Spirits Shared

by Jory Strong

  It was a warning that he heeded. "The rug in front of the fireplace."

  * * * * *

  Jessica eyed the pouring rain. It didn't look as though it was going to stop anytime soon.

  She glanced at the reusable bags in the grocery cart. There were seven of them, three looped over each arm and she could hold the seventh. As long as she had the key out she could probably get in the truck before her jeans were totally soaked.

  "No time like the present," she muttered, pulling the hood of her jacket up and retrieving the truck key from her pocket before lifting the bags and settling them into place.

  Even in the miserable weather, the grocery store she'd found a short distance from the highway had quite a number of shoppers—enough so she wasn't parked close. She braced herself for the sting of cold water against her face and left the protective overhang.

  A blast of wind whipped the hood back. A jagged bolt of lightning was followed by a crash of thunder.

  She was more than ready to get back to the cabin and make some hot chocolate with marshmallows. She was more than ready to snuggle with Tekoa and Clay.

  Jessica laughed despite the frigid water soaking her hair. The guys better have something left for her—two large, hot somethings that could warm her from the inside out.

  She darted toward the truck. It was impossible to avoid the puddles. Water splashed on her jeans and soaked into her tennis shoes and socks.

  Wet hair and rain in her eyes left her struggling to insert the key and unlock the truck. Just as she managed to open the door, water sprayed across the back of her legs as a silver car pulled in next to her. She didn't bother turning to glare.

  She stepped onto the running board so she could lean in and put the dripping grocery bags onto the passenger-side floor. A door opened and shut behind her. A rough shove sent her to the passenger side of the truck's bench seat.

  Survival instinct kicked in. She grabbed for the door handle but a vicious hand fisted her hair and yanked. A gun barrel struck her across the face and then was pressed against her temple.

  "One scream, one word, bitch, and you die right here, right now."

  Adrenaline poured into her system. Her heart clawed up her throat but even if she'd been able to scream, she didn't think a shout for help would be heard over the pounding rain.

  She hadn't seen a picture but she knew she was looking at the escaped convict. His close-cropped hair and neck full of tattoos added to the savagery and malice gleaming in his eyes.

  He pulled the driver-side door shut. "Give me the keys."

  She'd dropped them on the floor when he shoved her. She picked them up, hand clenching, the fleeting fantasy of lunging, stabbing him in the eye, giving way to self-preservation.

  She had too much to live for to do something foolish. Clay, Tekoa, their new life together. If she survived this, she wouldn't care if people looked at her and knew she loved and lived with two men.

  She couldn't die now. Not now.

  She handed him the keys. He switched the gun into his left hand long enough to fire the truck's engine.

  Pulling from the parking lot, his attention flicked to the police radio on the dash. He smiled. "Well, well, well. Groceries, a cunt, and an inside track to what the cops are doing. Life just got real good."

  Tears welled and she tried to blink them away, drew on the same strength she'd found when Clay was hurt. She'd been scared then, but she'd done what needed to be done. She'd do what needed to be done here too.

  He wouldn't kill her right away. Nausea rose and she swallowed it down. He'd rape her first. That's what he'd gone to prison for—assault, rape, murder.

  He stroked her thigh with the gun barrel, laughed when she jerked away. Another swell of nausea rose with the look in his eyes. Her fear excited him.

  "Turn on the scanner, bitch."

  She couldn't suppress the shaking in her arm as she reached out and pressed the on button. There was a burst of static then nothing.

  His smile widened. He traced the trail of tears with the gun muzzle, the rain coming down so hard that no one would be able to see what was happening in the truck.

  "Do what I say and you might even enjoy what I've got planned for you. Cross me and I'll hurt you real bad before we're done."

  Jessica choked back a sob of terror. She fought desperately to keep herself under control. She accepted the fear but refused to be paralyzed by it. When the chance to escape came, she'd take it.

  The gun retreated from her face though he kept it pointed at her. "You don't look like a cop. But this is a cop radio. So I'm thinking that makes you a cop's pussy. Is that right, you some dickhead cop's piece of ass?"

  When she didn't immediately answer, he whipped the gun across her cheek sending bone crunching pain through her face.

  "You belong to a cop?"

  "Yes," she said on a sob.

  He licked his lips. "Open the jacket. Real slow and real careful. If I have to shoot I won't kill you with the first bullet. As long as you're breathing and I've got a hole to fuck, I don't care whether you're bleeding or screaming."

  Jessica's hands shook as she unzipped the jacket. His hand left the steering wheel long enough to unzip his pants and he shifted in his seat.

  His cock sprang free. "Unbutton the shirt, bitch."

  She couldn't prevent a whimper. She closed her eyes and he struck her in the ribs with the gun, sending a sharp crack of pain through her side.

  "Open your eyes, bitch. You think because some cop shoves his dick into you that you're too good for my dick?"

  Jessica opened her eyes. He struck her breast and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. "Answer me. You too good to have my dick shoved into your cunt?"

  A surge of nausea threatened to erupt with her tortured, "No."

  "Now unbutton the fucking shirt and show me your tits."

  Numb fingers fumbled with the buttons. She had to escape.

  Slowly she edged into a half-sitting, half-leaning position. The truck was an old, stripped down model without power locks.

  They merged onto the main road. If there were other cars they were hidden by sheets of water.

  The gun barrel slammed into her ribs again. "Hurry the fuck up. I want to see some tits then you're going to crawl over here and suck my dick."

  A part of her mind tried to distance itself from what was happening. Staying alive was the important thing. Whatever she had to do to stay alive, they'd deal with the fallout later.

  She got the last button undone but couldn't make herself spread the shirt and expose herself to him. If she could unlock the door and get out of the truck…

  He was driving fast but there was a lot of water on the road. It might cushion her landing.

  There were ditches on either side of the road, and woods beyond. If she could just get out of the truck…

  The radio crackled to life. Jessica tried to position herself to unlock the door while he was distracted.

  A voice announced they'd found the stolen silver Lincoln Continental abandoned in the grocery store parking lot and were going through the video feed.

  The convict cursed. He pounded the steering wheel with a fist and swung the gun so it glanced across Jessica's breasts with a painful sting. "This is your fault, bitch. Your fucking cop probably can't trust you to go to the grocery store alone. Whores. You're all fucking whores that can't be trusted. The only thing you're good for are your pussies."

  She cowered against the door and let him see her fear, hoping that the sight of it would keep him from noticing the subtle shifts in her position as she prepared to unlock the door and run for her life.

  He slammed on the brakes and sent her crashing into the dashboard. Then he backed up and turned onto a narrow road.

  Several feet in there was a sign. Private. No Trespassing. Hunt Club Members Only.

  The graveled road became a dirt road as it sloped upward. There were thick woods on either side but he didn't take his eyes off her as they traveled.
<
br />   Time was running out.

  Do something. Do something, her heart double-tapped.

  They rounded a corner and there was a cabin ahead of them. It was dark, abandoned for the winter.

  He'd rape her repeatedly there. He'd kill her if cornered or kill her before he fled.

  She couldn't let him get her inside the cabin.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed overhead with a violence that seemed to shake the ground.

  Now! The command screamed through her like a howling wind. She reacted impulsively, instinctively, the scene rehearsed in her mind so there was no wild scrabbling to unlock and open the door.

  * * * * *

  Clay would have preferred the bed but somehow the rug in front of the fireplace was fitting. His cock stirred as he remembered coming out of the concussion and seeing Tekoa for the first time. The guy was still a wet-dream waiting to happen.

  Tekoa reached for the lubricant and he couldn't take his eyes off Tekoa's cock. Christ. Instant boner.

  What exactly was in the cup Tekoa had given him the night before? Not that he was complaining. And not that he couldn't fuck like a rabbit on his own, but this—including how many times he'd come taking Jess last night, and how many times Tekoa must have come since then—was beyond his experience.

  Again, not that he was complaining.

  He stretched, his dick bobbing and licking over his abs as Tekoa coated himself with the lube. Grinning he said, "What, no foreplay?"

  "Roll over," Tekoa bit out, though Clay could hear the amusement in his voice.

  He rolled to his hands and knees. And almost instantly Tekoa's hand locked around his dick, turning the thing into a lightning rod.

  "Okay, this works as foreplay."

  Lubricated fingers circled the pucker of his ass and heat spiked into his cock. He spread his thighs. If he had to beg, he would.

  Tekoa's fingers pressed in and Clay's breath caught. He had a bad feeling the only thing that was going to keep him from coming before Tekoa's cock was inside him was Tekoa's hand gripping his dick.

  Clay's hips bucked and his cock leaked. Tekoa's outer thighs touched the insides of his and he went down onto his elbows.

  Tekoa's fingers were replaced by his cock. Clay moaned and pushed backward.

  It'd been so long. Years since he'd been fucked by another man.

  Thunder sounded above the cabin or in his own head. He couldn't be sure it wasn't his own heartbeat.

  He was burning up, from the fire in the fire place, from Tekoa's cock stretching him, forging deeper and deeper into his ass, from Tekoa's hand on his dick.

  Jesus. The only thing on par with this was being with Jess.

  Sweat sheened his skin. His fingertips dug into the rug and when Tekoa got all the way in and stopped, Clay was heartbeats away from begging in the same way he liked to make Jess beg.

  A stroke to his cock, the fondling of the wet tip and a sound too close to a whimper escaped. He locked his jaw. Begging he could do but whimpering—

  Tekoa thrust and Clay didn't care what sounds came out of his mouth. It felt good, better than good.

  He rocked backward, his heartbeat sounding more and more like a drum, sounding more and more like what he'd heard before coming out of the concussion.

  He had the fleeting worry that when he came, he'd pass out. But he couldn't make it matter, not with Tekoa pounding into him, not when his balls were pulling up harder and tighter, not with the pleasure building, building—exploding with hot jets of semen that whited out his vision then tuned it black.

  There was a wrenching sensation followed by gray, cold nothingness and the return of awareness.

  I had a fucking heart attack and died during sex, he thought, the gray nothingness blurring at the edges of his vision and Tekoa's voice screaming in his mind. Stay with me!

  He latched onto the voice. No way was he leaving now, not with so much to live for.

  Stay with me! Tekoa said and immense energy rippled through Clay. Power gathered and rolled through a body that was now huge and brightly feathered, the wings outstretched, riding the thermals like a Thunderbird.

  Talons landed on his back, dug in roughly. And Clay moved his arms in an effort to escape the sharp pain, only it was a pair of wings that cut through the air in a boom of thunder.

  Clay felt his heart then, pounding and racing. His lungs seized at the possibility he was in a coma as a result of the car going off the road, and the last day had been an intense erotic fantasy because his brain couldn't cope with reality.

  Stay with me! Jessica's in trouble. The claws tightened on his back. This is real, Clay. Accept it. Follow the bond to Jessica.

  Clay thought of Jessica and her terror punched into him.

  He'd deal with this weirdness later—or not.

  Jess was more important and she was fighting for her life. He knew where she was—not a location he could pinpoint on a map or a place he could envision—but a destination he could get to all the same.

  Her spirit was linked to his and Tekoa's by long, honey-gold strands that made him think of the two cups Tekoa had taken from the fireplace mantel.

  He asked, Do you know what's happening to her?

  No.

  No?

  The talons in his back loosened and then disengaged. Focus.

  A downward sweep of wings as powerful as the ones he now seemed to posses and Tekoa pulled away, leaving the clouds swirling angrily and thunder in his wake.

  * * * * *

  Jessica landed on her knees. The gun fired.

  Missed! her mind shouted in victory an instant before she became aware of the searing heat where the bullet had grazed her back. She scrambled into the woods, not caring whether she used her hands or her knees or her feet to get something between her and the gun.

  A bullet ricocheted off a tree. A second one followed. Did that mean he had six left? Seven? A dozen?

  He got out of the truck and screamed profanities. She darted forward, dodging the trees, her breath loud and fast.

  A sane person would have let her go. But he was incensed, trapped—a man with a great capacity for violence and nothing to lose. He crashed after her, venting his rage with promises about what he'd do to her once he caught her.

  She ran and slid and fought to keep from being a target. The clouds gathered and roiled above her as if they were reacting to the life and death struggle taking place beneath them.

  The wind picked up. It whipped through the thinning trees, driving her forward and sideways.

  Jessica stumbled. Her hands hit the ground but she kept going, fighting against slick leaves, barely looking up until suddenly confronted with open space. Panic filled her at the sight of the fallow field with its rutted grooves. She'd never make it across before he got close enough to shoot.

  He was behind her, closing in. There was no backtracking, no going forward. She ran along the edge of the field and tried to put as much distance as she could between them without having to dodge the trees. She prayed that she was heading in the direction of the paved road and that she'd be able to duck back into the woods before he emerged.

  Lightning flashed, closer now. The air charged with power.

  Her lungs burned. Pain stabbed through her side.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. Her foot hit a soft muddy spot and she pitched forward.

  Even before she scrambled to her feet she knew she was in trouble. Her right ankle gave. She stood again, endured excruciating pain for several steps before going to her knees to crawl into the woods.

  There was a shout of triumph. A bullet struck a tree in front of her. "Stop right there, bitch, on your hands and knees where you belong." She stopped though every instinct demanded she stagger to her feet and run.

  She braced herself, expecting a bullet to strike her. Nausea pumped into her throat with each heartbeat. Sex was the only weapon she had left to fight with. She couldn't outrun him, not now, not when she could barely stand.

  If h
e thought he'd won…

  If she could only endure…

  There'd be an opportunity when he…when he was weakened, unfocused…

  Maybe she could get the gun…

  She didn't let herself think about what would happen when he got to her, how badly he'd hurt her before getting down to the business of raping her. She didn't let herself think about anything except the importance of surviving. Whatever happened she'd rather be alive than dead.

  And if she didn't make it…

  * * * * *

  Chapter 9

  Clay and Tekoa had each other. She flashed back to those moments in the diner.

  She'd wondered if she could accept that she'd never be enough for Clay, the same way she'd accepted that because she wasn't beautiful enough, talented enough, outgoing enough to win the beauty pageants that meant everything to her mother, that her mother had replaced her with Ashley, the same way she'd accepted that loving her wasn't enough to keep her father around, or keep her an important part of his life after he'd married Marie with her three sons.

  Foolish thoughts, foolish feelings. Her own sense of worth and completeness couldn't depend on being the most important person in someone else's world. It had to come from within.

  She'd wondered if she could keep risking her heart when The Revelation had nearly crushed it, if she could share herself, share Clay, and she was glad that in the end she'd answered yes, that she'd taken a chance on love.

  If she could just survive this…

  A roiling, black mass of clouds headed toward her, reminding her of the ones she'd seen after passing between the totem poles when she was desperate to find help for Clay. Thunder exploded, boom after boom after boom.

  She rose onto her knees. The shirt and jacket she'd undone in the car parted and even through the pounding rain, out of the corner of her eye she saw the convict focus on her exposed breasts.

  His hand went to his fly though he didn't unzip his pants again. A downdraft nearly forced her to the ground.

  Lightning flashed in one furious thrust after another, charging the air with violence, blasting the ground in front of her like an unnatural line of gun fire moving toward the convict. Her would-be rapist tried to dodge but a bolt struck him in the chest.