Chosen Prey Page 20

  If she just injured him and ran for it, he’d be able to call out to his guards and they’d get her. And then she wouldn’t be able to get her mother out. Neal might even kill Sara because of Lyra’s actions.

  If she did get away with her mother, Lyra would still be on the run from him for the rest of her life. Unless he was dead.

  Lyra buried her face in her hands, not caring if she smeared the makeup. Not caring if she messed up her hair. Her head ached more than just from the pain of her wounds. She’d had the mother of all headaches since she’d had the up-close-and-personal contact with the stake. But it also ached from the magnitude of her thoughts and the choices she’d have to make.

  Carrie and Julia both sat quietly on the floor. None of them seemed to know what to say. Julia was even more soaked from the rain after having retrieved a cup of water for Lyra. The water only made her want to pee, but she forced herself to take several swallows.

  All of Lyra’s senses seemed heightened as she waited. It was so quiet she could hear the sound of Carrie’s and Julia’s breathing and the ever-present drumming of rain on the canvas over their heads. The tent had chilled, and she was not only trembling but shivering, too. The tent still smelled like marijuana, rain, and earth.

  When the flap finally opened, Lyra startled so badly she almost fell off the edge of the mattress. Pain shot through her head as she jerked her face from where she had buried it in her hands, and she opened her eyes.

  Mark ducked in through the opening and his braid swung over his shoulder. Rain soaked his tan shirt, his jeans, and his hair. His jaw was purple where Dare had punched him in that bus stop parking lot in Arizona.

  He gave Lyra a smile filled with such complete hatred that she nearly recoiled at first, and then the feeling was followed by the desire to take him out. Where was her baseball bat when she needed it?

  “What do you want?” she asked, her jaw so tense she could barely speak.

  “It’s time to fulfill the Prophecy,” Mark said with an expression that told her he felt exactly what he’d said at the bus stop—he didn’t care if she lived or if she died. More like he wanted her to die.

  She didn’t get it. Why would one of Neal’s highest followers act this way?

  “Come on.” Carrie stood, took one of Lyra’s hands, and squeezed it. “It’ll be okay,” she added softly.

  “No,” Lyra said clearly as she looked at Mark’s face. “It will never be okay.”

  At that he smirked and ducked out of the tent. After Mark left, Carrie and Julia unfolded the large piece of canvas they were going to hold over their heads. Carrie picked up a pair of white slippers.

  Lyra swallowed hard, then swallowed again. She’d thought she’d been shaking before, but that was nothing compared to right now.

  It was all so surreal, like a nightmare come to life.

  It was a nightmare come to life.

  Five years she’d been running away from this. Five years.

  And now it was too late. She had no options left until after the ceremony, and even then it wasn’t much of an option. She didn’t think she’d ever get over it if she failed and Neal raped her. Which was exactly what it would be. Rape. The mere thought of it left her feeling unclean, and she wanted to scrub herself inside and out.

  And yet if she struggled and refused, they’d drug her. She wouldn’t even be awake to defend herself. If she ran now, Neal would hurt her mother.

  Rage bubbled in Lyra’s veins.

  Trapped.

  Trapped like a cow in a barn, waiting for the stud bull.

  Well, this bull was going to end up castrated.

  Mark returned and held the tent flap aside while Carrie and Julia raised the canvas over Lyra’s head and their own. She paused at the threshold, between the canvas floor and mud, and prayed lightning would strike or something so that she would never have to go with Neal into the Temple.

  She was tempted to let her robe drag in the mud, but she played the part of the good little wife-to-be and gripped the cloth in her fists, raising her hem just high enough that only her ankles showed. Mud squished between her toes.

  As they made a small procession through the compound, her thoughts turned to Dare, and she wanted to cry. She’d never forget the way he embraced her, or the wonder of his kiss, or the incredible ways he made love to her.

  Many of The People lined up along Lyra’s path toward a great shelter. Lights, no doubt provided by a generator, made everything as clear and bright as daylight. The place was already filled with lots of people, but a pathway had been kept clear for her to walk to the platform she saw at the far end of the shelter.

  She bit her lower lip as they got closer and closer. Everything became more and more surreal.

  When they finally reached the shelter, water poured from its edges, falling hard on the canvas over her head until they were in the mostly dry shelter. The ground in here was slightly damp, so they must have begun erecting it before the rain got so hard. Lyra kept her gaze averted from everyone staring at her.

  Carrie and Julia removed the tarp and handed it to Mark. The women led Lyra to a flat, deep bowl of clear water. Lyra stepped into it and smelled more jasmine as the water clouded with mud from her feet. The women dried off her feet, one at a time, helping Lyra to balance and sliding one slipper on before allowing that foot to touch the ground, then doing the same with the other.

  She let her robe drop, and the hem barely brushed the top of her slipper-clad feet. The shoes were white and embroidered with flowers that matched her robe. The whole outfit would have been beautiful if she didn’t hate it so much.

  When Lyra looked up, her gaze met Jason’s. The hatred in his eyes was so intense it caused another chill to race up her spine. She couldn’t look away until her companions started to escort her through the walkway in the midst of the gathering.

  Lyra’s vision blurred so that she couldn’t see any of the faces watching her. The silence inside the shelter was deafening. All she could hear was the pounding, pounding, pounding rain.

  Each slow step she took was another step toward a fate she’d never truly thought would happen.

  One step. Another. Another.

  She reached the left side of the dais. She would have to walk up two steps before standing on the platform, then take a few more steps to stand in the middle.

  Lyra looked from her feet, and her gaze met Neal’s across the platform. A smile of sheer pleasure and satisfaction was on his handsome face. He’d changed his clothing. His hair was long and loose about his shoulders, his head held high.

  He looked like the devil.

  Neal took a step up the platform.

  Carrie and Julia urged Lyra to take hers.

  He stepped up again, and the two women had to force Lyra on.

  When both Neal and Lyra stood at either end of the platform, he began walking toward the center. Lyra didn’t want to move, but her ever-present companions guided her forward.

  Blood rushed in Lyra’s ears. Hatred and anger burned her gut. How could this be happening? How could this be real?

  Her eyes met Neal’s blue ones and she couldn’t look away. She filled her gaze with as much venom as she could, but he simply gave her a satisfied smile.

  When Lyra finally reached the center of the platform, Julia and Carrie slipped away, leaving her alone, face-to-face with Neal.

  His smile broadened and he reached out and took one of her trembling hands in his.

  23

  Dare and the other men climbed out of the Hummer and the Range Rover that two of the men had driven to Sandy. Since Manning lived in Portland, he was only a forty-five-minute drive away. Freeman was stationed in Seattle, so he and Manning both had been within driving distance. Lloyd had flown in from L. A. while Harrison had taken a jumper from Vegas.

  The six men were silent. Dressed all in black with black smudged on their faces, the men were barely visible once the headlights were turned off. They each had their assault rifles slung over their sh
oulders and other serious weaponry. They checked to make sure their micro ear transmitters were working.

  It was a fair hike through the forest of Douglas fir, cedar, and maple trees and around rock outcroppings to the compound. They needed to be parked far enough away that they wouldn’t be noticed, yet close enough for a quick escape.

  Smells of exhaust from the vehicles quickly faded, to be replaced by scents of earth, loam, and a rain-washed breeze. Rain drummed through the forest, landing on them in a solid beat.

  “Time.” Dare smudged water droplets off the face of his watch with his gloved hand. It was eleven minutes after eight. He gave military time. The other men checked their watches and each gave a quick nod.

  “Let’s do it,” Dare said.

  Without a word Nick’s men pulled down their night-vision goggles and melted into the darkness, silent and swift. Not a twig snapped, or the sound of clothing brushing vegetation could be heard as they moved away. Nick slapped Dare on the back, then vanished just as silently into the night.

  Dare’s heart pounded and he set his plan into motion. He now had sixteen minutes to get into position and wait. He’d holstered his Glock at his side, his Beretta at his back, and, slung over one shoulder, the AK-470A3 rifle he’d borrowed from one of Nick’s war buddies.

  Earlier Dare had sheathed knives in each boot, and his weapons belt was more than well equipped. His combat gear was loose enough for ease of movement yet protected him from most of the rain. Despite the fact that his clothing was waterproof, some wetness crept in through his collar. Water ran in rivulets down his face but rolled off his clothing.

  Drenched leaves and sticks made no noise beneath his feet. His boots sank slightly into the wet ground as he progressed. Wet branches slapped his face.

  When he reached the compound, he raised his goggles and let them rest on top of his head. The place was lit up bright as day. When he reached his post, he was careful to remain hidden behind an enormous fir tree then peeked around it, confident he wouldn’t be seen.

  He caught sight of a pair of large unusually colorful bats flapping around one of the floodlights. Probably hoary bats dining on insects. The guards standing beneath the light were obviously professionals and didn’t even look up at the swooping and hovering mammals.

  Most of the guards stood with feet and shoulders squared, rifles in their hands, their gazes sweeping the night. Shit, yeah, these men looked far more experienced than the clowns at the Arizona compound.

  Through the chain-link fence Dare saw the countless dirty white tents. There was one much larger canvas-covered structure that he didn’t remember seeing on the satellite map. People huddled in the rain outside the covering, but many stood beneath the canvas—what he could see from his side view. Some kind of gathering.

  Dare and his men would have to be extra careful. He didn’t want any bystanders getting hurt during the raid.

  His gut told him the structure was the first place he needed to head once inside the compound.

  He moved so that his back was to the tree, facing away from the compound. He checked his watch.

  Three minutes.

  Dare forced himself to take deep breaths. Clear head, keep emotions at bay. It wouldn’t do him, Lyra, or the other men any good to charge in like a madman. Everything had to go according to plan, perfect execution.

  The stakes were high. Lyra could be taken away by Neal Barker, if he escaped with her during the raid.

  Dare might never be able to find her.

  The bastard better not have raped her. The mere thought had Dare’s head aching and his arms trembling from the need to get to her.

  Two minutes.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins as he readied his grip on his sniper rifle. Seconds dragged by. Dare fought with himself to keep Lyra’s smile out of his thoughts.

  Concentrate on the job.

  Blood pounded in his head. He took another deep breath.

  One minute.

  He slid around the side of the tree, keeping close to it and in the darkness. He raised his rifle. Sights set on his first target. Glanced at his watch.

  More seconds dragged by. The pounding in his head increased with the flash of every second on his watch.

  “Now.” came Manning’s voice over the transmitter.

  Two seconds and an explosion rocked the compound. Flames shot up into the sky.

  Every light along the perimeter of the fence went out. Darkness outside and inside the compound. With one shot, Manning had done his job and had taken out the main generator with the RPG.

  Screams came from the compound.

  Guards shouted and looked at the forest, trying to see their hidden, silent, and deadly enemies. They were easy targets and they knew it. Some shot a steady stream of bullets blindly into the forest.

  A few lights came back on in the compound, dim this time. Backup generators.

  Dare moved so that his back was to the tree again. Deep breath.

  Keeping low, Dare swung around the tree so that he braced himself on one knee and the rifle against his shoulder. Using the weapon’s night-vision scope, he started picking off the guards one by one.

  When all the guards were down in the immediate vicinity, Dare slung his rifle over his shoulder. He’d be in close quarters for search mode and would need to use his handgun. There was enough light coming from the compound that he didn’t need his night-vision goggles.

  He unholstered his Glock and aimed it at the closest guard who moved. One shot and he dropped.

  That caught the attention of another injured guard, but Dare took him out with a single shot. The man’s shout before he fell was merely background noise, like the sounds of other shots and small explosions.

  Without stopping for a breath, Dare jerked one of Nick’s special IEDs from his weapons belt. He yanked the pin, lobbed the bomb over the razor wire between the double fence.

  He bolted away from the fence and dove onto the muddy ground. The bomb’s explosion ripped through the night. The force of it rocked Dare, but he kept his face turned away.

  More explosions went off around the compound. More screams from people inside.

  Dare kept low as he got to his feet and assessed the situation. The IED had done its job and had blown holes through both fences. Nick had created the bombs so that the IED would only spread in a five-foot radius, just enough to get Dare through.

  The guards along the perimeter were mostly down or frantically trying to locate their foes.

  Gunshots pierced the night from both the remaining guards and Dare’s team. He took out two more men before he headed for the fence opening.

  Keeping down, Dare bolted for the hole in the fence. He rolled through the first hole and had to flatten himself. With his belly to the ground and both hands on his Glock, he shot two more guards.

  He rose and dove through the second hole. In seconds he slipped into the maze of tents, heading for the large canvas structure he’d noticed earlier.

  * * *

  When the power went out and the first shots rang through the night, Neal clenched Lyra’s hand and swung around, as if someone might be at his back. He started shouting orders to his men while people screamed and shouted, mostly women.

  Some lights came on, but they were dim.

  “Men, secure the compound.” Neal shouted as he held on to Lyra. “Women and children, to your tents. Now.”

  Lyra’s heart pounded as he ignored her and directed his people. The men obeyed his orders at once, as if trained for a day like this. The women were another story. They looked beyond shocked and confused, and the mass pushed out of the tent. Lyra prayed no one would be trampled.

  What was happening had to be Dare and Nick. It had to be. Shots and explosions came from all directions. It was obvious whoever was out there had reinforcements.

  The platform bucked and Lyra stumbled. Only Neal’s hold on her kept her from falling.

  The flood of people screaming and running from the shelter seemed like i
t would never end.

  Hope filled Lyra and she yanked her hand from Neal’s. She whirled and ran from him. She made it to the bottom of the stairs when he caught her by the hair and jerked her up against his chest.

  Pain screamed through her head. Despite the agony, she kicked back, her heels connecting with his shins, and she struggled with all her might.

  “Bitch.” Neal shouted as he yanked her hair so hard it drove her to her knees on the damp ground, grinding dirt into the white robe. Tears poured from her eyes from the pain, but she tried to block it out. “Mark, get Sara.”

  No.

  Neal pulled Lyra up by her hair to her feet, so hard and so fast that stars flooded her vision and her legs wouldn’t support her.

  Despite the continual pain, immediate relief flowed through Lyra as he released her hair. He caught her underneath her arms and kept her back to his chest.

  Even though she was wobbly, she began to fight him again. She struggled, kicked back, tried to pry his hands from her body—

  Until Neal put a knife to her throat.

  She felt the bite of metal against her flesh and she stilled at once.

  “Prophecy or no, I will kill you, Lyra, before I let another man have you.” Neal paused before continuing, “But I don’t think that will happen—Sara will die unless you follow my instructions. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Lyra mumbled as Mark dragged her mother closer, also with a knife to her throat.

  Neal pressed the knife harder against her, his voice rising. “Yes, what?”

  Lyra winced from the feel of the blade. He was even more insane than she’d thought. “Yes, Prophet.”

  An explosion blasted the compound, followed by another and another, and the ground seemed to tilt. When Neal stumbled backward, the dagger sliced into Lyra’s flesh, bringing a fresh bout of pain. Blood trickled down her neck. Just a little more pressure and he’d have slit her throat.

  Neal steadied himself and moved the blade away from Lyra’s neck and spun her around to face him. “Stupid bitch.” Blue eyes wild with fury, he grabbed her by the shoulder with one hand and backhanded her on the other side of her face so hard she fell again. Vaguely she was aware of the wreath of flowers tumbling off her head.