Fire Striker: Tearing the Veil, #1

By Amanda S. Green

Some say monsters aren't real. Others say the only monsters are those people who aren't fully human: the witches and shapeshifters, elves and dwarves, and all the others who one day stepped out of the realm of fairy tales and into "real life". Morgan Walsh knows the truth. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, and some of the worst are human.

 

She didn't start out life as Morgan Walsh. Once upon a time, her name was Adriana Grace Hensen. Everything, including her name, changed the day she turned thirteen. That day she learned several lessons she'd never forget. The first was that monsters were real. The second was that her parents were two of the worst "monsters" alive. The third was that those you trust the most can and will turn on you.

 

Morgan's parents betrayed her because she wasn't "human". Now she's back with one goal in mind: vengeance.

 

Never, ever conspire against a Fire Elemental, especially one with other "talents" as well. When you do, you'd best be prepared to get burned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hunter's Moon Press
• Release date: Jan 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781949901443

Amanda S. Green

I’m older than twenty and younger than death and that’s all you’ll get from me about my age. After all, it’s not polite to ask a woman her age. I’m a mother, a daughter and was a wife. I’ve spent most of my life in the South and love to travel. The only problem with that is my dog always thinks I’ve abandoned him and it takes weeks to reassure the poor thing. Then there’s the cat who resents the fact I came back before he could figure out a way to kill the dog and hide the body. My house is haunted – it really is. I swear it. What else explains the table that plays music and the light that comes on by itself? – but it’s mine and I love it. Okay, I’m a little strange. But that makes life interesting.

Book preview

-1-

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me—not.

It’s been years since I last celebrated my birthday and I sure as hell wasn’t doing so this year. But that didn’t stop my handlers from appearing at the door to my cell three days ago and asking what I wanted for my birthday. They knew what I wanted. I wanted the same thing I had since first awakening here. I wanted my freedom. But that wasn’t going to happen and asking what I wanted was simply another way to torment me, something they were experts at.

It was also a reminder of all the years, and I’m not sure how many, I’d been forced to live this hellish existence thanks to Rebecca and Charles Hansen. I might not know exactly why my parents—yes, my parents, if you could call anyone who handed their child over to a lifetime of imprisonment and torture—condemned me to this existence, but I had learned a great deal since my arrival. I knew not to rise to the guards’ bait. I learned to obey their commands without question and without hesitation. Doing so denied them the chance to discipline me yet again. No matter what they said, I would sit on the edge of my bunk, staring at the floor, for all the world unaware of their presence, until given a specific set of instructions. More often than not, they’d finally gave up and leave, securing not only the inner door but heavy metal outer door as well. I’d be left alone then, my meals appearing through a slot in the door until they had need of my services.

All of which served as a reminder that I continued to live only at the whim of my captors.

I can’t say I was fine with it, but it was better than dealing with the guards. You learn to welcome the respites after a while. Just as you learn to find ways to occupy your mind or risk going insane. Not that I was exactly sane any longer. At this point, I’m not sure if I’d ever been sane. Some days, it seemed preferable to think these years were nothing more than the ravings of an insane mind. Otherwise, true evil did exist and I’d fallen prey to it.

Worse, that evil came from my parents, the two people who should have protected me, no matter what.

At other times, when I knew this was real, I knew something else. I might not be exactly sane any longer, but I had a better grip on sanity than those who guarded me and who took such pleasure in tormenting me and reminding me I would never again be free.

Damn them and damn my parents, who put me here in the first place.

I lay on my cot, eyes closed, my mind replaying my latest plan for vengeance should I somehow manage to get out of this hellhole. There wasn’t much of anything else I could do. It didn’t take long to learn I could exercise only so many hours a day. The guards who monitored me through the cameras set into the ceiling refused to let me sleep more than a few minutes at a time unless it was the appointed sleep period. I hadn’t read for pleasure since being brought here. I knew every inch of the cell, every mar on the floor, every tile in the ceiling. That left only plotting my escape and vengeance on those who put me here to help pass the day.

The faint sound of metal grating against metal crept into the silence of my cell. I waited, listening closely. Someone had opened the outer security door. Curiosity mixed with concern, and I turned my head, waiting. There had been a time when I would have instantly gotten to my feet if it sounded like someone might be at the cell door. But no more. Because I didn’t look forward to another beating, I would take my cue from them. It was much safer—and much less painful—that way.

Besides, it wasn’t like I could leave the cell without permission. Even if I somehow managed to overpower the guards, I was stuck here thanks to the doctor. If there was any justice left in this world—and I doubted there was—he would spend eternity in Hell, suffering as he’d made me suffer.

Damn him!

Just thinking about him sent cold fingers of fear down my spine. From my first day here, he made sure I understood who was in control. Drugs, beatings, and worse were his tools of choice. Then, maybe six months or a year after my arrival, he added another layer of what he called defenses to everything else he had done to me. This time, he implanted a small capsule, not much larger than a grain of rice, at the base of my skull. Then he gave me a demonstration of what would happen if I tried to leave my cell without permission.

God, I still had nightmares about what happened that terrible morning. Guards entered my cell and forced me to my knees. They made quick work of securing my hands behind my back. Then two guards stood on either side of me, making sure I didn’t climb to my feet. A third guard took his place behind me. Gloved hands held my head on either side, forcing me to look straight ahead. None of them spoke, even when I asked what was going on.

Watch and learn. This is the only lesson on this matter you will receive.

The doctor appeared in the corridor outside my cell. I watched—What else could I do when my head was held in the vice of the guards’ hands?—as he did something to the wall opposite my cell. The stone of the wall seemed to shimmer. Then it dissolved and I found myself looking at a heavy metal door identical to the one that cut me away from the world. Until that moment, I hadn’t known there was another cell directly across the hall from mine. What else didn’t I know about this place?

And did I really want to know?

Kneeling there, fear turning my insides to water, I swallowed hard, my mouth and throat suddenly dry. The doctor looked back, his expression one I knew all too well. Someone was about to be hurt and I prayed it wasn’t me.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have prayed for something very different.

Make sure she doesn’t look away or you will join the demonstration, he ordered the guards.

The doctor placed his palm against a scanner panel next to the cell door. A soft hum sounded. It intensified when he bent slightly and placed his eye up to a second, smaller scanner. A moment later, the outer door slid open. Then the secondary door, nothing but bars with a lock plate, opened. The doctor glanced back into my cell, making sure the guards held me where I could see. Then he turned to the other cell.

It’s all right, Three. You can come forward. I want you to step up to the doorway.

He held a hand out, encouraging someone I couldn’t see to come forward. I wanted to yell for whoever it was to stay where they were. It didn’t matter that I’d get into trouble. Something bad would happen if this Three did as the doctor said. I knew it and I needed to warn her. Before I could open my mouth to do just that, the guard behind me clamped a hand over it, his fingers painfully biting into my cheeks. The message was clear. I was to watch and nothing else.

The temptation to close my eyes rose and I fought it down. If I gave in, the guards would find a way to force my eyes open. I didn’t want to think about how they might do it any more than I wanted to think about the consequences of disobeying. So, I watched as the doctor coaxed a man near my father’s age to come forward. From the blank look in the man’s eyes to the tremors that shook his entire body, his terror filled the area. But he obeyed. You always obeyed the doctor. That was the first lesson learned upon arrival here.

One slow step after another, Three moved toward the doorway. Just before stepping into the corridor, he looked at the doctor, his eyes pleading for mercy. He knew what was about to happen and there was nothing he could do about it. That haunts me as much, if not more, than what happened next. The doctor retreated down the corridor as the man took the first step out of his cell. He never took another. I watched, forgetting to breathe, as he stiffened a split-second before his head exploded.

I pissed myself and vomited as bits of brain matter and blood and bone struck me. By the time I had myself under control, the doctor was back. His message went straight to the point. That would happen to me if I ever tried to leave the cell before the signal keyed to my implant was deactivated. It would happen if I ever tried to escape or tried to harm the guards. It would happen if I failed to obey their orders. I got the message, not that I haven’t considered more than once since then using the implant to end my time here.

But I guess you could say I’m stubborn. The truth is simpler than that. I’m a vindictive bitch. These bastards and my parents before them made me into one. I’ll die one day, but not before I’ve made every one of those responsible for putting me here pay dearly for their actions. Until then, I would bide my time. If nothing else, these people—and I use that term very loosely—taught me patience.

And I can be very, very patient if I have a reason and they’ve given me a very good one.

On your feet, bitch, one of the two guards said as they entered the cell.

I stood, hands at my side, eyes on the floor. Maybe this was the day I’d get lucky. All I needed was for them to take me out of the cell before securing me. Then the implant couldn’t be activated and I’d have my hands free. At least then I’d have a fighting chance to escape.

Look at her. She still thinks she has a chance of escaping. You can see it in her eyes, the second guard said.

I didn’t react. I knew better. Nothing I said or did mattered.

Then let’s make sure she understands that’s not going to happen.

The first guard raised his left hand. Instantly, I did my best to relax my muscles. I knew what was coming. A moment later, the barbs of the stun gun struck and penetrated my abdomen. The current ran through me. Muscles seized and locked. For a moment or an eternity, he kept the circuit open. Then it closed and I dropped to my knees, a puppet with its strings cut.

The two worked quickly and with the ease of much practice. My wrists were drawn behind my back and locked together. A chain connected to my collar drew my wrists upward. It was uncomfortable and effective. If I struggled too much, I’d end up choking myself.

A second chain was secured to my ankle cuffs, leaving approximately 18 inches between them. I could walk, but I wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. Once they secured me to their satisfaction, the guards hauled me to my feet.

You’re being good so far. Don’t screw it up by trying anything stupid, the first guard said.

Without another word, they forced me out of the cell. As always, my heart raced and my breath stopped as I took that first step out of the cell. What if they hadn’t deactivated the signal? But they had. My head didn’t explode and I lived to see another—what?

With memories of my arrival here running rampant, I shuffled down the corridor, past other cells, their doors closed. The sigils tattooed to my arms and legs, even my chest, warmed. It was as if they activated and something deep inside of me reached out in an attempt to determine who or what was behind those doors and the tattoos worked to prevent it. I hissed out a breath as the warmth turned to a burn. Damn them and damn the bastards who branded me with them.

A few minutes later, we turned a corner. No, and no and oh hell no! I knew this part of the facility. It held its own special place in my nightmares. This is where they brought me when they wanted to have their little chats. To call the rooms on either side of the corridor interrogation rooms was a vast understatement. I’d been in these rooms too often since my arrival here. I knew the Hell they represented. I wasn’t going to go calmly this time.

I wasn’t.

Aww, isn’t she cute? the first guard mocked as I did my best to dig my heels into the tile floor and stop my forward progress. She thinks she has a choice.

Well, I guess we could let her go and see how far she’d get in those chains before we caught her. Of course, then she’d have to be punished.

I stopped, a shiver of fear running down my spine. I’d visited the punishment rooms as well as the interrogation rooms. The latter were bad enough. The former... let’s just say I would kill myself before going back there again.

The men laughed, knowing I could do nothing to stop them. To put an end to my attempts to slow our progress, they took matters into their own hands. Without warning, I found myself upside down over the shoulder of one of them while the other wrapped an arm around my legs to keep me from kicking in protest. They carried me into the nearest interrogation room and dumped me onto a chair. Before I caught my breath, a wide belt was fastened around my waist, holding me in place. Then it was just a matter of time before they finished securing me to the chair. Their last act before leaving the room was to leave a gag hanging around my neck, a reminder of how quickly and easily they could take away my speech. Then they departed, closing and locking the door behind them, as if I had a chance in hell of getting out.

Once alone, I looked around. Not that there was much variation between the interrogation rooms. Hell, who was I kidding? Nothing much had changed about my existence in the years since my arrival here. My cuffs and collar have been changed over the years as I’ve grown. I’m no longer a girl. I’ve put on height and weight, much of it muscle. Adjustments had to the control devices had to be made. Knowledge of how they could be used to secure me for punishment taught me not to act out, at least not too much and certainly not very often. I’m not about to surrender to these bastards, no matter what they do to me, but I’m no fool. I’m not going to give them a reason to terminate me. Instead, I go through my days and wait to see what the next one brings, hoping (probably foolishly) it will bring a chance at freedom.

I closed my eyes and struggled for calm. As I did, more memories washed over me. My mother, the bitch, had been right about one thing the day she and my bastard of a father delivered me here. The doctor and his people had taught me certain skills. My body and my mind have been trained. I can pick locks and I speak half a dozen languages. Few humans could best me in a fair fight. Even then, they could only do so if I didn’t call upon my training.

As for any paranormal abilities I might have, who the fuck knows. The sigils have done their job too well, at least as far as I’m concerned. From time to time, like with the walk here, they will warm to the point of discomfort, sometimes even agony. But nothing else happens. My abilities, whatever the hell they are, have been bound, preventing me from knowing what they are, much less from using them.

A couple of times a year, I’m sent out of the facility—always with one or two handlers to make sure I don’t do anything foolish—on a job. That’s what they call it. I’ve stolen secrets or coerced them out of my targets, secrets used to blackmail businessmen and government officials. I don’t know who’s doing the blackmailing, but I have my guesses. I’ve even been sent out to kill. All I’m ever told is that the targets deserved to die. But, other than that, I am kept in my cell, cut off from any others like me who might be in the building.

And there are others. On occasion, I can hear them. Or I hear the staff discussing them. We aren’t human to the guards and other members of the staff. We are nothing more than animals or tools to be used as needed. Other than that, all they care about is keeping us alive to do their masters’ bidding.

One day, I swear I will get free. When I do, I will make my parents pay. Then I will expose this place for what it is. If the authorities thought the uprising so long ago was bad, this will make that one look tame.

The sound of the door opening broke into my thoughts. I opened my eyes and stared at the door, not sure I wanted to see who might step through. Was I about to get another assignment or was this the prelude to me finally drawing my last breath?

And which was worse?

My lips peeled back, and I swallowed against the growl that tried to claw its way out of my chest. The doctor, the same bastard who oversaw my tattooing and training, stepped inside first. A brunette entered behind him. She stood there, not a hair out of place, her expensive suit not daring to have so much as a single wrinkle, a look of distaste on her face. But something else reflected in her green eyes, some emotion I couldn’t quite identify. Without a word, she looked over her shoulder and signaled to someone in the corridor.

A moment later, a tall, slender man in a black suit and white shirt entered the room. The woman motioned to where I sat. He nodded once and crossed to my chair. His hands worked quickly and with an ease that betrayed he’d done this before as he checked my restraints. Apparently satisfied, he walked behind me. When he placed his hands on my shoulders, I understood the unspoken message. If it tried to do anything foolish, he’d snap my neck without a second thought.

Well? Rebecca Chambers Hansen turned her attention to the doctor who worked at the far counter, his back to me so I couldn’t see what he was doing.

Everything is ready.

I inhaled sharply as he turned. I recognized the silver tray he held in his hands. I didn’t need to see what rested on it to know my day was about to get worse. Over the years, I’d learned to hate and fear that tray and whatever he carried on it.

No hello? my mother taunted as she stepped forward. She stopped a foot or so in front of my chair, almost as if she feared I might contaminate her somehow.

I kept my mouth shut. Nothing I said would change what she’d done to me. Nor could I deny the anger—no, the cold, hard fury building inside me. If I opened my mouth, I’d say something they’d punish me for. Hell, they might anyway, just for the hell of it. But cursing Rebecca—she hadn’t been my mother for a very long time, and I refused to identify her as such, not even in my private thoughts. Not any more.—and telling her what I thought of her would only make things worse. Besides, I wanted to know why she was here. Why, after so many years and the promise to never set eyes on me again, had she suddenly shown up?

Always such an ungrateful child. She shook her head, as if disappointed. Too bad she wasn’t good enough of an actor to sell it.

Well, my dear, you did part under what some might call strained terms, the doctor mused with a smile.

Strained?

Had he lost his fucking mind?

I ground my teeth together. I wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction of reacting, much less responding. Keeping my mouth shut had to be one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. Both were damned lucky they’d bound my powers, whatever they might be, before I knew how to use them. Otherwise, they’d be nothing but puddles of goo on the floor.

True.

The bitch smiled and moved close enough to pat my cheek. She gasped and jerked her head away when I snapped at her. My reward for that bit of rebellion? The man standing behind me dug his fingers painfully into my shoulders, a reminder not to try anything like that again.

Like I said, such an ungrateful child. She checked her hand to make sure I hadn’t actually made contact. Then she wisely stepped back. I suggest you listen closely.

Her expression turned hard as she looked at me. Once again, her eyes told another story. Something worried her, something besides me finally getting my vengeance. I doubted she gave any thought to that possibility. Foolish but typical of her. So, what brought her here and why?

Doctor Kingston and I have discussed the matter and he agreed this is something you can do to make up to the family for all the shame you’ve brought to us.

Kingston? Was that the man’s name? All these years and I still didn’t know his name. That was another way they tried to break us down. Or at least me. Isolate us in every way possible without going to total sensory deprivation. Well, Rebecca slipped up and gave me a piece of information to be filed away for later. For now, I needed to know what she wanted.

She snapped her fingers in front of my face, but well out of reach, to make sure I paid attention. At the same time, the man behind me grabbed a fistful of hair and twisted my head up slightly, forcing me to look at the woman I hated more than anyone or anything.

It will be a straightforward job. You are to retrieve something of mine and deal with the people responsible for taking it. Even you should be able to do that without any trouble.

She expected me to ask what that something was. That wasn’t going to happen. I wanted her to tell me. I wanted her to beg me. Then I could tell her to go to Hell. I didn’t care what happened to me as a result. I wasn’t about to do anything to help this bitch, and the sooner she realized it, the better.

I warned you she wouldn’t talk, Rebecca, the doctor—Kingston?—said. You’ll save yourself some aggravation by just telling her what you want.

She didn’t like it. I recognized the signs. A muscle along her jaw twitched with aggravation. Her eyes flashed. She might be able to fool most people, but she couldn’t fool me. Not even after all this time.

Still the bitch, she spat. All right. Someone has kidnapped your brother. You’re going to locate him, rescue him, and bring him home. You are also going to make sure those responsible never make such a foolish mistake again.

I didn’t respond. At least not physically. After all, the doctor and his staff had done their jobs very well. I’d been trained not to reveal anything in case it might compromise me during a job. But on the inside? Oh, on the inside, it was a very different story. My brain went into overdrive as it tried to put together what little she said and all it implied.

Somehow, my father—or quite possibly this bitch who gave birth to me—had finally crossed someone more powerful than they were. That power didn’t necessarily have to be political. My guess was these were the sort of enemies beyond the reach of the law. But what had the Hansens done to bring about this sort of trouble?

That, I knew, was the million-dollar question and probably the one she wouldn’t answer.

She stared at me, as if surprised I didn’t immediately offer—no, beg—to help rescue her son. If nothing else, that proved how little she understood the implications of her actions where I was concerned. She was both fool and bitch.

No.

That simple word, the only I’d spoken since her arrival, set her off.

Damn you!

Tears pooled in her eyes. Interesting. She actually cared for Vincent. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t expected me to refuse. God knows, very few people ever told Rebecca Hansen no. Not that I cared.

You have to. We’re talking about your brother. These bastards struck at the family—your family. It’s your duty to find him and make sure no one ever tries something like this again.

I stared at her, not sure I’d heard correctly. My duty?

My duty?

Say that again.

I spoke softly, without inflection. But the way my fists clinched gave away my anger. I didn’t care. She didn’t see it. She didn’t see anything but her own goals and desires. God, maybe I was better here than I would have been spending my teenaged years with her.

Bitch.

It’s your duty. You owe us this much, at the very least.

Owed them? I owed them for kidnapping me, drugging me, binding me and all but selling me into servitude to these bastards? Had she lost her fucking mind?

You fucking bitch! It was out before I could stop it.

The floodgates opened and I couldn’t stop them. I not only told Rebecca to go to Hell, but what she could do when she got there. The only thing that kept her on this side of the veil was the fact the so-called experts here had my talents so locked down I could do little more than curse imaginatively in