Owned - L.V. Lane

CHAPTER ONE

Ava

STUCK BETWEEN THE inner and outer door was a lonely place to be. My lips tightened as I glanced at the Colt in my hand before tucking it into the deep pocket of my coat. It was old and had a tendency to jam, which meant I had a fifty-fifty chance that it would be of any use. That said, I had no desire to be in a situation where I needed to use it. If it came down to killing, or even wounding someone, I prayed that my self-preservation instinct kicked in. Etiquette had no place in the post-apocalyptic world.

Still, how a person handled fear was not something you knew, not until you were called upon to face it, and by then, it was far too late.

The one-minute warning flashed up on the door panel, and my adrenaline kicked in. I wasn’t supposed to be out here, and the wrongness was like an oversized raincoat that no amount of belt-tightening could make fit.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Ava?” Nora had asked, her frown one of concern. I blinked, driving the memory away. We needed medical supplies. Unfortunately, our small combat-trained team had been cut off, leaving the community in an unusual situation of needing to fend for itself. Their message had been garbled due to interference, but it was clear something had kicked off. It happened from time to time—the changing ownership of the surrounding districts was nothing new. The fact remained that our team would not be returning for several days, possibly weeks.

I was the best of the remaining residents, which wasn’t saying much.

My past life—the life I had been born to—was long gone. My parents were wealthy, and my life a coveted one. They had aspirations for me; I had plenty myself. That once joyous future had died along with them.

The harsh reality of anarchy was that it cared little for who you once were. The good, the bad, the rich, and the poor held no context in the bounds of chaos. I had watched mothers fight over food in those dark days immediately after the collapse. They might have been friends once in that other world, but not anymore. The need to survive ripped everything else away; considerations, respect, compassion even. They held no sway when your baby was so hungry it had barely the energy to cry.

Things were better now—a little.

The ten-second count sent a spike to my heart rate. I fluctuated between a firm belief that I could do this and a terrible fear I couldn’t until the hiss of the outer door opening dropped the entire self-discussion because it was all now very pointless.

A strange calm replaced the panic. It was dark, and the air felt sharp and cold against my face. It had been so long since I’d felt air on my face, real air, not the processed, filtered stuff inside, that I was cast back to the garden of my childhood home. The memory was so vivid that I could almost feel the springy grass beneath my bare toes, and smell the sweet scent of the honeysuckle that grew over the stone walls.

The stench of diesel drifted on the air, thrusting me back to the present with an unpleasant jolt.

I stepped outside and turned to watch the outer-door close behind me, sealing access. Separation became a crushing weight. I was here now, on the streets, and I would not be going back until I had gotten what was needed.

A deep breath helped as I surveyed the immediate area. It was wet, and although it wasn’t raining, the air held moisture like it could turn at any moment. Deserted; the surveillance before leaving had indicated this, but it could change, and like the weather, it could change at any time.

I knew the route by memory, and with a final lingering glance at that sealed door, I headed off.

Nora

“I’m worried about Ava,” I said. I was talking to Mary, but my focus was all on my baby boy. Civilization had imploded, but the tiny, needy bundle in my arms only instilled the keenest sense of wonder. My love for him was absolute.

Enough to let my friend leave to get the medication he needed.

The thought of Ava coming to harm terrified me, but not nearly as much as the thought of losing my son. I’d wanted to go, but the birth had been complicated, and nine months later, I was still struggling to regain my strength.

With a surname like O’Reilly and red