Enemy Of My Enemy (Price Of Power Book 1)

by Laura Stephens

  Once she forces her way back on top of him, she pins his chest between her knees, pressing the stick across his throat. “Emmy get me something!” she shouts as Stanley starts bucking his hips to dislodge her.

  Tears well in my eyes until everything goes blurry. I know I should help her. I want to help her. But I can’t. I can’t convince myself to so much as move. Her groans mesh with his as they continue to struggle with me simply standing there like an idiot. I’m no worse than the scared teenager hiding behind the counter.

  Violet’s groans merge with a loud thump then loud footsteps run towards me. I blink and blink, trying to clear out the tears. I’m yanked back again until I’m pinned against his chest. His right arm is draped across my upper chest and shoulders, his left hand is splayed across my lower stomach just below my belly button.

  My breaths are short and rapid. Tears stream down my face like a raging river. His palm begins to sweat to the point of wetting my tank top. I scream. Not the type of yell from fear or surprise but a gut wrenching, pain filled scream. His palm feels like fire, scorching me just as he had done to Violet a few days ago. Black spots swarm my vision and my knees buckle. His grip holds as his hand digs deeper into my stomach.

  I only catch a glimpse of Violet running for me with a coffee pot in her hand before he finally lets me go and I crumple to the floor. I brave a glance down, bile filling my mouth as I see the black cotton of my tank seared into my stomach.

  Glass shatters and I glance up. Violet’s just slammed a coffee pot into the side of Stanley’s face. He falls to the floor as his face breaks out in boils much like my own.

  “Are you okay?” Violet hovers over me, but her words sound so far away that I can barely hear them. I don’t want to be a victim like that again. I don’t want to have to depend on someone else to protect me. I don’t want to cower and freeze when someone I love needs my help. I force myself back to my feet, gritting my teeth through the pain.

  Violet stares at my burn and pity shines in her face for only a moment before she swallows it down and looks away.

  “Be glad you are wanted alive, Violet,” Stanley snarls as he struggles to stand. I feel so bad for the man and all the injuries he has but I swallow it down. I won’t be that person. I won’t feel bad for a person that just attacked me.

  I’m still fighting my urge to reach out and help him up when I hear Violet behind me. “It’s been fun, Stanley, but I’m bored. Enjoy the rest of your night.” She loops around me and swings a twelve pack of soda at his head.

  She strikes him in his reddened and injured face hard enough that he’s spun around ninety degrees before he falls to the ground. Soda cans are busted and spraying their contents and she simply stares at him with a cocky smile on his face. She nudges him with her shoe to make sure he’s unconscious before looking back at me.

  It takes both of us to drag his six foot frame to the bathroom and pin the door closed so that he can’t get out. I do a quick search for the clerk but he’s nowhere to be found. The back loading door is open, so I assume he scurried away sometime during the fight. I’m surprised that he didn’t call the cops before doing so. Maybe he did and they just haven’t shown up yet? We should go.

  Violet struts her way out of the store with me right behind her. She seems so proud of herself and she should. I, on the hand, just want all of this to be some kind of bad dream.

  4

  Stopping under the awning in front of the gas station, Emmy’s right behind me. The entire parking lot area is practically flooded, the rain coming down in sheets so thick that I can barely see the lime green of her car. There’s no way to make it to the pumps and the safety of another overhang without getting drenched. My adrenaline is still overflowing from what just happened inside and I almost don’t care how wet my clothes are as long as I don’t have to stand statically here for another minute.

  Squinting through the downpour of rain, I spot a black figure standing between us and the gas pumps. Based on their figure, it’s a woman, but there’s not a single vehicle in the lot apart from ours. At least not that I can see. Telling myself that it’s just a transient, I try to ignore her and her stare.

  Mist blows in my face compliments of a gentle wind, the moisture cooling my skin, centering my emotions. I hit him with a coffee pot. Honestly, I didn’t even know that those things could shatter the way that it did against his face. Emmy froze, not that I really expected anything different. She’s the freezer and I’m the fighter, it could always be worse I guess. Either Stanley isn’t as good at brawling as I am, or I’m just that good. Either way, my back straightens with pride.

  But then the cool bliss begins to turn into a soft burn, slowly increasing in pain. Before I can wrap my mind around the change in sensation, my eyes snap open to the sound of Emmy’s screech. I turn to her. She’s still standing behind me, her face drenched in fear that not even Stanley could force out of her. Her arms are pulled tightly into her chest, elbows snug against her rib cage. She’s encased in a whirling hollow cylinder of water.

  Seeing something like this should scare the hell out of me. The idea of someone controlling water is ridiculous. But it’s not. It’s not crazy. It’s not my imagination. It’s real. All of this is real. Honestly, it’s not even as bad as what Stanley can do.

  Reaching toward the cylinder, I try to get through and grab her. She screams NO as I breach the water. I instantly snatch my hands back to my body; the water burns like its boiling. It’s not normal water. It’s far from normal. My fingers throb in pain and glow a bright angry red.

  I turn back around, searching for the figure of the woman I saw moments ago. It isn’t hard to spot her, seeing as she hasn’t moved a muscle. Her feet are shoulder width apart, her arms hanging down by her hips, her fingers balled into fists. The acidic rain lightens, showing me more of her. Her hair is in a tight ponytail high up on her head. She’s dressed in full leather from her long sleeve jacket to her skintight pants. Something dangles from her left hip, but I can’t quite make out what it is.

  It’s clear that this isn’t some random woman just walking to the gas station. Stanley’s backup maybe? Whatever or whoever she is, she is no friend of ours. My feet take a few hesitant steps away from Emmy, not wanting her to get caught in the crossfire, though I’m careful to remain under the awning. The water is a weapon and as long as I’m dry, I’m safe – I think. “I’ve always wondered about cosplay. It’s a unique hobby, isn’t it? I have to admit that you play the part of the badass very, very well,” I say, attempting to keep her attention solely on me.

  She slowly draws her sword from its resting place, the light from the gas station windows shines bright against the metal.

  “I may not know much about it,” I add. “But I’m pretty confident you’re not supposed to use real swords.” Whoever is trying to kidnap me has stepped up their game, sending a female ninja warrior. Part of me feels rather smug about it. The other part … scared shitless.

  Her long legs start off at a slow pace, building to a full on sprint as she heads toward me, blade in hand. I’ve gotta give her credit – running in five-inch heels while handling a giant sword is not an easy task. Hopefully she doesn’t use them as a weapon the way I did; I don’t have the facial structure to pull off an eye patch. Not that Stanley does either …

  I decide to meet violence with violence and run towards her. I have no idea what I’m going to do once I reach her, but nothing better comes to mind, so I just go with it. I even add in a war cry for extra crazy points. Who knows, maybe it will scare her off? Just before we collide, ponytail swings her perfectly crafted weapon. I miraculously dodge the swing, but it’s close. Close enough that I can hear the singing of the blade passing by my ear.

  Before she has a chance to spin around, I jump on her back, climbing her like a tree. My right arm wraps around her head and I join my wrists at the hollow of her neck, attempting a choke hold. Her sword clanks to the ground as she thrashes around, trying to dislodge me. When that doesn
’t work, she walks toward the gas pumps, carrying me on her back like it’s just another day on the job.

  What’s she doing? I try tightening my grip, but it doesn’t do any good. Probably should start taking self-defense classes in the future, if there is a future. She slams me into one of the concrete pillars that holds up the awning. I see stars when the back of my head strikes the hard surface. My grip fails when she slams me again. I collapse to the ground.

  Scrambling, I sprint for the next row of pumps, grabbing one of the nozzles. When ponytail gets too close for comfort, I squeeze the trigger and let her have it. Nothing! Nothing but a few of drops of gas dribble out. Fucking pre-pay! Unable to come up with any other brilliant ideas, I throw the gas nozzle I’m holding at my attacker. Unfortunately, it’s tethered to the pump by the hose and falls short of my target. She continues her casual strut as she glances down at my failed weapon then back at me, a twinkle of amusement behind those eerie eyes.

  “Where’s Stanley?” she asks in a sultry tone. Really, this bitch is kicking my ass while wearing heels, leather, and make-up. It’s because of women like this that the rest of us have self-confidence issues.

  “Stanley?” I reply. “He locked himself in the bathroom. May be awhile if you know what I mean.”

  Ponytail is almost upon me. Her hair swings back and forth hypnotically as she prowls closer. Our cat and mouse game has moved us further and further from Emmy, thank God. I can barely make her out, but I know she’s there, still trapped in the acidic cell. I snap. As soon as the woman is within a few feet of me, I lunge towards her. My fingers grip a chunk of her hair and I bring her down with me. Somehow during the fall I manage to end up on the bottom; even I know that this is not an ideal situation. She grasps my neck just as Stanley did a few days ago.

  The nozzle’s there, lying on the concrete next to me. It takes a few tries, but I manage to reach it. I smash it into the side of her face, this time successfully hitting my mark and knocking her off me. Blood seeps from her temple where the metal struck. She seems to be in a haze – her eyes are open yet unfocused. I wrap the hose twice around her neck and run back towards the store, towards Em who is still trapped in the whirlwind of acidic water next to the front door.

  The rain grows angry, the drops heavy against my body. My eyes open wide in fear as I begin to register the pain. Smoke sizzles up as each bead finds its mark. I scream, pelted with one acidic drop after another. Pain like I’ve never felt before races through my body, causing my muscles to seize. My knees buckle and I go down, slamming hard into the concrete.

  The agony is numbing, I must be in shock. I don’t feel the searing drops of water; I don’t hear Emmy’s cries; I don’t smell the acidic tinge in the air. Have I failed? Is this what the end is like? All senses offline so you can pass in peace?

  I look up to find Emmy and instead see a pair of eyes so blue they glow against the night. A man stands across the empty lot. Apart from the eyes, he’s barely more than a shadow. Dressed all in black with dark hair – his appearance screams predator. Then he begins to run, gaining speed as he charges towards me. I should be concerned because another unknown has arrived, but all I feel is relief.

  The emotion doesn’t last long as a sharp piercing heat radiates from my lower back. My spine arches. I can feel where the sword penetrated my flesh. Then I can feel her breath at my ear as she whispers, “Don’t worry, the wound isn’t fatal – just hurts like a bitch.”

  Her voice oozes excitement. Excitement from winning? Excitement from hurting me? Inch by inch she pulls the sharp metal from me. Blood trickles down my legs, staining my jeans red. The rain fades, the sizzle and smoke disappearing along with it. Emmy’s screams sound through the silent night. Heavy footsteps fall nearby – the man, finally close enough for me to see clearly.

  Worry covers his features as he pulls his own sword from its sheath. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch as he lashes his right arm forward, stretching over my head with the blade. A sharp inhale followed by a loud thud. My enemy is no more.

  “Violet!” Emmy, now free from her prison, runs towards me while screaming my name. Unable to balance on my knees any longer, I collapse onto my side. My burned skin scrapes against the coarse cement. I’m too weak to scream, too weak to even moan in agony. The man before me rests his large hand gently on my neck. His hair falls in front of his left eye as he bends down to check my pulse. Two of his fingers press firmly as he waits. His other hand reaches out and releases a heavy stream of water directly towards my sister; trapping her yet again.

  The stranger pulls a black piece of fabric from his neck, revealing a scar marring his perfectly tan skin. “She was right. The wound will not kill you, but the blood loss will.” His voice is raspy, deep, and intoxicating. He clenches his strong, stubble covered jaw as he applies pressure to both my stomach and back, using the cloth to absorb the blood. A groan escapes my lips. “You’re Violet, right? The other girl – is she with you?”

  Who is this guy? Where did he come from? He’s dressed so similarly to Stanley and the dead woman … is he a friend or foe? I force a shallow nod out of my injured and exhausted body. I try to explain that Emmy’s not an enemy, that he shouldn’t hurt her, but I can’t. My body is giving out. Failing me.

  “Little slow, Lincoln, but overall not bad.” Another man steps out of the shadows and kneels next to me. “You’ll be alright.” His voice is little more than a whisper, his fingers graze my face as he brushes stray curls from my cheek. His dark silver eyes are surrounded by thick lashes, illuminating the color. “Let’s get you fixed up, shall we?” the newcomer states. He stares at me for a moment before focusing on the dark haired man. “Leave it alone.” What? Leave what alone?

  “I have several potions, but that’ll knock her out for a while,” The first man, Lincoln, says. He still holds me firmly but looks to the second for the next action to take. He’s the younger of the two, not much older than I am, I’d guess – and the most handsome person I’ve ever seen up close.

  The other man lowers his hand, resting it on my lower abdomen. “We can’t risk her being unconscious.” His short white hair contrasts with his caramel skin. I estimate he’s in his early forties, though not a single wrinkle mars his face. A purple aura appears around his hands, faint at first but growing brighter and brighter as the seconds tick by. I thrash, unable to move an inch. Lincoln places his bloody hand in my hair as he tries to calm me.

  A subtle heat from the glow soaks into my bones, my eyes closing from the bliss of the sensation. Time disappears. I don’t know if it’s been minutes or hours, and I don’t care. The bliss fades as screams erupt from me. Pain encompasses every inch of me as I feel what I somehow know is the sensation of my body beginning to repair itself. My throat becomes raw, forcing my screams to fade.

  My agonizing silence is replaced with loud rolls of thunder. Both of their faces turn towards the sky as lightning crashes around us, close enough that I can feel its heat, feel its power, and hear the hiss of electricity that courses though every bolt. One hits, then another, disappearing as fast as they appear – leaving the scent of burned air behind.

  It’s comforting. The familiar tingle starts at my fingertips then runs up towards my elbows. I know with absolute certainty that these flashes of electricity are coming from me.

  “She has lightning. An elemental.” Lincoln’s voice is faint, more an exhale than an actual statement, as though he’s in awe.

  “It means nothing,” the other man declares firmly. “I told you it’s time to be a hero. Earn the damn title and calm her before we get zapped.”

  Lincoln wraps his fingers around mine, whispering nothings to me as he tries to distract me from the pain. I latch onto him, squeezing his hand with so much force that I’m surprised he doesn’t try to break free.

  Each moment that passes, the pain becomes less intense. Once it’s fully faded the blissful warmth returns. “What did you do to me?” I reach down, shoving my shirt halfway up to reveal
flawless skin, cleared of blood. Neither of them answer me, they just let my question drift off in the wind.

  The white haired man’s gaze rests above my shoulder, looking at his companion. “Let the other go, she poses no threat to us.”

  With a wave of Lincoln’s hand, the swirling vortex of water disappears, and Emmy runs full force towards me. All three of us rise to our feet. Lincoln stares at her like he’s preparing to attack. The white haired man has a tilted smile on his face. She ignores them both and pulls me into a tight embrace.

  I return her hold but my attention and focus remain on the two unknowns standing nearby. Sure, they saved us, but now that I have time to think about it, I grow suspicious. For all I know, they fixed me up just to kidnap me before someone else gets here to do it.

  They walk around the two of us, heading for the corpse of the woman who attacked me. “Wait! She wasn’t the only one,” I yell at them. “Stanley, we trapped him inside. In the bathroom.” I don’t know either of these men, but suspicious of them or not, the least I can do is warn them that we aren’t alone.