“Good girl,” he breathes darkly. He takes my hand and he pulls me toward the front door. I do my best not to look at the bodies but my eyes are drawn to them, soaking them in with a crazy sense of relief.
We’re almost to the door when I spot the camera. I pull at his arm to get his attention. “Wait, it’s the camera.” It’s lying on the coffee table with the tripod and a small stack of memory cards next to it.
“And?” he snaps. Obviously he doesn’t know about it.
“They made recordings of me for-” I stop but I don’t have to say more because he catches on.
“We need a bag. Touch nothing but the bag.” He’s starting to sound really tense. I don’t like that he’s tense. So far he’s been the calm one between the two of us. We can’t both lose our sanity and it’s clear I’ve totally lost my mind already.
We find a paper bag in the kitchen. As we rush towards the living room, my foot slams into something hard and I almost trip. I’ve been trying not to look at the dead faces and blood that’s all around me, but my eyes dart down. I see blood, fuck there’s so much! Then recognition sinks hard to the pit of my stomach. It’s Steven! I recoil back with revulsion.
“Don’t start that shit now. We need to get out of here,” Predator snaps at me. He nudges me forward and with shaking hands I help him shove the camera and memory cards into the bag.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me out the front door. I look straight ahead of me and then I see grass. I yank free and rush forward as if I’ve finally been set free. Once I’m off the porch, I run as fast as my trembling legs can move.
I don’t get far before my legs give way and I eat gravel, not grass. I didn’t even make it that far.
I’m too scared to move.
I’m too petrified to look back at what’s coming.
I hear the gravel crunch behind me and my heart sinks. My insides drop and I start to cry. I sob because not even God will help me.
“Cara.” My head snaps up at the sound of my name. It’s the way he says it, as if he actually cares. It sounds comforting. “It’s time to go. You’re safe now.”
When he crouches next to me, I get my first good look at him. His dark brown hair is short and neat, shaved at the sides. His face is grim and hard, with a beard that only makes him look grisly and dark. He looks like he’s made of stone. Then I see his eyes, gray eyes. Ferocious eyes.
I drop my eyes from his. He definitely has eyes that see everything, just like the walls I was trapped between saw everything.
For a moment emotions threaten to bubble up, to drown me in the horror of what has been done to me, but I close my eyes and focus on the emptiness that’s blackening my soul. I’d rather take the empty feelings over the memories of the nightmare I’ve been living through.
“We’re going to leave now. Can you walk?’ he asks, ripping me from my dark thoughts. I try to get up but what adrenaline I had is gone now. “Okay, no walking then,” he says. His arms slip under me and he lifts me. I feel small in his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, but I feel small because there’s nothing left of the person I once was.
He walks and I don’t even care where, as long as it’s far from the container.
It feels like I’m shutting down, my mind, my body, my soul – every piece of me is tired of fighting.
“You’re safe. I have you now,” are the last words I hear.
PROTECTOR
PROLOGUE
RILEY
I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty happy-go-lucky kind of person. I wanted to save the world, or at least leave my stamp behind.
I’ve spent the last three years leaving my footprints wherever I felt my help was needed.
In my own naïve way, I thought I could bribe karma. You know - if I do good, then good will come my way. It’s worked so far, so why would I have any reason to doubt it?
At the age of twenty-four, I’m happy. It’s that contented kind of happiness not many people ever find in their lives.
I have parents who love me. I have two brothers who I idolize, especially my oldest brother, Josh. No one can hold a candle to him.
I’m excited as the plane touches down. Home … finally.
The flight back from Australia was exhausting. I feel sticky and stinky. But traveling was so worth it. I got to take part in the annual Gouldian Finch Count. It was an amazing experience, counting all those colorful birds. Before that, I traveled around Africa for three years, lending a helping hand wherever I could. It made me feel good.