Chosen Prey (12 page)

In a quick maneuver, Dare whipped the car around the stand of trees and onto a road that had been nonexistent from the highway. It didn't even look like a road. Barely two ruts that caused the car to pitch and rumble as he drove. It was a wonder if he wasn't beating up the sports car.

Lyra let out a long exhale, released her death grip on the door handle, and sank down in her seat. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry." Dare swung the vehicle around more trees where there didn't appear to be a road. They followed a brief dirt road and then whipped around in the opposite direction from where the other road was going and vanished behind more trees.

Everything seemed to blur by. "Your friend must be paranoid."

Dare laughed. "He likes his privacy."

"He sure has it."

They passed nothing but trees, bushes, and more trees and bushes until Dare pulled up to a grove of them and stopped the car. She wasn't surprised when he said, "Grab your gear. We're at Nick's."

She reached behind her for her backpack, which had slid to one side of the seat, likely from all the twisting and turning. "That Nick must be one weird guy."

Dare snorted. "I'll be sure and let him know."

Lyra grabbed the handle of her pack. "Don't you even go there."

When they had their stuff, he made sure the car was locked. "Just in case someone came by."

Like that could ever happen. She could imagine the guy who lived here as a recluse with a beard and a neurotic look in his eyes.

Lyra followed Dare around the copse of trees, and at first she didn't see the cabin. She had to do a double take. It was built onto the side of the mountain and made of wood that blended well into the trees, a large cabin with a three-car garage. Interesting. She had to admit the sprawling "cabin" was beautiful, all glass and wood. Clean breezes carried the scent of oak and wild-flowers… And the smell of freedom.

They climbed up a porch and he flipped through the keys on his key chain until he found an odd-looking silver key. When they reached the door he poked the key into an even odder-looking lock. She stepped back when she heard a high-pitched beeping sound.

Dare pulled out the strange key and pushed the door open.

Once they were finally inside and walked through the entryway, she was shocked to see how enormous the home was. A great room with an open-beamed ceiling opened up the whole area, and big skylights highlighted the furniture in forest greens, maroons, and navy blues. Throw rugs were scattered across gleaming wooden floors. An entertainment center took up a good portion of one wall with a huge plasma-screen TV, and a wet bar was off to the side. Through a large archway to the right she saw an expansive kitchen with copper-bottomed pots hanging from a rack above a kitchen island. To her left was a smaller archway with stairs and a sturdy oak handrail.

Dare hung his Stetson on a rack near the door that had a couple of other western hats on it, then headed to the archway to the left. She grabbed onto the rail as she followed Dare down a set of polished wooden stairs that opened up into a spacious hallway. "His home's too neat to be a guy's place."

"Nick's a neat freak." Dare looked down at her with amusement in his eyes. "Just don't touch anything and you'll be safe."

"Well, that's encouraging." As they reached the bottom of the stairs Lyra hefted her pack higher, then walked down the wide hallway with Dare. "So this Nick guy is a weird, paranoid neat freak."

A huge man stepped out into the hallway a few feet in front of them.

Lyra gasped and came to an abrupt stop.

"Nick." Dare continued walking and reached out to grasp the man's hand and shook it.

She barely heard them exchange words of greeting as she looked at the man, taking in his vivid blue eyes and drop-dead gorgeous features—yet he had a harsh, unyielding look to him, too. He wore a tight black T-shirt that showed a physique even more powerful than Dare's, and that was saying something. Nick's blue jeans fit him snugly, and he had incredibly muscular thighs. He wore cowboy boots that were scuffed and obviously well broken in.

When she managed to close her mouth, her gaze finally met his piercing blue eyes.

"Weird, paranoid neat freak?" he said in a deep Texan drawl.

"Ummmm…" Lyra swallowed and her face was so hot it must have been brilliant red.

Dare slapped Nick on the back. "She's got you pegged."

Nick raised an eyebrow. The way he was looking at her made Lyra want to fall straight through the floor. Then the corner of his mouth quirked into a grin and she almost dropped her backpack.

He raked his gaze over Lyra from head to toe. "One room or two?"

Heat flushed through her again and she was thankful when Dare said, "Two."

Nick turned and escorted them down the hall. She couldn't help but notice what a fine ass the man had—almost as nice as Dare's. Nick showed Dare where to stow his stuff in one room. Lyra bit her lower lip as she followed Nick alone to the next door.

He paused in the doorway before she could get by and he glanced in the direction of Dare's room before looking back at her. "Doubt you'll be needing the room, sugar," he said in his drawl. "But you can put your gear in here."

Lyra didn't know which emotion she felt more at that moment. Embarrassment at what he'd caught her saying or anger at his assumptions.
Sugar, my ass
.

What she ended up feeling was relief when he moved out of the doorway and let her pass.

"Lunch in thirty minutes," he said, and turned away. "Don't be late."

The moment he was out of the doorway, Lyra shut the door—perhaps a little
too
hard—tossed her stuff on a chair, and plunged face-first onto the quilted bedspread. She groaned. That would teach her to make assumptions.

Carrying the scent of pine and cedar, wind whooshed through the trees surrounding the compound, sounding like the roar of the ocean. Neal's robe flapped around his ankles and his long hair whipped against his face as he strode through the ordered maze of tents with one single-minded purpose.

He was so pissed at his men's failures to capture Lyra that he knew exactly who to extract payment from.

When he reached Sara Collins's tent, Neal found the woman where he'd expected.

Lyra's mother was sitting beside several other women, knitting clothing for her daughter's baby.

Before Sara had the opportunity to look up, Neal grabbed a handful of her graying hair and yanked her to her feet. Whatever she'd been working on tumbled to the ground. He forced her to follow him through the compound while he maintained a grip on her hair. Her feet tangled in her robe and she stumbled, but Neal's hold on her didn't fail.

When he reached a larger tent, he dragged Sara through the flap. He released her hair and backhanded her so hard she fell face-first onto the canvas floor.

She didn't move. Didn't make a sound. Smart bitch. Knew she couldn't move until she had permission and she'd be punished if she so much as whimpered.

After they stepped into the almost bare room, Neal said, "On your knees. Facing me."

Sara slowly pushed herself to her knees and scooted around until she faced him but didn't look up.

"I'm beyond pissed at your daughter," Neal said.

He planted his sandaled foot straight into Sara's midsection and she flew back, her head striking the hard floor again.

Sara's eyes closed. Blood dripped beneath her nose and onto her lips. The skin around one of her eyes was swollen and would probably turn black. At one time Sara had been confused and actually asked to leave when Lyra disappeared. But Neal had taught her a lesson that day, too. Once with the Temple of Light, there was no leaving.

"When Lyra is home, you're going to help me keep her here. If she leaves again, you
will
be punished." Neal smiled. "Severely. She's going to fulfill her destiny as mother of the new Messiah."

Neal added softly, "And when he's old enough, the Messiah will be by my side and he will lead our people so that all will know the power of the Light."

The flap of the tent rustled. Neal startled and turned. His son stood behind him, an expression of shock on his pale features as his gaze locked with his father's.

Fuck.

How much had his son heard?

Jason's voice trembled as he asked, "What did you say, Father?"

Shit
. "Nothing." Neal cleared his throat as he went to Jason. He clapped his son on the back and gave him a winning smile. "Are the men assembled?"

The shock on Jason's face finally faded to an expression of calm and his color returned. "Yes, Father."

"Very good." Neal gave his son a nod of approval. "Is everything ready for Ryan's punishment?"

"Yes, Father," Jason replied. His face had become a mask, no expression on his features, and he sounded almost like a robot when he said,
Yes, Father
.

Neal turned to Sara and scowled. "Get back to work."

Sara's words came out as a croak. "Yes, Prophet."

Neal ducked out of the tent, followed by Jason, then Neal and his son walked side by side toward the back of the compound.

"One thing I have yet to teach you," Neal said as he walked with his son, "is how to control The People." He looked at his son, who glanced at him. They were of equal height, so he looked right into his son's gaze before turning back to their path. "I feed their addictions, their obsessions."

"What?" Jason said. "How?"

"Take Mark for example." Neal ruffled the hair of a little girl who was about five before he continued walking. "I pulled him off the street. He was a drug addict."

Jason narrowed his eyes when Neal glanced at him. "But Mark doesn't do drugs,"

Jason said.

"Exactly. I have given him a new addiction, a new obsession." Neal paused for impact.

"Me."

This time Jason came to a full stop and Neal faced his son. "What do you mean, Father?"

Neal clapped one of his hands on Jason's shoulder. "He relies on me, worships me even. He desires no more than to please me and to be my second."

Jason looked as if he was going over Neal's words in his mind. "I see. Control the people's addictions, and control them."

Neal gifted his son with a broad smile and squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand away. "I'll teach you how to control every man in the Temple of Light."

They began walking again and Jason gestured toward the arena. "What's Ryan's addiction?"

"His is simple," Neal said. "He's an alcoholic."

Surprise edged Jason's reply. "But no alcohol is allowed anywhere in the compound."

"I ensured that Ryan got his whiskey." Neal scowled. "Until he fucked up."

Jason cleared his throat. "What about me? What's my addiction? I don't smoke. I don't drink. How do you control me?"

A slow burn mixed with an unidentifiable ache rose within Neal. He clasped Jason's wrist and studied him with a calculating expression. "You're my son. You're like me. We have no addictions."

Without waiting for a response, Neal released Jason's wrist and continued walking toward the arena, letting the lie settle between them. His son was addicted to praise and the willingness to do whatever it took to get that praise from his father.

When they arrived at the large, open arena, all but the entryway was filled with the men and boys, children of the Light.

An X-shaped cross headed the far end of the arena.

Disbelievers might call it a Saint Andrew's cross, but it was in fact one of the symbols of the Light.

Strapped face-first to the cross, naked from the waist up, was Ryan Holstead, the asshole responsible for involving the PI, and the reason Lyra had managed to escape.

Twice.

Jason stopped inside the ring of male spectators.

Neal paused and looked at his son. The boy was so handsome, like himself. "It's time you show your leadership qualities," Neal said. "The men need to see that you are my eyes and ears when I'm occupied with other matters, and that you'll deal out punishment when it's necessary."

Jason paled again. "What do you want me to do, Father?"

"Come." Neal walked from the crowd to the open arena. Jason hesitated, then followed.

When they stood within feet of the sonofabitch, Neal saw Ryan trembling so hard his body twitched. Neal said just low enough and close enough that only Ryan could hear,

"You may have cost us the future of our people."

"I live only to serve the Light." Ryan sounded as if he was crying.

Good.

"You have displeased the Light," Neal said loud enough that his voice boomed and reached the males of all ages surrounding them.

He turned and saw his men with stoic expressions on their faces. The only males who weren't attending were the armed guards surrounding the perimeter fence and stationed at the gate. From where they stood in front of the fence, men wearing fatigues and bearing AK-47s and M249s faced the crowd. More armed guards were stationed on the other side of the fence. The people were protected from the inside out.

The Light's believers remained silent, so silent that only the occasional low of a cow and clucking of chickens could be heard.

"Our brother has committed a most heinous crime against the Light and all we have faith in and believe in." Neal let his powerful voice resonate through the crowd. "He must be taught a lesson."

Neal gestured to Joe, who immediately stepped forward, grasping a long black bullwhip in one fist. He bowed when he offered the whip to Neal, grip first.

He gave Joe a curt nod, indicating that he should return to his place in the crowd. The man bowed again and did as he was silently ordered to do.

Keeping his expression grim, Neal turned to his son and offered him the whip. Jason hesitated, his face even paler. When he finally reached for the whip, Neal saw that Jason's hand shook. Neal frowned. His son was twenty-five and this task should be performed without a second thought. Perhaps he hadn't been firm enough in his son's education.

When Jason fisted the whip, Neal turned his attention to the crowd. "Jason is officially my first in command. If I am unavailable to deal with situations such as this, from this point on, Jason will."

He nodded to Jason, whose expression was stoic, but his lips tightened in a thin line and his face was as pale as wax. He bowed to Neal, then faced Ryan's back.

In the open arena, the heat of the July sunshine beat upon Ryan's pale flesh and sweat trickled down his spine and into the gap between his skin and his jeans.

Neal stepped away to give Jason room to perform his task. He had been trained in the use of a bullwhip since he was a child.

Jason clenched his empty fist at his side. His other fist gripped the bullwhip. His jaw tightened. For too long of a moment he didn't move, and Neal narrowed his gaze. To show any weakness wasn't acceptable. He would have to discuss that fact with his son. Later.

Jason extended his arm. He hesitated again.

With a sudden look of determination, he snapped the whip at Ryan's back, breaking the man's skin. Blood welled from the bright red welt. A stifled moan came from Ryan. He knew his punishment would be far more severe if he cried out.

Jason struck Ryan again.

Too slow.

Then again.

And then Jason began whipping Ryan hard and fast, as if Neal's fury were his own.

Neal watched his son's face, which had gone from pale to scarlet. Anger burned in his eyes, and he bared his teeth.

Ryan's skin became a bloody mass, but Jason didn't stop.

"Enough," Neal said.

It was two more strikes of the bullwhip before Jason stopped. Ryan's sobs were low enough that Neal barely heard them.

But Neal was more concerned with how hard his son's body shook. The sweat running down his crimson face. The rage in his eyes. The heaviness of his breathing.

Neal turned away from his son and addressed the crowd. "Manuel and Ernie, cut the man down. Take him to his wife to be treated."

Without bothering to look at the men who passed by him, Neal continued speaking to the crowd. "We are blessed to be the children of the Light and to learn from our mistakes."

"Praise the Light," one man called out, and the others followed until the mob shouted in unison, "Praise the Light. Praise the Light!"