Heavy Metal (A Goddesses Rising Novel) (Entangled Select) (4 page)

Sam tossed up his hands. “What did you think you’d get from me? You need a protector. You need people who can teach you how to use your abilities properly. I can’t do either.”

“You did a pretty good job last night,” she said softly. “You’re exactly what I wanted. Someone who can tell me the truth but who won’t have an agenda.”

But Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, Riley. You need more than me. I’ll call the Society for you, and John, the head of the Protectorate. It’s only about three hours up to Boston. You should head straight there. They
can
help you.” He stretched to pull open a drawer under the counter and retrieved a pen and piece of paper. “I’ll write the directions for you. Do you have GPS?”

Disappointed defiance drove her to say, “I don’t have a car.”

Sam looked up. “What?”

“It was stolen yesterday when I was inside paying for gas. The police said it’s been happening a lot around here, so I don’t think it’s connected.”

Sam whistled. “Life has really been kicking you in the teeth, hasn’t it? Do they think they’ll find your car?”

“They wouldn’t commit, but they found the others. Joyriders, I guess. I’m supposed to check in with them today. My phone was in the car so they can’t exactly contact me with updates.”

He eyed her shirt, the same one she’d worn the night before. “I imagine all your stuff was in the car, too.”

“What isn’t in storage, yeah.”

He wiggled the pencil, thinking. “All right. Since there’s a chance they’ll recover the car, you probably won’t want to leave immediately. But here’s the information you’ll need when you do.” He finished scribbling on the paper and handed it to her. Riley stuck it in her pocket, avoiding the temptation to crumple it into a ball.

“When you get to the Society, ask for Kirsten. She’s the education coordinator. She and Alana, the executive director, can help you figure out your lineage and sign you up for classes, and John will assign you a protector. I’m going to see if he has someone in the area who can go up with you.” He looked around as if searching for something. When his gaze landed on his phone on the counter, he stood to get it.

“Sam, wait.” She stood, too, her sneaker squeaking on the linoleum. “I’m not going to Boston. I’m not letting some strange guy take me anywhere. And I’m sorry—you obviously trust these people, but I can’t. Frankly, they sound like a cult.”

Sam snorted. “I promise you, I’d never send you up there if I didn’t honestly believe they could help you.” He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. His expression went shrewd, which put Riley on alert. “You won’t take my word at face value, I get that. But why take your family’s instead? Especially when they withheld information from you, and you don’t even know why they hated the Society so much. Don’t you want to make up your own mind?”

Riley ground her teeth. Damn him for figuring out the right buttons to push. Of course she wanted to make up her own mind. But would the Society actually help her? “Every feud has two sides. How do I know they don’t hate my family as much as my family hated them?”

“They might not know anything about your family,” Sam countered. “You said your mother and grandmother had no abilities.”

“They knew. Grandma complained about the way they treated her, and she told me I was lucky I never had to endure it.”

Sam’s lips compressed. “I don’t know what went on. I can’t promise anything. But there are different people running things now. There’s no big list of people to shun posted on the wall.”

Riley almost laughed, but remembering her grandmother’s words dredged up another fear, one she’d always attributed to a child’s imagination. Boogeymen and monsters under the bed. But her abilities were real, and… “You said that metal is a rare source.”

Sam nodded. “Sources are usually more natural. Plants, crystals, water—there’s a lot of water-based power. Rain, the ocean, rivers, even sometimes standing water, like puddles. The sun. The moon.” A funny expression crossed his face, gone before she could identify it. “Metals exist in nature, but you’re using processed metal. It’s concentrated, so it gives you a lot more power. Without guidance and training, that can be dangerous.”

“Yeah, so can experimentation. How do I know they won’t lock me up to run tests on me? Maybe those people who came after me last night were sent by the Society.”

Now Sam outright laughed. “That’s not what the Society does, Riley. It’s the Society for Goddess Education and Defense. Their purpose is to help you, not hurt you.”

Riley folded her arms, mirroring his stance, and stared him down. “So why aren’t you there anymore?”

His amusement disappeared and his face went blank.

A familiar chill returned, banishing the little bit of hope he’d generated. “See? You were helping with their ‘education’ program.” She made air quotes and tucked her hands back into the crooks of her elbows. “So why’d you quit? You were a protector, too, weren’t you?”

“Wow.” Sam set his phone back on the counter and raised his eyebrows at her. “You did that much research on me?”

“Well, yeah.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was trying to decide if I could—who I could trust. You seemed the least dangerous from the start, but I wanted to make sure. You left the job with the Society,
and
left the Protectorate, and now you’re working in a
bar
. Why?”

Sam shook his head. “It has nothing to do with the organization and everything to do with me. Look, let me just call them. You can talk to them yourself. Make up your own mind.”

She didn’t know what else to do, and she couldn’t argue with his logic anymore. She pursed her lips and met his gaze head on. “Fine. All right.”

But when he picked up the cheap little cell phone and flipped it open, her stomach churned and bile crept up the back of her throat. She stood on a precipice, and she knew the leap she was about to make would change her whole life.

Chapter Three

Vulnerability is a counterpart to power. The stronger the goddess, the greater a target she becomes when the source of her abilities is inaccessible. Our mission is to ensure no goddess suffers at the hands of the greedy, ignorant, or malicious.

—The Protectorate
, Mission Manual

Sam stared at the car, appalled. “This is yours?”

They stood in the impound lot, surrounded by sports cars and fifteen-year-old, stripped-down sedans interspersed with pimped-out drug-mobiles. After winning the battle to call the Society, Sam hadn’t been able to reach anyone. It was too early for anyone to be at the office, and even John hadn’t answered his phone, which was unusual. His message provided Nick’s number for emergencies, so Sam had decided they could wait a few hours. As Riley had pointed out, he
was
trained as a protector.

Luckily, her call to the police had been more productive. They’d found her car overnight, just a few miles from where it had been stolen.

Riley opened the car’s little trunk, looked satisfied, and closed it again. “Everything’s here.”

“You can tell that at a glance?”

“I don’t have that much, and the big suitcase is locked.” She opened the driver’s door and slid in, one foot on the ground. “It all looks okay. Phone’s here, too.” She pocketed the battered, cheap, little flip phone—so similar to Sam’s he couldn’t help but notice. “Assholes spilled soda on the console, though.” She glowered at it, but Sam still couldn’t get past what she was driving.

“It’s a Beetle.”

“Yes, Sam, it’s a Beetle.”

“But it’s not even the cool kind.” It was only a few years old, but Riley had said she owned it outright. So she’d
picked
the damned thing.

“This coming from a guy who drives a Saturn.” She laughed up at him, the sun shining on her face, making her eyes a clear, paler green. And somehow, all the strain and worry etched there had faded. Sam stood still, struck anew by the beauty he hadn’t noticed the night before. Cleaned up, rested, and briefly free of tension, she was gorgeous in a wholesome, open way.

He shook himself. The last thing Riley needed right now was him hitting on her. “I don’t drive a Saturn by choice,” he argued. “My old car was an ’84 Camaro.”

She stood and rested her arms on top of the car door. The position emphasized the curve of her waist and swell of her breasts. What the hell was wrong with him?
Focus, Sam.

“What happened to it?” she asked.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh, I rolled it. Back when—doesn’t matter. It was totaled.”

Riley looked curious, but Sam didn’t explain. It was too long a story and wouldn’t alleviate any of her fears.

He cleared his throat. “So, it all looks okay? Probably as the cops said, just joyriders.”

Riley shrugged. “I guess. They couldn’t have towed it here with an explosive wired to it, right?”

Sam chuckled. “I doubt it. Besides, if someone wanted to blow you up, there was more opportunity yesterday.”

“Right.” She picked at the rubber around the door. “So, now what?”

Now, Sam had a decision to make. The smart thing to do was to go to Boston with her. The harassment, the stalking, the level of ability it took to do things like make her rent check bounce—it all added up to something much bigger than the goons at the bar last night. She needed more than just a little advice and a map.

But he didn’t want to go. The idea of taking charge, managing the situation, was like a comfortable old coat. Completely familiar and perfectly fitting. But he didn’t want anything to do with goddess business anymore. He’d spent six years managing Quinn and her life, then almost three more helping Marley get straightened out and set up the educational program. The Protectorate was more of the same, and Sam had left because he didn’t want to take care of people anymore.

And Riley had made it clear she didn’t want anyone taking care of her. But she
needed
it. Sam knew the Society could help her, but he couldn’t convince her of that by talking. Could he take her up there and leave her without getting sucked back in?

Movement to the left caught Sam’s eye. When he turned to look, the lot was empty, but a scrape and metallic clink echoed lightly from the rows of cars. The hair on his arms and neck prickled.

“Shh,” he said, though Riley hadn’t said anything, only turned her head to follow his gaze, her whole body going tense so quickly he felt it from three feet away.

And there they were. Two of the people from last night, the woman and the guy Sam had fought.

“Fuck,” Riley breathed, spotting them hunkered behind an old white Oldsmobile.

Sam grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the driver’s seat. “Get in. Drive away. I’ll—”

“No.” She was sick of being on the defensive, sick of running, sick of letting everyone else make decisions for her. She pulled her arm out of Sam’s grip and took off, his muttered curse and heavy footsteps following behind. He caught up as she reached the Oldsmobile and slammed her hand down on the trunk of the car. The couple lurking behind it rose, the woman grinning, the man trying to look intimidating.

But anger drove Riley this time, not fear, and she already had a weapon. This baby was over two decades old, and it was all steel.

The contact with the metal changed her, cleared her thinking. Her muscles tightened, filling with power. It was like sipping caffeine or stepping into the shower in the morning—that moment when alertness takes over—only magnified by a thousand.

Her left foot shot out, hooking behind the guy’s right knee, and he sprawled onto the gravel. She set her foot on his abdomen and pushed just enough to hold him still. In the same movement, she caught the woman’s arm before her punch connected with Riley’s head. The woman’s bright eyes widened when she was pulled against her will right up into Riley’s face.

“Who are you, and what do you want with me?” she ground out.

The woman sneered. “Like we’d tell you.”

Riley tightened her fingers. The woman yelped and twisted against the pressure of Riley’s grip. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?” Riley repeated. Some of her anger settled and she became less focused, more aware. Sam stood behind her. He’d followed her but didn’t interfere. He was just there if she needed him.

It was the first time she’d had someone in her corner since her parents died. For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure if her gratitude made her feel stronger or weaker.

But now wasn’t the time to contemplate it. Despite the pain and fear in her eyes, the woman sneered again. “We’re pros. We don’t talk.”

Riley leaned her weight on the guy under her foot. She glanced down at him, not taking her eyes off the woman completely. “Hey, you, on the ground. I can move my heel a few inches south if it will be more comfortable.”

He keened and pushed at her unmoving foot.

Riley smirked at the woman. “I think
he
might talk.”

“I’ll kill him first.” The woman twisted again, hard, and pulled her foot back as if to kick the man in the head. The movement pulled Riley forward, almost lifting her hand off the car. She reacted instinctively, too powerfully, and yanked them both back so her hand stayed flat. She needed the contact, every cell of it.

And she’d just revealed her weakness to the enemy. The woman’s sneer became more confident, but before she could act, Sam moved forward.

“Let’s do this the easy way.” He circled behind the duo and stuck his hand in the woman’s back pocket for her wallet. “Sharla Cannalunis, Georgia,” he read from her driver’s license. “Mean anything?”

“Not yet.” Riley had never been to Georgia and had never heard the name. She didn’t have the skills to find more than Sharla’s Facebook profile, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying. “What else is in there?”

He flipped through a few bills, checked a couple of credit cards, and dug behind them to find some crumpled receipts. “Hokeland Motel and Exxon Mobil, both local. That’s it.”

“How about him?” Riley waited while Sam retrieved the guy’s wallet. This one told them he was Vern Nurnan, also from Georgia. No credit cards, but a business card declared him an associate of a company called Millinger.

Sam dropped the wallets on the ground and dug in their pockets again until he came up with one cell phone between them. He pushed a few buttons, then pulled out his own phone and stored some numbers into it. When he was done, he nodded at Riley. When she didn’t move, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist until she released Sharla.

“I bet at least one of these numbers goes to their boss,” he told her. “He won’t be happy when we call him.”

“Or she,” Riley added, watching Sharla. She didn’t react enough to indicate which was right.

Sam hauled Vern off the ground and gripped both of them by the scruffs of their necks. “Call the police,” he told Riley.

“You don’t want to do that,” Vern said with certainty, and zero concern.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Riley glanced at the guard shack at the lot’s entrance. “In fact, the police are right there.” But she didn’t move, still reluctant to eliminate contact with the car’s metal. She knew the power filling her would fade as soon as she did, leaving her shaky and weak.

“They’ll ask why you didn’t call them last night,” Vern said in a very reasonable tone. “And we weren’t doin’ nothin’ here. You attacked us. Threatened to do damage to some of my favorite personal parts.”

Sharla snickered, earning a sour look from her partner that became smug when he turned back to Riley. “Look, call him over if you want. You can’t connect us to anything that’s happened to you before last night. Maybe we go to jail for half an hour before they realize they have no grounds to hold us. No biggie.” He shrugged. “But you think your life’s been difficult so far? Trust me, it can get a whole lot worse.”

Riley backed away despite herself. “Weak threat when I don’t know who’s signing your paychecks.”

Sharla leered up at Sam. “Our boss is well connected. He can get this guy arrested like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I mean, look.” She pried at his fingers on her neck. “I’ve got bruises, and they match his hands.”

Sam didn’t move, but Riley slumped against the car. She couldn’t risk Sam getting in trouble, not when he’d tried so hard to help her. “Let them go.”

“You sure?” When she nodded, Sam shoved them several feet up the aisle between rows of cars. They walked off, Sharla strutting and Vern moving with a bounce in his step that made Riley nearly regret the decision. Until she looked at Sam and remembered their threats. Not worth it.

Sam settled against the car next to her. “So we’re back to the Society and the Protectorate option.”

Riley suppressed a shudder. It was inevitable, she knew. She couldn’t resist going to Boston anymore, but everything in her held back, and she returned to one of her arguments from earlier. “We still don’t know if Sharla and Vern were sent by the Society.”

Sam pressed fingers to his forehead, then dropped his hand. “If I can convince you they weren’t, will you go to Boston?”

“I guess…”

“Then come on. Let’s go to the library. You can follow me.”

“The library?” She let him usher her into her car and automatically put on her seatbelt. “Why?”

He leaned into the open door, putting himself closer to her than he’d been since their mutual doctoring session the night before. A wave of awareness swept over her, and she slowly breathed in his warm, mellow scent, now spiced with laundry soap and aftershave. It took a few seconds to tune back in to his words.

“They have free WiFi. I can use my laptop to look up these numbers and the company Vern works for.
Then
we’ll drive up to Boston.”

He closed the door before Riley registered what he’d said. He wasn’t sending her up there by herself. He was going with her.

…

Sam was glad they had to drive to the library in separate cars. Once he’d tuned into Riley as a woman rather than someone who needed his help, he couldn’t shut it off. He wouldn’t have advised confronting Sharla and Vern like that, but her fierce determination had been pretty hot.

He needed a distraction.

The drive would be long enough for him to call the Society again. He knew Riley didn’t want him talking to them behind her back, but he could speak more freely if she wasn’t listening. He stuck the earbud in his ear, connected it to the phone, and speed-dialed the main number. While it rang, he checked the rearview mirror. Riley was directly behind him.

A familiar voice came on the line. “S-G-E-P.”

“Alana. I thought you got a new receptionist?”

“Hi, Sam!” The Society’s executive director went from professional to pleased in two words. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. The receptionist is out this morning. What can I do for you?”

If she hadn’t sounded so welcoming when she’d heard his voice, the lack of small talk would have felt like punishment. He heard voices in the background and assumed she was busy.

“I need to talk to Kirsten, if she’s available.” She was the new head of the education department and would help register Riley and set her up for programs and training.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Kirsten is on maternity leave!”

“No. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.” He felt bad for not sending a gift. It was weird to be so out of touch, but he had no one to blame but himself for his sense of detachment.

“Marley took over again—temporary duty,” Alana said. “I’ll put you through.”

Sam tapped his fingers impatiently while he waited for the call to transfer.

“Sam!”

Marley’s greeting was several notches more enthused than Alana’s. “Hi, Marley. How are you?”

“Excellent. It feels really good to be back here. How about you? I’d love to have you help out with a few classes.”

He liked teaching, but that was the opposite of not getting sucked in. Saying no wouldn’t be easy, though, if he went up to Boston with Riley. “We’ll see. What do you have going on right now for newly empowered goddesses?”

“Why? Do you have one?” He heard shuffling papers followed by mouse clicks. “I didn’t think anyone was turning twenty-one right now, and we haven’t had anyone off the radar since we got the new database up and running.”