Prologue

If he’d had any tears left, he'd cry.

The sun beat down on him, heating his already raw, sunburned skin, his mouth parched from lack of water. With each step, excruciating pain traveled through his left leg, but that should be expected with a bullet lodged in his thigh.

He kept walking, although he didn't know why.

With his lover dead, nowhere to go, and no one to help him, he prayed for death to come.

The agony radiating from his soul overshadowed the misery brought on by his horrendous sunburn and his injured leg. The pain had burrowed in so deeply and profoundly, it seemed as if it crushed his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. His heart felt as if someone continually cut little pieces of it out, over and over again. At some point, it would stop thudding in his chest, but until then, he'd continue suffering.

But his heart beat, his lungs continued to pump air in and out, and he kept walking, his left leg slightly dragging behind him.

Stopping, he stared up at the expansive blue sky. Not a cloud in sight to offer him some relief from the scorching, spring sun of the desert.

Continuing his walk, he wondered when he would die. How long had he been out here? He’d lost track after the second night, his adrenaline finally ebbing from watching his lover being gunned down in cold blood.

He yearned to cry, but dehydration prevented the tears from falling. Instead, dry heaves wracked his body.

Simon.

What in the world would he do without the male? How would he survive in this world? Simon had been his friend, his protector ... and his lover.

He collapsed in the dirt at the thoughts, little pebbles cutting into his palms. Turning them over, he watched small beads of blood form, them wiped them on his pants. He didn't belong in this world, especially without Simon. With nowhere to go, no one to depend on, he felt lost.

Perhaps it was time to die.

His breath came in short spurts and the afternoon sun burned his eyes even through his lids. Crawling under a large Sagebrush, he longed for the assault of the sun's rays to stop. The skin on his arms, chest, and face felt as if it had been set on fire, while his short-sleeved shirt stuck to him from days of sweat.

As he hallucinated that he lay in a bed, he reached over and grabbed a blanket to pull over his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he’d tugged on a tumbleweed, but in his mental haze, he found it comforting.

As the pain tortured his physical body and his soul, he groaned. He hoped death would be a quick process.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but suddenly, the hot sun had been blocked, giving his burning retinas and his red, raw skin a bit of relief. He gazed up at a huge, black male standing above him, yet he couldn't make out his features with the sun at his back.

Despite his desire to die, he whispered, "Help me."

The male got down on his knees and pulled away the tumbleweed and some of the shrubbery he’d used to cover himself.

He rolled over to his back, wondering what the male would do. Would he help him or leave him to his death?

Did he actually want death? Apparently, he was conflicted given he'd just asked for help, yet his desire to end it all seemed so strong.

A hand slipped under his neck, and the male pressed a canteen to his lips. He drank greedily.

"Thank you," he murmured when finished.

“C’mon, son,” the male said, pulling him to a standing position as he tossed the canteen strap over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Titus. My name’s Titus.”

“Nice to meet you, Titus.”