Chosen Prey Read online

  “Succeed and you’ll be my second in command, Mark.” Neal had said the same to Adam, but neither man knew that he’d made promises to both—promises he didn’t intend to keep.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Mark said, this time with a smack of satisfaction to his voice.

  When Neal snapped the cell phone shut he ground his teeth again but forced himself to calm down and his muscles to relax. The marijuana was already helping with that. He snuffed the joint in the bowl he used for an ashtray and slipped the phone into a pocket of his robe before striding out of his room, down a long hall, to the room that contained the best computer and surveillance technology available.

  It wouldn’t do for The People, other than his most trusted sheep—the incompetent idiots—to know there was this kind of sophisticated equipment within the compound. Part of belonging to the Temple of the Light was abandoning all material possessions, including any technology. The followers also had no clue about the surveillance cameras monitoring his compound, not to mention his outside activities that helped make him a very rich man.

  Jericho and the Light, of course, expected Neal to use this technology to protect The People as well as the wealth he continued to amass. He even owned his own private jet, along with a luxurious beach house on Cape Cod that he visited every now and then.

  Using his hands, Neal drew back his long hair so that it hung straight down his back as he strode into the room that housed the computers and other instruments they needed. “Have you searched every available source to find new traces of Lyra?” he snapped at Larry, the technological guru who’d been monitoring security of The People for several years.

  “She’s still a ghost.” Larry’s double chin and his paunch gave away the fact that he ate more than his share of provisions. While the rest of The People were fed by carefully rationing food, Larry ate whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Neal had decided it was a small price to pay for a man who was a genius when it came to this tech crap beyond Neal’s knowledge.

  “Idiot.” Neal ground his teeth as he met Larry’s small gray eyes. “You should have found her years ago.”

  Larry’s throat worked as he swallowed. “She’s been careful. Over the past five years I’ve continued to check the records of every motor vehicle department in every state, and she’s never gotten a driver’s license. She’s never applied for any kind of credit—at least not under her real name. She has a Social Security number, but I’ve never been able to locate her using it.”

  Neal growled, fighting the urge to slam his fist into the side of Larry’s head. But he couldn’t. He needed the fat bastard too badly.

  “Father.” Jason’s voice broke through Neal’s thoughts and he relaxed as he turned toward his eldest son. He was a man of twenty-five, and Neal was grooming him to be the Messiah’s first when it was his time, once Neal passed on to the Light.

  “Jason.” He went to his son, smiled, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Pleasure always stirred in Neal’s heart when he was around the young man who reminded him so much of himself. “Good news?”

  Jason gave one quick nod as Neal stepped away. “The Colombians have agreed to the exchange. Marijuana and cocaine for the shipment of AK-47s.”

  “Good.” Neal smiled, showing his pleasure. His son was a man worthy of his future position within the Temple of Light. “We’ll have Gretchen make us a gourmet meal to celebrate,” Neal added.

  Jason grinned, and Neal’s heart warmed even more. Jason had always been special, from the moment his mother birthed him. Despite the bitch’s crying and begging, Neal had taken the boy away at once to raise him in the Temple. A nanny had breast-fed and taken care of the boy. Neal had spent as much of his free time as possible with his son to groom him for his special place among The People.

  After Neal passed on, Jason thought he was to be the next Prophet. Long before Neal left to join the Light, Jason would see the necessity of letting the Messiah take the lead.

  Neal and Jason had a tight bond and nothing could break it.

  The only child who would outshine Jason was the new Messiah. The child who would bring forth the coming of a new age. A time when the word of the Light would be known everywhere and when the Light would be worshipped by all.

  9

  Lyra’s fifteenth birthday had come and gone.

  Now she knelt beside her mother, next to their dirty white tent, as they both shucked ears of corn in their commune at the base of Mount Hood. Wind tore at Lyra’s coarse cotton robe and dust kicked up in her face. The tent flap snapped in the air and cornhusks tumbled over one another. She gathered them into a pile before picking up another ear of corn.

  Smells of roasting corn and beef stew made her stomach growl, but she ignored it. She wanted to ignore everything. The backs of her eyes stung from tears she wanted to cry, but she refused to.

  How she hated this place and her mother for bringing her here.

  “Lyra.”

  The sound of the Prophet’s voice made her jerk her head to look up at him.

  Instead of spitting at him like she’d prefer to do, she kept her voice calm. “Yes, Prophet?”

  He held out his hand and gave her a smile that turned her stomach. He always turned her stomach, no matter what he did or said. “It’s time we begin to teach you, to train you to fulfill your destiny.”

  My destiny?

  Shock vibrated under Lyra’s skin and she glanced at her mother. With no sign of emotion on her face, Sara looked at Neal Barker, the so-called Prophet.

  What was Neal talking about? Why didn’t her mother react? What was going on?

  Knowing she had no other choice, Lyra bit down on her tongue to keep from telling Neal exactly where he could put his hand. Instead, she reached up and let him draw her to her feet and looked into his blue eyes. He was much taller than she was. His palm was smooth beneath hers because he didn’t do manual labor like the rest of The People.

  Lyra did her best not to flinch at Neal’s touch, and she lowered her gaze and her head like all of The People were supposed to do around him.

  He took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the Temple.

  Her heart beat even faster when he called to one of his wives, Selma. The black-haired, slender woman joined them and walked side by side with Lyra, both of them now behind Neal with their heads lowered.

  When they reached the Temple, they entered the foyer, right in front of the Prayer Room, the only room she’d ever been to in the Temple. Instead of entering the room through the set of doors directly in front of them, Neal went to the right, down a long hallway, and through a large door.

  Selma closed the door behind them while Lyra just stared around the room, her eyes wide. She didn’t think she’d seen any place so luxurious in her life. The burgundy carpet was so deep and plush her dusty feet sank into it. A massive bed took up the center of the room. Mirrors and oil paintings graced the walls. An altar and bureaus stood against walls, and even a crystal chandelier dangled above the bed, and a fountain gurgled in one corner.

  “Lyra.” Neal’s commanding voice jerked her attention to him. “Sit on the bed.”

  Her heart jackhammered so hard her chest hurt. She could barely get her feet to move as she obeyed. Once she was seated on the thick, velvet comforter, she clenched her hands in her lap.

  “On your knees, Selma.” Neal motioned to a spot in front of him, and the woman quickly did as he asked and kept her gaze lowered. He turned to Lyra. “One day you’ll be my First Wife and duties will be required of you in the name of the Light.”

  A buzzing started in Lyra’s ears and she began to tremble.

  “Remove your robe, Selma,” he said, and the woman followed his direction without hesitation.

  Lyra turned away from the sight of the naked woman’s body, but Neal’s harsh order forced her to look at the pair. “You will watch, Lyra. You will not turn away from me again. Do you understand?”

  She gave short, jerky nods. Oh, God, what was he goin
g to do?

  Lyra moved her hands to her sides and gripped the bed’s comforter. Dizziness swept over her as she watched the scene in horror. The buzzing in her ears was so loud she didn’t really hear Neal’s instructions to Selma. The naked woman was on her knees, her upper body stretched out so that her face was against the carpet and her hands were straight above her head.

  Neal knelt behind Selma. He took his dick in his hand, positioned himself, and thrust into the woman. He began pumping in and out of her. Selma didn’t make a sound as Neal used her.

  The desire to puke rose up in Lyra and she had to clench the comforter tighter to keep from clapping her hand over her mouth.

  Because Neal was watching her. The entire time he kept his gaze on Lyra until he finally jerked and his jaw tightened. For a moment he held still, then he slid his limp dick out of Selma’s body and got to his feet.

  “Leave us, Selma,” he said, still watching Lyra.

  After the woman had scrambled to her feet, dressed, hurried out the door, and quietly closed it behind her, Neal approached Lyra. He was still naked and his dick was hardening again. When he reached her he leaned down and grasped her fist.

  “Place your hand on me,” he commanded.

  Lyra and her hand didn’t want to obey. Her body trembled harder and she struggled to open her fist. Neal gave a noise that sounded like an angry growl, and she forced herself to grasp his erection. The moment she felt his sticky penis, she lost it.

  She leaned over and puked all over his burgundy carpet.

  * * *

  Lyra jerked awake with a small cry and a tremor in her body. It took her only a moment to orient herself, especially when Dare squeezed her tighter to him.

  “You all right?” Dare stroked her hair behind her ear. His touch and the way he was pressed against her back almost comforted her. Almost.

  “Fine.” Her voice sounded rusty and like she’d been crying. Lyra pulled herself out of Dare’s embrace and scrambled out of bed.

  Dare had worn only his jeans, and when he sat up in bed her gaze was drawn to his torso as his muscles flexed with his movements. His hair was rumpled and the shadow of his stubble was dark. “Don’t bullshit me.”

  A flash of irritation caused Lyra to narrow her eyes. “I said I’m fine.” She spun and snatched her pack up from the chair she’d left it on and marched into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it.

  After the water was at the right temperature and she’d stripped off her T-shirt, Lyra stepped into the shower. She tipped her head back, letting warm water wash over her face and her body. Some of the remnants of her dream and the exhaustion from the past two days slid away with the water, circling around her feet and down the drain.

  But the dream came back to her, haunting her.

  Neal had backhanded her so hard after she’d thrown up that she’d nearly blacked out. He had jerked her to her feet by her hair and had forced her into the bathroom, where he had her wet a couple of towels. He dragged her back by her hair to the spot where she’d thrown up and then made her clean up the mess. The whole time he shouted at her, telling her he would beat the crap out of her and that he would drug her if she did that again.

  At that moment she hadn’t cared. She’d rather be cleaning up her vomit than touching him.

  But he wasn’t through with her.

  After she finished cleaning, Neal had led her into a small room inside the large Temple, in the opposite direction from his room. A blue glow lit the room, making Neal’s features sharp, and he had looked like she thought the devil would. There had been monitors and computers—things that weren’t allowed in the commune—and no people were around.

  As calm as if the scene before hadn’t happened, Neal had pulled her onto his lap, held her by her waist, and explained her “destiny.” How she was to join with him when she was eighteen and become his new First Wife. How he would impregnate her so that she would carry the “new Messiah.” How that child would grow to adulthood and lead his disciples and The People to spread his message around the world.

  Neal’s penis had grown hard beneath her buttocks, and he had slid his hands from her waist until they parted her robe and his palms rested on her still-developing breasts.

  Terror had risen within her with every word he spoke, and she couldn’t stop shaking. The walls of the small room seemed to close in on her. The acrid smell of plastic and new carpeting, mixed with Neal’s odor of marijuana, had caused bile to rise up in her throat. It had been all she could do to force it down and not throw up again.

  She couldn’t show any more of the intense fear pounding in her body or she knew he would drug her. He had said he wouldn’t “join” with her until she was eighteen because that’s what the “Prophecy” had told him. She was “the Chosen.”

  Lyra closed her eyes and let the hot shower water beat on her face. If only she could get those memories out of her mind.

  Oh, he hadn’t forced her to have intercourse with him, but he did demand that she take off her clothes and give him fellatio. He had thrust into her mouth so hard she had gagged each time. When he came, he made her swallow his semen and she almost threw that up all over him. But the memory of that powerful backhand, the threats of beatings and drugs, had made her keep it all inside until after he left her room. Most of the time she would run into the adjoining bathroom and retch into the toilet.

  And she had cried. And cried.

  Lyra shook her head beneath the shower’s spray, bringing herself back to the present again. No, no, no. I won’t go back to him. I won’t.

  Tears flooded her eyes to be washed away by the warm water. The urge to heave became stronger and stronger and she shuddered with the need. Somehow, she forced it back. She opened her eyes and moved so that her face was no longer under the spray. As if to burn away all the memories of what he’d done to her, she turned the shower knob until the water was hotter and then hotter yet.

  She tried to concentrate on other things, like washing her hair. She worked out some of the temporary dye, but she knew it would be a good two weeks before it was all out. She’d just have to be a redhead for a while.

  Her thoughts kept returning to the nightmare, and her stomach felt like a sandstorm was there, stinging and harsh inside her.

  Lyra closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. She took a deep breath and finally pushed all thoughts from her mind. She concentrated on soaping her body, the clean scent invigorating her senses but burning her skinned palms. Her ass still ached from when she’d fallen, but the pain was really no big deal.

  When she finished her shower and toweled off, she slipped into a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans she drew out of her backpack. She brushed her teeth, then scrubbed her face with a wet washcloth. Her hair hung wet and limp around her face, so she used the hotel blow dryer and her brush to dry it into a smooth bob. Now she just looked like herself again, except with short red hair instead of longish blond. She sighed. So much for her disguise.

  That thought only led her back to the dream, and her stomach churned again.

  After she stuffed all her belongings into her pack, she took a deep breath and let herself out of the bathroom. She was done with nightmares and thinking of the past. She was prepared to face the day.

  Dare reclined on the bed, still only in his jeans, his hands clasped behind his head. From the sound of it he was apparently watching a news program, but he turned his attention to her when she walked out of the bathroom. She tossed her pack on the floor beside the door as she looked at him.

  “Morning, beautiful.” He rose and swung his legs over the side of the bed. She met him halfway across the room and he took her by her upper arms and brushed his lips over hers.

  “I’m sorry for being so cranky,” Lyra whispered. “It was just a bad dream.”

  He drew back and looked down at her. “Hey. No apologies necessary.”

  “Thank you.” She managed a little smile. Dang, but she liked this man. More than liked him. “Time to take y
our own shower, cowboy.”

  He rubbed his knuckles across her cheek. “Good try.”

  His hand against her skin felt so good. “What do you mean?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “You’ll take off again as soon as I turn my back,” he said as he stroked her.

  “I’ll stay.” She raised her crossed fingers. “I promise.”

  He shook his head.

  Her lips turned up in a broader smile, and she held out her little finger. “Pinkie swear?”

  This time he raised an eyebrow.

  “Raise your hand like mine,” she said. He gave her an odd look but obeyed. She crooked her finger around his and squeezed. “I pinkie swear to you that I won’t leave. ’K?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said as he released his finger from hers.

  “Really.” Lyra placed her hands on her hips. “Kara and I always used to do that and we never broke our promises to one another.” Sadness rolled through her and her shoulders slumped. “She was my best friend…before.”

  Dare took her head in his hands and pressed a kiss to her head. “Be right back.” He released her, grabbed his duffel, went into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

  Leaving her completely alone. Alone to do whatever she wanted.

  Lyra forced herself to look away from the door of their hotel room. She’d told him she would stay. Other people had made so many promises to her and had broken them. She tried to always keep hers. When she left him yesterday morning, she hadn’t made any kind of promise. This time she had.

  Dare was in the bathroom, door closed, trusting her. He trusted her.

  She wondered about how strong and determined he was to keep The People away from her…and how that made her feel safe.

  While she heard the shower run, she sat on the edge of the bed and watched the news. She half-expected to see a picture of herself as a missing person with Neal claiming she was mentally unstable and kidnapped or something. She wouldn’t put it past him.