Cursed Angels

“What the hell do you want? Who are you?” she bites out, lifting a gun, but before she can move, I’m on her, wrestling the weapon from her hands. The small 9mm slides across the floor, my hand wrapping around her neck.

“Diana was my trainer,” I tell her, causing her to still. Her mouth falls open, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m here to find out if you’ll help kill Rebekah, or are you going to choose death instead?”

Hunter is behind me, his warmth cocooning my back as he reaches for my gun. It’s trained on her forehead when he cocks it, the click causing her to wince.

“Answer us!” His deep, booming voice rumbles through the room. And she stares at him before turning her gaze on me.

“I’ll help you.”

Chapter 28

Archer

Reagan’s soft snores come from the bed as I watch over her like a protective angel. After a bath and some food, she let the exhaustion in her take over, and her eyelids fluttered shut. It was only then I allowed the anger within me to surface. How could someone steal this girl from an innocent life and bring her into this place? How many lives have been stolen over the years? I can’t even imagine. Samara, Reagan, and I are but a small number in a large pool of people corrupted by Rebekah Ward’s evil mind. I itch to wrap my hands around Rebekah’s neck and squeeze tighter and tighter until the life ebbs from her, and she’s descending into the hell she deserves.

The muscle in my jaw ticks with frustration and fury. I wish I could get ahold of Mara and have her soothe the savage beast pacing inside me, but I know it would be too risky. After disappearing for a few days, Rebekah will watch me like a hawk, ready to pounce should I do anything out of character. The one she’s gotten used to is an egotistical maniac with a penchant for murder and destruction. It’s who she believes I am and who I must show her I still am.

Slipping quietly from my bedroom, I lock the door. I don’t want to risk anyone coming for the poor girl in my bed while I’m gone, but I need to get rid of some nervous energy within me. I’ll explode if I don’t. My butler appears, and I wave him away with instructions nobody is to go into my room, and if I find out they have, I’ll castrate him. He turns as white as a sheet and hurries away to wherever it is he disappears to when I tell him to fuck off. Hopefully, he stays there. I’ll never trust anybody in this place.

Changing into a pair of track pants and a T-shirt before slipping on a pair of running sneakers, I leave my rooms. Again, I lock the front door and double check that it’s secure. I put the keys in my pocket along with my phone and stride purposefully toward the outdoor training field.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and my body screams for a workout. The sun shines brightly overhead, and I shield my eyes with my hand until they adjust. It’s a warm day, and I curse myself for not bringing any water, but then it hits me that I’m the “boss” here. If I want water, I only have to click my fingers, and it’ll arrive. That’s the part of having my own mind back I’m struggling to understand. I was a bastard before. I took what I had to, murdered when I had to. I shake my head. I can’t think about that. Only bad things come from those thoughts. I need to focus on getting through the next few days. And then a life with Mara once this hell is all behind us.

“You,” I point at one soldier, and he sprints up before saluting like I’m a general in the Army. “Get me a bottle of water and a towel,” I order without stopping my stride across the field toward the assault course.

“At once, sir.” He lowers his hand and scuttles off into the main building. That felt good. This part of being a leader I can cope with. Everyone likes to be a bossy asshole occasionally. It’s built into us. The killing and maiming of the children is the part I hate and refuse to ever allow again.

I reach the assault course — similar to those the army has set up for the soldiers who go to war — with giant walls, rope swings, holes dug into the earth filled with mud and water, which you have to crawl through. Those standing around waiting their turn realize who I am and salute me.

“Who’s next?” I ask. A small boy puts his hand up and pushes his way timidly through the crowd. He reminds me of myself when I came here, all skin and bones, gangly in an awkward teenage body. “What’s your best time?” I question.