Destiny Strikes Page 3

  “Do you hear that?” Wallace asked. “It almost sounds like someone making popcorn or playing with a whip?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, brushing it off casually, while asking, “By the way, what’re you up to today?”

  She ignored the fresh smell of smoke.

  “Turns out when I decided to stop in on Avedon, he was still up. Not too long ago, we returned your bike. Even though I’ve never borrowed your bike before. We’re good, right?”

  Poleaxed by Wallace’s dumb question, she couldn’t believe he didn’t realize there would be consequences for taking her motorcycle. Avedon knew better and probably laughed his ass off instead of warning Wallace of how much trouble he’d be in over this screw-up. They were both asses.

  “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll discuss it later.” She tried to sound convincing. “As long as we’re family, we can forgive each other, right.”

  Hah. While the statement was true enough, there was nothing written in stone about teaching a person not to do it again.

  Hanging up, she went upstairs to change.

  In a haze of purpose, Fallon dressed in leather biker attire: black vest, pants, and high-heeled boots, then made her way outside. Once she checked SAM over, a cloud of white smoke trailed her down the drive. She knuckled back on the throttle as she hit open road.

  The blurring scenery augmented the sun shadowing the eastern side of Seattle’s Cascade Mountains. Wind pressed against her skin-tight clothing and lashed her helmet, calming her in a way few understood. Her brothers would never grasp the gravity of the despair she’d undergone growing up under such tight constraints. Control or kill.

  Freedom for her came the day she’d ridden her first Indian motorcycle in 1947. Harley really earned its pay, upgrading SAM’s frame. Underneath mounds of chrome, paint, and a few integrated modern conveniences the melding of the two was beautiful. The original kick-start ignition revealed SAM’s real age.

  Where her brothers had formed countless relationships with other people, the only bond she’d made strong enough to stand the test of time was with her motorcycle.

  Pathetic. But true.

  Something happening to her baby made her feel ill.

  When she arrived at the upscale condominium, her anger peaked again at the sight of Wallace’s car. None of the reason’s he’d taken SAM seemed true. The twerp lived to stir the pot. Knowing the best way to rile her was through her motorcycle.

  After parking, she took the stairs slowly. Several deep breaths later, she knocked. Her hand poised to knock again. Avedon opened the door.

  “What’s up?” Avedon’s grin was mischievous as it spread wide across his handsome face.

  Hug rejected, she pushed past his open arms.

  “Not today, buddy.”

  Her search of the apartment found Wallace laid up in Avedon’s spacious entertainment room. He gripped a PS3 controller in his hands, engrossed in Infamous 2 gameplay.

  Hands on her hips, she waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

  Time up, and furious, she ignored the hunky animated character who wielded lighting as he saved Los Angeles from mutants. “One day maybe you’ll be able to control your gift and do some of the cool shit this guy does,” her brothers had often teased. She never let on how much it hurt she was inept at brandishing her power. Maybe it would always be so.

  Resentment fragmented reasoning, she moved in front of the screen blocking Wallace’s line of sight.

  “Move outta the way.”

  “Why’d you do it, Wallace?”

  His arms dropped between his legs dejectedly. Rolling his eyes, he complained, “This ain’t about SAM, is it? Come on. I said I’m sorry. Now move!”

  His lack of remorse galled her. “That’s not good enough,” she enunciated between clenched teeth.

  Fallon reached for the controller. He leaned back, giving her the advantage. Shoving both hands into his chest laid him flat on the couch, and her straddling his legs. On top now, with her knees’ digging into his stomach, he twisted trying to hide it in the space between the cushions. Breathing hard, she worked for possession of the device.

  “When’ve I ever let anyone touch my motorcycle?” she asked, at a clear stalemate.

  “Stop, Fallon, what the hell are you doing?”

  A burst of power pushed at her and she ended up underneath him. Wallace tried to improve his hold. Not one to give up, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and squeezed, pulling down.

  He loosened his hold. Due to the momentum and downward arch, the hard plastic of the device popped her in the mouth. As pain exploded, an electric current discharged from her fingertips and enclosed Wallace’s wrist.

  Her fingers sank into tissue and bone as she inhaled the stench of sizzling flesh, the wound cauterizing as her fingers and palm passed through. Both were stunned speechless. In triumph, she held the remains of a fried controller and brother’s detached hand.

  He toppled off her when she shot to her feet.

  In the moments Avedon raced across the room, and tried comforting Wallace, Fallon knew things would never be the same again.

  To cement her spiral into the world of the unhinged, she smiled and waved the severed hand at him.

  “What the hell’s got into you, Fallon?” Avedon shouted.

  She winked at Wallace, his glittering gaze pinning her to the spot as his handsome features contorted in agony.

  She’d be locked inside a cage, never to see the light of day if she let on about the dual fight she waged not to become evil.

  What spilled from her lips was as crazy as her actions.

  “You do remember the era in which we lived? The proverb that still holds weight in some parts of the world.” With a dismissive air, she waved his hand at him in a lecturing fashion. “‘If it offends thee, cut it off.’ Well, I just reminded you to keep your hand off my stuff.”

  Her actions today were like a tremendous screw she’d driven into her own coffin. Now the question was, what Michael was going to do about it?

  CHAPTER 2

  Two weeks later

  Seagrove, North Carolina

  Michael had wasted precious little time getting her out of Seattle.

  Her oldest brother arrived at Avedon’s doorstep, assessed both tales of how the mutilation occurred, and then given Fallon an hour to pack a few belongings. His parting words, an echo she couldn’t shake, “This has to end. With so much at stake for our kind, you’d condemn us all. I won’t see you hunted by Gabriel because you damn well know none of us will see you hurt.”

  Anxiety elicited icy fingers of dread throughout her body. Some sentences were worse than death and a conjured image of flesh stripped off an immortals body and Gabriel with a wicked, yet merciless smile on his beautiful, chiseled face during the peeling process. Indelibly one of Heaven’s most powerful warriors, Fallon avoided being on his bad side.

  Black helmet protecting her eyes, she glanced up into the pitch-black sky and flashes forking behind dark clouds. Unease tickled the short hairs at the back of her neck.

  Speaking of not getting on The Archangel’s short list, the coming storm overhead was also driving Fallon’s troublesome inner beast. It hungered for destruction.

  Her wrist ached as she tightened her grip on the throttle. Capped well over the breakneck speed of a hundred, she barreled down the Two-Twenty South Bypass straightaway.

  How the hell was she to control herself with powerful emotions like: fear, loneliness, anger, and hurt—vying for her darker side to be set free. Only then, could she let go and release her power. Which would most likely see her in more trouble and her brothers brought down with her.

  The soothing growl from her well-maintained V-Twin SS 883 motor created a vibration between her legs that alleviated none of
her tension. In fact, SAM’s ability to turn every muscle in her body to jelly better than any masseur decreased with every mile.

  A large, green highway sign lit by neon blue headlights loomed before her and announced her exit. Shaking with the need to hold it together, she contemplated pulling to the side of the off-ramp to take a much-needed shot from the bottle of Jack Daniels in her saddlebag just to take the edge off.

  Cresting the incline that led into town, she said a special prayer, just to be on the safe side.

  “Lord, I’ve tried my best to value the safety of humans. Lately, I couldn’t tell you what’s wrong with me. For sanity’s sake and that of my family, just let me make it to my destination without anyone dying.”

  Minutes later, she found herself pulled over by an unmarked patrol car. Well, so much for earnest prayer.

  The officer flashed a badge but was out of uniform, not even a shiny highway patrol I.D. tag to prove his authority. As he stood ridged in front of her, she argued, “What do you mean I’ve got an open container?”

  “I’d probably be in a better mood if I had,” she mumbled.

  Fallon yanked the bottle of Jack up then back. With the two-second face time, she hoped he saw the seal was unbroken. It’d be her luck he missed it, especially with those dark glasses on. Who in the hell wore shades at night, unless they were hung-over or cranked up? The shield she finally spied attached at his hip was real, but there was something fishy about him.

  Ignoring the domineering stance, her lower abdomen clenched despite her best effort not to react to him. If he wasn’t harassing her on her worst night ever, she might be impressed by the remarkable physique, the SPD insignia T-shirt, and dark blue jeans defined.

  However, nothing he said or did this night made sense.

  “Ma’am, I don’t see why you’d have a bottle out in the open when there’re two perfectly good saddlebags on either side of you.”

  “So what? Is there a crime against holding liquor that I’m not aware of? I just showed you it wasn’t open.”

  His lifted brow and stoic silence incensed her, yet the niggling suspicion more was going on here than she wanted to be caught in kept her ass stuck to the seat until she figured out a way to stow the bottle without making contact with the saddlebag’s metal buckle. Literally, sparks would fly.

  Angled in an uncomfortable side position, he’d yet to notice dancing thin purple-blue arcs flickering off her exposed fingers searching for a place in which to ground. Pressing the smooth hardness of the bottle closer against her body, contained lightning in a bottle sounded good right about now if it got them both out of this situation unscathed.

  Dammit it all to hell!

  Dealing with this shit was crazy. One peek at his stiffened stance, fingers flexing at the ready, and shoulders back, his ultimate intentions for her if she didn’t act right were clear. Do not pass go. Go straight to jail.

  As far as problems went, more than finding herself in this bind, and unable to overlook a deadly storm’s approach, even charged air and electric buildup caused havoc with her system, the bizarre heightened awareness of the officer stirred the pot for a different kind of trouble.

  “What the hell am I thinking? I’m already on probation,” slipped out before she knew it.

  His “Come again,” didn’t register as much as the way the officer’s body stiffened. She sucked in a stunned breath as a blast of power washed over her. Unlike the holy beauty of Gabriel and shades obstructing her view, something indefinable stuck her as familiar about him.

  Unmistakable as the tiny hairs rising along her flesh, nothing but human registered back when she checked for the dynamic makeup of energy all angels shared with the Creator.

  This man had a soul. Angels did not. That simple.

  Dismissing him, she performed a quick scan of the area for the source alerting her of angelic presence and danger. Releasing the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, she tried to shake the feeling.

  Her bad mood and the effort it took to stem the effects the approaching storm had probably wreaked havoc with her senses.

  The officer’s hand, inching closer to his service piece, was a simple blip on her threat radar.

  However, one problem at a time. He’d obviously taken her comment about being on probation the wrong way, and probably scouting the area as formulating a plan of escape. Idiot.

  Rolling her eyes, her gaze settled with interest on the hand that rested on the butt of his service pistol as he spoke.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Ma’am, but if you want to add resisting arrest to any charges you receive tonight, I’d be willing to oblige you.”

  Her skin itched as self-preservation held her in check. She held her hands up.

  “I’m innocent.” She almost choked on the lie. “Calm down, big boy! That came out wrong. I’m a model law-abiding citizen. I’m not on any kind of restrictions.”

  The officer snorted, folding his bulging arms over his massive chest. The ease with which he widened his stance made her mouth salivate and lower abdomen flex in response.

  For the first time in a thousand years, an erotically detailed real-time fantasy of herself locked together with the officer nearly stroked her out.

  “I’m already laid out for a casket. Doing anything naughty would not only bury me, but him too,” she grumbled, shoulders drooping.

  “Ma’am, I can’t understand you when you’re mumbling behind the helmet. If you can remove it and step off the motorcycle, we can proceed.”

  “How about I don’t and say we did?” Fallon countered.

  His stunned expression was priceless to behold. “Are you asking me to be reasonable? I might have been prone to do it ten minutes ago if you had cooperated.”

  “I wonder what an ass would do in this situation. You seem like an expert. Any pointers?” Fallon asked with interest, testing his tolerance because she no longer gave a damn.

  “Maybe so, Ma’am, but it’s not my ass in trouble right now.”

  A beautiful thin line of lightning forked out from the approaching storm and struck about five miles away from where they were standing. The aftershock of thunder reached the earth under their feet and trembled as it began to spread in rippling waves.

  “Look, I’m just trying to get home. Can you cut me some slack tonight?” she asked sincerely, nervous energy making her twitch.

  Crickets chirped, over his silence.

  Okay. If he wanted her off so damn bad, then let him deal with the consequences.

  CHAPTER 3

  When it came to manhandling women, most officers considered it a last resort without female backup. Travis’s time on the force had been fortunate never to see the day. However, the way she refused to get off her motorcycle and kept glancing around, he hoped his hand wouldn’t be forced now. The headache he’d been dealing with before the female version of Ghost Rider showed up was getting worse.

  He raised his hand and scrubbed a knuckle over his mouth, before sliding his thumb and forefinger under the offensive protection that hid his eyes. Two fingers dug into the ache, throbbing in intensity.

  Diagnosed at birth with a medical condition that had no definition or cure, his discomfort had flat-lined to nonstop over the past two weeks. Now, the intolerable pain weakened his knees.

  Breathing deep, he pressed harder. He wasn’t even supposed to be on patrol. Covering for a fellow officer, the man’s four-month-old daughter and her trip to the ER took precedence over any pain or grief Travis endured now.

  “If I get off now, what do I do with my hands?”

  Her husky remark caught him off guard. Distracted maybe a minute, she’d finally removed her head gear and the clear sultriness of her voice sent a shaft of pure yearning straight to his cock. This was so not the time or place.

&
nbsp; Unexpected desire and the vicious headache made his voice harsh.

  “Keep up the sarcasm, and they’ll be behind your back, in cuffs.”

  She sniffed. “You’re welcome to try.”

  Stunned over the woman’s lack of respect and grasp on the seriousness of the trouble she could be in, he reexamined the individual slowly shaking her head. The mute glow of street lamps shadowed her face, breasts, thighs, and endless legs.

  “Do you like what you see? If it weren’t for the silliness of this situation, I’d say you’re a pretty decent specimen, too.”

  “Ma’am, you’re sadly mistaken if you think any sexual overture will change your circumstances.” Her spine stiffened under his watchful gaze. “For the last time, step away, and put the bottle down on the seat.” He looked pointedly at the bottle tucked against her crotch.

  She removed the helmet and shook out thick blond hair. The bobbed locks slanted downward grazing the sides of her chin.

  Then placing the DOT head cover on the seat, her hands fisted on her thighs, and several strands lifted with the increased breeze as her eyes rose heavenward.

  Despite all the lights on Main Street, an ill-omened gloom enclosed them. With each minute passing, the prickle along his spine intensified.

  “Why do you keep referring to me as Ma’am?” she asked.

  “It’s a southern courtesy. Now, get off the bike, Ma’am.”

  Cords of lightning flashed about a mile away. The ricocheting sonic explosion answered almost immediately by mighty percussions that lasted well after a curtain of obsidian engulfed the night sky again.