LAW Box Set: Books 1-3 (Life After War Book 0)

by Angela White

  Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  March 29th

  1

  “You forget who I am! Never talk to me that way again!” José snarled, hand dipping toward his belt.

  Dean peered up from the muddy ground. The thin layer of grit was still blocking most of the sun, and without the glare, Dean had a perfect shot.

  “Whoever did this might still be around. Listen to my brother, Josey, and shut up, or maybe your body will join that one by the burnt jeep. It is one of your hombres, yes?”

  The school had obviously been the site of a battle. Blackened jeeps, fly-ridden corpses, puddles of drying blood, drag marks in the deep sand–and the front of the brick building appeared as though a bomb had gone off.

  José picked it all out through his binoculars. Seemingly concentrating on the scene in front of them, he stored the insults. One day, he would be in charge, and these two hermanos would be muerto.

  Dean sensed the thought and snorted. “You’d better bring help, Josey.” Mounting his solid black horse awkwardly, Dean silently cursed the wound that had healed but left nerve damage that prevented the smooth control he used to have.

  At the second intentional slur of his name, José considered trying it now.

  Dean read it on his face. “Don’t miss.”

  It was a long moment between them, and Dillan reluctantly distracted his brother. They needed Cesar. Killing his reckless cousin wouldn’t help. “Fresh tracks. Not ours.”

  Dillan stood up from his perusal of the hard ground, and Dean continued to keep track of the Mexican who abruptly gave his back to them. José was pretending to watch mutated ants the size of an infant’s shoe climb out of a high hill of dirt, but both brothers knew he was a coiled snake, waiting for the right moment to strike. If he could conquer his carelessness, José might eventually gain the deadly air that Cesar carried, but for now, they weren’t impressed.

  “Our men were overpowered?” José asked, lighting a thick cigar with hands that were steadier than the brothers were expecting.

  Dean realized Dillan had been right to stop him.

  “They had help. Casings are from 9mm.”

  José’s plump, scarred face screwed up in anger as smoke swirled in the gusting wind.

  “Safe Haven,” Dean said flatly, sliding his coat back to finger the rifle on his pommel. His rage toward the witch grew as he watched his brother swing up onto his horse and wince. The painful pressure on his mangled wrist was still too much to hide.

  “They’re the only group we know of that are organized enough to do this. Go tell Cesar to make camp here,” Dillan ordered. “Last call said he was three hours out.”

  The slavers were still finishing up with stragglers in Wellington who had barricaded themselves in. Rick had been sent in to take care of it.

  “Tell him we’ll track them, find out where they’re at and going.”

  Hand holding the dirty white sombrero on as the wind gusted sharply, José spun away angrily, and the twins rode off in a cloud of dust purposely kicked up to insult him further. When I’m in charge, those two are dead, and I’ll do it myself!

  2

  “Who has done this?” Cesar shouted furiously, his face red with anger.

  The dozen men in the gymnasium with him stared at the filthy, bloody floor and the bodies of their men instead of him. They were glad when José hurried in.

  José was Cesar’s right-hand man, the scarred guerrilla the only one to speak his mind when choosing time had come, but all the men knew the Kelly twins (when they were here) were really second, and everyone else was behind them.

  “It was Safe Haven. The twins are tracking.”

  “I want them dead!” Cesar screamed in frustration, stomping down a long, dim hall that should be full of bound slaves but held only cobwebs.

  “I will get el los solsados ready to attack.”

  Cesar didn’t slow, and José hurried to catch up, scrutinizing the gold-handled pistols in the slaver’s crisscrossed gun belts. Was this the moment?

  “No.”

  “But now, while they don’t–”

  “No.” Cesar lowered his voice, reluctantly confiding, “They have a powerful weapon. We will send in el traidor to take care of it.”

  “What kind of–”

  Cesar scowled, shaking his tightly kinked curls. Would the young never learn? “Not here.”

  He used his deformed hand to open a door marked “Office,” and the two Mexicans stopped short, coming face to face with a tall, blonde woman wearing a long, unbuttoned trench coat.

  They saw stunning blue eyes full of hatred, and then she darted between them. Even limping, she was halfway down the hall decorated with Christmas pictures before they reacted.

  The two men gave chase, words a mix of English and Spanish.

  “Apurarse! Stop her!”

  “Grab that puta!”

  Samantha made it out through a side door. The men in the gym were just as surprised as Cesar and José when she darted by, but the door shut loudly behind her, and she froze.

  A sea of male faces spun her way at the echo. A loose slave was fair game.

  Terror ran through Sam’s veins, making her shiver, and she dropped submissively to her knees, heart thudding furiously in her chest as they all rushed toward her. She was in deep shit, even worse than when the chopper had gone down, worse than when the wolves attacked.

  Help me, please! she screamed silently.

  The doors opened behind her a second later, and Sam cried out as she was jerked backward by her thick braid, landing on her ass in the dirt.

  Cesar gave José a nod, and the evil man swung a knee over each shoulder, pinning her arms as he opened his filthy pants.

  Without mercy, Cesar knelt beside them, puffing on a fat cigar to get it red-hot. Then he moved it toward the bare stomach now showing from her struggles.

  Sam had time to notice that the man was missing two fingers on his left hand, then he ground the cigar against her hip.

  José thrust into her screaming mouth, gagging her as he pushed in as far as he could. With a hand on Cesar’s stocky shoulders as his brace, his free paw roamed her chest mercilessly.

  “Bite me, you die!” the Mexican growled, breath already short.

  Cesar held her by her hair so José could shove all the way down her throat.

  “I have questions, chica,” Cesar stated casually as José thrust in and out of her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose. “You will answer.”

  José stiffened, hips bucking forward, and Cesar’s evil face filled with delight as he slammed his deformed hand over her nose and watched her choke.

  José pulled out, feverish at her purple face.

  Maybe I’ll do it again and not stop, he thought, but when Cesar motioned for him to move, he did.

  Sam rolled over, gasping, straining for even a thread of air as tears streamed over her cheeks.

  “Each of my men waits for a turn, puta, and they will get it if you tell a single lie,” Cesar warned as she continued to cough and gag. “Your name and why were you left behind. You have disease?”

  “Samantha...not left. Here...too late. Saw...them leaving.” She stayed on the ground, coughing it up, and cringed when the short, stocky leader jerked her to her feet.

  “Tell me,” he ordered, not letting her twist away from the wind that was gusting sand at them in small clouds.

  “Two ...jeeps, three vans?...Like SWAT…only solid black.”

  “How many men?”

  Sam shook her head, trembling. “They were leaving when I...came up 210. I only saw them go.”

  “She lies!” José exclaimed, advancing toward her with an expression that said her mouth hadn’t been nearly enough.

  “They left her because she is diseased! I claim her.”

  Cesar watched how fast the fire blazed on her hate-filled American face.

  “They did not leave me! They would have loved to have me, but the dumb-ass driver never looked back!”
/>
  Cesar swung her around. “And why ees it that they would love to have you, puta? What makes you so especial?”

  Sam stepped through destiny’s open door. “I’m a storm tracker. Who doesn’t need that now?”

  Cesar hid his pleasure and gave José a nod as he shoved her, tripping her so she hit the dirt. “My tent first. Show her what I expect tonight. Mañana, she does rounds of el los soldados.”

  Samantha’s heart clenched with fear like she’d never known, unable to believe he found no value in her. Escape! her mind screamed.

  Sam immediately began to make a plan, ignoring the dark hands now crawling inside her torn shirt.

  She had gotten out a call and been answered, but the radio had gone dead before she could ask if they would come and get her. She couldn’t count on that. She would have to save herself again.

  Samantha looked around, desperately searching for anything that could help. Crooked tents with Mexican flags and slogans were going up, the smoky breeze carrying the odors of feces, rot, blood, and death, screams echoing from the other side of the big camp… It took only a moment to understand. These men were evil, plain and simple.

  She had stayed in the school because she’d been hoping the men who had gotten the others would come back, had decided to give them a full week to get here if they were coming, but now her time had run out.

  A piercing scream echoed, making her jump, and Samantha stopped struggling as the man led her roughly through one side of the unorganized camp. There were other whites here, but they were in the same boat as she was.

  Sam’s mind suddenly replayed the first evil man’s words: Show her what I expect tonight. Fear filled her body from the feet up. Melvin and Henry had been bad. This was going to make her want them back.

  Her captor shoved her into a large, lopsided tent. When he followed her in, closing the flap, Sam shivered in terror.

  3

  The second she was able to move, Samantha forced herself to her feet and began searching for a weapon, ignoring the blood that dripped from her mouth, from her nose, and down her bruised thighs.

  Longing for a shot of antifreeze to calm her nerves and take the edge off the deep, familiar ache low in her guts, Sam kept hunting, even though the tent held only piles of reeking garbage. There had to be something!

  Her attacker had chained her ankle to the tent pole like a dog, and the cold metal was a horrid reminder of her weeks in captivity with Melvin and Henry. Her gut was blazing with determination to get away. Tonight. They would be expecting it, but wouldn’t think she’d kill to escape. They didn’t know what she was capable of!

  Aching, Samantha edged to the flap and slowly lifted a tiny corner. She quickly swept the men, who appeared unhealthy with cold sores, coughs, and noses that were wiped on filthy shirtsleeves. They were an ugly group of hardened killers, bruised faces and clothes still streaked with innocent blood that drew insects. Sam instantly hated the penny-sized snapping flies swarming over the filthy camp but thought it was fitting the mutations were here, in this place of abominations.

  What she could see of the town around them also offered no hope. Rusting Army trucks rammed through the gates of a charred warehouse, block after block of damaged, destroyed, burnt homes, along with bodies rotting openly. This place had been gone before the slavers, and Sam cursed herself for being caught off guard. She should have known there was trouble coming by the way the rescue party had been leaving so quickly.

  It had taken her days to figure out how to charge up the CB system. After finally succeeding, she’d fallen asleep in front of the radio and hadn’t heard the slaver’s engines over the wind or her own bad dreams. Samantha shivered as the noise levels increased–cries, gunfire, barking, and shouts. All the men she could see through her tiny peephole were Mexican, and fearsome in their blood-tacked leggings and long shirts. Help would not come from the town or from any of these men. What about the females here? There were none in sight.

  As she started to raise the flap higher, instinct took over, and Sam ducked as a big boot slammed into the tent where her face had been.

  “Closed!”

  Samantha scrambled back, afraid the guard would come in and hurt her too, but there were only the noises of the camp. A loud, drawn-out scream, a gunshot, and more shouts in a rough dialect she was only vaguely familiar with. What the hell was she gonna do?

  Keep trying.

  That, she would do until she was dead. It was who she was. A survivor, no matter how many times this new world tried to kill her. At one point, Samantha had even lain low in a supermarket full of decaying bodies during a dust storm. The warning had arrived only an hour before the sandstorm, but it had been enough. The waves of energy had made her heart clench in longing, knowing instinctively that it had come from someone who was like her. She had almost chosen to skip Cheyenne and hunt that person down, but wasn’t sure how to do it. Now, she bitterly wished that she had tried.

  Unlike NORAD, the school still had small treasures, like clothes and shoes, and a basement of boxes she’d happily explored after finding a case of fruit cocktail and a crate of bottled water wrapped for the vending machines. Apparently, the rescue party hadn’t swept the basement, and neither had any of those hiding here. Why? Just because of a few bodies? Were they stupid? Those were everywhere. What was a few more if it meant fresh supplies?

  She shrugged, running her fingers around the entire tent line. Their loss had been her–

  “You won’t find anything.”

  Samantha was on her knees in front of the flap, and she looked up to find a tall, thin white man with shifty eyes and a black bandana around his neck holding the flap open. He held a jug of brownish water in one hand and appeared so much like one of the slavers that Samantha forgot her own plan.

  “What do you want?” she snarled, mentally calling him a traitor as she backed up on the blood-splattered floor. She wouldn’t get near that cot again unless she was dead or unconscious.

  “Cesar wants you to get cleaned up and ready for him.”

  Sam ignored the words, escape plans reforming in her mind as she watched his vivid green gaze crawl over her exposed flesh. She felt that steel in her spine harden and slowly stood up, faced him. Maybe she had gotten lucky. If he still wanted her when she was battered, he was a sexual deviant at the very least, and therefore, weak.

  “Are you one of his men?”

  Rick entered slowly, and let the flap shut them in smelly dimness. “Slave.”

  Sam took in the fresh and old bruises, the dirty, ragged jeans and shirt that hung on him–no jacket despite the low temperatures. The voice inside warned her that this was yet another man who could not be trusted.

  “Can you get a gun?”

  Rick shook his head again, ogling the bare skin showing through her torn shirt. “No. Pills, though. You’ll be a zombie while he’s using you.”

  Sam forced her lips to curve into an inviting shape. “Do you have a woman or family here?”

  “No,” Rick denied yet again. Cesar would be very pleased with how easy this was going to happen.

  Samantha stared, and Rick felt his body respond. The blood and bruises were indeed a turn-on for him. That was another reason he’d stayed. Here, a man was allowed to be just that: a man.

  “Do they let you come and go?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, staring at her platinum hair and bruises with a hot gaze that hid a scheming male mind.

  “Usually, I have a guard.” Rick gave a slight wince he made sure she witnessed. “I got away once.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “Haven’t tried in a long time.”

  Very aware of the dim day fading fast, Samantha ran a hand up his arm, letting her shirt fall open. “You like women?”

  His expression was full of want, mind full of control. It was all part of the plan, and Rick had done it enough to know he’d already succeeded. He was numb to the guilt as he worked her.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Wanna touch?”

/>   Rick’s breath was coming short. He did want her–unlike the other females here, who cried too much and only cowered–and he broke Cesar’s first rule: don’t touch until the deal is done.

  Samantha was unprepared for the bolt of lust that his gentle hands drew. When she arched into his caress, to her shame, it wasn’t completely faked.

  “Wanna do more?”

  His hands slid down her bony hips and Sam pulled back, closing her torn top as best she could. “Then get us out of here. I’ll be your slave.”

  Rick’s hands lowered in mock fear. “He’ll kill us!”

  “We’re not Mexican. He’ll do that anyway.”

  There was truth to the statement.

  She leaned against him, sensing weakness. “It’ll be great. Just the two of us, and you’ll never be alone.”

  “It’ll have to be fast, while they’re drinking. Be ready.”

  His words surprised her, even though it was what she wanted to hear, but Sam was too terrified to turn down even a chance of escape.

  “I will. You can trust me.”

  4

  “She went for it already?”

  Rick told Cesar everything word for word, as he always did, and tried to keep the rank odors from blowing in his scruffy face as they lurked out of sight of the tent where they had Samantha stashed.

  “She is smart. Talk to her only a little. Sneak out on one of the twins’ horses.” Cesar fingered the handle of the knife in his belt as the cool wind blew by them. “You will contact me in two weeks. If you do not…”

  Rick gave in without a fight; shame no longer something he felt. “You’ll have what you want, like in Trinidad and Boulder. This plan always works.”

  “And what reward do you ask, white man, for betraying your people? Again.”

  Rick didn’t deny or even flinch, didn’t feel anything at the jab. They were not his people anymore. They hadn’t been since the war. “The woman, until I’m tired of her.”

  “There are no white unions here!”

  “Not a union. My slave.”

  Scowling, Cesar slammed his deformed hand on top of his dirty sombrero to keep a gust of wind from stealing it. “If there were to be a child, it would be killed.”