To Fight A Fate Page 7

  Finally after much tweaking and deliberation, Riya critically studied her now fully loaded weapon, hmmm, looking good, except, she reached out and rearranged two items. Much better. Okay, she was ready. She was locked and loaded. Shoulders back, she could do this. Head up, better not to procrastinate, okay, here goes nothing.

  “Riya, wait.” Nate held up a hand. “Would you like some company? I can go in there with you.”

  “I’ve got this. Better I do this mission solo, but thanks.”

  “Maat, give me strength.” Marcus rolled his eyes.

  Riya made sure to tread on his foot as she moved confidently towards the door. Crash. Another loud bang emanated from within, followed by breaking glass, and then a low hissed scream.

  Sweet Lady, what had she volunteered for? Well, there was no backing down now. Not with Charming standing here, ready to gloat if things went wrong. Not that she was trying to prove anything to him, or anyone. She was just trying to help out. Do a good deed.

  Reaching out Riya grabbed the long horizontal bar, nodded at Drum to open the door and started moving forward at a confident, sure pace. She could do this. Mentally she crossed her fingers, damn, she hoped she could this, stepping forward into Hell, the door shutting abruptly behind her.

  * * *

  The three Elite Warriors studied the closed door. Things had gone very quiet in there suddenly.

  “Do you think she’s okay? Riya?” Nate looked worried.

  Drum shrugged. “She’s the monster slayer that Hadleigh recommended for the job… it seems to be working. No more screaming at least.”

  Marcus’s left eyebrow quirked upwards for a brief moment. “Or the monster’s so breathless from chopping up the slayer into little tiny pieces, she doesn’t have any energy left over to keep on screaming.”

  “I hope not, Hadleigh would be pissed.” Nate offered. In her current state Hadleigh was hormonal an unpredictable on a good day, if something were to happen to her cousin? They’d all take the heat.

  “Maybe we should have gassed her.” Drum clenched and unclenched his large fists unconsciously.

  “I told you, the lawsuits would be brutal.” Marcus reiterated for the hundredth time through gritted teeth.

  “Fuck, we should have done something other than bring in Hadleigh’s sweet, innocent, seriously out her depth cousin to deal with our problem.” Nate looked like he was contemplating ramming the door.

  Marcus glanced at Drum, his lieutenant had pretty much the same expression on his face. Bloody hell, two minutes ago they’d been confident and encouraging. “Look, Riya will be fine. You both saw her ammunition; we would be seriously out of our league in this fight. I know I said it was a ridiculous plan, but I think the silence is a good sign.”

  “You do?” Nate was surprised.

  Even Drum blinked.

  “Look, Riya clearly has a unique skill set, we just have to give her time to tackle the monster.” Three sets of eyes studied the closed door, listening to the eerie silence that had descended.

  “I can’t do it.” Nate started walking backwards down the hallway. “It’s not just Hadleigh’s wrath I’m afraid of. My wife will never speak to me if something happens to her cousin.” Nate looked at Marcus. “You brought Riya here, you’re responsible for her.”

  “Nate.” Marcus hissed his fellow Warrior’s name. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m grabbing some coffee.”

  “I’ll join you.” Giving Marcus a sheepish look, Drum started down the hallway after Nate. “I have a wife to keep happy too you know. Nell won’t hurt you if something happens to Riya, so it’s probably best if you step up and manage this.”

  Marcus shook his head, watching the two disappear down the hallway. Cowards. And crap, now he had the responsibility for Riya’s well-being on his already overflowing plate. Great, just bloody perfect. Marcus was neck deep in complications and sinking fast. Fuck, he loathed complications.

  Grinding his teeth, Marcus grabbed the titanium encased tablet he had hooked to his belt, flipped it open and started typing. He could work anywhere, anytime. So he would stand guard, work, and if Riya wasn’t out of there in a timely fashion, he’d go in and resolve this situation personally.

  Issuing an impatient sigh, he opened his daily calendar, setting a time limit for forty-five minutes, typing in – Save Riya – as the task heading.

  There, Riya was officially on his to-do list. And why did that double entendre cause Marcus’s blood to heat and his cock stir to life? The annoying woman would be out of his life in little under an hour. There was nothing to get excited about. Besides, she wasn’t his type, he knew trouble when he saw it, and Riya Tong was it.

  Damn, Marcus hoped she was okay in there. He might not want anything to do with the woman but he’d be seriously upset if she got hurt or worse. Surprised, Marcus looked down to find he’d taken an unconscious step towards the door… unacceptable. He had to get himself under control. Riya would be fine. Even with her woo-woo lame magic the woman knew enough to scream for help, didn’t she?

  Shit, with dexterous fingers, Marcus re-opened his daily calendar and moved the – Save Riya – task up fifteen minutes.

  * * *

  Riya’s first thought was that Hell was decorated with a lot of purple, surprising. The second was that it was a wonder there was anything left to break. The room appeared to have been pretty much decimated. At least the monster’s throwing arm had proven accurate, targeting a large floor to ceiling poster at the far end of the large room. The poster was dented and ripped in places and there was a large pile of glass and broken pottery lying beneath it.

  The coffee table was on its side. The sofa was denude of cushions. Torn paper littered every surface. A life sized cardboard cut out was lying on its side, the head missing. Holes pockmarked the surface as if someone had stabbed it repeatedly or stomped on it in high heels.

  Hmmm, obviously assigning the monster Serena’s old dressing room - slash - office without clearing it out first had been a bad idea, a really bad idea. Though the current occupant was working hard on eradicating all signs of the former inhabitant.

  Riya stared at the monster, currently standing precariously on top of the sofa, tearing down fan photos taken at various comic conventions and location visits. This roughly put Riya face to well - sparkly purple short shorts clad - derriere level. Disconcerting.

  She listened as the monster grunted, ripping another photo off the wall, taking some paint with it as several pieces fluttered down to join the thick layer of shredded photos that all but covered every nearby available surface.

  Hmmm, this was a lot worse than Riya had imagined. Her first thrust would have to be close to a killing blow if she wanted to get the monster’s attention and signal that she was a worthy adversary. Okay, she could do this. Deep breath. “You know, your ass looks really huge in those shorts.”

  The monster gasped, twisting, almost falling from her precarious position. She sucked in a ragged breath. “What did you just say to me?”

  “You heard me. I’m surprised you even managed to get those shorts on, they are so not right for your body shape. And the colour? That shade of purple gives your skin yellow overtones, disastrous.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I said.” It was unfair to keep calling her a monster, the girl collapsed down, planting her butt on top of the sofa back. Her blue eyes were red rimmed, black trails of dried mascara running down her cheeks. “And they expect me to go on National TV looking like this? This? My life is over.”

  “I don’t think it’s all that bad.”

  If the girl had been able to shoot lasers from her eyes, then Riya would be dead. “Everyone is going to unfollow me faster than that time Kenga tweeted that pleated jeans were making a comeback.”

  “Who?”

  “Exactly.” The girl let out an anguished sob, burying her face in her hands. “They’re doing this to me deliberately, you know. Making me get a job. Cutting my allowance to practically nothing
.”

  “Umm.”

  “All my friends are gone. Moo-Moo, who does my hair.” The girl dramatically grabbed a hank of knotted chestnut hair and held it out. “Look at it. I can’t go out like this. Be seen in public like this.”

  Riya gritted her teeth, just managing to refrain from pointing out that a good hairbrush would solve that so called problem.

  “And my skin.” The girl turned her head sharply to the left, lifting her chin, pointing at a faint red mark. “Trinny would never let me even get out of bed with a pimple this size.”

  “It’s really not that bad.”

  “It’s the size of Godzilla!” The girl flung out dramatically, sniffling softly. “Barney, Posey, and Sheela, all gone, because of them. Who will style me now? Take my photos? Organise my calendar? All my friends are gone.”

  Riya fought down the urge to point out that those friends sounded a lot like employees who’d jumped ship when the money had obviously run out. Real friends would have stuck around. “I think you need some fresh air and maybe something to eat. When’s the last time you ate?”

  The girl flung her hands out wide. “I told you I can’t go out there, not like this. And I’m not eating anything those over muscled morons keep bringing me. Sandwiches! Pasta! It’s like they are deliberately taunting me. Carbs! Seriously? Who eats carbs anymore anyway?”

  It was strange but Riya felt sorry for this spoilt, sulky mess of a girl on the cusp of adulthood. She had eleven annoying brothers but she’d secretly always wanted a little sister. “Sweetie, it’s really not all that bad.”

  “Oh, what do you know. I’m going to die of embarrassment if I have to go on television wearing this… this ridiculous outfit.” The girl plucked at the badly sagging purple top. “I look ridiculous. The top is too big. The shorts are too tight. And I can’t even get the stupid go-go boots up over my hideously fat calves.”

  “You are not fat. That outfit was fitted to Serena’s measurements, that’s all. Besides, you have other options than that costume.”

  “Please. Have you seen sidekick number two? Mrs Muscles? She can pull off the sexy commando pin-up look because she’s like eight feet tall with tits out to here. That is so not me.”

  Riya bit her lip, she would not laugh, but she would be totally sharing that description of Hadleigh with her friends. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. Look.” Riya reached back and grabbed the rolling clothes rack, her secret weapon. “You have plenty of other options.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “I break out in hives if I wear anything generic.” She kicked a foot out petulantly, a pile of torn photos and fan mail strewn over the sofa cascading to the floor.

  Okay, so maybe Riya didn’t want a sulky little sister for Christmas after all. “Sweetie.” Riya forced her teeth to unclench, sue her, so she was a tad touchy when someone dissed her clothes. Grabbing the first offering off the rack, Riya held it out. “Just look, would you?”

  “It’s no use, I-” The girl’s gaze locked on the outfit Riya was dangling in front of her. Blue eyes widening in clear surprise. “Where did that come from? Who made that? Is that the new Westwood? No, Miu-Miu?” She clambered off the sofa with surprising dexterity given the height of her high heels and the restriction of the too tight shorts. Snatching the outfit out of Riya’s hand she studied it as though it might be harbouring the secrets to the universe. After a few moments of intense concentration, the girl pushed Riya aside and began rifling through the outfits hanging on the portable clothes rack.

  “I’m Riya, by the way.”

  “Dimity.” The girl offered absently.

  Riya didn’t tell the girl she’d recognised her the moment she set eyes on her. Dimity Forrest. Heir to the Forrest fortune. Not quite twenty. Wild child. Jetsetter. Infamous for her on and off again relationship with Quade Bucklin, Pop Star. Internet sensation, famous for a photo taken in St Tropez a year ago, wearing nothing but sunglasses and some carefully arranged shadows to preserve her modesty.

  “Seriously, where did you get these from?” Dimity held up two outfits, her eyes flickering between them with clear avarice in her heart.

  “Exclusive Australian designer, I doubt you would have heard of them.”

  Dimity shot Riya a scathing look. “I sit in the front row of every show during Paris fashion week, try me?”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll order us up some food, some sashimi and a fruit platter. You promise to eat something and to help me clean up in here, and I’ll tell you the name of the designer.”

  Dimity’s blue eyes hardened for a moment, the girl was unused to being denied anything she wanted. Then her gaze, like a magnet was drawn back to the laden clothes rack and she sighed. “Fine. But aren’t there like people who can clean this up?”

  Riya pulled out her phone from the pocket of her dress. “First lesson in a brave new world for you Dimity. When you don’t have an allowance, and are forced to work for a living, you are the person responsible for cleaning up the messes.”

  “What about the over muscled morons?” Dimity’s bottom lip had dropped out in defiance.

  “Who are technically your bosses for the foreseeable future. So, no, that’s not going to happen.”

  “This is all her fault, you know.” Dimity was clearly torn between wanting to know more about the clothes and slightly horrified that she would have to perform manual labour in order to get what she wanted.

  “Her, who?”

  “Step-bitch. The moment Daddy’s will cleared probate she whines to Heath about my lifestyle and lack of respect and wham, bank accounts are frozen and I’m an indentured slave. I won’t get my hands on my trust fund until I’m twenty-five. Until then she gets to rule my life. Making me work! Bitch.”

  Riya tapped her phone off, the food was on its way up. Sighing, she looked at the war zone that used to be Serena’s space. “The sooner we start. The sooner we get finished.” She glanced at Dimity who made no move to begin cleaning up. “Or, I can just take the clothes and leave you to sulk in this mess.”

  “No.” Dimity clutched the two outfits she was holding to her chest. “No. It’s fine.” With great care she returned the outfits to the rack. “Now what do I do?” She looked around helplessly.

  “Pick a pile and start throwing it in the trash.” Riya looked at the small waste receptacle. “And I’ll call up for some bigger trash cans. And maybe they have an industrial vacuum cleaner we could borrow.”

  Dimity glanced at her manicure and then at the clothes rack. “They’d better fit, after all this, it’s all I’m saying.”

  Riya hid a smile. She knew for a fact there would be no trouble on that front. Fate wouldn’t have it any other way.

  So the plan was in place. They would clean up in here. Dimity would eat. Then the girl would choose an outfit to wear in her role as official new sidekick on Para-Exterminators and Riya’s job would be officially done.

  One monster slayed.

  Riya could smugly thumb her nose at Marcus, having successfully proven that fashion could be mightier than the sword. And then she would haul her three suitcases back home and get on with her life.

  Hold on. Three suitcases? And not all of the clothes she’d made lately were designed to fit Dimity. So what exactly did Fate have planned for Riya? And why the hell wasn’t it letting her catch glimpses of what was to come?

  Damn it, suddenly Riya had a very bad feeling about all this.

  Chapter Four

  Marcus was in his office staring at the computer screen projected on to the wall off to his left. He figured if Riya was having food sent in, then the monster situation had to be in hand. Time for him to get back to work.

  Currently the large screen was detailing his many attempts to destroy the five chaos imbued rubies. Months of work. Months of failure. Damn it.

  Even Drum, who loved to blow shit up, was beginning to grow tired of their never ending failed experiments. Gun powder. Gasoline. Dynamite. TNT. RDX. C-4. Semtex. Followed by a long list of
dismal acid tests. All the Nitrates, Amines, Peroxides and Oxides, in every possible combination, not even leaving a scratch. Failures, each and every one.

  Hammers, jack-hammers, steam-rollers, car-presses, all useless.

  The rubies had been thrown from a plane thirty thousand feet in the air, with no visible damage to report other than getting a little dusty.

  As a last resort, Marcus had tried dropping them into a live volcano. Fishing them out had been beyond annoying.

  Hell, he was running out of ways to destroy the fucking things. At least he could take some comfort in the fact that they were currently safe and secure, causing no further damage. Which was pretty damn important, given the rubies represented the five elements. Air, Earth, Fire, Water and Spirit – all natural, but when twisted by chaos, deadly.

  It had taken ingenuity on Marcus’s part to ensure that none of their powers leaked – no earthquakes, no hurricanes, no floods, no fires and no damn freaky ass ghosts. To date he’d been successful, at least on that front.

  Still, just the fact that the rubies existed in this world was a problem, it meant that there was always a chance that Sek and Mot might get their power hungry mitts on them. Feed them to their dead Dad, in conjunction with the required ritual blood and awaken Apep. Then set about double crossing dear old Dad while he was still weak by stealing all the chaos mojo for themselves in order to become the new Gods of Chaos.

  With a tap of his finger Marcus dismissed the list of failed experiments and pulled up everything he and his team had managed to gather regarding Heath Gammon. They’d been dealing with the man, as Fred Forrest’s second in command, for years. He’d proven savvy, determined and smart. It had been naïve of them to think with Fred’s death four years ago that things wouldn’t change.

  They’d taken their eye off the ball because Fred’s will had taken so long to move through probate. Of course Dimity would inherit everything… one day, but in the meantime, her step-mother and Heath Gammon were officially assigned trusteeship of the Forrest fortune, including Forrest Media. Gammon had every right to demand changes. Especially if his actions were in the interests of improving the Forrest conglomerate fortunes.