Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  “Two weeks,” he said.

  President Foster nodded and turned back to André. “I would like you to start thinking about a military career young man.”

  “I need to graduate first, sir,” André answered. “But after that, it is my intention to join the Armed Forces.”

  President Foster smiled. He turned toward Matthew. “Commander.”

  “Mr. President.” Matthew saluted and waited until President Foster left before he turned to André. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” he replied and leaned back in the wheelchair, wiping his face. His thigh throbbed overtaking the moment and he closed his eyes. “My leg hurts again.”

  Matthew glanced at his watch. “You still have a little over three hours before you can have any more medicine.”

  André glared in his direction. “You’re kidding.”

  “Afraid not,” Matthew answered and picked up the medal and certificate from the coffee table, bringing them upstairs.

  19

  July 2240

  Insistent knocking woke Matthew from a sound sleep and he blinked, trying to orient himself with his surroundings. His gaze dropped to the daily brief in his hand and then to the clock on the wall. It had been hours since Katrina and Linda left the house and he couldn’t blame them. The second he was cleared to drive, he was out of there, too.

  The last two weeks consisted of sleep and battles with André over the stupidest things. Between Katrina and Linda running interference and André’s whining about how much his leg hurt, he was more than ready to get back to the office.

  He glanced over at André and sighed. The knocking hadn’t disturbed his drug-induced sleep and a measure of irritation bloomed. Rubbing his eyes, Matthew struggled out of the chair and crossed to the door, opening it without so much as a second thought. Barrels of several guns pointed in his face; any cobwebs in Matthew’s mind dissolved instantly.

  André! He sent the thought to his son and backed up a few steps.

  André sat bolt upright on the couch and looked at the small band of thugs entering the house, their guns trained on his father. He glanced to his right; Sam still slept in the crib, undisturbed, and a small wave of relief washed over him.

  “What do you want?” Matthew asked, but he already knew and so did André. They wanted his son.

  André stood up and limped the distance to stand next to his father, despite the barrels wavering between he and Matthew. “Get out,” he said.

  The guns targeted him, but no one retreated.

  “Get out or else!” André clarified, the anger rising like flood tides, burying the dull throb in his leg.

  “Not so fast, alien,” someone said from behind the line of gunmen. They parted and a man came into view, dragging a dazed Katrina with him, a knife pressed to the soft flesh of her throat.

  André clenched his fists, brushing away the fleeting instance of shock that stopped his heart at the sight of Katrina’s terrified gaze. Instead, he calmed the urge to annihilate, and calculated the number of weapons and the energy required to unarm these assholes.

  “Where’s my wife?” Matthew asked; the shake in his voice gave away his barely contained fury.

  “If you don’t give us the alien half-breed, we will slice their throats open.”

  Another man stepped into view with Linda and a knife edged against her larynx, her shirt draped in tatters, revealing bruises on her arms and ribs. Her face held the same ugly black-and-blue tones and both her knees sported trickles of blood. The brutality of her injuries set André into a whirlwind of wrath and the ball forming in his chest let loose when his gaze focused on the thin line of blood coming from the knife pressed to her neck.

  His fists clenched and sent a silent command, yanking the knives away from the soft flesh of Katrina and Linda’s necks. The click of triggers filled the room, but no lasers released from the barrels.

  Instead, André used the heat and inertia from the multiple lasers to home in on the guns themselves, melting the metal around each gunman’s hands, binding their wrists together in burning steel.

  He focused on the man who dared to cut his mother and with a low growl, he shoved the power outward, catapulting the man through the living room window.

  Screams replaced the shattered glass and he focused back on the rest of the men. “If you ever come near my family again, I’ll kill every last one of you. Now. Get. Out!”

  The small band bolted out of the house and André slammed the door shut behind them, focusing back on the man lying on the front lawn, the leader of this band of thugs. The one who beat the daylights out of his mother. His anger swelled.

  “Don’t,” Katrina spoke loud enough to break through the haze of fury.

  André glanced back at her. “He hurt both of you.”

  Matthew had the phone in his hand, dialing the emergency number. “This is Commander Robbins. I need both the police and ambulance sent to my residence. We’ve had a break-in.”

  André turned toward the front of the house in time to see a large hovercraft containing the broken band of thugs speeding straight for the house. The driver flashed his teeth at André in a triumphant suicide-bomber smile that made André’s skin crawl. His rage overflowed, shooting out from the center of his chest.

  The craft and everyone inside blew to bits, showering bloody vapors onto the front lawn.

  André stared at the particles raining down, shocked by the fine dust but not feeling a bit of remorse for those he killed. He glanced at his father. “Oops.”

  Matthew hung up the phone. “Oops? All you can say is oops? Are you out of your god damn mind?”

  André shrugged and took a few steps back to the recliner. Slumping in the chair, the exhaustion wrung the energy from his muscles. “It got away from me.”

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Just beautiful. You killed those men and all you can say is ‘It got away from me’?”

  “They were going to kill us, Matthew. All of us,” Linda said, calling Matthew’s attention. “They deserved what they got.”

  “They followed us to the store and jumped us,” Katrina said. “Knocked me out cold, otherwise...” She paused and swallowed, reaching to touch the lump on her temple. “Otherwise I would have stopped them.”

  “Stopped what?” Matthew asked with trepidation.

  André closed his eyes; hearing the accusation was far worse than gleaning it from Katrina’s mind. He glanced at his mother and gritted his teeth against the memories of their brutality. What he saw jump-started his adrenaline and he stormed out of the house, ignorant of the pain in his leg. He lifted the unconscious body and slammed his fist full in the man’s face, breaking bone with the power behind his punch.

  Matthew pulled André off the unconscious man before André killed him. “Enough,” Matthew said, pushing him back. “He will pay, I promise, but not at our hands. I know exactly what you’re feeling, André, and I would love nothing more than to kill the son of a bitch myself, but we can’t. We can’t.”

  André stared into his father’s eyes and tears blurred his vision. He sat on the grass, putting his head in his hands, fighting the raging beast inside, the one that wanted to crush the life out of the unconscious bastard. His son’s wail brought him out of it and he raised his gaze to the broken bay window where Katrina stood consoling Sam.

  Her gaze met his in a mixture of devastation and anger, the combination boiling inside her, swirling and leaving André helpless to stop the tears leaking down his cheeks.

  The cops descended in full force. André remained sitting on the lawn with his head in his hands while Matthew ran interference. Two ambulances were dispatched, one for the madman on the lawn and the other for Linda and Katrina, along with a group of female officers and a psychologist who swarmed the house.

  André blocked all thoughts, creating a silent barrier in his mind so he could grapple with the anger bruising his soul. When an officer squatted next to him, he finally turned his face out of the crook of
his arm.

  “You have the right to remain silent...” the officer started.

  André stared at him. “You’re arresting me?”

  “Excuse me, Officer Sanders, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matthew asked as he approached.

  “Your son killed those men by your own admission,” Officer Sanders replied, glancing at Matthew.

  “He was defending our family,” Matthew interjected. Keep your mouth shut, André.

  “That will be decided by a court of law,” Officer Sanders replied, hauling André to his feet, and cuffed his wrists behind his back. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these rights as I have stated them?”

  André nodded.

  Before he could say a word, Katrina screamed, “Don’t you take my husband!”

  André turned in time to see her running down the steps and Officer Sanders, pushed by an invisible hand, landed on his ass on the lawn.

  “Kat, it’s okay,” André said. Don’t make it worse, baby. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “It’s not okay.” She threw her arms around his neck. “They were going to kill us, André. They were going to kill Sam.” She cried against his chest.

  “I know, but you’ve got to let them take me to the station.”

  Officer Sanders stood up and grabbed André’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” André said, limping away with Officer Sanders. When the officer directed him toward the same craft that the now conscious thug sat in, André stopped. “If you put me in the same vehicle as that son of a bitch, he won’t make it to the station alive.”

  Officer Sanders glared at André.

  “He raped my mother and my wife,” André said and clamped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

  Officer Sanders redirected André to the second craft. After settling André in the back seat, the officer climbed in the front and started the craft. “Did you want to tell me what happened?”

  André opened his mouth and then thought better of it, his father’s command to keep his mouth shut still clear in his mind. “No,” André replied. “I want to talk to a lawyer.” His shoulders throbbed from the angle of the handcuffs. He closed his eyes, willing the cuffs to unlatch. The sharp click was undercut by the officer’s radio squawking on the dashboard.

  Rubbing his wrists, André rolled his shoulders, shifting in the seat to find a comfortable position. The movement brought a wave of pain from his thigh, signaling the pain medicine was wearing thin and soon any sort of comfort would be impossible.

  The craft stopped and André pried his eyes open. His headache throbbed in time with his leg.

  Officer Sanders stared at him. “How did you get out of those?”

  “They weren’t very comfortable.”

  “I didn’t ask whether they were comfortable—I asked how you got them off.”

  “If I wanted to escape, these things wouldn’t be able to stop me,” he said. “Besides, I’ve got no reason to run.”

  Officer Sanders’s face pinched and he turned away from André. With a curt nod he said, “Just don’t try anything. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” André replied. His eyes drooped and before the officer pulled from the curb, he drifted into darkness despite the ache in his leg.

  At the station, André pressed his fingers on the screen scan, his fingerprints cataloged along with his mug shot before the officer led him to a jail cell. Across the hall sat the man who attacked his family, the one who defiled his wife. The bastard had the nerve to grin at him like a sick Cheshire cat.

  “Your wife was such a good fuck.” He laughed at André.

  André glared, afraid to speak, afraid of the rage clawing at his stomach.

  “I took my time with her, too. I figured she needed a real man.”

  The fury broke free and André stood, crossing to the bars and grasping them tightly, his knuckles turning white under the grip. His eyes burned with rage and he ground his teeth together, willing the man’s privates into the consistency of jelly.

  A high-shrill scream filled the jail and the man grabbed his crotch, falling to his knees.

  The louder the scream, the wider André’s smile of satisfaction became. He turned and walked back to the bench, taking a seat again, crossing his legs at the ankle, and folding his arms over his chest, and watched the bastard continue to scream. He took a deep breath and released his hold.

  The man sobbed with his forehead on the concrete, holding his crushed privates. He vomited on the floor and fell on his side, gagging and gasping for breath.

  André remained smiling. The son of a bitch would never hurt another woman again.

  Officer Sanders appeared. He looked at the man on the floor and then over at André.

  André kept eye contact, daring him to say something, anything that would give him cause to lash out.

  The officer unlocked André’s cell. “Come with me,” he said, glancing back at the thug.

  André limped down the hall, following the officer to an interrogation room. He took a seat, glancing at the two officers in the room. “Where’s my lawyer?”

  “I’m not sure an alien is entitled to the same rights as a citizen,” Sergeant Bill Farrow said.

  André sighed. “In case you were not aware, the president of the United States granted me citizenship. Therefore, I do have the same rights as the next person.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, I’d like a lawyer if you don’t mind.”

  “What did you do to Ben?” Officer Sanders asked.

  André raised his eyebrow. “Who’s Ben?”

  “The man in the cell across from you.”

  André looked between the two officers. “I’d like my lawyer now,” he said. The fact that they used the man’s first name said more about them and their views than even their thoughts did.

  “Not so fast,” Sergeant Farrow began.

  André shot his gaze in the detective’s direction. “I don’t think you get it. I’m still a minor, and you are violating the rules by questioning me without either my parents or a lawyer present,” he said.

  Sergeant Farrow laughed. “I don’t think you understand. You are an intruder on this planet.”

  André’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched again. “You condone the attack on my family?”

  “No, but I share the same sentiment. You don’t belong here,” Sergeant Farrow said.

  André realized neither one of the officers in the room accepted his existence. They both harbored the same hostility he remembered from his home planet.

  Sergeant Farrow glanced at Officer Sanders and back at André. “You killed those men.”

  André glanced in his direction, shutting his mouth against the words that wanted to come out, the muscles in his jaw taut with aggravation. He squashed the urge to let loose on both these men. They were officers of the law and as such, required respect, no matter how much they disliked his existence. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms in protest.

  “Do you realize how much trouble you are in?” Sergeant Farrow asked.

  “Do you?” André returned the question.

  Sergeant Farrow raised his eyebrow. “Do I what?”

  “Know how much trouble you’re in.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  André smiled. “You are questioning a minor without representation,” he stated. “I have asked repeatedly for a lawyer and you have refused every time, and you have basically stated you agree with the attack on my family.” He leaned forward, cocking his head to the side. “I think that’s grounds for a hell of a discrimination lawsuit.”

  This kid is shrewd, Sergeant Farrow thought. “What makes you think they will let you out
of here?”

  “Since when is protecting your family against armed intruders a crime?”

  “It isn’t, but they weren’t in your house when they died, now were they?” Sergeant Farrow said.

  “They were heading toward the living room in their hovercraft with the intent to kill us all,” André replied. “I stopped them.”

  “By making the hovercraft explode?”

  André glared at the sergeant. “I did what was necessary to protect my family,” he said between clenched teeth.

  The interrogation room door flew open and Matthew stepped inside, wearing full military dress, followed by three others in full military garb, two of which were lawyers and the third, André immediately recognized.

  “You have violated due process,” Matthew snapped and glared at the sergeant. “I am taking my son home. You can discuss the situation with my lawyers.”

  Cal approached André. “How’s the leg?”

  André shrugged. “It hurts a little,” he lied. It was throbbing and he was in need of another dose of pain medication.

  Cal smiled. “Don’t bullshit me,” he said as he helped André to his feet and led him out of the room.

  Matthew turned on his heels, following Cal and André out of the room, leaving Sergeant Farrow and Officer Sanders at the mercy of the two military lawyers who had been given orders to grill them for hours.

  Matthew drove home in silence, with Cal riding shotgun and André in back. He glanced at André as he pulled through the newly formed sea of reporters in their driveway. “It’s been a madhouse since the police left,” he said.

  André stepped out without a word and hobbled to the house as reporters shouted questions. He ignored them all, entering the house and slamming the door behind him. He headed for the stairs, ignoring his leg.

  “André, you aren’t supposed to climb the stairs yet,” Cal said.

  André never acknowledged the warning. He continued up the stairs, wincing with every step. He limped down the hall and opened the door to their bedroom.

  Katrina lay on the bed with Sam in her arms. She looked up when he opened the door, tears tracking down her face in a steady rain.