Primal Needs: A Sci-Fi M/F Omegaverse Romance (Primal Alphas Book 3)

by Lizzy Bequin

  “There’s a shower in here,” I say, gesturing toward the bathroom. “You’ll find everything you need. Soap, shampoo, towels. Meanwhile, I’ll heat up your dinner.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers in a tiny voice.

  I let her hand slip from mine, and she disappears into the dark bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A moment later, there’s a click, and the bathroom light etches the rectangular outline of the door with a yellow glow. Shortly after that, I hear the clink of the shower curtain rings and the hiss and splash of falling water to match the rain falling outside.

  As she showers, I retrieve a new microwaveable meal tray from the freezer. Salisbury steak with broccoli and rice. I can’t imagine eating this shit, but I doubt Amrita would be interested in chowing down on raw beef liver.

  Ripping the cardboard packaging open and discarding it in the trash, I pop the plastic tray into the microwave and set the timer for a couple of minutes.

  Meanwhile, I reflect on the situation.

  I still haven’t received any further instructions about Amrita. I broke protocol earlier by sending a message via my burner phone to request further instructions. So far, I’ve been met with total silence.

  On top of that, Kruger has been gone for over twenty-four hours. He should have been back last night after disposing of the boy’s body, but I haven’t gotten a sign of him all day. I’ve checked the police scanner several times, but there’s been no chatter about him.

  If he doesn’t return tonight, I’ll have to message our employers again to notify them of his disappearance. I don’t want to do that, but pretty soon I’ll have no choice.

  The thing that irks me the most is that I don’t have a vehicle. Kruger took the Tahoe to get rid of the kid’s body. Now that he hasn’t returned, I’m left high and dry with no good means of escape.

  I had a bad feeling about this operation from the very start. All the secrecy. The fact that they decided to drop the bombshell about the girl’s condition only after we had already brought her back to the safe house.

  Something is definitely amiss. But it’s still too soon to make a move.

  The microwave gives a shrill beep, signalling that the food is ready. Removing the tray, I peel back the plastic cover, and steam curls from the hot food. Okay, I’ll admit, heated up, this stuff smells half way edible. But only half way.

  I grab a disposable plastic knife, fork and napkin, and carry everything toward one of the wooden cable-spool tables in the center of the loft. Then I grab a folding chair and carry that back to the table so Amrita will have somewhere to sit while she eats.

  Suddenly, an instinctive feeling of danger wriggles up my spine, but it’s already too late.

  The first bullet hits me before I even hear the sound of broken glass from the window. The round nails me right between the shoulder blades and exits from my chest, the force of it shoving me forward like I’ve been tackled from behind.

  As my body collapses toward the floor, I tuck my shoulders, ignoring the searing pain of my wound, and do a rolling somersault, ending up in a crouch. I’m on my feet. Good.

  But my back is still toward the window. Not good.

  A second bullet clips my ear, taking a small bite out of my earlobe before smacking into the floor a few yards ahead with an eruption of shattered concrete. High-powered rifle. About a twenty-degree angle.

  The roof across the street.

  My reflexes take over. Vaulting over a crate and crouching for cover, I whip around and draw the 10mm Glock tucked in the back of my waistband. I snap off a quick volley of three rounds in the general direction from which the bullets must have been coming.

  The report of the pistol echoes through the loft, and tinkling glass rains down from the large window. Some of the crashing shards are still the ones falling from my assailant’s shots, that’s how fast everything has happened.

  In the bathroom, Amrita screams.

  My first thought is that it’s the police, but I seem to be dealing with a single shooter who made no attempt to negotiate for the hostage. Based on that, I rule out the cops.

  My mind is racing with other possibilities, but I realize I need to focus on the immediate situation. While I’m not sure who our assailant is, now is not the time to try to figure that out. I need to get Amrita to safety immediately.

  “Hang on,” I shout to Amrita, “I’m coming.”

  I rise and charge toward the bathroom, but I keep my eyes cast out the window, my gaze raking along the silhouette of the roof line across the street. Through the haze of the light rain, I see a small, dark figure pop up, and I barely manage to turn my body before there is a quick flash of a muzzle and another bullet skewers the air beside me.

  That one would have been through the heart.

  Three more well-placed shots from my Glock and the shadowy figure ducks back below the ledge of the roof.

  I rip the bathroom door open so hard that it tears off its hinges. Amrita is cowering naked in the shower, her eyes wide with terror. Her long blond hair is wet and plastered to her shoulders in curling tendrils.

  “We’re leaving,” I tell her as I coil my free arm around her waist and hoist her up.

  “But…”

  No time for buts. Whoever is out there on that roof wants us dead. I clutch Amrita’s dripping, naked body in front of me, using my back to shield her as best I can. The only problem is that I know all too well that those rifle rounds can easily penetrate my body.

  Blood is pouring from the wound in my chest, staining Amrita’s naked breasts.

  As I spring out of the bathroom door and head toward the exit, I lay down seven more shots of suppressive fire. I’m not even looking. I’m just firing in the direction of where I saw the shooter. My goal is just to keep the attacker from firing on us as we make a break across the all too wide open loft.

  Apparently it works because no more shots are fired in our direction.

  “What’s happening?” Amrita asks clutching tightly to my neck as I scramble down the stairs to the garage. Her wet body is soaking my undershirt.

  “Someone’s trying to kill us.”

  It’s not a very helpful explanation, but at this point it’s just about all I’ve got. My mind has one goal at the moment. Getting Amrita away from the attacker and keeping her safe. Who our attacker is, and why they want us dead—those are questions that we can sort through later.

  “Is it the cops?” Amrita asks, her voice shaking.

  She should be hopeful that it’s the cops, but I get the strangest feeling that she’s not. But I’m probably just imagining that.

  “Trust me, if it was the cops, you’d know it. They’d have the whole area lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, and they’d be yelling with bullhorns. But as far as I can tell, we’re dealing with a lone sniper.”

  The garage, of course, is empty. Kruger took our only vehicle, and he still hasn’t returned. We need a Plan B.

  Whoever is out there, they are better armed than I am, they have a better tactical position, and they got the jump on us. They’ve got a clear advantage. My chances of getting us out of this situation are slim.

  I’m going to need help.

  It’s a big risk, but it’s one I have to take.

  Setting Amrita down for a moment, I kneel and pull up my pants leg to reveal the backup gun that I keep strapped to my calf. A Ruger LCR.

  I unholster the small revolver and press it into her palm.

  “It’s .357, so it’s going to kick hard. But I know you can shoot a .38 no problem, so you should be able to handle it.”

  Her lavender eyes go wide with surprise. She’s my captive, and now I’m giving her a gun. But if we’re going to get away, we’ll need to work together.

  “I’m gonna run and carry you. You need to provide cover. Shoot anyone who tries to attack us from behind. Keep your eyes on the roof line. Got it?”

  She’s trembling, but she nods.

  I pick her up again. She clamps one arm tightly around my
neck and hooks her bare legs around my waist. Even in a precarious situation like this, my stupid cock still thumps with desire at the touch of her soft flesh.

  “Hold tight,” I whisper. “Shoot anything that moves.”

  “Got it.” Her voice is tiny but brave, and I can’t help but smile.

  We burst out of the side exit, rain spattering us, and I sprint down the street at full speed, my shoes slapping the wet concrete and echoing between the walls of the brick warehouses that tower around us like the sides of a man-made canyon.

  I’ve barely made it ten yards, before Amrita starts firing the pistol. Three shots in quick succession. They must have been wild shots, because I’m certain that the recoil of that pistol is too strong for her.

  But it buys us enough time to reach the end of the block and duck around the corner.

  As I sprint across the street, a pair of headlights screeches to a halt. It’s a blue Volkswagen with some random civilian behind the wheel. He just happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. His eyes are two white circles of surprise as he looks at us through his wet windshield. We must be a crazy sight—a bleeding giant carrying a wet, naked girl with a gun.

  “Don’t move,” I bellow, raising the 10mm.

  The driver releases the steering wheel and raises his hands palms out in surrender. He’s shaking in fear for his life.

  Keeping my gun trained on the driver, I march around to the passenger side and yank the door open, stuffing Amrita inside. I can sense her mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out what to do. Should she tell the driver she’s a captive? Would it make any difference?

  Hopefully she’s able to discern that getting away from our would-be killer is priority number one for both of us right now.

  “Put it in park,” I tell the driver, which he does. “Now get out.”

  He stumbles out of the car. I run around to the driver’s side and take his place.

  I pop the car into reverse and the tires squeal as I speed backwards down the narrow road between the dark warehouses. In front of us, on the rooftop, there is a rifle shot. Just as I expected, the shooter has worked his way around to a new position. Assuming there’s only one shooter, that is.

  Another shot and the left headlight explodes in a spray of hot sparks and shattered glass.

  He’s aiming for the tires.

  Pressing the accelerator to the floor, I switch my eyes between the roof line in front of us, and the rear-view mirror to see where I’m driving. It’s one too many things to focus on. But in my peripheral vision, I see Amrita raise her revolver, aiming it out the windshield.

  I wince as she squeezes off one more deafening shot that punctures the windshield and spiderweb cracks split off from the bullet hole.

  At the intersection, I yank the parking brake, spinning the car three quarter’s of a complete circle and lining us up with the crossing street. Then I release the brake, put the car in gear, and peel out going forward down the road into the night.

  We’ve made it.

  Yeah, I’m shot pretty bad. And we’re in a stolen vehicle with a bullet hole in the windshield. And Amrita doesn’t have any clothes. But we’re safe, at least for the time being. I release a sigh of relief. Then I glance over at the passenger seat.

  Amrita has the revolver pointed at my head.

  CHAPTER 13: AMRITA

  The air in the car reeks of gunpowder from the shot I fired through the window,

  I’m staring down the gun sights at Conway’s profile. His messy hair is damp and his skin is beaded with quivering raindrops. Crimson blood is running down his neck from a small wound on his ear that looks like a tiny bite mark. He must have gotten clipped by a shot.

  Conway’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear any words. My ears are still screeching from the loud noise. That’s the second time in a couple days that my ears have been attacked by the sound of a gunshot in an enclosed space. I’ll be lucky if I’m not completely deaf by the time it’s all said and done.

  Finally, the ringing starts to fade, and I can start to hear the thump-thump of the windshield wipers.

  Now that my hearing is coming back, I ask Conway to repeat himself. All the while, I keep the revolver aimed right at his head.

  “I said you’re out of ammo, sugar.” Conway glances over at me again, then he turns his eyes back to the road. If he’s scared right now, he’s doing a pretty darn good job of hiding it.

  “No I’m not,” I say, my voice shaky. “I only fired four shots. I’ve got one left.”

  A smirk curls the corner of his mouth, and I draw a bead right on that infuriating dimple.

  “Girl knows her guns,” he chuckles. “Gotta get up pretty early to pull one over on you, I see. Oh, you must be chilly.”

  He casually turns up the car heater and adjusts one of the vents so it’s directed toward my naked body. I can’t tell if I’m shivering from all the excitement or from being naked and wet. Probably a little bit of both. Either way, the wash of warm air ghosting over my bare skin feels good.

  But I’m not going to let his small gesture of concern for my comfort cloud the fact that he is my kidnapper.

  With one hand, I pull the seatbelt around my naked body, still wet from the shower, and click it into place. If I shoot him while he’s driving, and he crashes the car, at least I won’t go flying through the windshield.

  “Stop the car,” I demand, making my voice as stern as possible.

  My heart is hammering like a machine gun, and my body feels light and electric with all of the adrenaline that must be pumping through me right now.

  Conway shakes his head.

  “No can do, sugar. We don’t know how many attackers are after us, what kind of transportation they’ve got, or anything. Trust me, it’s in your best interests to let me keep you safe.”

  “Keep me safe?” I shout incredulously. “You kidnapped me!”

  “Yeah well, whoever is after us right now wants to kill you, sweetheart. So take your pick. Dead or kidnapped.”

  I keep the gun trained on his head. But he does have a point. As long as I’m kidnapped, I still have a chance to escape. But if I get killed, well, that’s game over. And whoever that was on the roof, they certainly seem to want us dead.

  In fact, based on that nasty wound on his chest, Conway should be dead. Even if I don’t blow him away, he should be passing out from blood loss any second.

  “You’re shot,” I say stupidly, as if Conway didn’t know he had a ragged exit wound on his chest.

  “I’ll be okay,” he coughs, and a spray of blood flecks his lips and the scruff of fur on his chin. It’s foamy and bright red. That can only mean one thing.

  “You most certainly are not okay,” I snap, not taking the gun off of him. “You’re shot through the lung. Just look at the blood you’re coughing up.”

  The tone of concern in my voice takes me by surprise. This man is my captor. I should be happy that he’s wounded. So why am I not?

  Conway shakes his head as he guides the car down another dark street, the windshield wipers thumping a steady rhythm across the cracked windshield. Rain drops are drizzling in through the bullet hole that I made

  “I’ve had worse.”

  He says it matter-of-factly, as if he’s talking about a scraped knee or something. But this is a wound from a rifle round that went all the way through his body and punctured his lung. He shouldn’t be able to drive.

  And he should be bleeding a lot more. In fact, it almost seems as if his bleeding has already stopped in a matter of mere minutes. When I check the place on his ear where a bullet winged him, the wound there is already noticeably smaller. There’s no way it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

  The claws. The inhuman speed and strength. The fast healing.

  Yeah, this guy’s definitely not your average thug.

  “What are you?” I whisper.

  For a few long moments the only sound is the slap of the wipers and the raspy breath of the heater. Conway s
crubs the back of his hand across his chin, wiping away the blood that he coughed up.

  “Okay, look,” he begins. “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but this operation has clearly gone sideways, so I guess I can break protocol and let you in on what I know. But you gotta do me one favor.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, shifting my naked butt uncomfortably in the soaking wet car seat.

  “Stop pointing that fucking gun at my head.”

  I squeeze my hands tighter around the grip the keep the pistol from shaking in my hands. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m capable of pulling the trigger. This guy may be a kidnapper, but I don’t know if I could handle having his blood on my hands.

  Plus, he has saved my life more than once already. And while I don’t really know what he has planned for me, I know more about him than the person who was shooting at us before.

  The devil you know, right?

  “If I shot you, would it even kill you?” I ask.

  He takes a moment to think about it. That in and of itself is disturbing.

  “Probably,” he says, like it doesn’t matter much. “One effect of the Alpha conditioning is hardened bone structure. From what I’ve been told, my brain case can deflect small caliber rounds no problem. But I’ve never tested that, and I’d rather not start with a .357 if you don’t mind.”

  “Alpha conditioning? I ask.

  “The gun,” he insists.

  I must be out of my mind for even entertaining the possibility of taking my gun off of this guy. Then again, it’s clear that I’m in over my head with this whole situation. And right now Conway seems like the best hope I have of staying alive.

  Plus, he’s the only one who can give me any answers about what the hell is going on.

  I lower the gun, but I don’t give it up. I place it into the pouch on the passenger door where I can grab it later if need be.

  “Good girl,” he says with a smile.

  I cringe for a moment, half expecting those clawed fingers to reach across the cab of the car and tear my throat out. But the attack never comes. Conway just keeps driving down the dark, mostly empty streets like he knows where he’s taking us.