Chapter 4
Drake had bent to do just that when his grip failed and Helen slipped out of his grasp.
Pain slammed into him with a tangible force that drove him to his knees right there on the chipped tile floor. Power flooded him and ripped through his veins, hammering his bones with pounding agony. He was sure every one of them had been broken, that his organs had been pulverized. Nothing else could explain so much pain. He couldn't stand. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe.
The power he housed inside his body had grown slowly, steadily, over the course of years. The pressure had increased over decades, giving him a chance to get used to the pain it caused. But now it all came flooding back inside him in the space of an instant and his brain couldn't adjust. His body couldn't function. At the gray edges of his mind, he heard himself scream, a terrible, high-pitched noise. He knew he was dying, but right now that was a good thing. It would all be over soon, but it couldn't be soon enough.
Helen wasn't sure what she'd done to Vision Man to send him to his knees, but she didn't stop to worry about it. Miss Mabel was still trying to get away from the big bruiser who held her, and it looked as though she was running out of steam.
Lexi, on the other hand, was holding her own against the third man. He'd pushed her down so that she was almost lying on the counter near the cash register. "Stop fighting me before you hurt yourself," he told her.
Lexi knocked the toothpick dispenser to the floor, making it spew toothpicks everywhere. She got one knee between them and pushed, but it didn't work.
The man simply pressed his body down harder onto hers until she had no room to maneuver. "Are you done yet?"
Her hand fumbled over the counter until she found the metal stand used to collect order tickets and jammed the sharp spike into her captor's arm.
He looked down at the metal sticking out of his skin and smiled. Actually smiled. "Good shot, woman." He sounded as if he was proud of Lexi, which was completely insane, but at least Lexi was still able to fight.
Miss Mabel wasn't, and Helen wasn't sure how she was going to get her free. The man who held her was huge. Tall, wide, muscular. He probably outweighed her and Miss Mabel put together.
"Let her go," demanded Helen, racking her brain for what to do now. Pick up a chair and hit him? No, she might hit Miss Mabel. Throw a sugar shaker at his head? She might be able to hit him without hitting her friend.
Helen was out of ideas, so she went with the best one she had. She grabbed for the closest sugar shaker, but before she could throw it, the giant stepped forward and simply handed Miss Mabel to Helen. She wasn't sure what had changed his mind, but she didn't question her good fortune. She gladly took over the job of supporting Miss Mabel. He was careful with her frail body, gentle. He took his time making the transfer and then when she was clear, he shot to the floor, where Vision Man was writhing.
"Zach!" he shouted. "Need a little help here with Drake when you're done playing with the girl."
The man who had pinned Lexi—Zach—let her go, ripped the spike out of his arm, and set it back on the counter, bloody tickets still in place. Lexi had barely regained her feet before he was also at Vision Man's side. Zach turned to Helen, glaring at her. His pale green eyes stood out in stark contrast against his brown skin, almost looking as if they were lit from within. "What did you do to Drake?"
Helen held Miss Mabel a little tighter, turning her toward the exit. They were getting out of here as fast as possible. "Nothing. He was the one attacking me."
"He didn't do anything more than try to talk to you. You were the one who freaked out. What did you do to him?" he demanded.
Vision Man—Drake, they'd called him—was still convulsing on the floor, his body bowing in a powerful arc. He'd been screaming a moment ago, but now he made these horrible choking sounds, as though he couldn't breathe. The veins in his neck and temples stood out and something odd was happening to the shimmery choker he wore. The colors in it were seething, swirling in a mix of reds, oranges, and yellows. Thin tendrils of smoke drifted up from the necklace and a matching ring on his left hand. Helen could smell the scent of burning flesh—just like in her vision.
The man who had held Miss Mabel checked his watch, his expression grim. "Three minutes until sunset. Logan isn't going to make it in time to save him."
Zach stood up and took a step toward Helen. Lexi had recovered her mobility and found a giant knife somewhere behind the counter. And she held it like she knew what she was doing.
Could this night get any weirder?
Zach must have seen Lexi moving toward him, because he turned and pointed a thick finger in her direction. "Stay out of this. It doesn't concern you."
"The hell it doesn't. They're my friends."
"And Drake is mine." Zach turned to Helen. "Let the old woman go and come here." It wasn't a request and Helen was certain that if she didn't do as he said, someone was going to get hurt when he made her do it, probably Miss Mabel.
This was it. Helen was fairly certain that she'd reached the end of the line. She wasn't about to take Miss Mabel with her, so she settled the frail woman down on a seat and gave her what she hoped was a brave smile.
Miss Mabel clutched Helen's arm with weak, gnarled fingers. "Don't go, honey."
"I'll be fine," she lied. Helen turned back toward Zach and took a step forward.
The big guy was holding Drake down so he didn't hurt himself thrashing around, but it didn't look like an easy job. Drake was strong—his arms and legs thick with muscle. She could see all that strength tighten his body against the convulsions. The big guy took an elbow in the stomach for his effort, letting out a pained grunt. Zach had a hold on Drake's legs, but he didn't take his eyes off Helen. She was sure that if she didn't keep moving toward him he'd come for her.
Man, she didn't want to be here right now. She didn't want to be in the middle of this mess, completely confused as to what was happening and totally freaked out to be getting closer to a man who made her feel better with an almost touch than all the real touches from all the other men in her life put together.
"He's going to be fine," she told them, taking another half step forward.
"How do you know?" asked Zach.
Great. Now she'd gone and backed herself in a corner. She couldn't exactly tell them that she knew he'd be fine because he had to live long enough to watch her die. "I just do."
Another half step and she was close enough that Zach reached out his long arm and grabbed her by the wrist. "Whatever you did, undo it."
"I didn't do anything! I swear. All I did was push his arm away and he fell over."
Zach's heavy brow wrinkled for a second; then those pale green eyes of his went wide as if he'd just figured out what had gone wrong. "Come here," he demanded, tugging her down to the floor until her hand was pressed flat against Drake's stomach—his bare, hard, warm stomach that should have been completely covered by his T-shirt, but wasn't. All that writhing had worked it up over his ribs and she could see half of a large tattoo running up over his left side. It was a tree, inked in lifelike colors and perfect detail. Every swirled knothole, every twist of the tree's roots were so realistic she was sure she could almost feel the rough texture of the bark beneath her fingertips. Fine tendrils of roots spread down over his stomach and disappeared beneath the belt on his jeans. She refused to think about where they led.
Her fingers touched his skin, and it didn't take two full seconds for Drake to relax. Both men looked at her in shock, then looked at each other, sharing some secret guy-speak. She had no clue what was going on, and at this point she wasn't sure she wanted to know. All she wanted was to take Miss Mabel back home and crawl into a deep, hot bath for about a week. She was fairly certain she couldn't burn alive in a bathtub, and it was the only time she ever truly relaxed.
"You're coming with us," said the big guy. His bright blue eyes scanned Drake's body, concern pulling at his brows.
"No, I'm not," said Helen.