Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1)

by Ripley Proserpina

  For twenty years, I’d had enough family drama to put me off relationships. In general, I’d sworn off entanglements of any kind.

  Then I’d died. That should have been it. But son of a bitch. On a rainy night, I’d awakened in the middle of a horde. Lightning struck the ground in front of me, and suddenly, I knew what the fuck was going on again.

  I scratched my head. Those were not memories I needed right now. Somehow, I’d become a leader when the last thing I wanted was to care about anyone at all. I stared at John. He wanted to be in charge? Let him. Except…

  Numbness hit me hard, made worse by the fact that feeling had finally returned to my body. Carson must be done. Maybe it was now my turn. Why the six of us. Why now? Why did I never get answers to those kinds of questions? Why me?

  In the next blink, I was in the room with Whitney. Just as I’d imagined it. There was a man and, yeah, as described, he was torturing her. Rage made me fly forward. I’d seen my mother, who I’d loved completely, hurt over and over for almost my entire life.

  I wouldn’t watch someone else get hurt. I didn’t care what they said, there had to be a way to be tangible in this place.

  I was connected to Whitney. That’s what they were all saying. We all felt what she did. So whatever happened to her, happened to us. Could the opposite be true? Could I use our connection so she could protect herself?

  I imagined myself in her body. What would it feel like to clench my fist and punch this man in the nose? John may have laughed at me while I meditated, but I used that skill to clear my mind and only think about this girl.

  I drew back my fist, turned my body, and let it fly.

  Her hand did what I wanted! She made a yelp but connected. That was good. All that experience defending myself from my drunken stepfather had paid off.

  Whitney had to get out of here. She couldn’t lie there, waiting for them to hurt her. I centered myself again, picturing the way her body would move as it slid off the bed.

  I had to make her move before the man hurting her could react. I kicked forward, and her knee lifted, smashing him in the balls.

  Doubled over, the man hit the ground, forehead first.

  “Run, Whitney!” I shouted at her, and her eyes widened. Maybe that was the first time she realized I was there.

  “Isaiah?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Run.”

  She did as I said. I ran a hand through my hair, looking at the dip-shit who couldn’t hear me. “I used to be a pacifist.”

  I was yanked forward. Connected to Whit, it seemed I would go where she went.

  My heart sped up, as if her running made mine pump harder. “Is there a back way out?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. She’d come to a stop and stared out a glass door. Gil Lake stood in the lobby, talking to a guy who was so muscle-bound it looked like he’d have trouble tying his shoes. “Shoot.”

  “Whitney!” a voice hissed. She spun and a gray-haired man waved at her. “Hurry up.”

  “Is he trustworthy?” I asked. Frankly, I didn’t like anyone here. Roanoke was full of people who would do anything to survive.

  But she didn’t answer me. Instead, she followed him through the door. “Dr. Robinson.”

  “I’m sorry, Whitney.” He rubbed his eyes. “I couldn’t help you.”

  “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” I quoted.

  “Your father has access to all our medical supplies,” he went on. “My wife. Elaina. She’s very sick. I can’t risk—”

  Resting her hand on his sun-spotted one, she stopped him. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “This is the most I can do,” he said and gestured toward the back of the apartment. At first, I didn’t see what he was showing her. What I’d taken to be a shadow near a bookcase turned out to be a hole in the wall. “It’s dark, but keep your hand on the wall and it will lead you past the border.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll tell your father I saw you leave,” he answered. “I have to tell him something.”

  Whit nodded. What kind of place was this? For the first time, I thought I may have been lucky to spend so much time after the Infection as a Controlled. I might be a zombie, but Zero was a utopia compared to Roanoke.

  Glancing back at me, she seemed to be waiting for my permission. “Go,” I told her. “Hurry.”

  She went, and I followed. The bookcase slid back into place as soon as she went inside. Every inch of daylight was blocked out, and I heard her squeak.

  I, however, could see fine. “There’s a ladder about three steps in front of you,” I told her. “Reach out and grasp it with both hands. It looks like it will lead you down about ten feet to a dirt floor.”

  Whitney’s breath seemed to come faster and more ragged. “Okay,” she whispered and shuffled forward, arms outstretched.

  We made our way through the building in a similar way. I narrated the trek, praying that I stayed with her for as long as it took me to get her out. Her hand scraped against the wall as she walked and she released a breath. For the first time, now, I studied her. Her shoulders lifted with each breath and her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

  Stupid question. But this seemed to be more than pain. Her face was tight, lips mashed together, and tears streaked down her face, though she made no sound except to breathe.

  She shook her head, and her hair fell around her face, shielding her from me.

  “Hey,” I said quietly. “Hey.” I took her hand in mine, curling my fingers around hers. I held it close to my chest until she looked back at me. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

  Her eyes shut at my declaration, and she let her head fall forward. Forehead against my chest, her strawberry scent filled my nose.

  I tumbled into the smell. In life, I’d never had this happen. It was appropriate, somehow, that it would take place in this screwed-up afterlife. How was it possible that just smelling her could make me tumble headfirst into feelings?

  I was pulled away.

  I shot back into my body, the world around me quiet, only the sounds of rushing water from the river hitting my ears. I groaned. I wanted back with Whit right then and there. She needed me.

  “Hey,” Carson’s voice rang out as he ran toward me. He must be catching up from his own journey to her. “Isaiah, did you get pulled?”

  I stumbled to my feet, the scent of her strawberries still in my nose. I felt more alive than I had in years, and it wasn’t necessarily a great feeling. We’d experienced literal nothingness for so long that I’d forgotten that being alive came with so much… pain.

  Or at least it did while they were hurting the girl.

  And that was what she was. The. Girl.

  “I did.” I rubbed at my eyes. I had a headache forming there, which meant Whitney did. Why? What was happening? Maybe it was just all too much for her at this point.

  “That means it’s just Nick left.”

  Yeah. That might go one of two ways. “Let’s hurry.”

  18

  Whitney

  I crawled through the space, finally coming out on the other side. My head ached. I’d always hated small spaces and dark enclosed areas. Dad’s favorite punishment was the closet. He knew how much it frightened me, and he loved that it left no bruises.

  “Whitney Lake.”

  I jumped. A man stood there. It took me a moment to recognize him since I hadn’t seen him since I was nine years-old.

  “Mr. Barge?” He’d been my brother’s tutor.

  He nodded. “So you do remember me? Come on. We’re all helping you now. You’ve been recruited to the Resistance.”

  I swallowed. I’d never wanted anything to do with this. I’d only wanted to be left to lead my life. “I…”

  “Good instincts.” I jumped as Nick’s voice filled the tunnel. Mr. Barge didn’t react. He couldn’t hear him any more than my father had hea
rd the others. “If this looks like too much good luck, it usually is. But let him get you out of here now. Make a break for it after.”

  His matter-of-fact statement made me feel stronger. As far as anyone else could tell, I was alone. But the guys’ presence changed everything. Even if this was some sort of fever dream, or I’d managed a complete break with reality, their voices gave me the courage I needed to tread onward.

  “Usually recruits are looking to play the game,” I said to Mr. Barge.

  He wore a small, battery-operated headlight, and he adjusted it. I got the sense it was to give him some time to formulate an answer. “There’s your father, and then there’s the rest of us, Whitney. Not many teams left.”

  He was wrong. There was Nick’s team.

  “Fuck. Is this entire journey going to include baseball analogies? Because I’ll tell you now, I’ll just wait here until I disappear.” Apparently, sympathy wasn’t Nick’s strong suit.

  I didn’t want to be left alone again, so I stayed silent. Mr. Barge walked in front of me, his headlight shining a narrow beam just a few paces in front of us. When we emerged into daylight, it was blinding. I held up a hand to shield my eyes, blinking rapidly. The overwhelming brightness left me disoriented, so I didn’t see the person who gripped my arm hard.

  “Whitney, when I say go, thrust your arm down and to the side. Then I want you to run as fast as you fucking can.” I tried to clear my sight, but all I saw were shadows. It was Mr. Barge holding onto me tightly. Slowly, the shadows turned to humans, and I tried not to panic.

  Mr. Barge held a gun in one hand, my arm in the other. And we were surrounded by Controlled.

  They stared at me out of milky white eyes and rotting faces, gnashing their teeth and groaning. But amazingly, they stayed away.

  A quick head count revealed there were a dozen Controlled and Mr. Barge.

  And Nick.

  He walked up to a Controlled, waving his hand in front of its face. It snapped its teeth at him. “Interesting. They sense me, but dumbass here, doesn’t.”

  Nick smacked his palm into Mr. Barge’s forehead, but it passed right through him.

  “My father was wrong about the Resistance,” I said, eyes on Nick. He smiled and nodded, and I stood up a little straighter. “He said you were old men who were easily distracted.”

  Mr. Barge shook his head. “Your father is only beginning to understand the way the world has changed.”

  I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. One of the Controlled growled and began to turn.

  “This one is hungry,” Nick said. He glanced ahead. “We’re going to run when we get over the rise.”

  Ahead of us, two strips of gray concrete cut through the forest. A chain link fence separated nature from the highway. Once past the highway, however, there was a steep hill and then thick trees. I wanted to ask Nick if he recognized this place—if he knew what was over the rise, but since they’d stop hurting me, I wasn’t able to leave my body.

  It left me at a disadvantage when I had questions for Nick.

  “Up and over,” Mr. Barge said, indicating the fence.

  “Get ready,” Nick said. “You’re going to sprint across the highway and then up. You can then either continue up another hill or down to the river. You’re going to have to go up first. It’ll slow the Controlled, and I have a feeling this guy, despite his hiking boots, will be able to keep up.”

  “Okay,” I answered, and Mr. Barge nodded, assuming I’d been speaking to him.

  I put the toe of one shoe in a link and began to climb. Mr. Barge slung his gun over his shoulder and began to climb as well. The fence wasn’t very tall, but it was high enough that neither one of us could straddle the top in one stride.

  The strap holding the gun over Mr. Barge’s shoulder slipped, and I heard him swear when it caught on a piece of metal. He yanked it and it came loose.

  But he’d pulled too hard, and it had thrown him off balance. He fell into the fence and yelled as he cut himself across a piece of rusty metal.

  “Go, Whitney!” Nick yelled.

  Whatever had kept the Controlled at bay snapped when Mr. Barge began to bleed. He fell to the ground in a tangle of straps and limbs, and the Controlled lurched toward him.

  I paused. Nick had screamed for me to go. I should. It was clear cut. But I’d seen Brandon die by the Controlled and no one—not even this man who was going to force me into the Resistance—should be killed that way and turned into one of the horde. Especially within city limits. How had they gotten in here anyway?

  They needed to be outside the walls and so did I.

  I reacted without thinking, turning back to grab onto Barge. The Controlled were almost on us, but I tugged until he found his feet and half-stumbled, half-ran with me.

  “Whitney are you crazy?” Nick hollered at me. Out of all of them, he certainly spoke his mind easily enough.

  “Maybe.” Probably. With the unrelenting Controlled after us, we had to move fast. “Listen, I need to apologize to you. I should never have made your death story about me.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Barge shouted, but I ignored him. Let him think I was crazy.

  “Oh, damn it.” Nick tugged on my hand like he could make me go faster. “I was being an asshole. Don’t turn around and apologize to me.”

  We had to get over the ridge. We’d be near the wall there and the guard would see the mess. Whatever else they did, they protected us from the Controlled.

  “I’m leaving!” Nick shouted. “Get out of the walls, Whit. Come and find us. We’re coming for you.”

  I shook my head. “Nick, don’t do that. Don’t come anywhere…”

  I never got to finish what I was going to say. We’d reach the strip of broken concrete. A black SUV pulled in front of us, and I gasped. Cars were few and far between. Gas was scarce. Only the very powerful and connected had them. This one skidded to a stop in front of us, the door flying open as it screeched.

  A woman with blonde hair stared at us.

  “Get in. I thought I’d lost you two.”

  I didn’t know who she was but I’d bet money this was the moment I became Whitney Lake, Resistance Fighter, whether I wanted to or not.

  I dropped Barge and turned to run. I’d saved him; she could pick him up. I’d do my best to make it to my secret exit out of the city. I’d find Brandon, and I’d run with them. Even that life had to be better than this one.

  I’d—

  A jolt of electricity hit me, and I had a moment to realize I’d been zapped before I hit the ground.

  “Hey, Whit.” My brother’s face came into focus. I knew I had to be dreaming. Dexter was dead. He’d been dead for half a decade. But he looked the same, like he hadn’t aged a day over sixteen. His body was tall and lanky, because he hadn’t filled out his height yet. My mom always said he ate so much, he was going to be huge.

  That was the first sign he’d been sick. He wasn’t hungry anymore…

  “Whit, you with me yet?”

  It was nice to see a familiar face again. Usually my dreams were filled with teeth and blood. “Missed you, Dexter.” My head sort of flopped to one side. The jolt of electricity had left me loose-limbed. It took twice as much effort to make my body do what I wanted.

  Dex smiled, revealing even white teeth. A cool hand held mine, and I glanced down. His skin was icy cold and strangely dull looking. When I looked at him again, his skin seemed to shimmer. “Are you…” I cleared my throat. “Dex, are you wearing makeup?”

  His head shot up, eyes wide, and he suddenly frowned. “Leave,” he said to someone I couldn’t see. It was then, as he used a tone I’d heard from my father a thousand times, that I realized this wasn’t a dream.

  “Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “They can’t know.”

  I didn’t know what Dexter was talking about, because I was focused on one thing—my brother was alive. “Dexter.” I felt a smile creep across my lips. I struggled to sit, and he pushed an arm behind
my shoulders to help me up. As soon as I was in a seated position, I threw my arms around him.

  Then I noticed how cold he was.

  But what really bothered me? He didn’t hug me back. He strained away from me, like I smelled bad and to be near me would make him ill.

  “Sorry.” I tried to hide how hurt I was. My one living relative who wasn’t pure evil couldn’t stand to be close to me.

  “It’s not you,” he was quick to say. “You smell too good. It’s difficult for me to control myself when you’re this close.”

  There was only one reason he would be struggling to control himself. Slowly, I stuck my thumb in my mouth and then lifted it to his face. He let me, his gaze never leaving mine as I wiped away the flesh-toned makeup to reveal the pale, bloodless skin beneath.

  “You’re Infected. But not Controlled?”

  He winced. “I see you know the lingo. It’s complicated with me. You might say I’m in charge. Here sit up.” He helped me until I was in a seated position.

  “In charge?” That had not been what I’d seen when I was at Zero. Was there more than one group of Uncontrolled? And how had he gotten with the Resistance?

  He hopped up on the bed next to me. I looked around. This was like being in a barracks. There were lines of bunk beds all over the room but only one window. Outside, all I saw were trees.

  “Here’s the thing, Whit Whit.” It had been such a long time since I heard my nickname that I actually jumped. Sometimes words had power. I’d been beaten and zapped to unconsciousness, but it was my nickname that threw me.

  He continued. “I died. But then I woke up and what I found was that I had all of these voices in my head.” He waved his hand. “I don’t really want to go into all that. The point is I’m special. I am so much more special than everyone else. So much more than Dad ever knew. It’s time for a change so I am helping to make one. But these people, they can’t know what you know. If they did, they would judge me.”

  My heart rate kicked up. “That’s a lot to think about.”