Finding My Faith

by Carly Fall

  Rayner started to feel dizzy and looked up from Faith's face. Was Cohen doing 360s or something? Shouldn't he be concentrating on getting them the fuck out of dodge and not playing around? They had police and maybe a news crew after them, for God sakes.

  "Rayner?" Hudson said. "You're looking a little green, my man. How bad are you hit?"

  Rayner turned to Hudson and couldn't focus on him. He kept seeing two or three of him.

  "Hit?" Rayner asked. Then he remembered. Oh, yeah. He should also be thinking about the fact that he had been shot. He looked down at his chest, noticed his shirt was soaked in blood, and proceeded to pass out.

  Chapter 22

  Charles ran out the back door of the building just as the police officers were coming in. A black rage threatened to overtake him, and the urge to kill rolled with force within him.

  Those mother fucking Warriors. He had no idea they were onto him. Yes, when he took those women he was in a heightened state, which would cause him to leave a little ash behind, but nothing of any magnitude. So now he had lost Diego's plaything, and to make matters worse, he had killed the rest. He had just overdosed them on the drugs; they never knew what hit them. He wasn't a total animal. But the bonus was that he still got the pleasure of watching them die.

  But Diego was going to be pissed. Beyond pissed. Charles figured he would have to lay pretty low for a while to avoid a bullet in the head.

  Shit.

  Talk about a bad day.

  As his feet hit the back sidewalk, he heard the officers swarming the building. They wouldn't find his gun, but he hadn't been able to get all of his shells. They would also find the shells to the Warriors’ guns. And his special room.

  He had worked so hard on that room for so long. He had dug the damn thing himself.

  He had found the basement access door easily—hell, he'd almost fallen through the hole in the floor while scouting around the building. He’d built a door and the room was good to go. He had worried about the shiny new handle on the door leading down to his special room, and he had actually planned to paint it tonight after he moved the rest of dead women out.

  Those mother fucking Warriors.

  They had never chased him before. He had gone in his long life, killing at random, doing what he pleased. He moved every ten to fifteen years, as he didn't age. He played it safe. And here they were after him. There were Colonists out there who were a lot more obvious than he was. Hell, he could spot clusters of killings from other Colonists a mile away. Why couldn't the Warriors? Why were they after him?

  Perhaps he needed to put the spotlight on one of the other Colonists. How would he do that without actually contacting the Warriors? Maybe he needed to scratch the idea and just concentrate on his end goal: getting Diego's redhead back. Once he found her, Diego would be placated, and he could get on with business. He was getting tired of babysitting drugged women. He was much more effective out in the field killing rival cartel members. He only did the human trafficking because Diego asked him to. However, if he let the redhead go, he would be conceding defeat to the Warriors. He certainly wasn't about to do that.

  Why did Diego have to like redheads? Why couldn't he like brunettes, which were a dime a dozen?

  Saddam Hussein had been an obvious Colonist, leaving ash with almost every step he walked. Charles remembered watching news shows featuring Saddam, and he had been shocked that humans couldn't see the ash that bastard dropped. Saddam was also hard to catch with all his security and military around him. Charles had watched the Warriors circle for years, but never being able to strike. It was only when the government got involved that they were able to get close, and even then they had to leave his death to the humans.

  But Charles viewed himself as different. He wasn't obvious. He didn't even operate in the United States most of the time. He had been fully integrated in human society and doing fine, killing as he pleased, until he agreed to do Diego's bidding as his kidnapper. If the guy wasn't so hard on his women, they might last more than a year.

  As he calmly walked down the street away from the building that held his special room, he knew he had to get a plan together. There needed to be a couple of different outcomes. First, he needed to get her back so he could hand her over to Diego. Having Diego crawling up his ass was not good for him. Having the Warriors all over him might even be worse. Diego was a simple human, but with human killers behind him to do his bidding. But they were busy. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, and then of course, killing. The Warriors though did nothing but focus on their hunt until they killed said Colonist. He wasn't ready to die quite yet. He was having too much fun in his current job.

  He thought about possibly giving up on Faith and looking for another redhead, but the legwork had taken a long time on the women he collected. Redheads weren't easy to come by; not to mention, Diego had so many different criteria that had to be met. He had busted his ass for a month getting information on the women he had taken, and he was kind of on a deadline to deliver Faith.

  He thought about just heading off into the sunset and not returning. But the fact of the matter was that Diego wouldn't stop hunting him if he did slip away. The hunter would be the hunted.

  So to save his own hide and not spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, he needed to get that God damned redhead back.

  Chapter 23

  Faith's brain came online slowly. She rolled over, certain that she had had a terrible nightmare. Something about being kidnapped and held in some sort of dungeon with a dirt floor. And being dead. Well, almost dead. And a huge blond man with red eyes saved her. What had been his name? Rayner. Well, he hadn't been part of the nightmare, but the solution that brought it to an end. She squinted as she tried to remember more of the nightmare, but she couldn't. What she could remember was scary enough, and she felt herself shiver.

  Her head felt like it might explode. What had she done last night? Was she in the middle of an epic hangover? She couldn't remember anything and scolded herself for drinking so much. The pain in her head was so bad her eyes wouldn't even open.

  She rolled over again, hoping her apartment complex would be quiet today so she could sleep this off. Except then she realized the bed felt different. She wasn't in her own bed. Oh, no. What had she done? She had never woken up not being able to recall anything and not knowing whose bed she was in.

  She cracked an eyelid and looked around. The lights were dimmed, but she could see the room was very nice. Done in masculine browns and blacks, she was obviously in a man's room. She looked around a little more and saw the flat screen T.V., some nice paintings on the walls, and a door that she assumed either led out of the room or to the bathroom.

  Just then the door opened, and the huge blond man from her dream stepped through it, a black towel around his waist. He rubbed his hair with another black towel, looking down at the floor. Oh my God, he was big. He must have stood close to six-foot-five and was a mass of muscle. She watched his body move as he walked over to a duffel bag on the floor, bend down and pull out some clothes. The gold hoops through his nipples glittered in the light. As he rifled through the bag, she watched in awe at the way his muscles and tendons rolled beneath his skin. There were two angry, red welts on his back. He stood up and went back into the bathroom.

  Faith closed her eyes again, feeling panic well up. If he was real, which he obviously was, did that mean the rest of her dream was real, too? That it wasn't a dream? She tried to remember more, but her mind was a blank.

  The door opened again and she cracked an eye. She watched as he came toward her, now dressed in a white t-shirt that hugged his massive chest and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. His hair was still wet and his feet were bare. His dark eyes looked at her, concerned. She screwed her eyes shut. In her dream they had been red, just like the wolf in the painting in her apartment. But she didn't know if it was a dream. How could a person have red eyes like that? She had painted that picture after another dream she had. In that dre
am a huge blond wolf with glowing red eyes came to her, vowing to love her eternally. He had been soft, warm and strong, and had become her friend and her protector. When she had shared the dream with her mother, her mother had reminded her of the legend of The Woman With Fire for Hair. In the legend, it was stated that the chosen woman with red hair would fall in love with a wolf warrior with red eyes and produce a prodigal son.

  She was so confused. The man staring down at her had been kind in her nightmare, and she had actually fallen in love with him. The whole thing was so ridiculous. She needed to figure out what was real, what wasn't, and then get back to her life. She knew he was real simply because he stood in front of her and she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. Of that, she was certain, so she figured she would start with him.

  She lifted her lids to meet his gaze. He stood over her, his arms crossed. A huge smile lit up his face when their eyes met.

  "Hi, Faith," he said quietly. So he knew her name. She thought back to her dream. Little bits and pieces were coming back. What was his name again? That's right, Rayner. The name meant “wise warrior.” Well, that was what he had told her in the dream.

  River Monsters. They had watched River Monsters together. And he liked tequila too. And he made her laugh. They had laughed a lot while they were together. Watching him talk to her parents at her favorite coffee shop. Although she had no clue what was real and what wasn't, she did know that she could trust the mountain of man in front of her with the kind eyes.

  "Hi, Rayner."

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “May I?” he said, indicating to the bed.

  She nodded.

  “How do you feel?” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I don't know,” she said. “I'm...I'm not sure what happened. Why I'm here. Who you are.”

  He stared at her, his eyes kind and concerned. He pushed his hands through his blond hair. “You don't remember?”

  She broke the gaze and stared off into space. “No. I did have a nightmare, but I'm not sure who you are, although...” Flashes of a cell. A dirt floor. The smell of mold and earth around her. Terror filled her, and she felt her heart begin to beat faster, a blast of adrenaline coursing through her body. She met Rayner's eyes.

  “It's not a nightmare, is it?” she whispered.

  “Faith, I’m not sure what’s going through you mind right now…”

  It came back in a flood. Her abduction. Waking up in the cell. There were other women lying around her. Were they...dead? A needle. Her...death? Being a ghost?

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Was it all real?”

  He didn't answer.

  More memories swirled through her mind. A red Escalade driving through her. Her ability to move through walls. Her deep-seated, bone crushing terror...

  “Rayner, please tell me it was a dream...I was abducted…almost dead...a…ghost? And you helped me…”

  When he didn't say anything, she studied his face. She knew at that point that everything she had experienced was as true as the sky was wide. She burst into tears, the fear and terror welling up in her, rippling throughout her being as every detail came back to her.

  “Come here, Faith,” he said quietly, holding out his hand.

  She didn't hesitate. She sat up and pressed her head against his chest. As he wrapped his big arms around her, she felt she had reached a safe haven after a small lifetime of being out in a sea of terror. She grabbed onto his neck and felt like she might never let go. If she did, she might lose it completely. Like her brain matter would scatter and she wouldn't be able to pull it all back together.

  She fisted his shirt, desperately holding onto the one thing—or man, in this case—that she was certain was real. He seemed to be the tether to sanity in the whole messed-up situation that had somehow become her life.

  Chapter 24

  Rayner held onto Faith as though her life depended on it. She eventually cried herself to sleep fisting his shirt. He had tried to disentangle from her, but she had let out a cry and held on harder. He waited a few minutes and tried again, only to get the same result. So he lay down on the bed and tucked Faith into his side. He sighed deeply, worry and contentment his two main companions at the time. He was finally doing what he had longed to do—he was holding Faith. He worried about...well, shit...everything. He knew Faith would have many questions, and over the course of the past twenty-four hours as she slept off the drugs that had been given to her, he had decided he would answer them truthfully. Well, as truthfully as he could. If she asked about him, he would lie, but he would be truthful with everything else.

  Twenty-four hours seemed like twenty-four days. Maybe even twenty-four years. When they had gotten back to the silo, he had been unconscious. From what Cohen had told him, Hudson had taken Faith down to Rayner's quarters, and Cohen had started the healing process right there in the car. Rayner had lost a lot of blood from being shot, and all were afraid he was edging close to death.

  Rayner vaguely remembered hearing Cohen's voice as his energy entered Rayner's body. “C'mon you cocksucker,” Cohen had said. “I can feel you in here. Work with me. Let's mend these holes.”

  And they had. “You've got one bullet that went clean through. This other one's lodged in your ribcage. Missed your heart by about an inch. You're one lucky fucker, Rayner.”

  That one had taken a long time to remove, but Rayner remembered the light thud as it hit the floor of the car.

  Hudson had then wheeled out the silo's emergency hospital bed, and they had heaved Rayner on it. They had taken the elevator down to the fifth floor, and by that time, Rayner was somewhat conscious again.

  He looked to the large, permanent bed in his quarters and saw Faith. “Is she okay?” he had asked.

  Hudson nodded. “She'll probably be out for a while, but she seems fine.”

  With great effort, pain, and some cursing, Rayner had sat up. He looked down at his chest, which was now a rust color from the dried blood.

  “Shower,” he had said.

  Cohen put his arm gingerly around Rayner's waist and helped him to the bathroom. Cohen then assisted him in getting undressed and got the shower going. He stepped into the spray with Rayner, and helped him sit down on the bench, then pointed the streaming shower head at him so that it battered Rayner, but in a good way.

  “Let me make something clear,” Cohen had said. “I’m never showering with you again. You’re absolutely no fun.”

  Rayner had met his friend's eyes and smiled. Cohen was still dressed in his slacks and button-down shirt from the mission, but wet from head to toe.

  They had known each other for four hundred years. Rayner knew what made the male tick, probably better than he knew himself. Cohen hated death. Despised it, which was odd for a Warrior sent to kill. But that rule had one exception: if a Colonist was killed, Cohen was the happiest drunk of the lot. Rayner knew that seeing the dead women earlier had been difficult for Cohen. Sometimes, after a mission when there were unintended casualties, Cohen disappeared for a few days on end and never told anyone what he was up to. And that was okay with Rayner. A male needed his space. He figured if Cohen needed to do a little talking over some Xbox or the pool table, he would let Rayner know.

  That deep caring that he held for life bled into his relationships with the other Warriors. Rayner knew that he and Cohen were tight. A brother-from-a-different-mother tight. He would always have the male's back, and he knew that his was covered as well. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, Rayner thought about his life as it was now and realized that he and Cohen were closer than Rayner and his cousin had ever been.

  “Thanks for everything, man,” Rayner had said, looking at the drain. That statement covered a lot of ground, and he hoped that Cohen understood that. He knew the water swirling in the drain would be red, but because it was a black marble, he couldn't see the color. He hissed as the water hit his wounds.

  “No problem,” Cohen had said sof
tly. “Just don't get yourself shot anymore though, okay?”

  Rayner nodded. “I'll do my best.”

  After the shower, Cohen had helped him get on some pajama bottoms and they made their way back to the bedroom.

  “Hudson brought in a cot,” Cohen had said. “Figured Faith will be uncomfortable waking up somewhere she doesn't know, but then if there was a male next to her...”

  Rayner nodded and gingerly laid on the cot, silently cursing as his wounds hit the canvas.

  “Is she going to be okay, Cohen?”

  Cohen nodded. “I think so. Because she’s human, I didn't try to do any healing, just went in and took a look around. She seems really solid. Just a lot of drugs in her system she'll need to sleep off.”

  Rayner felt sleep roll up on him at a pretty quick rate. Cohen had never done any healing on a human as none of them knew what would happen. The healing could go fantastically well, or the human could die. Cohen didn’t want to be responsible for the latter. "Did he...did he hurt her in other ways, Cohen?" Although Faith had been found with her clothes on, the thought of the Colonist raping her had been playing in his mind over and over, making him feel like he wanted to cry and kill something all at the same time.