Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1)

by Mousseau, Allie Juliette

  Done, I thought, brushing off my pants with my hands. I picked up my pack and turned around.

  "Where are you going, Freya?" Theron's voice startled me.

  I stifled a scream by throwing my hands over my mouth.

  "After all we've been through you're just going to take off?"

  My hands dropped to my sides and my mouth gaped open. Theron was just standing there in the middle of the deserted street.

  "Did you really think I wouldn't suspect your amazing performance back in there?" he accused me with a half-smile that turned serious. "I thought we were past you trying to ditch me."

  I felt myself tighten up under the weight of my embarrassment. "I don't get you, Theron!" I accused back. "You could have any one of those girls in there—what are you following me for?"

  "Can't I want you?" he asked calmly.

  "I'm broken," I whispered. I closed my eyes, desperately forcing myself not to cry. My emotions were running on high with the excitement of the day and the lack of proper sleep. Hot tears crept disobediently into my eyes.

  "No more than me—we just broke into different pieces," he said. "Maybe that's why we fit together so well."

  "I don't want to lose you to the Takers!" I raged. "I can't! I can't let you die because of me!"

  Theron interrupted, "I choose the battles I fight. I decide the campaigns!" He spoke passionately. "I choose where I lay down my life—I choose you, Freya."

  He came the rest of the way out onto the street and approached me as my hot tears spilled from their boundaries and slid down my cheeks. I knew he could see them under the light that flooded over us from the street lamp. He reached out his hand and gently caught one. "I choose you." He continued, "Now, if you don't want me around because you sincerely don't want me with you—say the word and I'll go. But if it's your friends telling you to get rid of me or putting ideas into your head, or if you're thinking that you can somehow control my destiny and make me safe by keeping me away from you… " he paused, "then that isn't fair, Freya. To either of us."

  "Theron," I started, but a blinding storm of emotion pummeled me and I couldn't put two words together.

  "So, do you want me to stay or do you want me to go?" he asked.

  This was it. I could make him leave right now—it would be over and done.

  But he had asked me a question and demanded an answer. The only answer he would accept would be the truth.

  And he already knew what that truth was.

  As hushed as a cricket's wings stroking one another in the glow of the May moon I answered, "I want you to stay."

  Chapter 14 Surprise

  We quietly walked with one another through the empty streets. The late night, or early morning depending on your perspective, was only lit by dim street lights and the glow of security beams.

  We had to walk around a few different blocks to find the brand new, sleek black BMW Jesse left. He knew I liked to drive and hardly ever got the chance. This was a nice surprise.

  "What a nice surprise."

  I turned to Theron. "What did you say?" I asked.

  But he had turned around and was facing seven rough looking strangers: one was spinning a length of thick steel-linked chain around in his hand; another was playing with a switchblade by drawing the blade in and then touching the mechanism to make it flick back out—it was at least six inches long; a third held a brown beer bottle in his right hand—he looked at me, licked his lips and took a deep swig; the fourth man's face was scarred up like he'd been in a lot of fights; the fifth guy was standing so close to my right that I could only glimpse him through my peripheral vision; the sixth thug had gotten close to Theron's left.

  They all looked to be in their early twenties. They were white, black and Latino, and they had obviously done this before. We were trapped—surrounded by their half-circle with our backs up against the car.

  The seventh man approached from the middle. He was wearing a black hooded jacket, jeans and thick work boots. I noticed they were all wearing the same boots, and the idea that they were steel toed raced through my mind.

  "Take the car," I said, handing the keys to the man in the jacket who seemed to be the leader.

  He started laughing and looked around at his gang. A few of them laughed with him while the others just continued to glare at us. "Oh, don't worry, sugar, we will—and we're gonna take you as a bonus prize." He smiled.

  "No you're not," Theron said simply.

  The leader smirked. "You look like you have a brain. This can only go a couple of ways. You do realize you're not the hero who's going to save the day here." He leaned in to bring his point across. "Odds aren't looking very good for you. So, I'll let you get your pathetic ass out of here to live another day. Or you can suffer a painful, embarrassing death here in front of your lady friend—who we're just going to take after you're dead anyway."

  I tasted the copper tinge of blood as it burst over my tongue. I was so scared I had chewed on the inside of my cheek. I trailed my hands carefully to my waist and panicked. In my emotional disarray while getting out of the bathroom, I had forgotten to arm myself. I had no belt, no knife, no hatchet, nothing.

  "Now I'll present you with your two options," Theron said, taking a step closer to the leader. "You and your friends turn and walk away and I'll forget this ever happened."

  All of them busted up laughing and exchanged haughty looks. I almost choked on the blood trickling down my throat.

  "Oh, amigo, you are amusing—what's my second option?"

  "Die."

  They all stopped laughing at the threat.

  Nine bodies burst into motion.

  Theron moved in first—he stomped his left foot hard on top of the leader's instep, then drove his right fist into the guy's jaw. As the leader was thrown to his right from the blow, Theron brought his left knee up and jammed it against the leader's nose. He keeled over backward, blood splattering across his face. Suddenly, a scream exited the leader's mouth as Theron stood with all of his weight on the guy's foot—the same foot he had previously stomped on. Theron used that as leverage as he executed a roundhouse kick to the thug who had been standing closest on his left. Theron's foot connected with the thug's hip. The snap of bone was audible. As the guy began to crumple to the ground, Theron pivoted and drove his fist into the side of the guy's neck. Both attackers stayed down.

  The chain guy advanced quickly and whipped the chain around Theron's right wrist and forearm to disable what had proven to be his strong arm. The heavy steel links snaked viciously, but Theron didn't even flinch—he deliberately wrapped the chain one more time around his own arm then grabbed it in his hand and yanked the attacker toward him. At the same time Theron spun around to pin the chain guy to himself as he efficiently wrapped the guy's own chain around his throat, cutting off his airway.

  At that very moment the thug with the switchblade lunged from the side.

  "Theron!" I screamed.

  But he had already anticipated the knife guy's movement. Theron turned to the side just enough so that the blade sunk into the chain guy's gut. A strangled cry came out of his mouth. Theron grabbed the back of the chain guy's head and rammed it into the front of the knife guy's forehead—head butting the two of them together. The collision forced them both to the ground, unconscious.

  The beer bottle thug panicked, dropped his bottle and grabbed my arms to plow me away from Theron. The stench from his breath was enough to make me gag. He wouldn't be wearing armor like the Takers. I jammed my knee into his groin and he dropped to his knees. Taking advantage of his pain, I kicked the toe of my hiking boot into the bottom of his chin. He sprawled backwards over the black top.

  Only two more remained—the guy on my right and Scarface. They eyed us hesitantly for a second, and I thought they might be contemplating taking off. Instead, Scarface—with his long, ratty unwashed hair streaming out behind him—pulled a gun. He tilted it sideways and shoved it forcefully into Theron's face. "What are you going to do now tou
gh guy?" he sneered.

  At the same time, the thug nearest to me swiftly grabbed me from behind and put me into a headlock. My adrenaline pumped. I wanted to say I'd give myself up if they'd just let Theron go, but I knew it was too late for that. The black skinned man who held me was at least four sizes bigger than I was. He hadn't put any real pressure on me yet, but I knew from my training with Theron that if he did I'd only have four seconds before I was out cold.

  I wasn't going to take any chances. I threw both of my hands up at the same time to grab for his ears. He defensively ducked to his right. I gripped his right ear and peeled it downward and away from his skull, fully intending to rip it clean off if I could.

  Immediately his grip on me loosened, and I lunged my right foot back onto his instep and threw my weight onto it. I twisted myself out of his arms, never letting go of his ear. He crashed to the street like a falling tree. Without a second's hesitation I smashed my left boot into his solar plexus, directly below his diaphragm.

  I watched Theron thrust out both of his hands in one deft move—with his left he jerked the gun and angled it down, and with his right he broke the guy's wrist. The guy hollered while Theron gained control of the weapon, turned it around in his own hand and hammered the pistol's handle into the side of the guy's head. He melted like dead weight.

  "Keys!" Theron said with his hand in the air. I tossed them to him. "Get in—in case more of them or cops show up." I nodded and ran around to the passenger side door. Theron unlocked the car and we were in. The engine turned over, and we sped out around the corner, out of the city and to the highway.

  "Which way?" Theron asked, watching for police in the rearview mirror.

  "610 West."

  I noticed he was trying to keep it at the speed limit but came at the on ramp a bit too fast—the tires protested angrily. Theron righted the vehicle and we were on 610. I saw the car's dashboard GPS system and figured since it was Jesse's car it would be safe to use. I set it for Cocodrie Bayou pier.

  "Are you hurt?" Theron asked me, only now taking a moment to look me over.

  "I'm fine," I answered but he wasn't satisfied. When he thought we were safe and far enough out of danger, he pulled the car into a highway rest area and parked in the empty lot.

  "Get out," he ordered. "You could be in shock."

  The only thing I was in shock over was what Theron had just done to all those guys! But I obediently crawled out of the car. Theron carefully pulled me over in front of the car's headlights and inspected me from head to toe.

  First he peered carefully into my eyes and made me look up, down, to the left, then to the right. He lifted my hair, examining my head thoroughly while applying light pressure with his fingertips. Then he skillfully worked his hands down my body to feel the bones and skin of my arms, torso and legs.

  "Done, Dr. Hawk?" I toyed.

  When he was confident of my well-being he said happily, "You're not hurt."

  "I told you that," I played. "Are you okay?" I asked more seriously.

  "I'm completely fine," he quipped in a tone that said no big deal!

  "Maybe I should look you over?" I tilted my head flirtatiously and began doing what he had done to me, starting with his head and neck and working my way down to his arms.

  His right wrist and forearm were wickedly swollen. The steel chain had made raised painful-looking red welts.

  "You're not okay!" I cried. "We have to get some ice on this."

  He laughed a little. "I don't need any ice."

  I met his eyes. His gaze made me smile and shake my head.

  "That was my girl back there." He beamed proudly. "You remembered what I taught you."

  I locked my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment then said, "Is that what I am? Your girl?"

  He opened his mouth to hitch in a breath and searched my eyes thoughtfully. "Do you—want to be?" He held his breath.

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  He exhaled and brought both of his strong hands up to embrace my face, positioning them under my ears, cradling my jaw. His lips caressed mine.

  I made the decision in that moment—I would never leave him again, I would never hurt him, and I would never hold back any part of me from him.

  It would be hard at first. I had been closed up for so long. But I vowed a silent commitment—I would open every part of my soul to him.

  He covered my face in small kisses—my eyelids, my forehead, both my cheekbones and then my lips again.

  My eyes were closed, and my breath was unstable. I felt my walls tumble down. I would tell him my secrets and reveal my scars.

  He whispered into my ear, "Oh, Freya,"

  And I knew exactly what he meant. I felt the same way.

  Juiced up on high emotion and caffeine, we made it to Cocodrie before the sun rose. I drove the rest of the way and parked facing the docks where we'd meet Scarlett's mysterious man, Napoleon, and promptly fell asleep.

  ~

  Theron woke me a few hours later. I startled and felt myself in a cold sweat.

  "Hey, you were having a bad dream," he said, concerned, as he brushed back the hair that had fallen over my face.

  "Yes," I said, vaguely trying to re-conjure the images of the nightmare. But all of the shadows seemed lost or chased away as I gazed into the morning mango sky.

  Sunrise over Cocodrie Bayou was a sight to behold. "Want to take a walk?" I stretched.

  "Sure." Theron and I stepped out of the car and locked it. We walked to the docks and noticed a man by a white motor boat.

  "Think he might be our guy?" I asked.

  "Try it?"

  As we casually walked by, I said, "Frankly?"

  "No, my name ain't Frankie, sweetheart," the boater replied.

  So Theron and I kept walking. At the end of the docks was a greasy spoon diner. You could smell the aroma of strong coffee and eggs floating in the air.

  "I won't even ask if you're hungry," I joked. "Let's get some breakfast."

  The waitress was in her fifties and had her blond hair piled high into a retro beehive on top of her head.

  "Howdy you two!" she said sweetly. "What can I get for y'all?" She pulled a small writing tablet out of the pocket of her cute yellow uniform dress.

  "Two specials please—eggs scrambled well, bacon crispy, toast light. Thanks!" I ordered.

  "Sounds good," she said, writing. "Can I get y'all some coffee?"

  "Please," I said.

  "Be right back." She smiled and disappeared through a kitchen door.

  About ten minutes later, beside our steaming coffee, she placed two large white oval platters filled with golden hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, along with bowls of the southern specialty—grits.

  Everything swam in grease and butter and smelled fantastic. Theron had almost all of his food consumed before I had made a sandwich from my toast and half my hash browns, eggs and bacon slices. I kept my sandwich and pushed my plate toward him.

  "Are you sure?" he asked, looking at the food I offered. "You need to keep up your strength."

  I stifled a laugh. "There was enough food on that platter for a small army. Plus, I have my grits, I'll be good."

  His food disappeared before I finished the last bite of my sandwich.

  I gulped down my coffee and noticed a man standing inside a swamp boat, pushing it up to the docks with a long pole.

  "Bet that's our guy," I said, wiping butter and coffee from the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Theron dropped a ten and a five dollar bill on the table, and we both thanked the waitress and hurried to the door.

  Somehow Theron beat me to the door so he could hold it open for me. How did this mistreated boy learn to be a gentleman? I wondered.

  We approached the boatman and I noticed several things. Deep scars gouged both sides of his face. The long one on his left side dragged from his forehead down through his eye and to his chin. His left eye was made of glass. He was probably in his early sixties, looked strong, had midnight black
skin and was very tall.

  "Frankly," I said, making sure not to stare at the gashes on his face. I had a feeling he had lived through some type of war.

  "My dear Scarlett, I don't give a damn," he responded without batting an eye or even looking at me.

  It was a funny code, using a quote from the famous novel Gone With the Wind. Scarlett always did have a sense of humor. The man and I both ended up smiling at each other. His angry, gnarled skin was betrayed by his wide, friendly grin.

  "Miss Freya, we been expectin' ya." He spoke with a deep southern Cajun accent with a touch of French flare. "Who this be wit'ya?" He referenced Theron.

  "A friend," I offered.

  "Well the way Miss Scarlett talk about ya, you's a daughter, so anythin' for you. Come on aboard," he chimed.

  "Thank you so much," Theron and I both said.

  Theron gave me his hand and helped me into the flat bottom boat, then climbed in himself. In the rear was a large fan-like motor. In the center were two oars and a couple of twelve-foot poles.

  Theron politely extended his hand, "My name is Theron Hawk, sir."

  "I'm Napoleon." He shook Theron's hand. "Go ahead and sit down and enjoy the ride. Bayou is beautiful this time of mornin'."

  He was right. I was immediately mesmerized by the scenery around us. Everything was green—green Spanish moss clung to the trees and branches, draping them in dramatic tapestries, green algae floated in clumps throughout the water, green leaves, green grasses, green frogs. We ducked our heads as we passed underneath Willow tree branches that dipped down to touch the water. I couldn't help but pluck a handful of the soft, narrow green leaves into my hand.

  "Is that an alligator?" I pointed off to the side of the boat where I noticed what looked like two round eyes scanning the surface of the water, waiting for prey to pass by. I shivered.