky off him. Natalie saw the move and drove her triangular bayonet into his arm with a quick jab. Braxton yelped, freezing in place. Lucky went wild on him, biting everywhere. Braxton didn't dare fight back. Every time he so much as raised a hand, Natalie would stab him again. When Lucky finally had enough and strutted away, Braxton was left with not a single spot untouched. Natalie stood, looking down at Braxton—his face swollen beyond recognition, his shoulders and arms punctured, his body beaten raw. Satisfied, she turned to leave with Lucky. Before stepping out, she pressed her boot onto his face. "I'm sparing your life today. Next time you show up to make trouble, I'll send you straight to hell. Got it?" He nodded weakly, watching her march out with the dog at her side. The moment she disappeared, Braxton's fists clenched. He slammed the floor. He felt humiliated. This was utter humiliation. Still, another thought occurred to him. He had been sure their plan had failed, that he and Tiffany were dead for sure. Why hadn't she killed them? That didn't fit her ruthless pattern at all. For now, he exhaled, relieved—but a knot of dread still twisted in his gut. The question nagged him, but he didn't have the luxury to dwell on it. Gritting against the pain, Braxton forced himself up to check on Tiffany.How could she suddenly turn into an idiot. He figured she had to be faking it, trying to fool Natalie just to survive. He shook her by the shoulders. "Tiffany, Natalie's gone. Wake up." After a moment, her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes were vacant as she stared at him. Then, her mouth curled into a broad grin. "Hey, handsome man ... " Braxton was speechless, his expression darkened in frustration. "Tiffany, Natalie's already gone!" "Natalie?" Tiffany mumbled, almost chanting. "Natalie ... Natalie ... " As she muttered, her eyes suddenly sharpened. "That bitch Natalie!" Braxton's heart skipped a beat as he thought Tiffany was back to normal. He grabbed her hand. "Tiffany, you're awake?" But the hope shattered instantly. She turned to him, drool spilling from her lips, and grinned. "Hey ... handsome ... " Defeated, Braxton let her hand drop and sighed. He eased her onto the couch, then sat back, thinking. After a moment, he pushed it aside—he had more urgent problems. The front door lock was smashed, and in times like these, a broken lock was as good as an invitation. Their precious food stash could be gone in minutes. He had worked too damn hard to collect it all. Too many women traded away just to scrape together those rations. Even Tiffany had cost him dearly. And those men he had bargained with—none of them were gentlemen. They were killers living off blood and blades, men who took what they wanted and vented their frustrations in the ugliest ways. In this disaster, survival pressure was crushing, and people's rage had nowhere to go but out. Which meant brutality, plain and simple—venting their frustrations on anyone weaker. It had taken every ounce of scheming for Braxton to gather a few women willing to stay with him. Even Tiffany had paid dearly in the process. Thinking of the food he had fought hard to gather at such a cost, his gaze drifted instinctively toward the kitchen. And his heart nearly skipped a beat. "Where's my food?" He staggered forward like a madman. The twenty loaves of bread stacked on the counter were gone. He yanked open the cabinets to see that they were all empty. The five packs of canned soup, the ten hot dogs, the three bottles of water were gone. Those had been his treasures, the stuff he had counted over and over like gold. Stumbling out of the kitchen, he rushed straight for the bathroom. His hands shook as he lifted the toilet tank lid."Where are my hardtack crackers?" The two packs he had vacuum-sealed and hidden inside were gone too. He nearly lost it right there. That was supposed to be his safety net, the stash he kept in case someone broke in. His backup plan. Even if the place got robbed, he figured at least he wouldn't starve. At least he'd have a few more days to get by. But now, he was left with nothing. He cursed under his breath. Natalie—cold as hell. It wasn't enough that she broke into his place and beat him and Tiffany senseless. She had cleaned them out too. If they stretched things, one meal a day, that food could've lasted them two weeks. And her? She had so much stockpiled she didn't even need to step outside. Yet she still stripped them bare, took every crumb they had left.He was livid. Step by step, he dragged himself out of the bathroom. Still reeling from the shock of losing his stash, he glanced toward the living room and froze. The TV cabinet was gone, too. Inside it, he had kept his prized candles and lighters. His eyes swept the room, wide and stunned. The shoe rack—gone. The closet—gone. The hammer, the wrench, every tool and weapon—gone. Even the inflatable raft—the one Tiffany had spent three nights working to get—was gone too.