Heavy Metal gr-2 Read online

  His instincts had been dead on. All four people were spotlighted inside the plant’s fence, the trio advancing on the lone young woman. Sam took off running along the fence line. Broken branches and trampled grass told him the others had already gone through this way, and sure enough, the rusty gate latch was broken. Sam wondered if they’d scouted the area before coming inside for their beer, or if they’d just gotten lucky. He knew the gate was here because he made a point of always knowing what was around him. Training and experience weren’t easily forgotten.

  He shoved the gate hard against the vines holding it in place and squeezed through the gap. When he was close enough, he shouted. Two of the attackers turned toward him. The other was curled on the ground, holding his dangly bits.

  The woman took off across the compound.

  Instead of chasing her, the guy still standing stepped toward Sam and swung. He ducked, then landed an uppercut on the guy’s chin. Exhilaration rushed through him as his opponent staggered back. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a good old-fashioned confrontation. He couldn’t hold back a quick grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands loosely curled in front of his shoulders.

  “That all ya got?” he taunted, hoping to distract the couple long enough for the young woman to get away.

  The man launched himself at Sam with a growl, egged on by his partner’s laugh. Sam didn’t manage to dodge fast enough, and a blow vibrated his skull. He swung again through the pain, and the guy went down on one knee. Sam moved in to shove him flat on his stomach and almost made a fatal mistake—disregarding the woman, especially when her partner was losing.

  Light glinted off the canister she swept into position only inches from his eyes. He knew he didn’t have time to move or to squeeze them closed, but he tried. Just before his eyelids slammed together, he saw the blonde standing twenty feet away, a length of something shiny in her right hand, her left hand held toward them, palm out. Then there was a whump, and a puff of air stirred Sam’s hair. The pepper spray he’d been waiting for never hit his eyes.

  Raising one hand to block his face, Sam peeked through his fingers. The woman with the spray had disappeared. He spun to look for her and spotted her body lying limp ten feet behind him, sprawled at the foot of the chain-link fence surrounding the property.

  “You—” He spun back toward the woman with the pipe just in time to see her heft it and make a pushing motion with her other hand. An invisible wave moved across the distance between her and the attacker now charging toward her. He flew backward and landed with a grunt, rolling over and over until he, too, came up against the fence, clothes twisted around his body.

  A bunch of things became clear, and at the same time a million additional questions lined themselves up. The woman was a goddess, metal the source feeding her abilities. But she wasn’t one Sam knew, which was odd. He hadn’t been involved with the Society for a while, but she seemed like she was in her mid-twenties, and he’d have known if there was someone of that age registered with metal as her source. By the way she’d watched him when she first came into the bar, though, she knew who he was. But he couldn’t begin to guess why she was here.

  She’d lowered her hand, but even from this far away Sam could tell she was shaking. He walked over to her, keeping half his attention on the people on the ground. “You okay?”

  She nodded without looking at him. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Want me to call the police?” He slapped his pocket, annoyed to find it empty. He’d left his phone in the office because he was tired of ignoring calls, and even more tired of feeling guilty about it. “Do you have a phone?”

  “No.” She seemed to say it through gritted teeth. “Let them go. I can’t deal with that, too.”

  “You sure? I can haul them back to the bar and call from there.”

  She finally met his gaze, her eyes crinkling with faint amusement. “You think so?”

  “’Course,” he scoffed at her doubt, mainly to hide his own. He only had two hands.

  But she shook her head. “Maybe they’ll think twice about trying to mug anyone after this.”

  Sam didn’t think it was that simple, and he’d place bets she didn’t, either. But it was two o’clock in the morning, and it was her choice.

  The guy who’d already been on the ground when Sam arrived groaned and freed his hands from between his legs, struggling to get to his feet. Sam strode over and hauled him up by the shoulder of his jacket.

  “Get your friends and get out of here.”

  He nodded, having to look up so far to see Sam’s face that the skin at the back of his neck gathered into folds. When Sam released him, he limped to the other guy and helped him up, then the two scrambled over to the woman and dragged her to her feet. In moments they were gone, their shuffling, heavy gaits fading into the darkness.

  The blonde stood next to Sam now, still clutching her pipe. “Where are they going?”

  Sam frowned at her. “There’s a gate down there. How did you get in?”

  “I climbed over the fence.”

  Of course she did. Sam tilted his head to look at the top of it, sixteen feet up. Impressive.

  “My name is Sam,” he offered. If he’d guessed right, she already knew that, but he was curious how she’d respond.

  She pivoted and faced him. Her shudders had slowed, but she still clutched the pipe as if someone would try to rip it out of her hand. “Riley.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked again.

  She shook herself, snapping into alertness, her eyes focusing. “Yeah. Yes, I’m okay. They didn’t hurt me.” She winced and looked down at her palms. “Mostly.”

  Sam moved closer and took her hand in his. She’d scraped it raw. Patches bled and had smeared on the pipe.

  “We need to take care of these. Come back into the bar with me.”

  She tilted her head and eyed the spot above his temple where he’d been hit hardest. It tugged when he shifted his eyebrows. The blow must have split the skin.

  “You could use some first aid, yourself,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry you got hurt on my behalf.”

  “You can make it up to me.” They started walking toward the gate.

  “I can try.” She looked him over again, clearly checking for other injuries. “Lose any teeth?”

  He ran his tongue over them. “Nope.”

  “Crack any bones?”

  “Only the fingers that hit my hard head.”

  “Good.” She heaved a sigh, and Sam heard a world of weariness in it, something even heavier than the late hour and the altercation warranted. “Thanks for coming out after me.” She waited while Sam pushed the partially open gate against the underbrush holding it captive so they could squeeze through. Once he’d closed it and they’d continued on, she resumed talking. “Most bartenders wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not an ordinary bartender.” Judging by the way she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she caught the understatement. His curiosity rose even more.

  A few moments later Sam led her back into the empty bar. She sat at a table while he retrieved a first aid kit, clean cloths, and bowl of water before joining her.

  She sat quietly while he cleaned her hands and applied antibiotic ointment and bandages. As soon as he was done, she grabbed another cloth and dabbed at the various cuts and bruises on his face. She winced every time she touched him.

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he lied, trying to make her feel better. But her concerned frown deepened.

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt for me.”

  “It wasn’t up to you.”

  She seemed about to argue, but closed her mouth and smiled. The soft curve of her lips drew Sam’s gaze, and for the first time, he saw her as something as simple as a woman. Her eyes were a deep green in the dim light, her skin creamy, and even after the running and the fear, she smelled of some flower that reminded him of his mother’s garden.

  And then she said, “You proved you
rself a real champion.”

  Uneasiness curled through him, and Sam sat back. Riley dropped the bloodied cloth into the bowl of water, her expression closing off again.

  “I think you’d better tell me why you’re here.”

  Chapter Two

  A goddess’s support system begins with her family, but bonds of friendship and trust extend that support system into the goddess community. To facilitate these connections, dozens of local chapters of the Society across the country provide opportunities for networking, education, and socialization.

  —The Society for Goddess Education and Defense, Quarterly Chapter Schedule

  Riley swallowed hard. There’d been an edge in his voice she hadn’t heard before. She’d thought calling him a champion was a compliment, but he apparently hadn’t taken it that way. Now she had even less of an idea of what to say to him. But he’d asked a direct question, and she only had two choices. Answer him, or leave. And if she left, she would burn this bridge. No second chance—she’d never have the nerve.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, letting her bandaged hands fall limply into her lap.

  He folded his arms and tilted his chair back on two legs. “How old are you?”

  Riley frowned at the odd question, but hey, it was a place to start. “Twenty-three. Almost twenty-four.”

  “So you’ve only been a goddess for a couple of years.”

  The word chilled her, even as it drew a knee-jerk reaction based on years of conditioning. “Goddesses aren’t real.” She was almost surprised the words didn’t come out in her mother’s voice. “They’re scam artists.”

  Sam didn’t get annoyed or defend them, as she’d expected. He just nodded to acknowledge her statement. “Are you? A scam artist? Did those people pretend to attack you so you could draw me in and then steal from me or something?”

  Heat crept up her cheeks. “No.”

  “So you did channel energy through that metal pipe and blow two people across open space.”

  How the hell did he make it sound logical instead of ridiculous? “I did.”

  “Do you know those people? Why are they after you?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know who they are. I never saw them before.” She paused, trying to pull together too many details, and Sam spoke before she could elaborate.

  “So they’re not the reason you’re here.”

  “Not completely. They’re part of it, I guess. I just don’t know how everything connects.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes. Now that the adrenaline was gone, everything was catching up to her again. She longed for a real bed and a soft pillow. With a deep breath, she tried to explain. “My life is kind of messed up. I don’t know where this…power comes from. What’s true and what’s not. What’s coincidence and what’s—” She waved a hand toward the back of the building, indicated the altercation. “Deliberate. I was hoping you could help me, but I don’t even know how. Besides, you know, beating up the bad guys.” She twitched her lips, and Sam smiled back, reassuring her that he didn’t think she was a nutcase. Not yet.

  “Sounds like a long story.” He stood and gathered the trash and first aid supplies to carry behind the bar. “It’s after two. Why don’t we table this until the morning?”

  She let out a short breath. It was going to be okay. “That sounds great.” She stood and braced her hands on the rough tabletop as all remaining energy drained out through the soles of her feet and into the floorboards. She’d find somewhere to hunker down for the night—the woods across the road might work—and by the time they met tomorrow she’d have all her thoughts in order and know what to tell him and what she hoped he could tell her.

  But Sam was too perceptive. “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “Of course.” The lie popped out before she weighed pride against practicality. Again, Sam read her too accurately.

  “If you help me close up, you can crash at my place. It’s a little house with a spare room over the garage,” he added before she could even think about protesting. “Then we can talk in the morning.”

  Riley didn’t want to impose that much on him, but she hadn’t asked, he’d offered. And a room over a garage sounded like heaven compared to the cold ground. A bed and a pillow popped into her head again, and she could have whimpered. “Okay. Thanks.” She almost offered to pay him, but remembered she had no way to do that. Besides, she had a feeling it would just annoy him.

  They spent half an hour wiping tabletops, flipping chairs onto tables, and mopping before walking the six blocks to his little—and he wasn’t kidding—house, where he left her in the one-room garage apartment with a towel, a T-shirt that would be gigantic on her but probably fit him skin-tight, and a promise of excellent coffee in the morning.

  She slept better than she had in months. If she dreamed, she didn’t remember. A few times a car passing or some other innocent noise woke her, but without the pulse-pounding anxiety she was used to.

  Eventually, the room was light enough and her brain had recovered enough that she couldn’t sleep anymore. She yawned and stretched but didn’t jump out of bed. Sam had said he usually slept in because of his work schedule, which gave her time to consider how their conversation would go.

  He’d already called her a goddess, a label she’d been too afraid to apply even after studying the Society website and checking out some of the Facebook profiles of women who did use the term. Goddesses weren’t secret or anything. Some of them seemed to have businesses where they used their abilities in various ways. But it all sounded like psychics selling a bill of goods to the gullible, and Riley didn’t know anyone who’d ever met a real one. They weren’t connected in any way to her old life.

  The Society website had a history section—that’s how she knew the little she did. They claimed that the goddesses of ancient times were real, and their abilities—diluted by breeding and resource depletion—had been passed down through maternal lines. There were apparently a few hundred worldwide, about a hundred here in the United States.

  So, if she were a goddess, what exactly did that mean?

  She pulled herself out of bed. That was as good a place to start as any.

  …

  Sam cursed when his phone went off a little before eight. He refrained from throwing the thing across the room but stuffed it under the pillow he buried his face in. It stopped vibrating in his hand, and he drifted off, body and brain relaxing for only a moment before it went off again.

  “Dammit!” He rolled over and glared at the screen. Nick. Of course. Sam had ignored his calls yesterday, so he was punishing him by waking him up too early today. The guy’s tenacity was more ferocious than a pit bull’s and would only get more aggravating.

  He flipped open the phone and put it to his ear. “Yeah, Nick.”

  “Hey, Sammy.”

  He hated that name, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Quinn’s finishing up some work in Boston. She said you’re nearby, and we thought we’d drop by before we head back to Ohio.”

  Sam shoved his free hand into his hair and stared at the ceiling. “Not a good idea, man.”

  “Come on, dude, it’s been three years.”

  That wasn’t the point. Two years ago, Sam would have said no because he didn’t want to see them together, the woman he’d loved and the man she’d chosen instead of Sam. A year ago, he’d have said no because he was still trying to find a new place after walking away from everything that was important to him. Now, he didn’t want them to see how much of a struggle that had become. Back in Ohio, he’d managed a thriving bar and one of the most powerful goddesses of her generation. He couldn’t stand to bring Quinn or Nick to the shithole of a bar he tended now, or have them, each in their own way, try to fix whatever was wrong with him.

  “I talk to her all the time,” he said.

  “It’s not enough,” Nick argued. “She misses you. If you won’t come at least for a visit, let us—
”

  “I’ve got something going here.” He ripped the sheets off him and rolled out of bed. “It would be a waste of time for you guys.” The tiles on the bathroom floor were freezing on his bare feet. “Just let me know when you’re back east again and maybe we can go for dinner or something.”

  He barely listened to Nick trying to change his mind while he brushed his teeth, and then padded into the kitchen to start the excellent coffee he’d promised Riley. “Look, man, I’ve got to go. Busy day. Tell Quinn I said hey.”

  And with that stupid, not-fooling-anyone signoff, he hung up.

  Damn the man for dredging all that up now. Sam leaned against the counter and watched the coffee maker hiss and burble, the first few drops hitting the bottom of the glass carafe. He’d actually been optimistic when he’d left Quinn. He’d worked for her for six years, managing her bar, Under the Moon, as well as the work she did as a goddess. It had fulfilled his early purpose, the one driven by his mother’s death while he was in college. She’d been a goddess, too, pushing to help people beyond her own limits, and he’d always believed that was why she got sick and couldn’t recover. He’d managed Quinn’s limits for her, so she could help people without harming herself. She’d never promised him anything, but their relationship had been more than boss/employee. Unfortunately, not enough so. She’d been in love with Nick even longer than she’d been with Sam, and when the time came that she and Nick could be together, Sam had been the odd man out.

  He’d worked for the Society until a year and a half ago, helping Quinn’s sister Marley start up a new educational program after a leech had preyed on their community, stealing the abilities of several goddesses before they’d stopped him. Marley’s job had been her punishment for her role in creating the leech by giving her boyfriend Anson the ability to take power in the first place.