by Eden Ashley
“And now we eat,” Ethan said and smiled. “Lesson over. Tomorrow we shoot.”
Davey had been so engrossed with the Beretta that she’d pretty much forgotten her hunger. At the mention of food, however, her stomach growled a furious reminder. At the same time, her nose honed in on the delicious aromas permeating the cabin and Davey gave herself a silent kudos.
Ethan cleaned a couple of bowls and spoons while she stirred the soup and watched the steady drizzle through the kitchen window. Something about a storm had always calmed Davey’s soul even during the worst of times.
“Let’s eat in here,” she said. “I want to watch the rain.”
“There’s something you should know,” Ethan said as they situated themselves around the small table. “Yesterday when I talked to my partner, Solomon, he told me why Marx is so determined to get to you.”
“Well, duh. I lost a shitload of his drugs. And instead of letting him put his grimy hands on me as compensation, Palmer and I ran away.” Davey took a bite of soup and was relieved that it actually tasted pretty good, especially considering all of the ingredients were sourced from the dusty shelves of an abandoned cabin in the woods.
“But that’s not all.”
She didn’t hide her confusion. “There’s more?”
“During your escape, Palmer actually shot Marx. Rumor claims it was a flesh wound—not even bad enough to warrant more than a few stitches. But Marx is the new boss in town.”
“And he needs to set an example,” Davey finished.
Ethan’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “He can’t let this go. Palmer may be dead. But to Marx, you haven’t even begun to suffer enough.”
Dropping her spoon against the bowl, she covered her face with both hands. “That’s the worst news I’ve heard all day.” Scrubbing her skin tiredly, Davey heaved a loud sigh and lifted her head. “But that isn’t saying much, considering there’s no television or internet, and you’re the only person I’ve spoken to today.”
“Solomon thinks he’s close to having enough evidence to take Marx down. We just have to hang in there and lay low.”
She thought about her promise to Hogan. “How much longer?”
“You’ll be able to go home soon. I give you my word.”
Sitting quietly, she mulled over everything Ethan had said. He’d never given her a reason to mistrust him, and since their first meeting, had always been there whenever she needed him the most. Right now, Davey was in serious danger, there was no doubting that. And Ethan would give his life to protect her—she was sure of that too. Thanks to him, she was much closer to being able to protect herself from the bad guys. She could survive this. She would keep her promise to Hogan.
Reaching across the table, Davey nudged Ethan’s bowl closer to him. “Eat your soup,” she said. “It’s getting cold.”
Picking up his spoon, he set it down again. “About earlier,” he said quietly. “You’re right. I don’t like to think about it.”
*
Over the next few days, Davey became pretty capable at hitting stationary targets. Ethan praised her efforts and then immediately made things harder. Tossing the soup cans in the air one by one, he shouted “Now!” at varied intervals, and ready or not, Davey had to pull the trigger. She missed far more times than she would have liked, but eventually realized the formula of her mistakes and from there things became easier. Soon, she was able to anticipate where the target would be based on its trajectory, height, and velocity. So whenever Ethan yelled, she was ready. After that, Davey rarely missed.
She actually emptied a full clip without wasting a single bullet, triggering applause from Ethan—and laughter. “That’s really good,” he said. “Good enough not to shoot the wrong guy.”
“I’m still holding the gun, you know,” Davey said, twisting her face in mock anger. “Laugh all you like, but that was freaking awesome. I’m practically a badass.”
Ethan tilted his head to one side. “Bad ass?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Badass. But it’s one word.” Davey mentally shook her head. Ethan was way less awkward than he had been when they first met, but every now and again, reminders of his oddities resurfaced. Anyone living in the twenty-first century knew what badass meant. Granted, Ethan had suffered a traumatic brain injury, so technically, he couldn’t really be faulted for not being up to date on modern slang. “It basically means that I’m tough, lethal even—someone you don’t want to mess with. Think Rasputin, Genghis Khan, or Super Saiyan Blue.”
Ethan’s frown briefly cleared as she spoke, but then returned. “You lost me on the last one.”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “That’s an entirely different conversation—one that requires Hulu and some serious couch time. If you can picture the first two and remember what history says about them, then you know what a badass is.”
“Rasputin was a sex-crazed holy man and drunkard mysteriously bestowed with supernatural powers of prophecy and healing. And Genghis Khan was a conqueror who advocated religious freedom, gave rights to women, and created the first international postal service.”
Davey blinked at him. “Seriously?”
He stared at her with wide eyes. “What?”
“I think you completely missed the point there, Einstein.” She tried again. “Rasputin was poisoned, shot three times, and then beaten before his murderers finally succeeded in taking him down. Genghis Khan conquered more territory than any human in history and took a huge chunk out of the world’s population doing so. Millions died during the carnage of Khan’s amazingly gruesome rampage.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “But what of Super Saiyan Blue? What was his mark on history?”
His tone sounded so sincere, Davey could have fallen to her knees and laughed until she died. “I can’t even,” she said, and gave up to a fit of unstoppable giggles. He observed her episode of mania with unwavering patience. Eventually, she regained enough composure to start again. “Forget about Saiyans. That cultural reference is obviously lost on you,” she said. “But if you really need another example, search that weird brain of yours and see if the name Tomoe Gozen rings any bells.”
“Ah. Beautiful samurai,” Ethan answered immediately. “So you’re sexy, hard-to-kill, and a conqueror. Yes. I guess your ass is very bad, Davey Little. Should I punish it?”
“Oh.” She really hadn’t meant for him to take it so literally. “Okay. Whoa. That escalated fast.” Davey blushed. “Ethan Remington, you just refuse to act like a normal human being. Go take your fifty shades of weirdness inside and fix me a sandwich. It’s your turn to make lunch.”
20
That night, Davey lay awake in bed, her brain swarmed by too many troubles to process. Despite everything—all her efforts and promises to keep a proper distance—fantasies of Ethan rose above all else. He had broken through her defenses and gotten under her skin. No other person had ever accomplished this. Ethan had also saved her life three times in less than two weeks, and admittedly, that deed had perhaps bolstered feelings of gratitude into a deeper attraction. Of course, the sex had been great. Davey needed two hands to tally her total number of sexual partners, so the pool of comparison wasn’t shallow. Ethan was simply the best she’d been with. Gentle when he needed to be but commanding enough to completely satisfy her. Even now she wanted to feel him, to have him taste her just before pushing his hard shaft between her thighs.
Davey closed her eyes. It was just sex.
She steered her mind back to the first day they’d met. Approaching Palmer’s GSX in his starched uniform and dark aviators, Ethan had represented the authority Davey spent most of her life struggling against. Now he was her only friend in the world. A friend who was incredibly skilled with firearms and computers, a quiet but deadly force, and also socially awkward at times. He also possessed a great physique, sexy laugh, and piercing grey eyes that warmed Davey to the core.
Ugh. “You’re pathetic,” she whispered. Uttering a frustrated groan, she fl
ipped onto her back and pounded her head against the pillow as if she could beat the images of Ethan out.
A voice came from the darkness, calling to her, and Davey would have screamed but a hand clamped like iron against her mouth and rendered sound impossible.
“It’s me,” Ethan said as calmly as ever. His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, sending shivers across her skin. “Don’t scream,” he whispered and moved his hand.
“Shit,” Davey exclaimed softly, struggling to regain her wits. “What the hell, Ethan?”
“Men are coming. You need to hide.”
“Oh god.” Her heart leapt forward. “Hide where? This place is tiny.” She flinched slightly at the feel of the cool steel pressed into her hands. “Go into the woods,” he answered. “Shoot only if you absolutely have to. Stay quiet until I lead them away, and then I want you to run.”
“What about you? How many are there?”
“Four, possibly six, but I’ll be fine.” He started to move away, but Davey grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Ethan,” she whispered. This time she wasn’t ashamed of the tremble in her voice. “Please don’t die for me.”
Turning back to her, he rested his palm against her cheek. “Stay safe,” he said, and then slipped out into the darkness, leaving her alone and terrified. Gripping the gun tightly, Davey took a deep breath and counted to ten. She slid into a pair of jeans and then kept close to the wall, moving cautiously toward the open window through which Ethan had just left. Only the faintest light shone from the waning moon, not enough to pierce the cloak of darkness within the cabin, but enough illumination for her eyes to identify the dim outline of the trees beyond. The forest was maybe two hundred yards away—practically a marathon to cover if and when bullets started flying.
Ethan had told her to wait until after he had led Marx’s men away, and then she was supposed to climb out the window and run as fast as possible into the woods. But how would she know when to run? What would Ethan’s signal be? He had failed to mention that little detail.
“Damn it,” she said under her breath. Okay. Don’t panic. Look and listen. You’ll know when, Davey said to herself and kept repeating the plan until she believed it would work. “I’m going to survive this,” she whispered.
And so she waited. Counting her breaths to stay calm, she leaned against the wall—letting it support what weight her quivering legs could not—and clutched the gun, careful to keep the muzzle pointed toward the floor. Three heart pounding minutes later, a man’s scream tore through the night. It was a terrible sound, fueled by agony and tinged with shock. Silence fell and then the man screamed again as his suffering was renewed. Fear cut through Davey’s belly like a heated knife. Was it Ethan? Was this the signal or was he simply hurt and needed her help?
A new noise shattered the stillness as the sound of gunfire replaced the man’s blood curdling screams. It also solved her dilemma. If it was Ethan who screamed with such agony, the barrage of gunfire would have been unnecessary because Marx’s men would have already won. Trusting her life with that theory, Davey tucked the Beretta into her waistband and climbed through the window. More shooting and the frantic shouts of several men erupted as her feet touched the damp earth. By then Davey was running and the noise of the wind nearly drowned out everything else.
She didn’t slow until she was safely hidden within the cover of the forest. Soft moonlight broke up the night, lighting up the path beneath Davey’s feet as she dashed into the wood. Beneath the trees, the dim rays barely pierced the thick foliage. The darkness hid Davey, but it also shielded any enemies from sight.
Stilling her steps, she focused on calming her emotions as she surveyed the surroundings. Neither seeing nor sensing any immediate threat, she hunkered down and watched the cabin, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ethan. The forest was quiet again. Even the nocturnal clamor of wild animals was absent. It was as if everyone and everything had disappeared, leaving her alone in the world.
With that foreboding silence echoing in her ears, Davey saw something capable of seeding a paralyzing fear in her stomach. Four men who wore what looked like body armor melted from the shadows. Two of them dragged Ethan’s limp form across the yard, while the other pair escorted them, guns raised and pointed as if they were expecting Ethan to rise up and fight at any moment. But he was clearly unconscious, and from the way the men moved, carrying his weight was hard work.
Shit. Davey wiped a tear from her cheek. Ethan was in trouble and she wasn’t sure she could help him. These were hired killers—armor-wearing hit men, no doubt highly skilled and trained in their craft. They had been good enough to get the best of Ethan—a cop who, according to Max the ex-soldier, had some serious military capabilities. So what chance did a high school kid with a few crash courses in target shooting have against them?
I have to try, Davey thought. Time and time again, Ethan had risked so much to save her. She couldn’t just leave him to whatever fate Marx’s men decided for him. Besides, she was the one whom they were truly after, and once Ethan was out of the way, Marx’s men would certainly come searching for her. However, realizing it was absolute suicide to attempt a rescue without a viable plan, Davey was forced to watch helplessly as Ethan was dragged inside the cabin. Once the rest of the gunman entered, the door closed with a haunting finality.
Confronting Marx’s men head on was out of the question, but maybe Davey could sneak inside in the same manner she had escaped. Then she just needed to distract them long enough to free Ethan and hope he could regain consciousness in order to walk out on his own. Yeah, the chances of them surviving the night were slim, especially if their survival depended almost completely on Davey’s next few moves, but she was damn well going to try. Ethan had been willing to give his life for her and now it was time to return the favor.
Standing up, she moved to put her plan in action and was startled to discover she was no longer alone in the forest. Someone, no something, crouched less than twenty feet away with glittering blue eyes emitting an unnatural glow that couldn’t be human. Night shine. It was something animal eyes did whenever light touched them in darkness.
The thing stood up and stepped forward into full moonlight. Gasping, Davey raised the Beretta. It was a man. He wore body armor just like the other four, with a large gun slung across his shoulder. But the noise bubbling in his throat as he came toward Davey sounded a lot like a growl. Reflexively, she moved backward, striving to maintain the distance between them. The gun wavered precariously in her grasp.
“What are you doing here, girl?” The man’s voice was low, menacing. When she didn’t answer, another sharp growl was unleashed, making her flinch. “I asked you a question.” His blue eyes glowed more brightly as he advanced, and now he came nearly close enough to touch her.
Davey couldn’t speak. She was too frightened…too shocked. What his eyes were doing…it should not have been possible.
The man chuckled softly, but the laugh was devoid of all humor. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway,” he said and reached for his gun. Davey took another step backward, trying desperately to correct her aim, but her foot struck against something solid and she tripped. Suddenly, Ethan’s voice was in her head, yelling now, and she squeezed the trigger as she fell. The Beretta thundered. The smell of exploding gunpowder filled her nose. Muzzle light flashed, and the man’s head jerked backward. He staggered, grabbed his throat, and then dropped to his knees, wetly gurgling as blood poured between his fingers and spilled from his mouth.
Afraid the men inside had heard the shot, Davey raced to the rear of the cabin. Slipping out of her shoes, she scurried through the open window and stopped. It was difficult to hear over the sound of her thudding heart, but eventually several voices came into focus.
“Why is he twitching like that?” an unseen man asked in a distinctly southern accent.
“Forget about him,” a second male voice answered sharply. “This sonofabitch killed the sarge. Someone needs to go check on Brown right now. From
the sound of that gunshot, I think it’s safe to assume he wasn’t out here alone.”
“I’ll go,” a raspy sounding female volunteered.
“Alright, Blue,” the first man agreed with authority in his voice. “Go. But take White with you. We can’t afford any more casualties. Reinforcements are hours away, and this storm isn’t allowing us to make contact.”
The second guy didn’t sound happy. “What about me?”
“You’ll stay with me and guard our target. The commander won’t be happy if we let his little brother get away from us again.”
The second guy snorted. “One: that is not the commander’s brother. This thing ain’t even human. And two: it’s not going anywhere.”
“You say not human like that’s a bad thing,” Blue, the female soldier, deadpanned.
Daring to move closer, Davey crept down the long hallway but halted just before the shadows ended. From there, she was able to get a good look at two of the four strangers and put faces to the code names derived from colors of the rainbow. These men didn’t look like cops. They were a different kind of professionals—obviously not sent by Marx and not here to kill Davey but there to apprehend Ethan. But who would be after Ethan? Davey wondered. And why?
She couldn’t see Blue, but heard the woman still arguing with the mouthy guy. He was tall and good-looking, with a cocky swagger and a permanent smirk that betrayed a definite awareness of his attractiveness.
The guy giving the orders stepped into view and Davey jumped in surprise. His boots had come within a few inches of her face. “Green, shut your mouth and get over here,” he told the handsome soldier. “The kid seriously doesn’t look good. Is that the only disc GC Control gave us?”
“Yeah and we were lucky to get that. This isn’t exactly a sanctioned mission, boss. This disc is the only prototype.” Green dropped the swagger, adopting a more serious tone. “I hope you aren’t thinking about taking it off. We barely subdued him as it is, and now we’re down a man.”
