As pleasant as ever, Arlo seemed unharmed by my words. “Yeah, man… don’t get into your sister’s business. I was just taking care of her needs.”
I elbowed him after the word needs. “What about Dillon?” Joey was stalling.
Giving in, he blew out air, and told the story. “On our way in. Dillon was leaving town. A whole slew of rough necks on Harleys stopped us. Dillon, on a hog.” He belted out a laugh.
I blew out my nose like a raging bull. “And what?”
“When that dipshit recognized me, he let us go, probably remembering that one summer, Ward and I kicked his…” He turned to Ward… “remember…” He turned to his girlfriend, explaining, “Sissy’s ex, Ward and I went over to his daddy’s mansion to stomp him a new asshole when he left her.”
“Are you done? Get to the point,” I urged him.
My brother held up his beer, his finger pointing at me. “Dillon told me, to tell you, he had your fella.”
Troy… “Why didn’t you say anything right away?” I all but screamed at my brother, raising up to lunge over the table at him.
Arlo squeezed my shoulder and eased me back into my seat. “Why didn’t you say so right away?” He asked him, echoing me.
Joey jutted his chin toward us. “When I saw you two, I thought that you must’ve been… fuc… an item.”
“Fuck. Joey, I swear to God…” I started.
“Don’t blame me. I thought Dillon was full of shit, as usual.”
“Dillon must think Troy and I are together. He has Troy?” Beside myself, I said the obvious, to myself, out loud.
“I didn’t see anyone,” Joey said, still making excuses.
“I did,” his girl, Lucy spoke up. “I saw them roughing someone up. Is he a, pardon me, but a black feller?” Lucy asked, ignorantly, confirming it.
“Anyway,” my brother went on, “whoever he is. Dillon says to tell you that you need to come over and get him. I told him to kiss my country ass. He threatened to cut my balls off. I’d like to see that pretty boy try…”
“Anything else you’re forgetting to tell me?” I was pissed as all get out at Joey.
Unbothered, my brother took a bite food. He covered his mouth to talk. “Oh, Dillon said you have until Monday night. Whatever that means. And here.” He reached in his pocket. “He told me to give this to you.”
Joey handed me a letter. The words on read, To Creepy with Love.
“I didn’t open it,” my brother said.
It being from Dillon, I wouldn’t read it in front of anyone. My head spun. I laid it on the table.
As much as he loved to tease me, Joey finally saw I was clearly distraught. “Don’t worry Sis, we’ll go get your friend. I’ve kicked Dillon’s ass before.” He had no idea Dillon was not the civilized Senator’s son he remembered. He knew nothing about the Stayers. He didn’t know like I knew that Dillon would kill Troy before letting him go, especially if he suspected there was anything between Troy and me.
Arlo tried to comfort me, saying he’d drive over there and help rescue Troy. He knew nothing about the Stayers either. As they all tried to come up with their own plan to go rescue Troy tomorrow night. I knew when everyone went to sleep tonight, I’d be driving to Alexandria myself, hurt foot or not. I’d confront Dillon myself and do whatever it took to save Troy.
The End
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Award-wining and Bestselling Erotic Romance and Paranormal Author Morgan Jane Mitchell spent years blogging politics and health trends before she rediscovered her love of writing fiction. Trading politicians for bloodsuckers of another kind, she's now the author of bestselling post-apocalyptic fantasy novel, Sanguis City. Her action-packed series of vampires, witches, demons and zombies is paranormal romance, dystopia, urban fantasy and erotica in one bite. When Morgan Jane is not creating the city of blood or conjuring up other supernatural tales, she's dreaming up erotic and dark romances including her latest bestselling erotic suspense, Asphalt Gods’ MC series.
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Witching Hour: The Stroke of Three
AJ Mullican and Elle Ryan
About Witching Hour: The Stroke of Three
When Abnormal Telepath Kylie Martin and her three male companions steal a dangerous weapon from the Gifted Squads to discover its secrets, it’s a race against time to unlock the device before the self-destruct goes off and the data is lost forever. Will she and her lovers complete their mission before the Witching Hour strikes?
One
I fucking hate waiting.
The late October air has a deep chill to it as I lie atop a hill overlooking Chitown. The breeze coming from the frigid lake on the other side of the city makes the cold air bite at my skin even harder. Vinnie is crouched behind a tree stump next to me, while Hal and Sam peer out from behind an old, crumbled structure that I can’t even identify from its remains. Hal’s the only one not decked out in Snipervision goggles. We’ve been out in the freezing cold for hours, and I’m about to be pissed if our intel doesn’t pan out.
Eli, you owe me—big time.
I mean, I get why he can’t come himself; one of his wives is pregnant, and it’s not going well. Still, he’d better have given me good info. Pregnant wife or not, I’ll come back and kick his ass if this job gets me killed.
Vinnie turns to me, and his brows are drawn together. He talks to me through the PermaLink that Hal developed. …[Kylie, how much longer are we going to sit here? I think your boy Eli got it wrong; there’s no convoy coming out of the gates, no motion at all that I can see. Hal, what about you?]…
There’s a soft whirring as Hal’s ocular implant zooms in for a closer look. …[Nothing.]…
I’m proud of Hal for being up on the hill with us. As an Intellect, he’s usually back at the rendezvous point, waiting for the fight to be over. We need his cybernetic implant for this part, though.
…[Five more minutes,]… I relay to Vinnie, Hal, Sam, and the Telepaths stationed with the surrounding teams of Abnormals around the city gates. …{Five more minutes before we head for shelter and get out of this fucking cold.]… The hard ground is rough against my even harder nipples, and I am loathed to admit that, cute as my outfit is, it’s not practical for this mission. Skintight NeoSkin is great and all—really accentuates my tits and ass—but an old-fashioned polar fleece coat might’ve been worth the extra Bank credits for tonight. Hell, I’d even spring for black market wool at this point. I guess I should count my blessings that it’s not snowing.
At the four-minute mark, I hear the rumble of engines behind the wall, and the gate opens.
Fuck. Eli was right.
Five Squad transports file out of the gate, but they’re unlike any Squad pods I’ve ever seen. The government Squads always relied on the electrostat road system to get around; these have huge rubber tires with heavy treads. In place of sleek, aerodynamic frames, these pods have heavy, clunky TrueSteel bodies and thick, tinted pseudoglass windows. If I had to equate them to any tech us Abnormals have at our disposal, I’d say they’re comparable to our refitted antique tanks.
Shit. I open the link to the other Telepaths again. Vinnie, Hal, and Sam hear me through the PermaLinks. …[Heads up, everyone. Tell your people to stand by; we’re going in on my mark.]…
No words follow, but I receive a wave of confirmation from the minds scattered around us. I wait until the transports have all left the city, the gate is closed, and the convoy has ventured a good ways forward. Hal’s distant stare te
lls me he’s already at work on his part of the plan. His ocular whirs again as he uses its interface to hack the computer systems on the transports.
The lead transport’s trajectory veers off the road and lurches into a sharp turn. Within seconds the tank is in a smoldering heap a few thousand yards from the gate. Three other tanks follow suit, leaving only the middle tank unscathed. Squad members pour out of the remaining vehicle. I see some motion around the wrecked tanks. …[We have some survivors do deal with.]...
I try to ignore what my eyes see to let my mind take over.
As I predicted, the Squads deactivate their PsyBlocks to allow their Telepaths to coordinate a defensive strategy. Rage, pain, hatred, and surprise wash through the minds of the Squads as they realize what’s happened—and rightly guess who’s to blame.
I don’t give them time to think about it too much.
…[Mark!]…
The Abnormal Athletes are the first to spring into action—as usual. Hal and the other Intellects and Telepaths hang back, but I’m not playing outfield this go-around. Excitement surges through me, and all of a sudden, the cold isn’t so bad.
Chaos erupts on the road below as our Snipers and their Snipers have a good, old-fashioned shootout. People on both sides are hit, but I can’t let that distract me. There are other Telepaths in charge of anesthetizing wounds as they happen; my job is a little different.
My job is to infiltrate that last convoy and steal whatever weapon they’ve got on board.
I’m covered in grey, with a hooded NeoSkin jacket concealing my flaming red hair and silver cybernetic tattoos, but better to be careful and not draw undue attention to myself. I keep an eye on the scene below as I make my way down the hill. The Squads are good, but our guys are better. We don’t follow any arbitrary “rules” of combat; down and dirty, that’s our style. No “only hitting above the belt” nonsense. I don’t think the Squad academies even teach a good knee thrust anymore—which is a shame for them, because you have to teach something to have a good defense against it.
Vinnie’s having too much fun with this. His grin is wide and wild, a bright white crescent in his smooth dark face, as he takes down foe after foe. It’s a glorious sight to see, but I can’t let it distract me. Later. After we’re done here.
Vinnie’s still got his goggles on, as does Sam, so their tattoos are as hidden as mine—until a Squad Athlete manages to wrench Sam’s off, exposing the silver circuit board lines under his left eye that mirror my own.
Fuck. That means any second they’ll recognize him, and—
“The Red Mistress is here!”
“Everybody look out! She’s gotta be here somewhere!”
…[Squads! The Red Witch is nearby!]…
That’s the last thing I wanted them to know. Dad would say it’s my own fault for marking my territory the way I do, but when I lay claim to something, it’s mine.
We’re found out a little too soon, and I pump my legs harder to reach the remaining intact tank. The pulse blasts redirect, and sure enough, I become the main target. I split my mind, dividing my focus between my goal and my attackers, and I’m able to divert a few blasts by clouding the minds of the Squad Snipers.
One blast makes it despite my efforts, and the stench of singed hair follows me as a hole burns in my hood. The bounce of my steps works my braid loose through the hole, and I now have a bright red flag waving at all the Squad members as I run.
Vinnie, Sam, and the other Abnormal Athletes have the Squad Athletes occupied, but once I’m discovered a few Gifted Athletes break free and beeline it to me. Vinnie and Sam move to intercept, but even with their speed they’re not going to make it; I’m going to have to fight my own fight today.
My body doesn’t have the strength and speed of an Athlete, so I have to rely on my wits, my telepathy—and a little physics.
The first Athlete storms at me in a direct line like a freight train, and his momentum is such that a quick sidestep on my part gets me out of his reach and several steps past before he realizes his error. He slips and tumbles headfirst into one of the wrecks. The next one is smarter, adjusting her trajectory to match mine, but I grab her outstretched hand and throw myself into a tucked roll, taking her with me. Her breath whooshes out as she lands hard on the frozen ground, but I’m better prepared and continue the roll until I’m on my feet again.
I don’t skip a beat, and when the last Athlete reaches me, I’m almost to the tank. I opt for a home run worthy slide, skidding underneath the large guy’s leap and coming to a stop at the tank. Within seconds I’ve scrambled inside, and I slam the latch as soon as the door’s shut behind me.
I really gotta thank Eli, Vinnie, and Sam for all the training I’ve gotten over the years. It’s saved my ass on more than one occasion.
…[I’m in.]… I relay to the other Abnormal Telepaths. …[Keep them away from this transport until I’ve got the package secured, then everyone book it once I’m out.]…
Affirmatives roll in, and I breathe a little easier.
A quick scan of the tank’s interior reveals my target: a small electronic box, docked in the center of the tank. I seek out Hal’s PermaLink in my mind and let him see through my eyes.
…[Anything I need to worry about here? Bombs, trip wires, whatever?]…
…[I don’t see anything. Interface is clean, the dock is just that. A dock.]…
There’s something suspicious about that, but I don’t have time to inspect it closer. I have to trust Hal’s skills. I lift the box from the docking station and hug it to my chest. This is almost too easy. No Squad members stayed behind inside here to guard the cargo, no automated defense mechanisms in place—just walk in, grab, and go. Sure, there’s the gauntlet of Squad Athletes and Snipers outside who will try to stop me, but my gut says something’s up.
…[Package acquired. I’m on my way out. Cover me!]…
…[You’re clear. Everyone’s occupied.]… The mind of the Abnormal Telepath who answers is calm, almost bored, and I let my shoulders relax some of the tension they were holding in.
I undo the latch and open the door, then jump back behind the hinged metal. I wait for a pulse blast to sear past me or a Squad Athlete to storm in, but instead I’m met with Vinnie’s concerned voice.
“Kylie? You okay in there?”
I know I haven’t been here too long, so I chalk it up to Vinnie’s overprotectiveness. He considers himself an alpha of my little pack, and while he is to an extent, I’m the true leader. I’ll have to remind him of this later, once we’ve got some breathing room.
When I exit, I survey the scene around me. In the distance, the gates to Chitown are opening, and even from here the rumble of more tanks resounds. The few Squad members left standing struggle against my Abnormal teams, but the fights are far from even. They won’t be upright long. …[Keep a few alive for questioning.]… I say to the Abnormals engaged in combat. …[This is all kinds of shady, and I want answers.]…
I don’t wait for those answers right now—now is for getting the fuck out of Dodge while the getting’s good. With Vinnie at my side, I run full-out for the hill where Hal waits, red braid bouncing against my back. Sam lopes up to the other side of me as we run, and with their help I get up the hill faster than I would have on my own.
It helps to have your own personal Athletes at times like these.
On the other side of the hill, Hal’s already got our stuff gathered up, with our transport engine running. I gesture for Sam and Vinnie to jump in the back seat of the old SUV and hand Hal the package as I slide into the driver’s seat. “Here. What the fuck is it?”
He turns it over a few times while I throw the transport in gear and step hard on the gas. He checks out each side in turn, his ocular scanning the surface. When he gets to the bottom, he freezes, and through our link I feel a chill run down his spine.
…[What? What’s wrong?]…
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. …[Well—]… he pauses, and his mind scramb
les for a way to tell me without pissing me off. …[First off, it’s a stasis pod.]…
My jaw drops. “What?” I say aloud. “It’s so tiny! What could possibly be in stasis inside that? It’s too small to be a human.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Kylie, but whatever it is must be important, because there are several levels of encryption on here. I can’t even tell what the settings are at, so I can’t hazard a guess as to what might be inside.” He points to a red blinking display on the bottom. “I do know what this is, though.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Hal—You said there wasn’t a bomb on this thing.”
He’s defensive when he answers, and I’m reminded that semantics are a thing with him. “It’s not a ‘bomb,’ per se.”
I raise a brow, waiting for his explanation.
“It’s—It’s a self-destruct sequence.”
Two
“Hal, sweetie,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even and my voice calm, “What’s the payload on that self-destruct?”
“Enough.”
“How much is ‘enough’?”
“Hundred-yard radius, easy. Maybe more.”
“And how much time is left on that self-destruct?”
“A little under forty-eight hours.”
“Well, happy birthday to you, huh boss?” Sam’s comment reminds me that my birthday is in a couple of days—October thirty-first. All Hallows’ Eve. I glance at the clock on the dash.
A little under forty-eight hours from now, to be exact.
“Exactly how much under forty-eight hours, Hal?”
“You took it off the dock about how long ago?”
I think back. “Probably five, ten minutes.”
He nods, like I confirmed some theory of his. “Yeah. The self-destruct sequence probably started the second it came off the docking station.”
Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection Page 170
