Summer Semester (Omega Wolf Academy Book 1)

by JJ King

  Randall studied me while I ate, his eyes like a hawk, taking in every detail. I stared down at the floor and ignored him.

  It was weird. He was weird; different somehow. There was a sharp edge of madness in his eyes now that had never been there before. He’d always been mercurial, flashing between calm and rage in an instant, but he seemed to be teetering on the edge of insanity now.

  Fanfuckingtastic.

  Raphael had gotten steadily more unstable towards the end but, as much as he’d liked to call himself The Father, he had no biological stock in any of our lives. His mental health issues hadn’t passed on to Randall through heredity.

  Nature versus nurture at its best, I supposed.

  But, how did you handle a burgeoning psychopath with a longstanding chip on the shoulder for you, when he had you alone and was ready and willing to dismember you for shits and giggles?

  The moment I finished the last piece, Randall lifted a bottle of water and waited patiently while I guzzled it down, then reached for the platter and stood up. He walked to the door without saying a word, then paused, trying to look over his shoulder at me, and smiled again. Then the door clicked shut and I was alone again.

  "What the fuck?" I muttered into the silence. I'd watched a lot of police procedurals since leaving the mountain, and none of them had portrayed anything like this. How was I supposed to use my television learning when my captor was being unpredictable? "Ughhh," I groaned and blew out a puff of air, then looked around the room again, hoping that since the last time, something useful had appeared out of the nether. I sighed. "Fuck it," I said between clenched teeth. It was time to attempt an escape.

  I moved quietly but quickly, pulling one of the drawers from the dresser and setting it on top so I could work. Everything in the room that had the possibility of being a weapon was visible and would be noticed immediately the next time Randall stepped into the room, except for the drawers.

  Feeling a little like Buffy on the hunt for a new stake, I pried the back of the dresser off with a quiet grunt of effort. All the pieces of furniture were solid, which made them perfect for what I had in mind. I held up the rectangle of thin but solid wood and considered it. I needed to break it into a sharp point, since there was nothing in the room that would allow me to sharpen it. Going with instinct, I set it on the floor, braced my foot against it on an angle, then pulled with all my might and was rewarded with a sharp snapping sound and a new pointy friend.

  Now that I had a weapon, however crude, I needed to find a way out. I was on the second floor of the house, which meant the fall wouldn't kill me or even break a bone, if I fell right. An image of Dimitri, holding out laced fingers to give me a boost over the fence brought a fleeting smile to my lips and tears to my eyes. There was an empty feeling in my chest without them nearby. I shut down that line of thought, knowing it would just incapacitate me to what needed to be done if I was going to get back to them in one piece.

  I moved to the window I'd glanced out before and chewed on my lip while I tried the lock mechanism. It swung open, no problem, but my first attempt to open the window made the problem abundantly clear. It was warped and, to add insult to injury, it had been painted over, probably several times over its lifetime, so it was sealed shut and wouldn't budge. I chewed my lip harder, to the point that I could taste blood with the tip of my tongue and considered.

  If I could somehow cut through the layers of paint, there was a chance I could muscle the window up far enough to squeeze through. But what could I use to cut the paint?

  I glanced around the room again and decided on one of the stakes I'd created from the drawer wood. One of them had come out super sharp at one end, but too thin at the other to be a good weapon. It was worth trying, at least.

  "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I murmured, hoping the philosophy would get me somewhere in this bizarre situation.

  I gripped the piece of wood tightly and jabbed the sharp end into the corner near the sill and began dragging it slowly across the window.

  The paint parted beneath the makeshift blade, but not the whole way through. I finished the line then went back to the start and retraced the cut until it looked complete, then repeated the process all the way around as precious seconds ticked by.

  My pulse raced wildly, beating so loudly it was hard to keep an ear out for the old house's telltale creaks that would signal Randall's return. I'd never been so happy to be a multi-tasker in my life.

  With the cuts complete, I slid the stake back into the other dresser drawer, where I'd stashed my other Mr. Pointys, and braced my fingers on the small ledge at the bottom of the window.

  Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I held my breath and pulled with all my strength, praying to the Old Ones for my escape to be this straightforward.

  The window made a loud groaning noise and inched up.

  Hope and joy surged through me, making my pulse leap before resuming its gallop. An inch wasn't enough, but it was a start. I slipped my fingers through the opening and gritted my teeth as I pulled again, moving it another inch upward.

  The window groaned again, and the sound seemed to echo through the room. I froze in place and strained to hear frantic footsteps and was met by silence.

  "Old Ones, save me," I prayed as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I crouched, managed to lever most of my wrist and forearm directly under the window and, thinking of my three guys, threw all my strength behind the thrust.

  The window exploded in a shower of glass, that rained down on me as a boom of cracking wood let loose.

  The door behind me burst open and Randall moved like a predator straight towards me with his hands raised and his eyes narrowed.

  "You stupid bitch!" He roared, grabbing me with one hand while the other swung up by his ear and delivered a crack to my cheek and temple that made the light in the room flair intensely bright, then dim and almost go dark. My head lolled back as my head spun, precariously close to blacking out. Before I could get a firm grip on consciousness again, Randall shoved me to the floor with a disgusted snarl. “Did you honestly think I’d let you escape?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I knew you were stupid, but this is just hard to swallow.”

  My body felt like the rag doll Liam’s little sister carried around with her everywhere, boneless and disjointed. Panicked shouts to “get up!” filled my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull like an echo in a quarry, growing quieter with every passing second. I fought against the lure of the darkness, gritting my teeth, and holding on to one single thought.

  Fight back or you’re dead.

  “You hit like a girl,” I slurred through lips that didn’t quite know how to shape words. I worried for a moment, hearing my voice, that his blow had caused brain damage, like a stroke or something. But, when my body began to obey, in increments, lifting me from my prone position on the floor, I congratulated myself on not being severely injured. I could still fight back, I just needed to regroup.

  Randall frowned down at me and shook his head. “You always were the most stubborn bitch.” His shoulder rose and fell. “You should probably hold onto that stubbornness,” he advised. “You’re going to need it for what comes next.”

  I lifted my head as his words filtered through the haze and wondered what was coming next. I moved a shaky hand to my face and touched the tender skin on my cheek. It was hot and raised and would sport an impressive bruise. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and block out whatever it was he planned to do.

  Stubbornness reared its ugly head again, though, so I jutted my chin forward and glared at him through a developing black eye. “Fuck off,” I hissed, then spit on the floor at his feet.

  His mouth quirked up in a sick impression of a smile as his eyes went dark with fury. “I’m going to enjoy every second of this,” he muttered, then pounced.

  Chapter 21

  I whimpered and choked on the sharp taste of copper in my throat. I opened my mouth to let blood slip from my swollen lips onto my ripped and already blo
ody shirt, too battered and exhausted to do much more than take labored breaths.

  Vague awareness of Randall filtered through the pain. He was standing a few feet away, holding up something, aiming it at me. I winced back, expecting a silver bullet, then blinked to clear my sight when nothing happened.

  It was a cell phone, I realized slowly, the realization taking a moment to sink in. He was taking pictures of me. A groan slipped from my swollen throat as I tried to curse him. “Fuck off,” I managed to wheeze out.

  Randall regarded me with cold eyes and chuckled. “Almost done,” he muttered, snapping another few images from a distance before squatting down to take a close up shot. “There, perfect.” He stood up and turned his back on me.

  I wished I had the energy to leap up and sink my teeth into his throat. I dropped my gaze to the floor and closed my eyes against the tears that wanted to fall. They burned against my eyes, reminding me of all the times I’d cried at Randall’s feet as a child.

  I wasn’t a child anymore, I reminded myself. I wasn’t a captive, or a slave, or an experiment, either. Determination, fueled by spite and rage, stole through me, shoring up my reserves and pushing me to search for more. I gathered whatever energy I had left and shoved myself up with trembling limbs to stand before my assailant.

  His eyebrow quirked up. “Feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” His gaze shifted to run along the length of my body, slowly traveling every inch of me with a leer twisting his face.

  My skin crawled.

  “You know,” he said, biting the corner of his lip as a man did when looking at a big juicy steak. “Raphael isn’t here anymore. His little obsession with Katherine LaFlamme has run its course. I don’t need to play by the rules anymore.” His eyes gleamed.

  My stomach threatened to rebel and purge the sandwiches he’d so graciously made earlier. I knew what that look meant. I’d feared it all my life. I pressed a hand against my abdomen and swayed on my feet. I wouldn’t cower in fear, I demanded of myself. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t slide to the floor or make this easy on him in any way. I would bite and claw and fight until my last breath.

  I pictured Dimitri’s glowering eyes in my mind and knew he’d understand. A split second later, Lucian’s face appeared in my mind and my determination faltered. Would he want me to never give up? Would he advocate life at all costs?

  I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and picture Chase, too, to wonder over what he would want me to do, because it was easier than being solely responsible for my own decisions.

  Fuck that. I gritted my teeth. That was the response of a child and I’d seen too much in my short life to be a child. I put a hand on the wall behind me to steady myself and squared my shoulders.

  “I’ll rip your throat out if you try,” I ground out through a clenched jaw. My hand balled into a fist by my side.

  Randall’s head tilted to the side as he watched me, the grin still growing with oily disgust. “That only makes it more fun. Don’t you know that, Alexis? Or was your education stunted because of silly arbitrary rules?” He took a step forward that had me scampering along the wall, out of reach.

  My gaze darted around the room, searching for something to put between us. The chair would work, but it was so far away. If I could get to it…

  I could get one of the stakes out of the dresser.

  Hope swelled dangerously in my chest and I hoped Randall wasn’t right about my every thought playing out on my face. I pushed the hope down into my gut and turned to glare at him. I needed time and an excuse to get across the room.

  “If you wanted to fuck me all these years, why didn’t you just do it?” I hissed, shocked at the words that tumbled from my mouth. They disgusted me and put an oily taste in my mouth, but I had to keep going. “Or were you just too much of a boot licking sycophant to risk losing Raphael’s approval to do what you wanted?”

  Randall’s eyes widened in surprise and he straightened, pulling back just a little. I moved farther across the wall, closing in on the dresser.

  “Is that what you think I was? A ‘boot licking sycophant?’” He made little air quotes around his head and frowned.

  I spat in his direction, which had him taking another step back. “You begged for his attention,” I said with disgust warping my voice. “You all did. His approval was so fucking important to you that you were willing to torture your own sisters and mothers, for Old One’s sake!” Actual disgust tore at my chest as I remembered the women that had lived in captivity with me.

  The expression on his face would've been comical if it wasn't so psychotic. He was standing before me, having kidnapped me, and drugged me, and planning to rape me, after years of keeping me trapped in a mountain, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with his life. I was utterly confounded and let it show. If it kept him distracted and preoccupied while I'd made my way to the stakes, I'd go with it.

  Plus, it would be cathartic as hell.

  "You don't even see it, do you?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. "Do you think you're normal? Do you think any of this is normal?" My voice rose with each question. "Randall, think about it." I tapped my forehead. "You were taken from your mother's arms as an infant and raised by a psychopath who trained you to be exactly like him. How are you surprised that I see you as a sycophant?" I threw my hands in the air and nearly lost my balance as my legs shook from fatigue and abuse.

  His lip curled. "Of course you see it that way," he said in a low voice that sent skitters of fear up my spine and made me worry that I'd pushed him too far. "You're nothing. Just a little girl who can't possibly understand what it was we were doing, what he was doing." Randall shook his head pityingly.

  I embraced my hate and sneered right back at him. “I know all about the prophecy, you fuckwad. I also know your boss was a megalomaniac with dreams of world domination.” I shook my head, wondering why the insane couldn’t just see their insanity. “He had a God complex and brainwashed all of you into believing he was the second coming. You would have died for him, wouldn’t you?” I winged my eyebrows up in question, widened my arms and took a few steps towards my goal. It was just a few more steps away. I had to get him to look away for a moment.

  Randall paused as if considering my words and I was so surprised, I allowed myself to get distracted and didn’t notice the raised floorboard. I went down hard, landing on my knees with a thud. Cursing, I reached for the top of the dresser to pull myself back up and silently blessed the old floor for giving me a reason to position myself in front of the drawer. I slipped my hands behind my back as if I were leaning against the dresser to stay upright, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

  I was so shaky and weak; I had no idea what I was going to do once I got my hands on one of the stakes. Other than expending energy on beating the shit out of me, Randall was at full strength. He was also bigger and older than me, which meant I was at a serious disadvantage. I needed to be smart.

  I thought back to the self-defense lessons Rose had encouraged us to participate in. She’d said it would give us confidence, which it had. She’d had us start with women instructors, then dummies shaped like men, then, finally, male instructors. Gradually, we’d gotten better, more confident, until taking on a man was just another Tuesday sports match.

  Aim for the vulnerable bits, I thought, remembering the advice in Rose’s voice.

  Randall’s vulnerable bits included his manhood, his stomach, his neck, and his eyes. Since he was taller than me, his neck and eyes weren’t the smartest choices. I’d have to be elevated to swing down with enough strength to maim him. That left balls and stomach.

  It would be beyond satisfying to castrate him, but I had to be realistic. I needed to use what I had to inflict the most damage so I could get the hell away and back to my guys.

  “I would have died for him,” Randall said softly, shocking me out of my battle plans. “We all would have, and now he’s dead. Thanks to your friends.” He made a grunting sound and ground his teeth together. “He was my
family, they all were, and you were just a means to an end. An inconvenience on the path to our goal.” His hand rose shakily to his hair and combed through as emotion thickened his voice. “They took everything from me, so I’ll take everything from them. Fair is fair.” He said those last words in a singsong voice that brought a stark realization to light.

  Randall had actually lost his fucking mind. I was talking to another psychopath.

  I resisted the urge to barf and worked the tips of my fingers into the top of the drawer, pulling it out the tiniest bit at a time. Any quicker and he’d notice. Not that he was particularly observant right now, his eyes had a weird glazed look and were damp with unshed tears.

  His gaze flicked up to my face. “I think I’ll send a little token along with the pictures, just to show them I’m serious.” His smile burned too bright, like a flare of the sun, wild and manic. “You’ll survive without a finger or two.”

  He strode across the space between us, so fast I barely had time to think or move. I shoved my hand into the drawer and curled my fingers around a piece of wood, praying it was one of the thicker ones.

  I whipped my hand free, twisting my body to provide momentum as he reached for my shoulders, and swung the stake around and into his side.

  His howl exploded the silence of the room and filled me with triumph. I pushed off the dresser and darted around him, narrowly avoiding his flailing arms as he lunged for me while holding his stomach as blood gushed.

  I didn’t pause to look, to see how badly I’d wounded him. I was sure of only one thing. It hadn’t been enough.

  I ran on shaking legs across the room and through the door, slamming it shut behind me. With no way to lock it, though, I had to move. The long stairs I’d heard Randall climb were just down the hallway, worn and ancient, but sturdy, and a way out. I cringed as I forced my legs to move and held on tight to the bannister, afraid I’d fall if I let go.

  My brain shut out everything but the sound of Randall’s curses and the path before me. I needed to find a way out or another weapon. I had no idea if he had stashed a weapon somewhere or if he’d find my stakes.