Twist My Heart, Brooke Taylor [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

They seethed when the buddies they were desperate to impress, or worse their girlfriends, would stifle a laugh. The mere image of their pasty asses so much as standing post in the wicked, dark places Nik burrowed into night after night, much less going for a SEAL Trident of their own? Impossible.

As the poster says—everyone wants to be a lion until it’s time to do lion shit. But Nik craved the lion shit. When he was at war, he became every bit the king of beasts with darkness in his soul and blood dripping down his fangs, eager for his next hunt. Being stateside, sitting in bars entertaining college pricks and sad dads was about as close to being caged on display at a zoo as he could get.

A flurry of lightning strikes split the sky, revealing the monstrous black funnel churning less than a quarter mile away. As Nik straightened his spine, his abs contracted hard as armor. The slow roiling mass dominated his field of vision. It was as if he were witnessing what he’d only ever felt inside himself before—The Darkness.

The wedge churned with violence and power as it lumbered across the highway—fucking ambling!—toward the northeast. As soon as the funnel cleared the westbound lanes, Nik thrust his Jeep back in gear. With a jerk of the steering wheel, he pulled away from the chasers hurrying back to their vehicles.

The downdraft was still dropping debris as Nik zigged and zagged, dodging the swath of rubble littering the roadway. Swerving, he avoided colliding with a metal hay ring as it rolled in front of him. An assault of lightning lit up the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, about three hundred yards to the northeast, was a flash of white metal—Tigger’s truck!

Another flash. The truck appeared to be wadded as if it were made of tin. No way she’d survived it. Shit, shit, shit… He yanked the Jeep across the highway median and slammed it into four-wheel drive. Barreling in front of oncoming traffic, he created his own exit from the highway by taking out five strands of barbwire before sloughing through the mud of the hail-beaten wheat crop.

The Jeep’s roof-mounted KC LED’s should’ve lit up the area, but dust particles hanging in the thickened air cloaked his view. He sprinted toward a pair of legs protruding from the wreckage. Mud sucked at his boots, slowing him down. Cursing, he skidded to his knees alongside of the lifeless appendages. Heaving away debris, he uncovered the body. Relief shouldn’t have crashed through his frozen veins in a welcome rush, but the copper-haired victim’s pixie face didn’t belong to Tigger. He stared blankly at the tattooed phoenix being licked with orange flames on her forearm as he waited to feel a pulse at her wrist. None. A quick scan of wounds and he realized there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Dammit.

Nik stood up and resumed his search, hoping Tigger wasn’t still inside the crushed truck. Trying to get a better look, he climbed up on a bended wheel well. Something snagged his pant leg—metal most likely. The second time the snag was more of a pull, like the gentle tug of a child.

He wheeled around, his eyes widening on a dark-furred beast. The animal snapped out a quick bark—loud and succinct. As the canine reared up on its haunches, his white fangs encircled Nik’s wrist and jerked at him again, this time harder. If it had attacked, Nik would’ve been forced to tackle it, snap its neck or something equally regrettable, but even with it emphatically barking at him, the large dog clearly meant Nik no harm. The way it kept nipping and pulling, the dog intended him to chase after it.

A double-check of the redhead confirmed there was nothing he could do for her. No time to wonder who she might be or why she was with Tigger’s truck. Tornados tended to throw things long and far. Which meant this woman could be anyone and the blonde he’d seen in Goodland could be anywhere. But Nik wasn’t going to let a little thing like the impossible stop him from finding her.

Chapter Three

“Stay with me,” a masculine voice instructed. It was not a request or suggestion. It was an order given to keep me alive, conscious. I tried to keep my eyes open and focused. A man stood above me, ripping and slinging large, splintered boards and heavy, mud-caked metal panels away from my chest and legs as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

The next thing I truly registered was a large male German shepherd who seemed to know me from the way his tongue slapped my cheek and tail wagged wildly. The tag on his collar read ‘Titan’. Tilting my head to the side, I eyed the glow of a fire licking flames close enough I could feel the burn of it on my cheeks. A faint glaze of orange highlighted the tattered edges of everything.

In the distance beyond the man and the dog, I made out an awkward line of twisted trees, ragged-edged metal curled and bent, cars and semi-trucks heaped and scattered. This was not how the world was supposed to look, but this was my first look at it.

Where the hell am I?

“Breathe.” The man’s hard, even tone controlled me, as opposed to comforting me. Yet there was comfort in his taking control since my mind threatened to spin out of it. As soon as he’d removed the last of the weight holding me down, I pushed my palm heels into the sharp, glass-covered ground and willed my knees to bend. I had to get away. I wasn’t sure if I was in danger or in trouble, but the instinct to run overwhelmed me.

“Wiggle your toes. Can you feel them?”

“I have to go. I need to leave,” I kept repeating. My legs hadn’t gotten the memo the heavy debris on top of them was gone, though.

He grunted.