Heat Race - Tanya Chris Page 0,77
be here. We’ll be back tomorrow, if we can. Be careful.”
Saul stood alone on the shoulder of the road, looking down the hill at the house that had been swarming with workers half an hour ago. All the plumbing was in now, the electrical, everything they needed to make it a real home. Earlier, he’d watched a toilet flush with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. Now he felt only confusion.
A car pulled up behind him, and Saul knew, without checking, that it wouldn’t be full of friends. The sound of tires over gravel heralded the arrival of a second car as Saul took a last look at the house he’d built, wondering if he would ever see it again. Then he turned to face the men climbing out of the cars.
Eight alphas. He recognized some of them—Miller from the electronics store, others who worked on the farm—but none of the men had ever been out to help with the building, and the sledgehammers, tire irons, and cans of gasoline they carried were intended for destruction rather than construction.
“Not planning to hurt you,” one of the men said—a stringy fellow named Garrison. Saul recognized him from the farm. Did Garrison really think he’d still have a job after tonight? The lusty sheen of violence hazing his eyes told Saul he wasn’t thinking at all. “None of us has any quarrel with you personally,” Garrison added. “Our quarrel is with Jasper.”
“It ain’t even Jasper we mind,” a second man corrected. “It’s the pack. You can’t have no pack here. Just move yourselves away from Galvetta, and there won’t be any trouble.”
A couple of the men nodded, as if they might accept a promise to vacate in lieu of whatever mischief Garrison had in store, but Saul could tell the rest were consumed with a destructive fever. Even if he agreed to leave—a promise he could hardly make on his own—the mob wouldn’t be satisfied.
“Jasper owns this land.” He gestured at the wide field behind him. “He’s got a right to live on it. And this is our home, built with our own hands. We’re not leaving it, and I’m not going to let you destroy it.”
“Then we’ll have to take you down first.” Garrison raised the tire iron in his hand as he approached. “Once you’re out of the way, we won’t have any trouble with the house.”
He swung, aiming for Saul’s left ribcage. Saul dodged so that only the tail end made contact, but even that much hurt. He grabbed the tool, managing to wrench it out of Garrison’s hand as someone closed in on his other side. Whatever that guy hit him with made full contact. A cracking sound echoed in his ears even as pain blossomed across his ribs.
Brandishing the tire iron he’d taken from Garrison, he turned to face his new opponent and found a trio of them. There were too many men here. He couldn’t fight them all. But if he stopped fighting, they’d burn down the house, maybe even kill him, so he lashed out with a fury that was too easily summoned. Men swarmed him, rendering the tire iron ineffective because he didn’t have room to swing it. He flailed against the mob of angry attackers as they took him down, sticky with blood and sweat, striking at anything he could reach.
Pain warred with adrenalin, stealing his energy. Another cracking burst of pain—this time in his right arm. He kicked out, scrabbling with his feet when his arms stopped working, snapping his jaws and tasting the blood of his enemies. He roared, calling to Jasper, though he knew Jasper was too far away to hear him, but the sound of his own fury urged him to fight harder.
His situation might be hopeless, but he couldn’t surrender. The alpha in him didn’t care about odds or negotiations. It refused to sacrifice the house to save his body. It raged—determined, undaunted, limitless. But his body began to fail, too human, too encumbered by injuries. He roared again—one last desperate call for help as the world around him dimmed until nothing remained except the red of violence and the darkness of death.
ELIAS
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On rainy days, Elias waited in Dee’s office while Jack Henry taught, maybe sneaking an occasional peek through the curtain at Jack Henry in his dance shorts. But today was a splendid day, summer fading into a golden autumn, the air crisp and smelling of apple cider doughnuts. He didn’t have any reason to rush to the