In the Wrong Year (Double-Check Your Destination Book 1)

by Amabel Daniels

  “How?”

  “With your shirt. He’d lifted it and used it to hold you before he stabbed you.”

  Which explained why my shirt wasn’t ruined. I blinked, a memory fighting to rise. “He was…feeling me up in the alley. I think?”

  Jake nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s an ass.”

  “You’ve encountered him on missions before?” Or were all agents assholes?

  “Yep. He’s a moron. When we crossed paths, I heard him tell a borg he likes to ‘sample’ all the ages of women.”

  I winced. “I was just…” Used. All that attention and flirting and— “Dammit. I knew I should have listened to my gut and told him to fuck off that first day he hit on me in class.”

  For another moment, we stood there without words. I felt the burn of his gaze on me. Was he pitying me for being a gullible pawn? Scorning me for being too easy? Amused at my indignation?

  I was used. Used by an agent to get some vials of antimatter I didn’t have. Now…

  “What do you want?”

  He didn’t move, simply kept on staring at me so intensely I nearly broke eye contact.

  “Freddy wanted those stupid marces or whatever. Stabbed me to get them. Then you show up and whisk me away to another time. What, you want them too? What do you want from me?”

  I panted after that outburst, not even caring what he thought of my “attitude.” He wanted to dub me a sweetheart? No, I was the bitterest of bitter.

  “What do I want?” he asked.

  I glowered at him, jerked a slight nod. “Yeah.”

  “Right now?” He gazed at my lips, the desire in his expression so thick I could sink in it.

  Antimatter vials seemed to be the last thing on his mind. As he reached out to stroke the back of his finger along my upper arm, his breathing turning fast and his eyes darkening, having a taste of me was likely what he wanted.

  Despite the similarity of the situation to my last lover’s intentions…

  Please.

  I wanted to beg Jake for something more than another kiss. Something hotter, harder—

  A static buzz zapped through the room, air suctioning like I needed to gasp.

  He gripped my arm and pulled me down just as a purple light blasted.

  Chapter Eight

  “Son of a—”

  Jake slammed me to the bathroom floor with a grunt.

  I sucked in a breath at his weight on top of me, blinking at the blur of action. Violet streaks hissed one, two, three. Too many to count.

  “Over there,” he ordered, tipping his chin toward the vanity counter. The space between the counter’s storage and the toilet. Got it. I nodded and looked him in the eye.

  Annoyance, not fear, shone back. He heaved off of me yet still covered me with the bulk of his body, like a push-up. Purple lights zipped in, hitting the wall, and I scrambled to safety.

  Just as Jake stood and turned, the first one burst into the room, smacking the door off the hinge with his kick. Not wasting a moment, Jake attacked, dodging the light gun. As he fended off the tall guy, I peered over the edge of the sink.

  Another one entered, a beefy, fat bodybuilder dressed in the same street clothes. I caught the second his focus zeroed in on the jumper left next to the sink.

  No! I stood and claimed it just as he swiped for it.

  “Get down, dammit!” Jake yelled.

  Oh, shut up. Like he’d want these goons to have his only means of getting out of this year and back to wherever he belonged.

  Or maybe I was foolish, risking my safety in the now just to make sure I had a way to get back to where I wanted to be.

  Beefcake charged at me, and I slid to the floor, trying to kick out and trip him. Occupied in a fight with the leaner borg, Jake doubled back to punch at the one aiming to get me. His shove and knee hit sent the beefy boy sprawling over the sink, but in that maneuver, he’d left himself open for the first guy to maul him.

  Shit. I knew nothing about fighting. I’d never had any need to learn it in my time. Civil disorder was so frowned upon, and physical violence against women was taboo.

  Jake’s grunts of pain chipped at my heart as I cowered there, clutching his jumper. Close up, they’d at least ceased blasting their light guns, preferring hands and feet to maim instead.

  Think, Everly. Move it. Do something. I couldn’t lose Jake when I’d just found him.

  Two strong men versus one. I’d be more of a hindrance than a help. Other than this jumper, I doubted Jake even had a weapon I could try to use.

  No! That wasn’t true. He’d appeared in the café with one of those light blasters too!

  With my toe, I snagged the end of his pants on the floor. I slid them to me, tuning out the noise of men grunting and groaning, the thuds and smacks of fists striking on flesh. My fingers shook as I rummaged into the pocket I hadn’t looked in.

  There!

  I pulled out the blaster, a bit puzzled at how light it felt. It was compact, but so not dense at all. Turning it over to check both sides, I looked for a clue how to use it. Trigger lever there, yeah… So far, so good.

  Or not.

  The gauge blinked, showing a dim light at the lowest bar, indicating it was empty of charge. Depressing the trigger a couple of times, aiming at the floor, I tested it. A pathetic pfft of air farted out. Not a single iota of illumination.

  He’d complained it was empty.

  Dammit.

  Jake gurgled a growling protest as the one guy slammed him into the wall, his meaty hand at his throat. The other shook his head, standing straight, likely getting up from a kick delivered to near his eye. He blinked and raised his blaster, bringing his aim to Jake’s face.

  “Here!” I shouted, tossing Jake the useless blaster from his pocket.

  His eyes widened yet caught the firearm.

  Those guys might think it was a real threat. Jake raised it at the beefcake, sending him to panic. He swore and tossed himself into the bathtub for shelter.

  One distracted…but.

  The other man laughed when Jake didn’t fire. One haughty sound got out, and then Jake pistol-whipped him.

  Breathing hard, Jake ran to me in the small space, putting himself between the guys and me. Cornered. We were truly screwed, the leaner guy trapping the doorway and the one in the tub standing up, likely confused he hadn’t been shot.

  “They’re borgs,” Jake said lowly to me.

  Yeah. I kind of figured.

  “Metal,” he said right as the leaner one barreled into him. He didn’t tackle him but drove him into the wall. As they fought again, scooting down the surface, I noted the punched in holes in the wall from their impact.

  The borg raised his hand, aiming for Jake’s face, but he missed. His forearm drove clear through the gray surface.

  “Metal—” Jake said as the second guy returned to the fight.

  Metal? They were made of metal? Implanted with metal? Robots were nothing new. There were plenty in my time. No borgs—a mesh of human and robotics—but sure, metal in cyborgs. What about it?

  Use metal on them? Jake had detached that table leg at the café. I recall my shock, that he’d thought to face men with light guns armed with only a stick of steel.

  But…it had worked. As soon as Jake stalked their way with that pipe, they’d vanished.

  I looked around the room, seeking out something of a metallic weapon. Sink basin, composite counter….the faucets? They were metal but I couldn’t superwoman-arm wrestle them out. Panicking, I looked more. Towels. Our wet clothes. The smashed mirror from them smashing Jake into it and sending shards all over.

  I tightened my fingers around the jumper in my hand. No. I couldn’t risk that. I shoved it into my waistband, appreciating the oddly tight fashion of these pants. It slid in against my skin as I searched. Rug, the curtain, now torn and ripped, sporting gaping holes from the light blasts.

  The beefcake was sent back a step by Jake’s kick, and more round links slid to the ground from
the movement.

  The links. On the pole!

  One end of the rod was dangling, courtesy of a light blast disintegrating the material in a wayward shot. But it was metal!

  I eased around the men attacking Jake, hurrying but trying to avoid attention. Stepping onto the tub’s edge, I reached up and gripped the rod. Then fell. Either from the water left from our showers, or the slippery friction of the curtain lying over the edge, I slipped. Down I went, but not for nothing. I held firm to the rod, and it busted out for me.

  No one said I had to be graceful with my rescue. Sliding and scrambling in the tub, I knew they’d be rushing at me after that noise. As I turned to face out, I aimed the shower rod with me. I couldn’t see through the curtain still halfway up, but I spotted Jake.

  Standing, refusing to fall again, I weighted one end of the rod behind me to help me step out. Shit. I stepped onto a shard of the mirror. Sucking in my breath and ignoring the pain, I eyed the men fighting Jake. On the floor again, both feet, I lifted the rod like a lance and rammed it into the closest guy’s back.

  “Let go!”

  The first zings of a shock startled me faster than Jake’s yell could.

  The borg shook, a seizure sending his limbs trembling. Light sparked at the point I’d stabbed at, even though I hadn’t impaled him more than an inch, if that.

  The other borg scowled, releasing Jake immediately. Scorn masked his face as he watched his partner ride out the electricity. Then he reached in his pocket, extracting a slimmer version of Jake’s jumper.

  “No!” Jake kicked the rod out of the first guy’s back, picked it up, and swung it like a baseball bat.

  I dropped to the floor, out of the arc of his hit.

  The rod smacked into nothing, the borg having vanished like a blur of a mirage.

  “Dammit!” Jake threw the rod to the ground, his chest heaving like a machine.

  I stared at him, grounding myself on the fact he was standing, his breaths rasping out wheezy and fast, his eyes glittering with rage.

  The borg we hadn’t spared shimmered as his shock faded. He slumped to the ground with a thud I felt through my feet.

  Still huffing and catching his breath, Jake walked around the man’s legs and yanked his shirt up.

  Human skin covered the borg’s back except for the gaping hole I’d caused. Rippled, melted material circled the spot, like clay, not flesh. Lights still flickered from within where a grid of wires lay instead of anything living. Jake pried into the hole, pulled out a black wire, and snapped it.

  The borg didn’t jerk anymore, and the lights ceased flickering.

  I stood up, the jumper sticking to my flesh with the move. Reminded of it, I pulled it out and handed it to Jake.

  “Here.”

  He cocked a brow and took it. Staring at the borg, he frowned. “We need to move.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “I don’t—” He arched his back and hissed. “I don’t know how they tracked us this fast.”

  He grimaced, twisting his back, and moved for the door. “Grab the clothes,” he muttered, as though it hurt to speak.

  “Sure.”

  I’d been reduced to meek one-word compliance. Would the shock last long? First-timer again.

  “What’s—” He stopped, staring at my legs. “What’s wrong?”

  I’d limped, favoring my wounded foot.

  A feeble giggle quickly turned hysterical. “I stepped on a piece of the mirror.”

  He scowled, not making eye contact, and picked me up in one swoop.

  Already giddy and out of whack from the adrenaline rush, I squealed at being airborne.

  He winced as he carried me out of the room. Woozy from his hasty move, I clung to him, wrapping my arm around his neck and holding on the best I could. He’d just gotten whooped, and here I was acting like I was beaten.

  “It’s okay,” I insisted. “Put me down. I’ll be all right.”

  Of course, my words meant nothing. Either he didn’t hear me, magically turned deaf, or my plea went in one ear and out the other.

  Probably the latter, since he didn’t set me down until we’d reached the closest chair. Gently, he lowered me to the cushion. He dropped to kneel in front of me and hoisted my foot up for his inspection.

  I leaned forward, off-kilter from his rough gestures, and narrowed my eyes at my left arm and right hand. Blood? There? From a cut on my foot?

  Jake hunched over, examining my foot. At that angle, I could see the wedges of reflective shards tucked into his back. Littering all over the black t-shirt, like spikes he’d grown as armor.

  “Jake!”

  He shushed me. “I hardly touched it.”

  “Your back.”

  “Hurts like a bitch, yeah.”

  My jaw dropped at the defeatist, whatever tone of his voice.

  “I’m—You’re— How—”

  He shot me a stern look. “Last I checked, I don’t need my back to get going. This”—he tapped a finger to my heel—“takes priority.”

  To get going.

  “We gotta run,” he clarified.

  I swallowed a groan.

  “Which means this can’t stay.” He wedged a blade from a knife he’d pulled from who knew where into my sole.

  I clamped my teeth into my lip, gnashing on the flesh until I tasted blood. Tears blurred my vision as he prodded at the shard. Fast, but his treatment was long seconds of agony nonetheless.

  “Got it.” He stood and hobbled to the opposite bed. With the small knife, he ripped strips from the pillowcase and returned.

  I steadied my breaths the best I could as he wrapped my foot.

  “Couldn’t…” I exhaled shakily.

  Done with my foot, he swiped his calloused thumb under my eyes, smearing a tear away.

  “Couldn’t you carry me?” I meant it as a tease, to lighten the mood. All right, flirting. I was trying and epically failing at flirting. Anything to distract from the pain, knowing he had to be in even more pain. The crash of adrenaline, the fear and sudden shocks dropping like bombs one after the other. “I’m a weakling. Have mercy.”

  He tapped his knuckle at my chin. “Anyone who can sever a borg’s spine is the opposite of weak, sweetheart.”

  Once more, he left me there. From this distance, I watched as he collected our clothes from the bathroom floor, shoving it all into the bag he’d stolen. He stepped around the fallen borg as though it was an everyday sight. Maybe it was for him. “Besides, if I don’t get some painkillers to dull this pain, you might have to carry me out of here.”

  I laughed, wiping at my wet eyes. His joke was nonsense. I couldn’t lift half of him unless he meant dragging him somewhere.

  “Too bad we don’t have a health scanner,” I muttered to myself, worry for him growing fast enough that alarm kicked in.

  “We’ll go to a new hotel. Stop by somewhere and get some supplies so I can patch myself up.” His hiss was loud enough for me to hear out in the room, and I watched him as he stood, his old shoes in his hands. “But I don’t get how the hell he knew where to send the borgs.”

  “You weren’t expecting any more trouble?”

  “I’m always counting on more trouble.” He cracked his neck, tilting his head to the side with a groan. “But not that fast. And not that accurately. They don’t give up the fight, but—”

  I squinted, watching him closely as he froze. He didn’t speak again as he slowly brought my pants up. With the garment wedged under his elbow, trapping it and the canvas bag to his side, he pulled out something from my pocket.

  “Where’d you get this?” he asked, rushing to me with a limp.

  He held a slim rectangle.

  “Oh! I found it this morning. Some girl’s smartphone.”

  His answering glare peeved me.

  “What?”

  Fast fingers tapped over the screen.

  “That’s how they found us.”

  Chapter Nine

  “With that?” I could
n’t help the sneer as I pointed at the smartphone.

  “Let’s go.” He set the bag on the chair’s arm and offered me his hand. The screen was black on the phone, but he slid it into his back pocket before I could get a better look.

  “Right now?” I glanced at the borg on the bathroom floor. Couldn’t we wait for even a minute since we’d lost those two?

  “Now.” He twisted his lips. “Oh. Hold on.”

  Limping away, he retrieved the shoes he’d stolen for me. I eyed the fat, squishy yet firm sole at the bottom, curious about the hard texture of it. Then again, with all this pavement everywhere, maybe that was ideal for this time.

  He slid one on my uninjured foot, and I tightened the stretchy string to a comfortable fit.

  When he didn’t move, I looked up at him.

  “You want to put it on?”

  I shook my head. My foot throbbed a steady beat, pulsing angrily. The bandages weren’t completely soaked, nor were they fat around my skin, but wedging my foot into an already slim design of footwear…

  “Well, you can’t go barefoot.” He stuck the shoe more in my view. “You’ll do it? Or you want me to?”

  I clenched the baggy fabric of the chair’s cushion, clamped my teeth together, and slammed my eyes shut. “Make it quick.”

  Agony revisited. Tears burned, but I was proud I held them back. Mostly.

  “Come on.” He managed a gentler tone.

  We left the hotel room, me favoring that foot and clutching to his arm for support, while he worked his jaw every time he stepped on his left ankle.

  I didn’t have the energy to ask questions. Placing my trust is this stranger didn’t seem foolhardy, given our circumstances. Besides, swallowing back whimpers of pain prevented me from being chatty.

  “You’re quiet,” he astutely commented once we’d exited, stopped at a convenience mart of some kind, and walked to another hotel.

  I shrugged. “Maybe this is how I am. You wouldn’t know. We’re practically strangers.”

  He sent me a stink eye, and as he turned down the hallway of our new place, I caught sight of blood on his back. The jacket he’d brought back from 1920 was pitch-black, and the red didn’t show, but more wetness had saturated the cloth, giving it a glistening appearance under the lights.