by Kyla Stone
“In case you haven’t noticed, we can do whatever we want.” Cerberus scanned the group. “But don’t worry. We won’t take all of you. Just a choice few. Your women are particularly enticing. This one—” he trailed his finger along Nadira’s trembling jaw, “—will fit into the new order of things quite nicely, I think. You already know how to serve, don’t you?”
“Let’s be reasonable, here,” Horne tried again.
Cerberus turned a gun on him. “No one suggested you should speak.”
Horne’s face went white, and whatever remnant of courage he’d summoned fled. He backed away, hands up in surrender. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Razor seized her arm. Amelia tried to twist away, but his grip was iron.
“Leave her be.” Her mother’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare touch her!”
“It’s good to see familial bonds are still alive and well,” Cerberus said. “If you agree to come with us freely, no funny business, I promise we won’t harm your daughter. How’s that for diplomacy?”
“I’ll do anything,” her mother said.
Amelia’s heart ached at the terror lacing her mother’s voice. “Mom, don’t do this—”
“Shut up!” Razor said, but he dropped her arm.
Cerberus gestured at Bones. “Load her up.”
Two men seized her mother’s arms and dragged her across the grass and gravel to the parked motorcycles. Amelia watched them, horrified. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. They’d survived so much. It couldn’t end like this.
Cerberus stepped in front of Amelia, blocking her view of her mother. “You’re a lovely little thing, aren’t you? Too skinny, but we could fatten you up. I could find a good home for this one, couldn’t I, Razor? Oh, yes, we could teach you to be a proper woman.”
His eyes were a gray-blue, the color of cold winter seas. Predator eyes. Like Kane’s. The demon of her nightmares swelled inside her, a thing of fangs and claws and bone-crushing terror.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her!” Silas said hoarsely.
“Ah.” Cerberus lifted one finger. “I said I wouldn’t harm her, not that I wouldn’t take her.” He fingered a jagged chunk of her hair and frowned. “Who gave you this ghastly haircut?”
She felt it then, that seed of strength deep inside her. She knew fear. She knew pain. She’d known them her whole life. And she was stronger than both of them.
She blocked the nightmare from her mind, shoved it inside a box and buried it deep. This man couldn’t take anything from her. Others tried before him and failed. She’d defeated Kane. She was a survivor. She was better, stronger, braver. “I did.”
He cocked his head, puzzled, like he didn’t understand the joke. He wouldn’t. Men like him only understood power and control, rulers and victims. Amelia was neither. She spat in his face.
He reared back, his placid expression contorting for a fraction of a second before the mask slid back into place. “That was unwise.”
She jutted her chin. “Go to hell.”
“See? That’s the problem with the women of the world. They just don’t know their proper place. Luckily for you, that world is gone. We’re creating a new, better society. And we can teach you a better way.” He raised his arm as if to strike her. “Your first lesson begins now.”
“Not that one,” Harmony called out.
“This is the girl, then?” Instead of hitting her, he tilted Amelia’s chin up with his thumb. Her skin crawled at his touch. He leaned so close she could see the pores in his skin, the cruel gleam in his eyes. “Well, that’s a damn shame. We could’ve had some fun. Still, for you, the Sanctuary will be quite generous.”
“Let me go.”
“How fascinating.” Cerberus trailed a finger down the side of her cheek. “The girl who lived.”
She flinched, jerking her face away. “Don’t touch me.”
He smiled wide, revealing canines sharpened like fangs. “Load her up with her mother.”
35
Willow
Willow’s heart beat wildly in her chest. Panic pressed in, threatening to overwhelm her. She sucked in ragged breaths, her entire body trembling with fear and adrenaline. She crouched on the ground where she fell, the stems and leaves of the plants around her bent and crushed.
The Headhunter named Scorpio towered over her, eclipsing the sun. He wore a cloak of fox-skin, bushy red tails dangling. The digital scorpion tattoo snaking up his neck flicked its venomous stinger. Huge and immensely muscled, he looked like he could pull a train with his teeth. His squinty eyes were hooded in his fleshy, shovel-shaped face.
He wasn’t aware of her presence, his pulse gun aimed at Silas and Finn, the ones he viewed as a threat. She wasn’t even a blip on his radar. Which was fine by her. She sucked the blood from her split lip, pretending to sit sweet and docile like a good little girl. But inside, she coiled tight as a snake, waiting, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Elise was bound and placed on one of the motorcycles. Two men held Amelia by the arms, but she thrashed and shrieked like a wild animal, clawing at anything she could reach. Twice, one of the men cursed as she raked his face with her nails.
But they were careful with her. They knew she was the first survivor. That’s why they needed her. They didn’t hit her back. They didn’t have such qualms about the rest of their group.
Silas lunged at the closest Headhunter and received several gut-punches for the effort. He staggered, clutching his stomach. “Next time, we’ll just waste a bullet on you,” Razor said.
They chose Celeste and Nadira, too. Celeste didn’t resist, but Nadira did. Razor struck her across the face. Her head bounced back. The sight of Nadira slumped between those brutes, her hair hanging exposed and limp around her shoulders, filled Willow with rage.
She wanted to fight with every fiber of her being. But she wasn’t stupid. They carried knives, but what were knives against pulse guns? Even if she managed to kill this fox-tailed thug with her little blade, then what? She and Silas couldn’t take out eleven more bastards on their own. It was impossible. They would lose.
But she wouldn’t give up. There had to be an opening, somewhere. These monsters had a weakness. They needed to find it and—
A glimpse of movement snagged her gaze. She turned her head slowly as to not draw undue attention. Someone tore out of the woods to her left, racing full-tilt between the two residence halls. It was Gabriel. He sprinted toward the cafeteria and the garden, pumping his legs like pistons, a rifle in his hands.
Willow sucked in her breath, adrenaline spiking her veins. She stole a glance at Scorpio. He and the other Headhunters faced away from the residence halls, their attention on Silas and Finn and Amelia, who still fought and screamed like a wild thing. Anyone standing near the garden and driveway couldn’t see Gabriel if he stayed behind the buildings.
Willow squinted. Something moved behind him. A huge streak of black came barreling between the trees, followed by smaller streaks of brown and gray and black. The dogs.
Gabriel was leading the infected pack right to the Headhunters. It was incredibly risky, incredibly dangerous, and brilliant as hell.
She recognized the streak of black—the wolf from the warehouse. She didn’t know how or why he was here, but they needed any help they could get. She tensed, every muscle ready to spring, and watched them come with her heart in her throat.
Gabriel rounded the corner of the first residence hall and pressed himself against the wall. He swiftly assessed the situation, raised his gun, and squeezed off three shots. Two Headhunters standing near the cafeteria entrance dropped, blood oozing from their temples.
“Hey—!” a bald guy yelled. Gabriel’s rifle jerked again. The Headhunter fell to his knees, then toppled sideways without another sound.
The black wolf snapped at the dogs’ heels, almost like he was herding them. An instant later, more than a dozen dogs burst between the two buildings and careened into the fray like snarling demons from h
ell.
Distantly, she heard Silas groan. “Not the damn dogs.”
The Headhunters’ eyes widened in shock. They spun, guns wavering, unsure where to aim first. The dogs were everywhere, a rampaging whirlwind of savage fury and slavering fangs.
Gabriel whistled. From the south, the tow truck charged up the drive, Jericho leaning out the window and shooting as Micah drove, tires spinning, gravel spitting like dust.
Sweet Creek Farm erupted into chaos.
Willow twisted, searching desperately for Benjie. She glimpsed his neon green T-shirt against the wall of the cafeteria, where a Doberman cornered him, Gracie, and Harmony.
But before she could move, Finn lunged in front of Benjie, grabbed him by the waist, and thrust him over his shoulder. He backed away from the growling dog, shouting.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Celeste break free from the Headhunters and flee for the cafeteria. A large mutt charged toward her.
Before it could reach her, the black wolf surged in, barreling into the mutt and sending the creature sprawling.
But the Doberman still stalked Finn and Benjie.
“Get out of here!” Celeste screamed. In one fluid move, she bent down, grabbed one of the bricks edging the garden, and hurled it at the Doberman’s head. The brick struck its snout. It yelped and skittered back.
It gave Finn time to dash for the cafeteria entrance.
Finn dumped Benjie safely inside. He held the door open as he seized Celeste’s outstretched hand and jerked her to safety. Gracie and Harmony managed to dash in after them, with Horne following close behind.
It was over in a matter of seconds.
“What the hell!” Razor yelled, drawing Willow’s gaze back to the battle at hand. Benjie and Finn were safe for the moment. That was all she needed to know.
Razor turned from Silas and aimed at a slavering stray, blood-streaked drool dripping from the dog’s jowls. He discharged the pulse gun. A streak of red, crackling energy shot into the dog and bowled it backward, end over end. It didn’t get up.
It was the opening Silas needed. He crouched, the blade he kept in his boot already in his hand, and launched himself at the Headhunter. He seized Razor by his skinny neck from behind and stabbed him.
Razor crumpled, Silas on top of him. Silas tore the pulse gun from the man’s hands and leapt up, whirling, searching for the next threat.
Scorpio still stood only a foot from her. He raised his rifle and aimed it at Silas. It was too late to scream. Besides, Silas wouldn’t hear it in the bedlam. Now was the time to fight.
Willow pulled her own blade from her boot with trembling fingers. Before she could think twice, she sliced her knife across the tendons along the backside of the Headhunter’s knee.
He stumbled to his knees with a roar of pain, his gun wavering. He bent, feeling for the wound beneath the blood spurting down his leg.
Willow sprang to her feet and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went flying into the garden.
Scorpio cursed and spun, searching wildly for his attacker.
Willow darted a few feet away. A German Shepherd raced past her, nearly bowling her over, but she kept her balance. She risked a second to check for the rest of her people.
Silas bolted across the yard, fleeing a Headhunter but heading for the tow truck, where Micah and Jericho could return fire. Elise lay on the ground in the center of the garden several yards away, Nadira stooped in front of her, fending off two mutts with Gonzales’s hoe. Beneath the apple trees, three Sweet Creek people were down, unmoving.
When she glanced back at Scorpio, he was staring straight at her.
He bared his teeth, his eyes glittering with pain and fury. “You little whore!”
Scorpio rose unsteadily to his feet and lurched toward her. He was huge, easily twice her weight and more than a foot taller. He was bigger and more powerful, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be beaten.
She remembered Silas’s lessons. She had to take away his power advantage by getting in close. Close enough to feel him breathe. Either that or dodge every punch he threw at her. One hit and she’d be out. Out and dead.
Scorpio swung at her head. She narrowly avoided it; the air from the force of the blow whizzed past her cheek. Her right foot tangled in a plant. She staggered, about to go down, but managed to right herself.
A terrier nipped at Scorpio’s bloody leg. He swore and punched the dog in the head. It dropped to the ground, unconscious or dead. He met her gaze, so close she could see the network of broken blood vessels marring his cheeks. His lips peeled back from his teeth. “Your turn.”
Fear speared through her. This needed to end fast. She wasn’t good enough to defeat a powerful fighter, even a wounded one. If she ran, he’d find his gun and start shooting again. He’d kill her friends.
She couldn’t let that happen. Every instinct screamed against it, but she forced herself to face him and stand her ground. Sound faded away. The world faded away.
Scorpio lunged. He swung his arm back and plowed his fist straight at her skull. His aim was high and hard.
And she was short. She ducked beneath it and darted in close. She inhaled the scent of sweat and blood, felt his soft belly against her hand. He swung so hard, the force of the missed blow sent his arm flailing across his body, exposing his right side.
That was where she plunged her knife, striking hard and fast straight into his vulnerable liver.
Scorpio screamed and jerked away. He stared at her in stunned disbelief, his eyes wide and startled, almost like a child’s. He collapsed into a fetal position. He didn’t move. A husky and a mutt sprang on him, growling and snapping at each other.
Willow staggered back, acid rising in her throat. The knife dripped. Her hands were trembling, streaked with warm blood.
She’d killed a man. A human being. He was breathing, alive, and then he wasn’t.
She wanted to drop the knife, to fling it away like something foul and poisonous, but some instinctive part of her made her hold onto it. She wasn’t done. She couldn’t be done. They weren’t safe.
The battle wasn’t over yet.
36
Gabriel
Gabriel’s heartbeat roared in his ears, but he was fearless. He sprinted into the fray with a bold and reckless fury.
Death would come for him, but whether it came now or later by his own hand didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The bullets whizzing by him didn’t matter. The pain didn’t matter. His life didn’t matter.
Time slowed. He ran without ducking or seeking cover. Micah and Jericho crouched behind the tow truck parked at the top of the drive, aiming for the Headhunters fleeing for their motorcycles.
Several of them took cover behind trees and returned fire. Jericho was trying to get to Elise, who slumped across one of the bikes, her hands bound, a black bag over her head.
A skinny Headhunter in a black-furred pelt fled from a Labrador, twisting back to shoot wildly. Gabriel stepped into his path and clotheslined him with the rifle barrel. He went down like a bundle of twigs.
Gabriel stared down at the man, who clutched at his throat, gurgling and gasping for breath, his eyes frantically pleading for mercy.
You don’t have to kill. Micah’s voice echoed in his mind. But there was only darkness, no light, no mercy. He would never kill an innocent again, but these monsters weren’t innocent.
He shot the man in the head and moved on.
He caught sight of Gonzales, kneeling around the corner of the cafeteria. Gonzales leaned out, fired a shot at a Headhunter, managed to hit the guy’s thigh, then twisted and aimed a couple of shots at two dogs about to pounce on Anna, who’d fallen to the ground beneath a tree. Gonzales missed both times.
Gabriel leveled the rifle and took out the dogs. He glanced back at Gonzales. The man huddled against the wall, frantically reloading his pistol. A Headhunter—a tall, black-haired man draped in a leopard pelt—crept up on him from behind. Gabriel recognized him with a jolt—the bastard
from the highway who’d shot the little girl. He’d somehow managed to sneak around the cafeteria so he could shoot Gonzales and the rest of them in the back.
Gabriel sighted the Headhunter’s chest, about to pull the trigger when Gonzales jerked and crumpled. The Headhunter shot first. But his focus was still on his prey; he hadn’t noticed he’d just become prey himself.
Gabriel slammed three bullets into the man’s torso. He went down without a word.
The black wolf raced past him, chasing down a retriever. Gabriel dashed for Gonzales and knelt beside him, his gun still up, his gaze sweeping the area before darting back to the wounded man. “You okay?”
“I didn’t know.” Gonzales gasped as he pressed his hand against the bullet wound in his side. His black hair clung damply against his neck. “I swear to you.”
“I believe you.” It wouldn’t be the first time someone like him had trusted the wrong person.
A scream rent the air. His heart surged in his chest. He knew that scream, knew that voice.
“Go,” Gonzales wheezed. “I’ll be fine.”
Another scream. Gabriel whirled, searching for its source. He saw Silas up and running, Elise on the ground, and Nadira crouching over her. And a dozen yards away, a huge Headhunter draped in a wolf-skin backed toward the bikes, Amelia pressed close to his body, one burly arm around her neck, the other with an activated slasher rod held a few inches from her temple, the plasma crackling like blue fire. The bastard was using her as a human shield. Gabriel’s gut knotted with rage and the first cold tangle of fear.
“Let her go!” he roared before he even knew he’d spoken.
The Headhunter spun toward him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Amelia whimpered, clawing at the man’s arms, trying to kick at his shins behind her. But she was still weak from her illness, her skin pale, her legs trembling. He was incredibly strong, his muscles barely straining to hold her. She was no more than a mouse to him.
“I said let her go.” Gabriel advanced across the garden until his feet hit gravel, three yards from Amelia. The tow truck was two dozen yards ahead and to the left. To the right, the parked motorcycles and the woods beyond.
