Kismet

by Beth D. Carter

  “But he’ll be okay?” Kris asks. Only I could hear the desperate need hidden within the innocent question.

  The doctor nods, holding out the weapon. “You can keep him here. He needs to rest. I suspect he’s going to have a killer headache.”

  He gives us a smile and then exits the small hutlike house, closing the door and leaving us alone. I notice that Kris can’t take his eyes off the Taser rod.

  “It’s copper,” Kris mutters. “A perfect conductor of electricity. It wouldn’t be hard to charge it, and the rubber handle would protect the person holding it.”

  “Not to mention a handy baton for bashing heads.”

  “I’ve seen El Toro’s men carry those,” Shalana said.

  “Again, who exactly is El Toro?” I ask.

  “After the quake there were many little factions running rampant through the city,” Shalana explains. “El Toro is the man who rose among them all to become leader, either by brute force or by street smarts.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how or why or any of the details, but he loves watching two people fight to the death for entertainment.”

  I’ve seen a lot in my travels. I’ve seen the good in people, and I’ve seen the absolutely hideous side of human nature. I can only imagine the barbaric, animalistic degradation that El Toro makes his captives face.

  “I’m glad your partner is going to be okay,” Shalana tells us, but in the next second, she pins us with a hard, flat stare. “But never again treat our haven with such little regard. The only reason why this place works is because we religiously guard it. I won’t have you endangering any of my people.”

  She left us to wallow in guilt, though I suspect Kris couldn’t care less about her words. His eyes hadn’t strayed from Hyde’s almost too-motionless form.

  “He’s going to be okay.”

  “You dreamed of him being shot, right?” he demands in a soft, gravelly tone. “That means it still might happen.”

  I want to refute him, but I can’t, because yes, we might still lose him somewhere down the road. I guess my silence is answer enough, because he pulls away from me and rakes an unsteady hand over his cropped hair. Why am I the only one that can see the hurt, the pride, and the fear gathered in those hunched shoulders?

  I lay my hand on his shoulder.

  Kris yanks himself away.

  “How did they know?” he asks.

  I blink.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This mission is different, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to think why. And the only conclusion I’ve come up with is you. How did they know?”

  I shake my head, confused. “How did who know what?”

  “Hyde and I were ambushed. They were waiting. How did they know?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I came up right when the back shooter targeted you.”

  “Really?” He got directly into my face. “Because from my point of view, it looks to me like they were told.”

  “Are you serious? You think I’m working with them?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. His silence says it all.

  “You’re just fucking scared!” I yell. He blinks at my sudden vehemence. “You had an orgasm, and now you’re scared. Everything I’ve said is true, Kris. And you know it.”

  We stare at each other for a good minute.

  “You say you know about my life,” he says with a growl. “You saw me growing up. But you have no fucking clue to anything, do you? He’s my partner. I’ll do anything to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Then we’re in agreement.”

  He throws another fierce glare at me before turning on his heel and stomping out of the tent.

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Chapter Seven

  I find him down the same tunnel as earlier, the home of our tryst. He’s sharpening a very large knife, sitting in near darkness except for a rechargeable hand-cranked flashlight.

  It’s been about half an hour since our fight, and one sentence that he shouted at me keeps repeating over and over in my brain.

  “Kris?”

  “Yeah,” he replies but keeps sharpening the knife. He doesn’t even look at me.

  “What did you mean, about me not knowing anything about your life?”

  His hand falters, and there is a small tink as the sharpening stone hits metal at the wrong angle. Very carefully, very slowly, he puts both items away before looking up at me.

  “How much did you see?”

  “I saw bits and pieces,” I answer, knowing he meant his childhood. “I saw more when you and Hyde paired up.”

  He rubs both eyes with the palms of his hands. His shoulders slump and I know he carries some great burden. But damned if I know what.

  “Kris?”

  “You said you had a shitty childhood. Why?”

  It takes a moment for my thoughts to shift gears.

  “Um, I never knew my father, and my mother drank all the time. She let men use her,” I say, shrugging. “I guess that’s typical when a girl gets knocked up at sixteen and runs away from home.”

  For a while, silence prevails. I finally sit down on the ground and curl my arms over the tops of my knees, waiting.

  “My mother skipped out when I was five,” he starts. His voice is low, his tone dark and tortured. “My dad started drinking. Drugs. I remember being eight and cleaning up the vomit on the floor, making sure he wasn’t facedown in it. When I was ten, this neighbor of ours, a woman, came over periodically to take care of us, but—”

  He falls silent, and I can tell this story isn’t going to have a happy ending.

  He clears his throat.

  “She would touch me. And I didn’t want to be touched.”

  I close my eyes against the wealth of hurt and hate in those two sentences that explain so much. My heart feels like it’s breaking into a thousand pieces.

  “My father was oblivious. And when I tried to talk to him he would just hit me and tell me to shut it because he couldn’t deal with being a single father.”

  “How long did this go on?”

  “Years. She would make me do things I hated. I wanted to kill her, but I never had the guts. I finally escaped by joining the military, but after that I never wanted to be…intimate…with anyone.” He looks at me. “Until I met you.”

  “Does Hyde know?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want him to know. I don’t want anyone to know. Shit.” He gives a hollow, shaky laugh. Sighs. “The military saved me from doing something really stupid. Without it I would’ve gone crazy.”

  “The military became family.”

  “Yeah. I joined a new special ops unit in basic and got paired up with Hyde because of our names. Hyde and Seek. There were twenty-six of us. Now there’s only six.”

  “And none of them know about your abuse?”

  “Don’t call it abuse.”

  “Why not? It was abuse, Kris. Sexual abuse.”

  “Don’t say another fucking word, Evie.” He stands and grabs his knife and sharpening stone. “I’m going back out.”

  “What?”

  “Topside. There’s still the mission.”

  “But you found people.”

  “There might be other communities, Evie. People in other places like this who need saving.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I reply.

  He shakes his head. “Stay with Hyde. Take care of him.”

  My heart skips a beat in fear, but not for me. Why do I have a bad feeling that if we part, I may never see him again?

  “Are you coming back tonight?” I ask.

  He rises from his bench and walks over to me, reaching down to help me stand. He cups my face, cradling it tenderly as he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous in two nights.”

  “Two nights! Kris—”

  “With the sensor chip damaged, I can’t radio position for a pickup, so I’m gonna have to coordinate wi
th the people I find. Maybe even try to search out the other teams.” He shrugs. “And I have to abide by Shalana’s wishes.”

  I don’t like it, but what else can I do?

  “You should let Hyde know,” I urge him. I know he wants to rebury the past, but once scabs are open, festering wounds can’t ever be resealed.

  “I don’t want Hyde to know,” he says harshly. “I don’t want any of the guys to know!”

  “Kris, what that woman did to you wasn’t your fault! She was a sick fucking bitch!”

  He sighs again and runs a hand over his short hair. “Yeah. But pity is worse. Evie, please. I’m just happy that I can touch you. It’s enough for me.”

  He reaches out and pulls me by the neck to meet his kiss. It’s hard, devoid of passion, but full of regret. He bangs his forehead against mine before pulling back. We stare at each other, and he gives me this lopsided smile. His dark eyes are warm, full of something I can’t readily identify, but before I can analyze it further, he turns and leaves.

  Man, I thought I had everything figured out. Shit.

  Chapter Eight

  I set the bowl of water down carefully, making sure not to let the liquid swirl too much and slosh out. I kneel next to it, dipping the small piece of soap—I traded my last protein bar for the sliver—and a faded washcloth into the clear, tepid water. The hard body lying inert under my hands is different from Kris’s. Hyde has a nice fluff of red gold hair on his chest, tapering down to disappear into his underwear. Hyde is a little shorter than Kris. His shoulders are a bit more streamlined. But he’s perhaps a bit more conventionally handsome than Kris.

  I lather the small bit of cloth up and start at his neck, washing away the dirt and grime, revealing healthy pink skin. My fingers clutch the washcloth and travel down the tight muscles cording his chest and over the spattering of gold hair covering his pecs. Hyde is a natural redhead, the color a lightly spun copper, like a brand-new penny shining in the sun. His skin is the motley red of someone who doesn’t tan well. He has pale gold lashes and freckles decorating the bridge of his nose and shoulders, but those can only be seen up close. I know his parents were Irish, but he had been born in the States, inheriting the very telltale signs of his ancestors.

  I had taken off his shirt, pants, and boots before going for the water, and I run the washcloth along the edge of his tighty-whities. A large bulge defined the area, making me wonder what it would look like when it was fully engorged. Something tingles in my gut.

  Whoa. I snatch my hand back and revaluate the man lying before me. What the hell? I reach out slowly and touch him again, without the washcloth. My fingertips brush lightly against the slightly damp warm skin, running up and down the corded muscles covering his abdomen, giving a washboard appearance. Another quiver streaks through me, but I continue exploring, trying to analyze what this means.

  I half decide that it is Kris I am destined to end up with. His emotional freeze kind of mimics my own. I feel connected to him. And I wouldn’t have allowed him to have sex with me if I hadn’t felt love in my heart.

  Would I?

  A little voice inside asks how could I pick Kris before I’ve even given Hyde a chance.

  “As much as I’ve fantasized about this for a while,” comes a distinctly masculine voice from near my elbow, “I find it very unsettling when I’m given a sponge bath while unconscious.”

  I jerk my hands back from his abdomen and sit back, staring into very green and amused eyes. “You’re awake!”

  “Ow,” Hyde groans, reaching up and placing a hand to the bashed in area of his skull. “What the hell hit me?”

  “A cattle prod going about ninety,” I answer, grabbing his hand and bringing it back down so he won’t dislodge the makeshift bandage I have in place.

  He blinks. “That’s a new one.”

  I have to grin at that.

  “Where are we?”

  “Under LA,” I say, following his gaze as it runs around this little room we have custody of. “There’s practically a whole city of survivors here. About a hundred total.”

  “Are you one of those survivors?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m not from LA. I came here voluntarily.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me, urging me to talk, but I am hesitant. Kris hadn’t taken it well, so I am a little nervous about baring my soul a second time. Luckily, Hyde seems to understand my desire to be mute and changes the subject.

  “My name is Sergeant Hyde Galloway,” he introduces himself. “With the 281 Ground Troops, Western Division.”

  He looks kind of silly lying there in only his underwear, trying to be all gallant and noble with formal introductions, but I understand the gesture he’s trying to make.

  “Evie,” I reply. “Evie Rhoton. And I’m not with the military, but I do know the commander of the 1221 Eastern Division.”

  “The one they call the Blue Hawks?”

  “That’s the one.” I can see the interest in his face. The Blue Hawks are an interesting bunch of men. “The commander had gone on some type of training expedition on his own and had broken his leg. I came upon him and helped him.”

  Actually, he had been shot while on a training mission and had fallen down into a ravine. I had been driving nearby in my Cat when his image had sprung up in my mind. When I found him, he had been half buried under a ton of leaves, and the scent of his blood had attracted some coyotes. That rescue had been a doozy.

  “Seems to me there’s more to that story,” Hyde murmurs, giving me that look again, the one with a raised eyebrow and a narrowed appraisal. “But I’m guessing you have many stories.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I’m waiting with anticipation to hear them.”

  “Get used to disappointment.”

  “Ah, a complex puzzle wrapped in a mystery.”

  “I’m not that fascinating.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I must admit, he’s vastly different from Kris, who keeps everything bottled up inside. With Hyde, I can see the words wanting to burst forth from his lips even before he opens them to speak.

  “So where’s Kris?” he finally asks, but I can tell his little banter is far from over. I’m probably an enigma to him, I intrigue the hell out of him, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not.

  “He went topside to finish your mission. I guess tomorrow night we’ll take these people down here to the rendezvous point, get on helicopters, and fly to safety.” I think that wraps everything up nicely.

  “There’re more people up there, Evie.”

  I groan. “Not you too! You sound just like Kris!”

  He gives me a look that says I should connect the dots, only I don’t want to connect them. I want to get out of here because there is a vision floating out there that needs to come true.

  But before I can say anything more, a noise outside the door has him going all military commando on me. Before I can blink, he sits up, pulling me over his lap, his gun pointed and cocked at the person who had just walked in.

  “Whoa!” Shalana gasps, hands going up. “I come in peace!”

  Thrown off balance, I struggle to straighten myself. It’s not easy since my lower body has twisted in Hyde’s grip, and my feet have nothing to brace against. I can feel my stomach grind down on his crotch while my breasts flatten under his arm. Needless to say, it’s an awkward moment.

  “Shalana runs this place!” I grit between clenched teeth, reaching to cover the hand gripping the gun. I had lain it beside him but hadn’t realized he knew it was there.

  He hesitates for another few seconds before lowering the weapon and replacing the safety. He finally releases me so I can ungracefully scramble to my feet. I turn to look at Shalana, shrugging with an apology.

  She isn’t looking at me, however. Her dark eyes remain focused on Hyde’s almost naked form, running up and down his muscles like he’s a lollipop she wants to lick. Interesting.

  “I came to see if you wanted some food
,” she says. “Lunch is ready in the city center point.”

  “Okay,” I agree with a nod. “Thank you. I’m actually very hungry.”

  Real food. How long has it been?

  Shalana leaves, but not before she shoots a long, speculative look at us. I glance at Hyde, and he’s eyeing the beautiful leader back, admiration in his eyes. Maybe it’s the pistol holders crisscrossing her hips that turn him on. Again, interesting.

  “That was a bit awkward.”

  “Ya think?”

  I help him to stand, and he takes a moment to settle himself. He leans against me, the side of his chest brushing my breast and sending tingling jolts through me. Damn it.

  “Careful,” I admonish, sounding a bit more harsh than I want because it’s easier to hide behind aggravation. “You probably have a concussion.”

  “I do not have a concussion,” he retorted. “If I did, my neuro net would tell me… Shit.”

  I cock an eyebrow at him.

  “It must have been disabled by the blow.”

  “Kris’s got knocked out too.”

  “Great,” he says. “Flying blind. Haven’t done that in a while.”

  “Let me help you get your pants on.”

  “I have to confess,” he says with a look of deep concentration on his face, “I’ve honestly never had a girl tell me that. Usually she’s trying to get them off.”

  “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you walk out there in your tighty-whities.”

  Hyde only chuckles and then proceeds to dress himself. He keeps looking at me, checking me out, and I’m not stupid. I’m a long-legged blonde wearing leather and packing a gun. Let’s face it—for some men I’m a sexual goddess come to life.

  I’ve known about men’s fantasies since I was twelve. My mother had a boyfriend with a Lolita fetish, and one hot summer day, when the humidity had been thick enough to cut with a knife, I had gone into my house for some ice. The bastard had cornered me, seeing the promise of womanhood in my prepubescent body. Luckily, I had grown up in a poor area where bullies were bred like tadpoles in a pond, so I was able to fend him off by smacking him with a broom. After that I tortured him till he left my mother, who usually was too drunk to even know he was around. Some laxatives in his beer, sugar in his gas tank, lemon in his cereal, and mousetraps in the shoes work every time.