Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance(9)

We find a paper bag in the kitchen. As we rush towards the living room, my foot slams into something hard and I almost trip. I’ve been trying not to look at the dead faces and blood that’s all around me, but my eyes dart down. I see blood, fuck there’s so much! Then recognition sinks hard to the pit of my stomach. It’s Steven! I recoil back with revulsion.

“Don’t start that shit now. We need to get out of here,” Predator snaps at me. He nudges me forward and with shaking hands I help him shove the camera and memory cards into the bag.

He grabs my hand again and pulls me out the front door. I look straight ahead of me and then I see grass. I yank free and rush forward as if I’ve finally been set free. Once I’m off the porch, I run as fast as my trembling legs can move.

I don’t get far before my legs give way and I eat gravel, not grass. I didn’t even make it that far.

I’m too scared to move.

I’m too petrified to look back at what’s coming.

I hear the gravel crunch behind me and my heart sinks. My insides drop and I start to cry. I sob because not even God will help me.

“Cara.” My head snaps up at the sound of my name. It’s the way he says it, as if he actually cares. It sounds comforting. “It’s time to go. You’re safe now.”

When he crouches next to me, I get my first good look at him. His dark brown hair is short and neat, shaved at the sides. His face is grim and hard, with a beard that only makes him look grisly and dark. He looks like he’s made of stone. Then I see his eyes, gray eyes. Ferocious eyes.

I drop my eyes from his. He definitely has eyes that see everything, just like the walls I was trapped between saw everything.

For a moment emotions threaten to bubble up, to drown me in the horror of what has been done to me, but I close my eyes and focus on the emptiness that’s blackening my soul. I’d rather take the empty feelings over the memories of the nightmare I’ve been living through.

“We’re going to leave now. Can you walk?’ he asks, ripping me from my dark thoughts. I try to get up but what adrenaline I had is gone now. “Okay, no walking then,” he says. His arms slip under me and he lifts me. I feel small in his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, but I feel small because there’s nothing left of the person I once was.

He walks and I don’t even care where, as long as it’s far from the container.

It feels like I’m shutting down, my mind, my body, my soul – every piece of me is tired of fighting.

“You’re safe. I have you now,” are the last words I hear.





Damian~

I watch as she slowly comes to. I’ve done this so many times, it should be second nature by now – but it never gets easier.

Most of the people I’m sent to extract from shit holes, like the one I found Cara in, lose their shit instantly. They cry, they rage, they puke. Fuck, they puke a lot, but you can’t blame them. It’s their body’s way of dealing with the shock.

I usually only stay with them for a day, before I hand them over to the person who sent me in to get them. But not this one – I have to keep her for a while, make sure she’s safe. Her uncle sent me and I’ll have to twist the truth a little so she never finds out why.

I have to teach her how to be a ghost so she won’t get caught again. That should be the hardest part if everything goes according to plan.

Her eyes flutter open and they look foggy with confusion. She has ginger hair that’s dirty and all over the place. Her eyes are green and the red of her hair only makes the color stand out more. But it’s that face that makes her easy to spot. I can see she’s a real beauty, even under all the bruising. She has a fragile kind of beauty, the kind that wants to make you protect her, but still they beat the shit out of her.

It’s easy for me to kill, I just point and shoot. It’s either them or me, but I’d never be able to hit a woman, especially one who looks like Cara. I feel a wave of satisfaction, almost like I’m on a high for killing those fuckers.

I used to get the high every time I saved someone, with every bullet I fired, and with every dead body that dropped to the ground. But after doing this for years the high went away and a coldness took over. It became a clinical thing to do. Go in and get the target … and leave no witnesses alive.

Sometimes, I have to call on Jeff to help. He’s old and looks harmless, but that man can still hold his own in a fight since he’s been retired from the FBI. He loves to get his hands dirty, to dig his way right into the heart of the hell hole. He checks things out; like how many men, the layout, how hard it will be to extract the target. When he has all the info, he gets it to me and then I go in for the kill.

I only trust Jeff because he was the one who gave me my first job. We’ve been working together for twelve years. Fuck, it feels like a life time.

She clears her throat, grabbing my attention. They did a real number on her. Her face is busted, swollen jaw, black eyes. I cringe when I see the burn on her cheek. That bullet was way too close. I take solace in the fact that she’s alive, and that the fucker who was coming up behind her is dead. The burn will heal.

“You’re awake. Good,” I say. I keep my voice neutral as always. I can’t give the target a sliver of emotion to latch onto. It’s one thing if I only have them for a day, then I usually prepare them for when whoever hired me comes to claim them. But if they have to stay with me for longer than a day, which is rare, I keep things neutral. It’s easier for everyone if there are no emotions involved.