The Savior: COLTER (Cover Six Security Book 6)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  But she wished it for Crocker, and for the other man. Was that the Trey he had mentioned? Or someone else? She didn't know, didn't care. It didn't matter who it was, as long as he shared the same fate and burned in Hell with Crocker.

  She pushed herself up another inch, pain shooting through her with the movement. She winced against it, willed her stomach not to revolt at the sensation. Closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe but even that hurt.

  She moved again, opened her eyes and stared at the mattress a few feet away. At Shonda, her thin body beaten and bruised. Had they done something else to her? Was she dead already?

  Tears burned Allison's eyes and she blinked them away, forced herself to focus. To look.

  Then she realized that Shonda was looking back at her. She was alive, watching Allison with the same painful determination—and with something else.

  With hope.

  A brief surge of strength shot through Allison and she pushed herself up another inch, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She glanced at the two men then pulled herself across the floor, pushing with the toe of her shoe. It was just an inch, maybe not even that—but it was something.

  She didn't know why it mattered but she needed to reach Shonda. There was nothing she could do for the girl, no help she could give her, no defense she could provide. But the need to reach her propelled Allison forward. Somehow, if she could reach Shonda, they would be okay.

  Laughter filled the air, chilling her. She stopped, turned her head to see Crocker walking toward her, his monster face wearing a bright smile. "I'm impressed, Allison. I didn't expect to see you awake so soon. I think I'm going to enjoy breaking you even more."

  He reached for his expensive suit jacket, removed it and carefully draped it over the chair she'd been tied to earlier. His silk tie followed. Then, each slow movement filled with precision, he undid the buttons of his shirt, one by one until the material hung open over his chest.

  "You told me I could have her." The voice came out of the darkness, angry and sullen. The other man, though Allison couldn't see him. Her gaze was locked on Crocker, her lungs frozen with the knowledge of what he was about to do.

  "You can have her when I'm finished. Go back to Shonda if you want to play."

  "She's used up. Broken. I no longer want her."

  "Then you can amuse yourself while you watch me." Crocker stepped closer, his hands reaching for the slim leather belt at his waist.

  A shot rang out, the sound sharp and loud, bouncing off the steel and aluminum stretching high overhead. A second one followed, so close behind the first that she thought it was an echo. The other man fell to the ground, a dull thud that was nearly soundless. Crocker yelled, grabbed his thigh and fell to the ground as a warm spray of blood hit the concrete inches away from Allison.

  She scurried back, tried to move away, her feet scrambling against the concrete. Crocker swore, his voice a mixture of anger and agony as he reached behind him. A gun appeared in his hand, dangerous and lethal—

  And pointed right at her.

  "I'll kill her. Whoever you are, stop, or I'll kill her right now."

  Another shot rang out. Blood exploded from Crocker's arm, just above the hand that was holding the gun. He screamed in agony, curled his good hand around his bloody wrist as the gun fell to the floor.

  Allison scrambled forward, her hands closing over the discarded gun. She fumbled with it, fought for balance as she pushed herself up and stretched her legs in front of her. She curled both hands around the handle of the gun, adjusted her grip and fought to keep her hands steady, forced herself to focus.

  Blinked, willed her vision to clear.

  And took aim.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Colter raised the weapon and lined up his second shot, knowing Boomer was doing the same from the other end of the open room. Ox had taken care of the first guy and Daryl was ready, standing by for backup in case it was needed.

  It wouldn't be needed, not with Colter and Boomer handling this. Crocker would be taken care of, one shot at a time. He'd sealed his own fate as soon as he moved toward Allison with clear intent on his face. Maybe even before then.

  Colter aimed for Crocker's knee, started to squeeze the trigger—then felt his heart slam into his throat when Allison grabbed the weapon the other man had dropped.

  "Fuck!" Daryl's harsh growl was an echo of Colter's own muttered oath. What the hell was she doing?

  He knew what she was doing but he couldn't let her. Taking care of Crocker was his job—his and Boomer's. There would be consequences—and both men were prepared to handle them, legally or otherwise. Allison wasn't. Killing a man, whether he deserved it or not, exacted a mental and emotional toll. Colter would lose no sleep over Crocker's death but Allison would, whether she realized that or not.

  Colter lowered his weapon and moved forward, his steps slow and quiet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Boomer doing the same, approaching Allison from another angle.

  She didn't notice either of them. Didn't notice Ox or Daryl. Her entire attention was focused on Crocker, her grip on the handle of the weapon too tight and desperate. Crocker writhed on the floor in front of her, his face a mask of pain and anger as he slid away from her, his voice shaking with hatred as he taunted her.

  Colter wanted to raise his weapon and put an end to that taunting, to show the man that he had no power in spite of what he thought, what he insisted. But any move right now might startle Allison, any unexpected sound might cause her finger to jerk against the trigger.

  And it wasn't just Crocker that she might hit.

  Colter kept his weapon tucked against his leg, slid a glance at Boomer then moved forward. Steady yet cautious, wary of startling Allison. Could she see him yet? Did she realize he was there? That they were all there? Or would she notice him too late and think he was someone else and turn that weapon on him before she realized what she was doing? Watching her, he knew that was a possibility.

  But he had to risk it.

  He tucked the weapon into the holster at his back and took another step forward, his hands outstretched. "Allison."

  She jerked back as if he had slapped her. The weapon in her hands wavered, swung an inch in his direction then moved back toward Crocker. Colter swallowed against the breath that had lodged in his throat and took another cautious step forward.

  "Allison. It's me. Colter. I'm here."

  She shook her head and the hair that had hidden her face fell to the side, revealing what Crocker had done. Her lips were split, top and bottom, swollen and caked with dried blood. The right side of her face was discolored, the flesh mottled, her cheek misshapen. Her right eye was nothing more than a slit in the swollen flesh around it; just beneath it, a small cut gaped open, oozing blood.

  Rage, white-hot and pure, ripped through him. He wanted to grab Crocker, tear him apart with his bare hands, make the bastard pay for what he'd done. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he took care of Allison.

  Colter took another step closer, then another. "Allison. I need to you put the gun down."

  "N-no." She shook her head, her gaze never leaving Crocker's. "He needs to pay for what he did."

  "I know. And he will. But you need to let us handle it."

  "I'm going to kill him."

  "I can't let you do that, Allison."

  A small sound, a mixture of pain and desperation, fell from her damaged mouth. She turned her head, met his gaze. What he saw there—the pain and fear and terror—ripped through him. Threatened to unleash something feral inside him, something he had never known existed until this moment. He fought against it, struggled to control it—at least for now. Once he had Allison, once she was safe—

  Crocker would pay and consequences be damned.

  Colter moved closer, his gaze never leaving hers. Closer still, less than two feet away from her now. He bent down, the motion slow and careful, and extended his hand toward her. "Allison, I need you to give me the weapon."

  A shud
der went through her, long and violent. The weapon wavered in her shaking hands and Colter held his breath, expecting to hear the crack of a bullet pierce the air. Instead, he heard Allison's explosive sob as she relaxed her grip on the weapon and lowered it. Colter leaned forward, grabbed it from her and passed it back to Daryl before dropping to his knees in front of Allison. She fell against him, hands fisting in his shirt as she buried her face in his chest and cried.

  Colter held her as Daryl checked on the first man. As Ox rushed to the young girl on the stained mattress. As Boomer came to a stop behind Crocker and hovered over him.

  Blood from his damaged arm stained the pristine white of Crocker's shirt as he cradled it against his chest. He used the foot of his good leg to push himself across the floor, inch by inch, away from Allison—and closer to Boomer.

  "You stupid bitch! You won't get away with this. None of you will. Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea what I can make happen? How much you'll pay for this?" He slid back another inch, collided against Boomer's legs and looked up. For a brief second, fear crossed his face. The fear morphed into disbelief, then anger. "You'll pay. All of you will."

  "You'll be the one paying."

  Crocker laughed, the sound sharp and brittle and edged with desperation. "You have no idea how powerful I am. This won't stick. None of it will. You have nothing on me. Do you hear me? Nothing. And when this is over, you will pay."

  Boomer's gaze slid to Colter's, held it for a long minute in silent communication. Colter finally nodded, the briefest motion of his head. Boomer nodded in return then looked back at the man huddled at his feet.

  "I don't think we will."

  Crocker's argument was lost in the crack of the single bullet that echoed around them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The gasp of fright pulled him from the light doze. Colter sat up, tightened his gentle hold around the hand he had refused to release for the last few hours. Instead of relaxing and easing back into a drug-assisted sleep, Allison's body tensed, stiffened. The gasp turned into a whimper, the sound growing louder as she threw his hand off, as her legs thrashed under the hospital blanket.

  "Allison, I'm here. You're okay. I'm here." He forced the whispered words from his raw throat, repeating them over and over until she slowly calmed. Her eyes opened, her gaze unfocused as she turned her head toward him. She blinked, whispered his name, and drifted off once more.

  The scene repeated itself three more times as the light outside the window drifted from black to gray. There was no struggle the fourth time she opened her eyes, just a heart-wrenching sorrow that sliced him deep and left him feeling helpless. Her gaze locked on his for a long time, her eyes glittering with the tears that fell over her lashes and trailed down her face.

  Colter eased his arms around her and simply held her as she cried. He didn't bother with reassuring words—even if he'd been able to force them through his clogged throat, they would have been empty and meaningless. Holding her was the only thing he could do, wondering if it would matter, knowing it wouldn't.

  The next time she woke, her eyes were frighteningly blank, devoid of even a hint of emotion. Colter had expected it but the sight of that vacant stare still chilled him. He tightened his hand around hers, waited for her to squeeze it back—or throw it off. She did neither.

  He didn't let go—he needed that connection with her—as he spoke to her, forcing a calmness he didn't feel to his low voice. "Shonda's going to be okay, Allison. They had to operate on her arm but she's going to be okay."

  He questioned his word choice, wondered if Allison would accuse him of lying. Shonda would recover, but would she truly be okay? There was a difference, one Colter had never really considered before. The bones would heal, as would the cuts and bruises. But what about the scars that would be left behind, the ones carried inside, that the world couldn't see? Would those heal as well?

  Shonda was strong, had already survived so much in her young life. Would she survive this, too? Colter thought she would. He sensed something in her, a streak of steel that might be bent but couldn't be broken. He'd caught a glimpse of that force of will last night, when she had adamantly refused Ox's help until she finished talking. Her voice had been so weak, so filled with pain that they'd expected her to pass out. But she hadn't, not until telling them a story that had made Ox lurch to the side and lose the contents of his stomach. She'd told them about the other girls, what they'd been forced to do and where they were being kept, her voice growing weaker with each word she spoke. Her last words had been directed at Colter, a quiet command that he take care of Allison.

  Yes, Shonda was a survivor, Colter was sure of it. With time and counseling and support, she'd be able to move on. Not get over it, or forget—thinking anyone could do that was unrealistic and dangerous—but survive and come out stronger. Colter intended to make sure she had that support.

  He threaded his fingers with Allison's and squeezed. Leaned forward and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She flinched and jerked back when he touched her and he quickly withdrew his hand, flattened it against the mattress. This, too, had been expected—but not the pain that sliced through him at her reaction.

  He kept his voice calm, careful to hide his own reaction as he spoke. About Shonda. About the other girls. He told her that they'd been found, that they were safe, that the other men who had been with them were now in custody. He told her how investigators were digging through Crocker's files, how they were discovering pieces of other operations, slowly widening the crack that had been opened last night—because of her. Because she hadn't given up hope and had kept searching for one young girl even when nobody else seemed to care.

  Allison remained quiet, saying nothing the entire time he spoke. Even when he finished, she stayed quiet. Still. Not moving, not even looking at him. That vacant stare was focused on something past him, something only she could see. Colter briefly wondered if she had even heard him, or if his voice had been nothing but a low drone in the background of her thoughts.

  Minutes ticked by, stretched around them with agonizing slowness. Allison finally moved, her head turning toward him, her gaze locking with his.

  "Crocker."

  Colter hesitated, not sure if the name was a question or a statement, uncertain what she was asking. Did she remember what had happened? Had she blocked it out? He spoke softly, the words gentle and reassuring.

  "He's dead, Allison."

  "You stopped me from shooting him."

  "Allison—"

  "It should have been me." She pulled her hand from his and curled it against her stomach. Something flashed in her eyes, there and gone before he could identify it. Then she turned her head away from him and spoke again, her voice clogged with tears.

  "It should have been me."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Someone was staring at her.

  She could feel it, an intensity of awareness that started at the base of her spine and worked its way out. There was no menace in the stare, no threat of harm. Just...intensity.

  Not Colter. Her body instinctively knew when he was near, warmed and prickled under the heat of his gaze. Besides, she had sent Colter away. How long ago? An hour? Two? More? There was no sense of time, just a sharp line of demarcation between then and now. It was like she was two different people, separated by that line, and she was struggling to bring those two halves back together to form a whole.

  And she didn't know if she'd ever be successful. Wasn't sure she should be, after what had happened two nights ago.

  Allison kept her eyes closed, hoping that the person would give up and walk away. She wasn't in the mood to talk, had already had her fill of visitors.

  Hannah, who had maintained a one-sided conversation, trying to coax Allison from her solitude.

  Linda, who had hugged her as if they hadn't seen each other in years, then broke down in tears because she blamed herself.

  Colter, who said nothing. He just sat there, steady and sile
nt and strong, her self-appointed guardian. He'd made arrangements for her to see Shonda this morning, had wheeled Allison to the girl's room then stood quietly off to the side while they talked.

  That visit had left her drained, physically and emotionally. Shonda's tears had brought out her own and they both sat there, hugging each other as they cried. Shonda recovered first, pulling away and wiping her face with a determination that still stunned Allison—

  And made her wish she had even half of the girl's strength. That was just one of the reasons she had sent Colter away: she needed time to herself. Time to think. Time to decide if she was the same person she had been before, or someone completely different.

  Physically, she knew nothing had changed. She'd been kidnapped. Restrained. Physically beaten. But she hadn't been violated. Shouldn't that somehow make everything better? Compared to what Shonda had been through, her injuries were mild. Some cuts and bruises, a sprained wrist, a split lip. Nothing that some ice, rest, and stitches wouldn't heal.

  So why was she having so much trouble connecting with who she'd been before? Did she want to be that same person? Could she be?

  If she wasn't—or if she couldn't be—how did that change everything else? Did she want what she had wanted before? Was that even possible? Or had things so completely changed that nothing would ever be the same again?

  She didn't know. She needed more time to think—something that wouldn't happen because someone was still staring at her.

  Allison finally opened her eyes, turned her head and caught her brother's gaze. Ryder stared back at her, his eyes burning with a fierce determination that made the breath catch in her throat. She tried to look away but he wouldn't let her, held her gaze with his strong will and sheer stubbornness.