EnemyMine (3 page)

The thought that he might be dead hurt her in ways she
didn’t want to ponder too deeply, but she couldn’t help herself.

Was Emory alive? Had he managed to make it out before her
family destroyed him?

Humiliation and regret assailed her. She’d been too afraid
of what Emory was to stick around and plead for his life. When she’d witnessed
the claws that extended from his fingers and the way his face had changed
shape, she’d screamed, backed away from him and then…

You ran. That’s what you did. Like a coward. And look
what it got you. A drab life in a no-name town doing something you hate. If
he’s not dead, he’ll detest you. He told you he had secrets, things he wasn’t
ready to share. You were the one who wanted to know everything about him. The
minute he showed you what he truly was, you lost it and turned your back on
him.

She sighed and shook her head. Emory might have scared her—
terrified
her
—but deep down some part of her had known he’d never hurt her. Each time
she thought about the way she’d treated him when he’d changed before her
eyes—the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d screamed in horror—she died a
little on the inside.

During her time at the farm, when her uncle had tried to
bring her into his sick and twisted flock of followers, she’d learned a lot
about shifters. They’d watched her with curious stares, as if they could tell
she wasn’t a threat. Her uncle had tormented them but she’d always looked away,
unable to bring herself to watch. Determined to do something, she’d staged a
plan to release the shifters who were captive in the large building on the back
of the family property. Even after she’d set the shifters free they’d never
touched her or displayed any sign of aggression. They’d simply took the gift
for what it was, running for their lives.

Although one choice they’d made had meant she would suffer
for their escape.

Forcing her into a cage and leaving her behind had been
worse than if they’d beaten her within an inch of her life. Her uncle bestowed
the punishment he felt his foolish niece deserved when he found out what she’d
done. She’d never experienced true pain until Elijah took his pound of flesh as
payment for her actions. She’d never imagined such agony was possible.

As she stretched to place a can in its proper place, she
felt the tightness along her back, the way her skin fought to stretch but
couldn’t quite do it. The cane Elijah had beaten her with had left several
scars—all of them deep and requiring stitches. Some were so bad she could feel
them when she moved, a constant reminder of what would happen if Elijah got his
hands on her again. This time he wouldn’t leave scars.

He’d put her six feet under.

Trapped in her musings, she didn’t notice the box of canned
corn at her feet until she tripped over it and landed on her ass. Biting back a
curse, she rubbed her sore posterior.

Hello, floor, have we been properly introduced? No? Well,
nice to meet you.

The night was quickly taking a downward turn.

A high-pitched chime echoed throughout the store, indicating
a customer had walked inside Food Town. Mary frowned and glanced down the
aisle. Store hours were from seven to seven. Everyone in the community knew
that. Hermer was bad about forgetting to lock the doors after hours but it
didn’t matter since people didn’t want to go toe-to-toe with the grumpy old
man.

“We’re closed,” Hermer snapped in the distance. “You can
come back during regular store hours.”

“Secure the exits,” a deep voice instructed, as if Hermer
hadn’t spoken. “She’s in here somewhere.”

An odd poofing noise was immediately followed by another.
Seconds passed and it sounded like someone was lowering something to the
ground. Rolling until she was on her stomach, she placed her cheek against the
cold concrete and peered through the thin gap between the last shelf and the
floor. When she saw Hermer’s face with a bloody hole in the center of his
forehead her world shattered into a million pieces. Standing within inches of
her now dead boss were boots—
Ropers
—the brand of footwear Shepherds
around the world idolized. The style varied but never the brand, and she’d seen
enough of them to recognize the damn things on the spot.

Shepherds were here, and they’d just put a bullet in
Hermer’s brain.

Dear God, be merciful.

How had they found her?

Her mind was a mess, panic overriding common sense. Her
quaking limbs made it impossible to stand, so she started crawling down the
aisle toward the rear of the building. She’d prepared for this, had thought
about this moment so many times she should have instinctively clicked into
autopilot. She had a bag packed with all the things she needed to keep moving
and start over. All she had to do was stay calm, follow the plan and keep her
wits about her.

“She’s here.”

Mary glanced over her shoulder at the man who’d spoken. He
had a gun in hand and was staring at her. There were only yards separating
them.

So much for staying calm.

Once she had her legs under her she bolted for the back
doors that led to the storage area and offices of the store. She could hear the
Shepherds behind her and knew if they caught up with her it was game over.
Ducking under a lower area of roofing, she hooked a quick right. As soon as she
made it into the tiny room used as a storm shelter she closed the door, locked
it and tossed the thick wood beam into the metal slot that would keep the
barrier between her and the Shepherds firmly in place.

The door vibrated as it took a pounding from the opposite
side. Knowing she had little time, she rushed to the wall next to the door. One
of the perks of being paid under the table was she was given an easy escape
route if the Department of Industrial Relations paid an unexpected visit. She
opened the hidden panel, slid inside and closed it quietly behind her. She
didn’t know how long she had, maybe another minute, before the bathroom door
would be broken down.

She tiptoed as she climbed the stairs that would take her
out of the building. Once she made it to the roof she ran as fast as she could
to the fire escape. Her body was shaking and it was difficult to think clearly
but she knew she had to get to her apartment. Just fifteen minutes—or less—and
she’d have her things. Afterward she could decide her next move.

It felt like it took forever to make it to her building,
dash up the stairs and get inside her apartment. For once she didn’t let terror
win. Her things were in the closet so she retrieved them. Clothes, money,
identification and the papers from her parents were all inside her duffel.
Knowing she might need it, she snagged a hoodie and shrugged it on. When she
finished and was glancing around to make sure she didn’t need anything else,
large hands wrapped around her biceps.

“Mary.”

She didn’t recognize the voice, so she did the only thing
she could—she ripped free of the hold, fisted the handles of the duffel and
rushed to the window. She fought when the man reached for her again. He was
covered in shadow but she could see portions of his face. His dark hair crept
over his forehead and the shadow across his jaw indicated he hadn’t shaved in
days. His urban attire—black leather coat, faded jeans and biker boots—told her
he wasn’t a Shepherd, but that didn’t mean anything. Her uncle could have paid
someone to come after her, hiring a mercenary to get the job done.

The man’s grip on her arms increased until she gasped in
pain. He loosened his hold and looked her in the eye. “Calm down. I’m not going
to hurt you.”

The room felt as if it shook from floor to ceiling as the
door to her apartment burst off the hinges. The man in front of her immediately
let go, turned and faced the intruders. These Shepherds also had guns, and the
barrels were targeted directly at the man standing between her and danger.

“Use the bedroom window,” the man growled. “Get out. Help is
waiting. They’ll find you.”

Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue but there was no
time to ask them. The windowpanes had been broken apart—undoubtedly by the man
in her apartment—making it easy for her to climb through. She felt a hand swipe
at her head and jumped to the side. An ear-splitting roar made the hair on her
nape prickle and stand on end. When she glanced back the Shepherds were too
busy protecting themselves to use their guns on the man who was in the process
of kicking their asses.

The solid railing of the old metal fire escape allowed her
to slide to the bottom of the structure instead of stepping down. Despite the
speed of her departure, the sounds of fighting were so close she knew she
didn’t stand a chance if she didn’t get away. She was only delaying the
inevitable. Left with no other option, she did the only thing she could.

The moment her feet hit the ground, she started running. And
as she did, she released a bloodcurdling scream.

The shrill sound was loud in her ears, so out of place at
three o’clock in the morning when everyone in the apartment building next to
hers was sleeping. If she was going down, she wasn’t doing so quietly. Let the
sadistic assholes on her heels work for their blood for a change.

In fact…

She changed direction, running for the main road thorough
the small shopping center. Why hide when she could scream for help in the open?
It was late so she wasn’t surprised she didn’t see any lights coming on or people
rushing outside. But it didn’t matter. Her thoughts were focused on making it
to the street. If luck was on her side, someone would be traveling this late at
night.

Maybe her good fortune would continue to hold.

Any hope she had died when something grabbed a handful of
her hair, an arm wrapped around her waist and she went down. She hit the ground
hard, landing on her duffel and scraping her chin along the road. The weight of
her assailant pinned her to the ground. Regardless of her chances of gaining freedom,
she struggled. She wasn’t ready to die. There was so much she hadn’t seen. So
much she wanted to do.

The weight vanished and the hand in her hair tightened,
causing her scalp to burn. “On your feet.”

It was awkward, rising with fingers twined in her hair. When
she finally stood, fisting the handles of her bag so tight the material bit
sharply into her palm, she saw the men directly in front of her. Her heart
slammed into her throat, blocking her intake of air, making it difficult to
breathe. Shepherds formed a semicircle around her, and she knew her number had
been called. They were all dressed the same in brown dusters, button-down
shirts and Stetsons that created shadows around their eyes. She didn’t
recognize any of them, so they had to have been sent from another farm or
compound. She knew her uncle wanted her dead. She just hadn’t banked on how far
he would go to get the job done.

Did she run? Scream? Try to fight?

Dismally, she realized the answers were no, no and no. She’d
only give them a reason to kill her faster. Her heart hammered in her chest,
the will to live battling her compulsion to end her suffering before it
started. Maybe it was better if they killed her now. Elijah wasn’t with them so
they obviously planned to take her to him. Her body quaked in fear when she
thought of the ways he’d make her suffer. She knew what her uncle was capable
of. If he wanted, he could extend her anguish for days.

A van pulled off the road and drove toward them. The
Shepherds in front of her turned and started walking toward the vehicle.

Transportation had arrived.

This is it, the final showdown.

She brought her free hand to her head and grasped the
fingers of the man gripping her hair. When she had a good idea of where his
wrist was located, she buried her fingernails in his flesh, clawing like a
crazed alley cat. He released her hair, which gave her the opportunity she’d
been hoping for. She ran as hard and as fast as she ever had in her life. The
only sounds she could hear were muted shouts from behind her. The fence barring
her path to an alley was one she’d scaled before, and she was damn grateful
she’d practiced climbing and jumping over it when she reached the chain-link
obstacle. After she tossed her bag over the side, she hoisted herself to the
top and jumped over it.

“Shoot her!” someone yelled. “Elijah will understand why we
didn’t bring her in. Her soul is lost. She’s damned.”

The same airy poofing noises she’d heard in the store seemed
to buzz past her when she retrieved the duffel and took off. Then she felt a
sharp slice on the side of her head. It was impossible to run when she crumbled
to the ground. She had to use one of her hands to keep her balance, placing her
palm on the ground. Warm wetness coated her scalp and dripped down her face.
Lifting her free hand, she touched the oozing pool of blood coming from her
head. Everything became hazy as the world started to spin and distort, as if
she were floating on a rotating cloud.

She fell forward, landing on the unrelenting hardness of the
pavement. Warmth bloomed from the wound in her head, blood spreading like
thick, hot paint through her hair. She didn’t notice the shouts from the men
chasing her or the odd snarls and growls that accompanied them. All she could
think about was how cold it had become, how weak she suddenly felt and how much
she wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep.

“Kill them all!” a hoarse voice thundered. “We don’t have
time to fuck around. Get your woman. We have to leave.”

Footsteps approached but she couldn’t run—not like this. She
waited for her end, to meet death with her pride intact. Unexpected, gentle
hands turned her over so that she was no longer facedown on the dirty concrete.
She blinked several times to bring the face of the man staring down at her into
focus, to get a glimpse of the person who would see her life come to an end.