Read Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) Online
Authors: Celia Loren
Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (16 page)
I quickly take stock of the marina. It's mostly empty, but
at least I don't see any boats coming from the same direction as the house.
Maybe the cartel has no idea that I've been jettisoned.
I heave the two duffels over my shoulders and head up the
ramp toward the main building. I try the door, but it's locked. And no
payphones around, either. Not that I know anyone's number by heart anymore,
thanks to cell phones. I could try to call the house, but if I know my father,
there's no way I'll be able to get through to anyone.
There's a crashing noise behind me and I jump. I spin
around, my heartbeat skyrocketing, and a possum runs out from a recycling bin.
I take a deep breath. I might have felt confident on the boat, but now that I'm
all alone, I'm feeling much more vulnerable.
Carter won't believe that I just left, right? He'll come after
me...eventually. But until then, I need to depend on myself.
Come on Alexa. Use your head.
I need to get out of
the open and into someplace more secure. I turn around and begin to walk
quickly toward the main road. I still have a credit card tied to my own
account, though it's nearly maxed out from my tuition payments, and if I
remember correctly, has about thirty-one dollars left in it. I know where Nikki
lives, but she's partying somewhere in South America. There's Jack's penthouse,
but he bought it while I was in Europe, so I'll be damned if I can remember the
address.
I reach the road, and wave my arm at an open taxi. It slows
and the driver hops out and puts my duffels in the trunk. I slide in the back
seat, wondering where the hell I'm going.
"Which terminal are you going to?" the cabbie asks
as he pulls out.
"Sorry?"
"The bags...I assume you're going to the airport?"
The airport...well lit, lots of security, open twenty-four
hours a day...perfect! "Um, Air France," I lie.
"You got it," he says.
I relax slightly as I lean back against the torn leather
backseat. The airport is just a temporary fix, but at least it will get me
through the night. I can't help turning around and checking the cars behind us,
though I can't manage to make out their license plates in the dark.
Assuming that Jack, Bree, and Carter don't believe my father
when he tells them I just ran off, how will they try to track me? How would I
try to track someone? Call them, think about the normal places they'd
go...neither of which would be helpful right now. Maybe I'm not thinking like
Carter enough. He'd do something more high tech...like track my credit card.
When we reach the terminal, I pay the cab driver, leaving
him with a lousy one dollar tip, though it's all the cash I have. I take my
bags and head straight for the nearest ATM. The least I can take out is twenty
dollars, so that's what I do. I'm just trying to leave a bread crumb.
I tuck my wallet back into my purse and look around. The
stores are closed, but the lights are still bright in here, and I can see two
security guards walking around just from here. I wish there was something that
I could say to them that wouldn't make me sound crazy.
Hi, I need your help
because I'm a fully grown woman whose father just kicked her out of his
house...and I'm in danger of being killed by a deadly Mexican cartel!
I
walk over and dump my duffels on the ground, and then curl up in a chair. At
least I don't think I'm in any danger here, so I might as well try to get a few
hours of sleep.
I wake up to the sound of the metal security door of the
coffee shop next to me being raised. I look out the large windows on the sides
of the terminal, and see that pink light is just beginning to show above the
horizon. I look around furtively, but everyone seems to be going about their
normal business. I stretch out my stiff, cramped limbs, and then wearily stand.
I take my purse and go over to the ATM and again withdraw another twenty
dollars, another time-stamped bread crumb.
I sit back down and wait for the coffee shop to fully open
up, then get a muffin and a bottle of water and wonder what my next move should
be. Maybe I should head back to the house. I know I won't make it past the
security at the front gate – I'm sure they have specific instructions not to
let me in – but they can't stop me from waiting outside the gates until Bree or
Carter comes out.
Once I'm in contact with Carter again, I'll be safe, and
then it's just a matter of securing some housing. Maybe I could even stay at
Jack's for a while. Then I'll get a job, and start a new life for myself. Screw
my father. I can manage on my own.
"Miss, do you have a ticket to fly today?" one of
the security guards asks with a frown. "You're not allowed to just sleep
here."
"I've had a change of plans, actually, but thanks for
your hospitality," I reply with a tired smile.
"This isn't a hotel!" he calls after me as I lug
my duffels toward the exit. There's a town car waiting just in front of the
doors, but I glance around for a marked taxi. Carter's voice is in my head
telling me to be cautious. Plus, these town cars are so expensive, and I don't
have very much money. There aren't any other cars around, though, probably
because of the early hour. I glance at the car, and see it has a limo license
displayed in the window and a meter on the dashboard. The driver pops his head
out and gives me an innocuous smile.
"You need a ride, ma'am?" he asks, with a yawn and
bleary-looking eyes.
"Yeah, thanks," I reply. He takes my bags and I
hop in the back seat as he puts them in the trunk. He slides behind the
steering wheel and looks in the rearview.
"Where to?"
I look at his eyes in the rearview mirror. "I just got
the funniest feeling of deja-vu. Have we met?"
"Don't think so!" he replies cheerily as he turns
onto the highway. "But I get that a lot. I just have one of those
faces!"
"Did you try to pick me up at the airport before?"
"Hmm, don't think so!"
I smile and nod, then turn my attention out the window. I
have seen him before, though, I'm almost sure of it. When I came in on my Air
France flight, there was a man with a limo who offered me a ride and called me
by name. Without the context of the airport and the car, I wouldn't have
recognized him, but now I'm positive. If he knew my name then, why is he
pretending he doesn't know now?
But there was another time, too...at the club, on the dance
floor. I remember because he was coming over to me just before Carter started
insisting that we leave.
Something tickles at the back of my brain.
Just one of
those faces...
when did I use that phrase recently myself? A cold feeling
settles over me as I realize: it was when Carter and I were watching the tape.
I said it about the man in the video. Without changing my expression, I go over
the man's face in my mind: bland, balding, a little pudgy.
A face that's easy to forget...which is why I've forgotten
it so many times.
Fuck. Here I was acting so tough, and I haven't even managed
to stay safe for twenty-four hours. I glance up at the man's eyes in the
rearview. His feigned tiredness is gone, and his countenance has taken on a
watchful, hawk-like expression of focus. His eyes flick up to mine, and his
face breaks into a sweet smile, completely obliterating what was there before.
I smile back, and then turn back to the window.
My mind is racing, and my heartbeat pounds loudly in my
eardrums. He probably wants to keep me calm until we get to some private
location, where he'll do whatever he has planned. Torture? Ransom? Or immediate
death? I force myself to stay in the moment, otherwise I'll freeze up.
I spot some other cars on the road, but there's no way to
signal them without alerting him that I know what's going on, and then what if
he just shoots me immediately? I have to play the game and pretend I don't
know.
I glance down at my purse, and casually pull out my lip
gloss as I rummage around in it. Wallet, bobby pins, makeup compact, some old
receipts and papers, and a lighter. A lighter. That's some kind of weapon,
right? I stare down at it. There must be something I can do with it. I glance
back at the papers. Sticking out is my original Air France ticket. As quietly
as possible, I pull it out, along with the old receipts and a flyer about the
University of South Florida's extracurricular activities. I roll them up
slowly, keeping my expression bored.
Now for the hard part. I wrinkle my nose, and then lean my
head back and let out a giant sneeze. Just at the end of it, I flick on the
lighter.
"Ugh, my allergies are terrible!" I exclaim.
"Mm," the man mutters. I glance out the opposite
windows at the passing landscape. We're still on the highway. I'd like to wait
until we're closer to buildings and people, but what if that's not the plan?
What if he's going to pull over in the next minute and kill me in the middle of
the woods? Better to take a chance when I still have one, and maybe get the
attention of a passing motorist.
The lighter is starting to burn my fingers, so I press it
forward and light the paper on fire. As it catches, I lean down like I'm
scratching my leg, and let it fall to the ground on the opposite seat. I watch
the smile pile of papers, praying it doesn't go out. Luckily, the coating on
some of the papers must be pretty nasty, because soon an acrid smoke begins to
fill the backseat.
"Oh my god, I think your engine's on fire!" I
exclaim, and begin frantically waving my hand in front of my face.
"What the fuck!?" the man yells, and the tires
screech as he turns onto the shoulder and slows down.
That's what I was waiting for. I take a quick glance behind
us to check for oncoming cars, and then in one motion, I unlock my door and
push it open. The car is still in motion as I launch myself out onto the
pavement. I don't roll as much as I intended to and I yell in pain as I take
most of the impact on my shoulder. But I know I can't waste whatever little
head start I have.
I sprint across the highway, jump over the shoulder. I look
around for cars to flag down, but there aren't any. I head straight into the
trees, praying the man isn't a fast runner himself.
"You bitch!" I hear him scream behind me. I risk
one glance back to see him vaulting over the shoulder. He has to wait for a car
to pass, and I look around frantically. I can't see an end to the tree line. No
houses or another road. Fuck. Maybe I have enough of a head start to loop
around back toward the road. I curse myself as I head diagonally back to the
highway. I should have run straight along it in the first place and waited for
a car to come along.
I see the branch underfoot too late, and catch my left toes
squarely on it. I go down hard, slamming my hip and chest into the ground. As I
scramble to my feet, I taste blood in my mouth. I must have bit my cheek as I
fell. My ankle pounds as I try to regain my speed. There's a crashing noise to
my right and the man appears, holding a black handgun. He's almost cut me off
from the road, but I change direction as quickly as possible.
He's fast. I can hear him gaining on me. "Help!" I
scream out, hoping someone driving by has their car windows open.
"HELP!"
There's a loud noise like a pop behind me and I fall to the
ground. I gasp and try to sit up, but my right arm doubles in pain.
"That was a warning. I won't miss again," I hear
the man grunt behind me. I touch my left hand to my shoulder and look in shock
as it comes away covered in red. I'm bleeding...he shot me. I begin to shake
uncontrollably as I turn around and slowly stand up. "They want it to be
slow."
My legs almost give out, but I manage to stay up. He's
eyeing me warily, and his chest is heaving and his shirt soaked with sweat. At
least I gave him a run for his money.
"I have wealthy friends," I gasp. "They'll
pay—"
He begins to chuckle, a weird, high-pitched giggle.
"I'm being well taken care of. Though truthfully, I'm not in this for the
money."
"But the cartel—"
"Your father had a chance to pay them already. But he
thought he was invincible, up here with his gated neighborhood and his fancy
security. Luckily, I'm patient. I knew he'd make a mistake eventually."
"He didn't, actually." There are tears streaming
down my face, and my right arm is starting to go numb, but for some reason I'm
resisting the urge to laugh. "He cut me loose on purpose. See, we
really
don't get along, so he doesn't care if you kill me. It won't make a difference
to him either way."
"Nice try."
"It's true."
"Well, unfortunately for you, I'm not a big picture
kind of guy. I just do what they tell me. I have to say, though, you really
surprised me, and I don't get surprised easily. They told me you'd be easy, but
you're actually a pretty tough cookie."
"Gee, thanks."
He laughs again. "Back to the car," he orders me,
gesturing with the gun.
"Why not here?"
"I need my saw," he states with a shrug. "I'm
going to send you back to your father in pieces." I feel bile rise in my
throat and the ground starts to swim in front of me. "Don't faint now, you
were doing—"
"ALEXA!" The ground stops moving and I jerk my
head up. Am I hearing things? But by the expression on the man's face I know he
heard it, too.
"Don't say a word," he hisses, moving toward me.
He steps behind me and wraps my hair around his hand. I resist the urge to cry
out as he painfully pulls me behind a wide tree and sticks the gun against my
ribs.
"Alexa!" The voice is farther away. It's Carter,
I'd know his voice anywhere, but he's moving in the wrong direction.
I want to let myself crumble. I can't even hear him anymore.
My body is humming with pain. My father doesn't care what happens to me. It
would be so easy just to let it happen.
Carter's fierce anger when he found me in the pool flashes
back to me.
How dare you...
My own anger begins to build. I'm not just
something to throw away. I'm strong...stronger than I know...
I feel the man's grip on my hair loosen slightly, and
without thinking, I pick up my foot and stomp as hard as I can down on his. I
hear him grunt and fling myself out from behind the tree.
"CARTER!" I scream as I feel the man yank me back
by my hair and cry out as I feel a chunk of it ripping out in the process. He
slams the front of my body up against the tree and presses himself behind it.
We both stay frozen like that for what feels like a long
time. I don't hear anything in the woods except for the occasional sound of a
car passing in the distance. I watch an out-of-focus ant crawl across the tree
bark just a centimeter from my eye.
A twig snaps behind us and the man spins me around. He's not
a big man, but he's shockingly strong. Tears spring to my eyes again as I see
Carter standing not ten feet away from us, gun raised.
"So close, yet so far," the man sneers. I can feel
his breath on my ear and want to shed my skin.
"Hi, Alexa," Carter says quietly, though his eyes remain
trained on the man's trigger finger. I want to laugh, and cry, and hug him, and
tell him to run away. As much as I want to escape, now he's in danger, too.
"Drop the gun," the man orders him.
"If El Nuevo Muerto just wanted you to kill her, you
would have taken her out with a sniper shot weeks ago," Carter replies,
his arms steady.
The man pauses for only a second. "Lieutenant Carter
Driscoll, Naval Special Warfare Group Two, SEAL Team 10, recipient of the
Purple Heart. I've been very impressed with you, so I decided to do some
research. How's that leg?"
"Good as new," Carter replies. "I got some
information on you, too. Edward Smith, failed the Army's mental health test in
1983. Couldn't even get in. Said you were mentally unfit."
Smith's gun digs deeper into my ribcage and I press my lips
together to keep from crying out. "Do you have nightmares? I bet you do.
Which one were you closest to? Stewart Kelly? Adam Littleton?" The corner
of Carter's mouth twitches almost imperceptibly. "Ah, Adam Littleton,"
the man sighs with satisfaction. "You were quite nearby when he blew
up...you probably got little bits of him on your uniform." Carter's eyes
get that distant stare that I first saw on the plane.
"Carter, it's—" I begin, but Smith yanks my hair
back sharply.
"I read that before you passed out, you tried to stuff
his intestines back inside his body," the man begins to laugh as Carter's
gun shakes. "Was he still alive for that? Imagine the pain of dying as you
manhandle his insides! And then you get an award! For what? For being three
feet to his right, shielded by his body? You live in a mansion, while he rots
in the ground!"
Carter's right leg breaks and he sinks down, his gun
toppling out of his hands. I hear him take deep, gasping breaths. My physical pain
disappears, replaced by the pain of seeing him broken.
"Pathetic," Smith sneers. "And I'm the one
who's mentally unfit?" He pushes me forward. "You, kick the gun
away," he orders me. I take five steps forward and kick Carter's gun.
"Again." I follow it and kick it further toward the trees. The man
gestures with his gun toward the road. "Now back to the car, both
of—"
Like a flash, Carter leaps from the ground and tackles
Smith. His gun goes off, but I can't tell if anyone's been hit. The gun...I
race toward the direction where I kicked Carter's, frantically scanning the
ground as I hear grunts and cracks behind me. I nearly trip over it, and pick
it up with shaking hands. I've never held a gun before.
As I slide my finger over the trigger and turn around, I see
Carter sitting on top of Smith and punching him in the face over and over. One
look at Smith tells me the man is well past the point of unconsciousness.
"Carter!" I yell, but he can't hear me. His face is
a blank as he raises his right fist again and again. I wince at the sound of
bone cracking in Smith's face. Without thinking, I raise the gun above my head
and fire it into the air. I yelp as the recoil shivers down my arm. I forgot
I've been shot on the right shoulder, and now it feels like it's on fire.
Carter turns to me and blinks, almost as though he'd
forgotten I was there for a moment. "Alexa...are you alright? You're
bleeding..." he jumps up and runs toward me.
"Take this," I whisper, pushing the gun toward
him. "I don't want to touch it anymore." He takes it and tucks it
into his pants, then quickly picks up the other one from the ground.
"Sit," he tells me, and my legs practically collapse under me.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Shot me," I murmur. Sirens sound quietly in the
distance, but I feel like I'm retreating into a daydream.
"Hey, keep talking to me! You're going into
shock," he says, taking my head in his hands. "You're safe now, OK?
I've got you."
"My arm..."
He gently examines it. "It's a flesh wound. The bullet
just tagged you. I know it still hurts like hell, though."
"How'd you find me?" I ask in confusion.
"Roger had a pang of conscience, and came to me. After
a while, I was able to convince him to use a contact he has in the police force
to trace your credit card, which is probably how Smith found you, too. When I
finally got to the airport, you were gone, but when I was driving back I saw a
car on the side of the road, and your purse on the seat."
"Your hands..." I gasp, gingerly touching his
bloodied knuckles.
"They'll be fine," he assures me. The sirens get
louder and then stop. They must have pulled over on the road. Carter stands up
and then bends over and picks me up.
"I'm alright," I insist, though I'm far from it.
He snorts, and I lay my head on his chest. I can just hear his heartbeat, and I
can feel mine slow down to match it. "Was it an act? When you dropped your
gun?"
"Not at first. But then I figured I should play into
it," he admits quietly.
"I'm sorry he said those things about your
friend," I whisper.
"Over here!" a voice calls, and I hear brush being
trampled as the responders spot us. I glance over and spot an ambulance and
three police cars. Officers are busy surrounding Smith's car on the opposite
side of the road, and the EMTs are pulling a stretcher out.
"I'm the one who called the police. There's a man about
fifty feet straight back," Carter tells the first officer as we reach
them. "Edward Smith. Unarmed, unconscious. He abducted her."
"And who's 'her'?" the officer asks, eyeing me
with alarm. I must look like a bloodied mess.
"Alexa Stratton, daughter of Ray Stratton," Carter
explains, setting me gently on the stretcher.
"Christ," the officer swears, rubbing his
forehead, but he signals the other officers into the woods.
"I'm going to reach behind me and take out his
gun," Carter says as I lay back on the stretcher. The paramedics swarm
around me. "The other one is mine, and yes, I have a permit." I reach
through the people and manage to grab Carter's hand.
"I'm going to need to ask you some questions," the
officer says. "Lots of them."
"I understand completely," Carter replies.
"You can find me at the hospital." The paramedics push the stretcher
toward the ambulance, forcing me to drop Carter's hand. I'm jostled as the
stretcher legs bend as they push it into the ambulance itself.
"Carter?" I cry out, an unreasonable amount
of panic spreading through me. My head is strapped down and all I can see is
the white ceiling of the ambulance. Suddenly, his hand is around mine and his
face appears above me.
"I'm here."
"Don't leave."
"I don't intend to."