Chosen Prey Read online

  Two men stood in the doorway.

  These two she recognized, traveling in a pair like she expected. Like she had seen in her nightmares a hundred times.

  Mark and Adam. In her house.

  “Lyra.” Adam held out his hand and gave an enigmatic smile, as if he hadn’t just ripped the front door off its hinges. His light blue eyes were filled with obvious pleasure at having found her. “It’s time you returned to the flock. The Prophecy has to be fulfilled.”

  She stepped back, swallowed hard, and clenched the bat tighter. “I’m not going with you. I’m not the freaking one you want from your stupid Prophecy. Just leave me alone.”

  Oh, God, I hope Mrs. Yosko stays in her room. She could get hurt.

  The two cult members approached Lyra. They wore faded jeans and had on tan shirts. The shirts were made of the same coarse cloth the women were forced to wear for robes.

  The cult’s members all looked the same. Dressed the same.

  “The Prophet is never wrong.” Adam’s looks became harder, more intense, as he took a larger step toward her and stood a mere couple of feet away. “This is your destiny.”

  “Tell Neal Barker he can stuff this up his destiny.” Lyra grasped the bat in both hands and swung as hard as she could at Adam’s gut. His hand snapped up, the sound of metal smacking his palm loud in the quiet house before he ripped the bat out of her grip. She stumbled back and her legs hit the arm of the couch as she shouted, “Get it through your freaking heads. I’m not going.”

  Adam lost the gentle smile and Mark’s eyes glittered steel gray in the artificial lighting.

  They dove for her. Lyra dropped and rolled, the items inside her pack digging into her back with the movement. She reacted so quickly that she came to a stop between them and the front door.

  She had to get away, and she had to get them out of Mrs. Yosko’s home.

  Mark was fast, though. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet.

  Fear mixed with fury rocked her and she could barely see or breathe.

  With her free hand she swung her fist straight at Mark's eye. Her knuckles made contact with flesh and bone, and sharp pain shot through her hand. He shouted and grabbed her arms so that he had a grip on both her wrists, and she faced away from him. Lyra kicked Mark’s shins at the same time she brought her elbows back into his chest. He shouted again and she jerked free.

  Adam reached for her as she whirled and dodged him—and she smacked right into the cowboy who had come to her door earlier.

  Lyra couldn’t hold back another scream. She tried to duck around him. He grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against his solid frame.

  “No. I won’t go back.” She kicked his shins, punched his chest, raked her fingernails across his cheek, fighting like a wildcat. She couldn’t get away from his powerful grasp. Tears of anger and frustration flooded her cheeks and she fought even harder and kicked him again.

  Through her fury she heard Mark’s falsely calm tone. “Release Lyra,” he said. “She’s coming with us.”

  She went still and her gaze shot up to the cowboy’s.

  Welts and blood slashed his face from her nails, but he wasn’t looking at her. His hard gaze rested on the men behind her.

  “Only if she wants to go,” the cowboy said in a deep and deadly voice that sent chills straight through her. “If she doesn’t, then you’d better get out of here.”

  “We are taking her home,” Mark said.

  “Get lost.” Lyra tried to back away from Adam and Mark and the man who held her arm. But the cowboy still had a tight grip.

  Mark lifted Lyra’s bat with a two-fisted stance, as if he planned to swing and slam it into the cowboy’s head. “Lyra is mentally disturbed. She needs to come back to our facilities to get proper care.”

  “You bastard.” At that moment Lyra would have clawed out Mark’s eyeballs, but the damned cowboy wouldn’t release her.

  Mark held out one hand, reaching for her. “You don’t want to get hurt again, do you, Lyra? Come home, where you belong. Where we can help you.”

  A metal click sounded near her ear and everyone froze. From her side vision she saw the cowboy had drawn a gun. A sick feeling weighted her belly.

  “This is all the help Lyra needs right now,” the man drawled, gesturing with the gun. “Get your asses out of here before I shoot holes in your knees.”

  Adam blanched and Mark’s face turned so dark his skin was almost purple. He clenched the bat with both hands again, a dangerous look in his eyes.

  “With the grace of the Prophet Jericho.” Adam’s voice squeaked as he grabbed Mark’s arm. “You’ve got to understand she’s a danger to herself and others.”

  The gun washed away her fear and left only anger. “I’ll danger your ass,” Lyra said as she tried again to jerk away from the cowboy. She was so pissed her entire body vibrated.

  “Don’t push it,” the man said in that deadly calm voice, and he pointed his weapon at Mark’s left knee.

  Adam gave a bow from his shoulders. “In the name of Jericho and the Light.”

  The stranger pulled Lyra to the side and gestured toward the open door with his gun.

  Mark kept his hold on the bat and followed Adam onto the porch, then into the sunshine.

  Lyra stared after the men who disappeared from view.

  Suddenly it became too quiet, and she was intensely aware of the man standing beside her, his callused hand firmly grasping her arm. Heat seemed to travel back and forth between them. The place where he was touching her felt like pure fire.

  From her side vision she saw the cowboy still had a grip on his gun. She swallowed. She was so damned confused. She didn’t know what to do, what to think. But one thing was obvious—the stranger wasn’t with the Temple of Light.

  He didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her around to look directly at him. “There are more of them in the back.”

  A loud crashing sound came from the kitchen, and fear surged through Lyra. Her voice broke. “They won’t ever give up.”

  “I won’t let them get you, honey,” the man said, a grim look on his face.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” Lyra jerked away from his hold. “Mrs. Yosko—she could come down any minute and get caught in the middle. They can chase me. Just get them out of her house.”

  “Stay,” Dare ordered, his body tense and in fighting mode.

  But Lyra spun and headed toward a window on the south side of the house.

  He cursed and ducked and kept himself hidden to one side of the door leading from the kitchen to the living room, his weapon ready. His eyes still burned like hell, but the adrenaline surge more than compensated for the pain.

  Wood scraped wood as Lyra raised the window at the same time he positioned himself beside the entrance to the living room.

  The entryway was so narrow, only one man could come through at a time. When the first came through the doorway, Dare slammed the butt of his gun against the back of the man’s head, dropping him in an instant. The second man Dare caught with a knee to the groin, but not before the bastard punched him in the nose. Blood poured down Dare’s face as he rammed his boot into the third man’s kneecap and heard a sickening pop as the man screamed in pain.

  The fourth man’s fist closed in on Dare’s eye, but Dare ducked just in time. He slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, knocking him back on his ass. With a side kick. Dare drove his boot into number five’s gut. The man toppled sideways and crashed onto a table filled with artwork that Dare had noticed earlier.

  After taking the men down, Dare wiped blood from his face with his sleeve as he bolted for the open front door. He reached the doorway just in time to see the top of Lyra’s head disappearing down the hillside, the first two men following her. With one sweep of his gaze, he saw the tires of his truck had been slashed.

  They’ll pay for that.

  He heard shouts behind him as his boot steps echoed on the stairs and then the walkway. He swung himself up and o
ver the gate before running across the street and making it to the narrow concrete staircase that shot straight down the side of the steep hill to Main Street.

  Lyra was fast, but she stumbled. Her feet slid out from under her and she landed on her ass. Just as she started to slide down the hard concrete stairs, the cult member closest to her caught her by her backpack, jerking her to a stop.

  Dare lunged at the first man and grabbed the man’s braid. The cult member shouted, lost his balance, and fell sideways. Dare lost his grip. The man flipped over the rail but caught the handrail. He barely clung to the metal, keeping himself from falling down the long drop of the hillside.

  Dare’s breathing came hard as he reached the second man, who had clamped his fingers around Lyra’s wrist. The man looked behind him just in time for Dare to slam his fist into the man’s nose, dropping him to the concrete steps.

  After stepping over the man, Dare grabbed Lyra’s upper arm, and yanked her to her feet.

  Ahead of them was Main Street. The stairs ended between Manny’s Restaurant and a bed-and-breakfast. Their shoes thundered on the stairs as they hurried down. Dare leading the way. At the end of the staircase, Lyra tripped and stumbled into him. He barely caught her and kept them both from falling. This time he pulled her close to keep his balance. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw three cult members following them.

  Dare gripped Lyra’s hand and dragged her into the back entrance of Manny’s Restaurant. Warm smells of refried beans and tortillas greeted his senses as they ran through the kitchen, past Manny’s wife, to come up short behind the bar, face-to-face with Manny.

  Lyra was breathing heavily when they came to a stop, almost running into the large bartender. Her face was bright red, her green eyes wide with fear.

  Dare spared her only a glance before he turned to one of his friends and informants and said, “Manny, car keys.”

  The heavyset dark-haired man raised one eyebrow as he shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to Dare. “One dent and your ass is grass, Lancaster.”

  Without responding, Dare yanked Lyra behind him as they rounded the bar and headed through the maze of tables filled with people and out the front door. He spotted Manny’s cherried-out neon blue El Dorado, hurried to unlock the passenger side, and shoved Lyra onto the seat. His breathing was heavy, his blood pounding in his temples, as he made it to the driver’s side and unlocked it. He tossed his Stetson on the back seat and ducked into the vehicle. He started the engine, threw it into gear, and slid into the light traffic heading down Main Street.

  Lyra glanced behind them to see if they were being followed, and it felt like her heart leaped into her throat when she saw two cult members bound from the staircase onto the sidewalk. But they were on foot and had no way to catch up.

  We'll be okay. We’ve got to be okay.

  Her gaze whipped around to look at the stranger who had just saved her. “Are they following us?”

  The man’s jaw tightened. “I’m keeping an eye out.”

  She struggled to catch her breath and turned her gaze back to the road. Her cheeks were hot, sweat plastered her hair to her face. Her heart pounded in time with the throb in her head, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her bottom ached from that last fall, and she had scraped the heels of her palms raw when she tried to stop herself from sliding down the concrete staircase.

  “Goddamnit,” the cowboy said as he glanced into the rearview mirror.

  Lyra jerked her head to look through the back window of the El Dorado. Terror rode her hard as she saw the van speeding behind them.

  2

  Neal Barker’s body grew taut, and he barely kept his voice from trembling with rage. “You lost her?”

  Adam faltered at the other end of the cell phone. “The PI—he showed up again. He shattered Jim’s kneecap, gave Joe and Steve each a concussion, and probably broke Henry’s jaw. Not to mention he got Ken in the groin and I think my ribs are bruised.”

  Neal spoke slowly and clearly, his barely controlled fury reverberating throughout every muscle. “Seven of you couldn’t handle one cowboy?”

  “We—”

  “Find her.” Neal lowered his voice, forcing himself to calm down. Jericho had told him Lyra would bear the new Messiah, and his faith had never wavered. He was above failure of any kind. “Do what you have to and bring her to me.”

  “Whatever it takes, Prophet,” Adam replied with conviction in his tone. “We live only to serve you and the Light.”

  “If you want to be my second, Adam,” Neal said, “I expect you to help me fulfill the Prophecy.”

  “I won’t fail you,” Adam was saying as Neal ended the call.

  “So close,” he growled.

  Bitch. He had other matters to handle, like dealing with the leaders of his satellite compounds around the United States. If Lyra would just come back to the Temple where she belonged, he wouldn’t have to screw around trying to find her.

  And Ryan, that incompetent imbecile, was going to pay.

  Neal clenched his teeth and his fists so tight that pain shot through his jaw, and his knuckles ached. Ryan Holstead had been entrusted with starting the new satellite compound of the Temple of Light near Fort Huachuca in Arizona.

  Just one day ago, Ryan had spotted Lyra’s signature artwork at a woman’s home in Sierra Vista. The woman had purchased the piece in what had to be a shithole of a town called Bisbee.

  Instead of using The People’s own resources to track down Lyra through the artwork, Ryan had contacted a PI.

  A fucking PI.

  Not to mention the incompetent ass had used Neal’s name. His name.

  Last night Mark and Adam had flown to Sierra Vista Airport and made it to the compound in order to clean up Ryan’s mess. Today they’d gone to Bisbee to track down the PI, but before they could get to him and make sure he would forget Neal Barker’s name, the PI had left his office. Neal’s men had followed the man, who actually led them to Lyra Collins. Mark and Adam had recognized her at once.

  But now she was on the run with that damned PI.

  They would find her. Now that The People knew where she was, they would find her.

  Mark and Adam better catch her before she disappears again.

  While the men recovered Lyra and dealt with the PI, Ryan would be returned to the compound and used as an example before all of Neal’s men. Before all of the males of the Temple of Light.

  Neal’s thoughts turned to Lyra Collins. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left the fold five years ago. She’d been a beauty when she was a young teenager and even more so as she matured. Despite his anger, he savored the thought of the full, tempting woman she had become.

  The mental image of her was more satisfying now that he knew where she was. He could scarcely imagine what the real thing would be like once he had her back home with him, where she would fulfill her ordained destiny.

  Neal moved to the mirror at one end of his opulent room that was within the Temple itself. His blue eyes looked back at him as he withdrew a band from his pocket and pulled his long black hair into a ponytail that accented his high cheekbones. The Light had blessed him with an appearance that drew women to him. He was handsome, stunning even, and he used it to his advantage.

  He had never doubted he would find Lyra again, even though searching for her over the past five years had proved fruitless. The considerable funds from their “outside activities” had helped them to dig up nothing—until now.

  Jericho had brought them to Lyra as promised.

  As soon as Neal had learned they were close, Jericho, the original Prophet, had visited Neal as usual during his meditations. Jericho told Neal that Lyra would soon be back in the fold. She was confused. Nothing more. Confused, alone, and probably very frightened. They had to help her. Only an unstable woman would reject the destiny decreed by Jericho, Lord of the Prophets.

  Lyra would, of course, be the new First Wife, share his bed, and fulfill
the Prophecy. She was to bear the new Messiah. In his meditations, Jericho had informed Neal of this fact. It had been immediately following the time he’d met Sara and her daughter, Lyra, in Portland at one of his programs about the Light. At the time Lyra had been almost fifteen, and he knew he had to find some way to draw mother and daughter into the fold.

  And then it had been done.

  According to the Prophecy, Lyra was to be at least eighteen for it to be fulfilled. When she was of age, Neal had prepared to join with her, but she had vanished.

  At the thought he fought to keep from flinging the mirror across the room. He took a deep breath, but his muscles remained tense. With a gold cigarette lighter, he lit a joint he’d rolled earlier and brought it to his lips. He moistened the end of it with his saliva, and the bittersweet taste rolled over his tongue and burned his lungs as he inhaled. He closed his eyes and held the hit as long as he could. Slowly he released the smoke from his lungs and blew it out through his lips.

  Neal had kept the Prophecy a secret from all but a few of his most trusted men and Sara, Lyra’s mother. Jason, Neal’s son—his eldest and the pride of his life—didn’t even know that one day he would serve the new Messiah.

  It took two more drags before Neal’s muscles relaxed and he put out the joint in what he used for an ashtray. He smiled as he caressed the side of the metal. It was one of Lyra’s creations, a small bowl she’d made before being brought into the Temple of Light with her mother. Of course, all of Sara’s and Lyra’s worldly possessions had been taken away from them so they could better serve the Light

  Neal’s dick hardened at the thoughts of Lyra and he rubbed it through his robe until it ached.

  With a growl he adjusted his robe to cover his erection. He knew how to relieve the frustration of the incompetence in Arizona, along with the ache in his dick.

  He slipped a flogger from his closet into one of the pockets of his robes. He withdrew his cell phone from his other pocket and put it on vibrate so that it wouldn’t ring out loud when he was among The People. Most had no idea of the extent of technology and communication devices Neal and his highest followers used.