Utah, p.1
Utah, page 1
Utah
Iron Horse Legacy
Book Nine
Elle James
Twisted Page Inc
Contents
Utah
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Breaking Silence
Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Elle James
Utah
Iron Horse Legacy BOOK #9
New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling Author
* * *
ELLE JAMES
Copyright © 2023 by Elle James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
© 2023 Twisted Page Inc. All rights reserved.
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-62695-508-0
ISBN PRINT: 978-1-62695-509-7
Dedicated to my family who puts up with my crazy deadlines and keeps things running when I’m writing. Love you all so very much!
Elle James
Author’s Note
Enjoy other books in this series by Elle James
* * *
Iron Horse Legacy
Soldier’s Duty (#1)
Ranger’s Baby (#2)
Marine’s Promise (#3)
SEAL’s Vow (#4)
Warrior’s Resolve (#5)
Drake (#6)
Grimm (#7)
Murdock (#8)
Utah (#9)
Judge (#10)
Visit ellejames.com for more titles and release dates
Join her newsletter at
https://ellejames.com/contact/
Chapter 1
“Again, Fly!” Spike shouted. “PJ, here, says you’re the best knife thrower of all the recruits. So far, I’m not impressed.” The tattooed man with the slick, bald head and a wife-beater tank top stood beside her, his meaty arms folded over his chest.
She hated being called Fly, but it was better than some of the names a few recruits were called. No one went by their given names. They weren’t even allowed to share their real names with other recruits.
Liza glanced over at the woman standing ten feet from her, throwing knives at her own target. She went by PJ. The woman didn’t glance in their direction when her name was mentioned. Instead, she kept throwing the knives, her face blank, free of any emotion. Always the best course of action at The Camp. Mind your own business and never show your feelings. They’d use them against you.
Exhausted after a full day’s strenuous training, Liza Gray’s aim was off. She was tired, her muscles ached, and she didn’t feel like throwing.
Not that she had a choice. Refusing orders wasn’t tolerated. The response was usually harsh and painful. She’d had enough pain the past ten months to last a lifetime.
Liza plucked one of the eight-inch, stainless steel throwing knives from the nylon sheath strapped to her leg. Holding the flat sides between her thumb and forefinger, she focused on the paper silhouette target attached to a stack of hay bales, cocked her arm and sent the knife cutting through the air with deadly accuracy, striking the paper victim in the heart.
On more than one occasion, she imagined sending a knife straight through Spike’s heart—that cold, dead organ in his chest that allowed him to treat the “recruits” like pond scum.
“Mommy,” a high-pitched voice sounded behind her.
Liza turned to smile at the golden-haired angel skipping toward her, holding a bright yellow dandelion in her little fist.
“Look what I found.” The child held out her hand, her blue eyes bright and happy.
“It’s pretty, Tayla.” Liza bent to study the flower.
“Did I say we were done here?” The harsh tone yanked her back to reality.
Liza spun to face Spike.
He stalked toward her, his thick eyebrows forming a sharp V over his prominent nose. “I get the feeling you’re not giving me your best.” He grabbed Tayla’s little arm.
“Let go of my daughter.” Liza lunged for Spike as he backed away.
“Leave the kid out of it,” PJ called out.
“Shut it, PJ,” Spike shot back.
PJ shot Spike a narrow-eyed glare and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like bastard beneath her breath before launching another knife toward her target.
Spike snorted and returned his attention to Liza. “I don’t have to remind you who’s in charge, do I?”
“No, sir,” Liza said, afraid to make the man angrier. He had a fast and dangerous temper. She eased forward. “Tayla, go to the bunkhouse.”
“The brat ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Spike’s grip remained firm on the child’s arm. “She’ll do as I say, and you’ll stay where you are, or I’ll snap this twig.” He tipped his head toward his hand holding her daughter’s thin arm.
Liza stood still, her pulse hammering through her veins. She’d seen this man break a teenage boy’s arm. It wouldn’t take much for him to break Tayla’s. Liza didn’t dare push the man, or he’d follow through on his threat.
Holding tightly to Tayla’s arm, Spike dragged her to the hay bales and stood her in front of the silhouette target.
Liza’s heart lodged in her throat. “What are you doing? Leave her alone. She’s just a little girl.”
Spike ignored Liza and knelt in front of the three-year-old. “Stay here, or I’ll hurt your mommy,” he said threateningly.
Tayla leaned to the side and stared at Liza. Her little brows furrowed. “Mommy?”
“It’s okay, Tay,” Liza tried to reassure her daughter, dread eating a hole in her gut. Nothing was okay. Nothing had been okay for the past ten months since she and Tayla had been brought to The Camp.
Spike pulled the bottom bale out from beneath the stack, lowering the silhouette. Now, the black form rose a foot above Tayla’s head. He placed the bale he’d pulled in front of the other bales and lifted Tayla to stand on top, her little body covering much of the black target area. Then he pulled the knife Liza had thrown minutes before from the bale and carried it to her. “Pretend your daughter’s life depends on your aim,” he said, his tone low and threatening as he held out the knife.
Liza’s heart clenched in her chest.
He turned toward Tayla. “Now, hit the target in the head without hitting the girl.”
Liza shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “If you don’t throw the knife, I will.”
Liza stared at her daughter.
Tayla stood on the hay bale, a worried crease on her sweet forehead, her bright blond hair pulled back into a braid like all the other girls on the compound.
“Fine,” Spike said. “I’ll throw.” He tossed the knife into the air, caught it between his thumb and forefinger and cocked his arm.
“No!” Liza grabbed his arm before he could throw the blade at Tayla.
“If you don’t throw one in ten seconds and hit the silhouette, I will throw the knife.” Spike tipped his head back and looked down his nose. “What’s it to be?”
“Give me the damned knife,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Now, you’re listening.” He handed her the knife. “Ten.”
She took the knife from him and faced Tayla. “Baby, stand very still. Don’t move. Not even a little.”
Tayla’s eyes widened. “I’m scared, Mommy.”
“It’s okay,” Liza said, choking back a sob. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered. Then louder, she said, “Close your eyes, Tayla.”
“Why?” Tayla’s little voice was soft and shaky.
“Nine,” Spike continued his countdown.
“Think about all the flowers you can hold in your hands,” Liza’s words were strangled in her throat. “Close your eyes, baby.”
Tayla’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Eight.”
Liza squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again and stared at the only person in her life she gave a damn about.
“Seven…Six…”
She raised the knife.
“Five…Four…”
Breathe in.
Liza pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Three…Two…
When all the air left her lungs, she let the knife fly from her fingers.
Her heart stopped, and her world stood still as the stainless-steel blade cleaved the air in what felt like slow motion.
The sharp tip of the dagger struck the black silhouette less than an inch from Tayla’s left ear.
Liza sucked in a breath and let it out. Her heart resumed beating, hammering against her ribs and her knees shook. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Thankfully, the eye away from Spike’s watchful gaze.
He nodded. “She’s ready.”
“Good,” a deep voice said behind Liza.
She spun to face Commander, the man in charge of everything at The Camp. He intimidated everyone, standing well over six feet tall with a jagged scar running down the right side of his face from the corner of his eyebrow to his jaw. No one knew his real name. From the moment Liza and Tayla had arrived, they’d be forced to call him Commander and respond to him by saying, “Yes, sir.”
Spike was the same way. He only went by Spike. No one dared ask what his real name was. If anyone were that stupid, they’d end up punched in the gut or worse.
“Ready for what?” Liza asked and added, “Sir.”
Commander stared down his nose at her. “Your first assignment.”
Her brow furrowed. “What assignment, sir?”
Spike’s lip curled up in a snarl. “We train for a reason, idiot.”
The man in charge’s eyes narrowed as his gaze swept her from head to toe. “Bring her to the TOC.”
Spike popped a salute. “Yes, sir!”
Commander spun on his heels and marched away.
The men and women running The Camp acted as if they’d been in the military or wanted the recruits to think they had. Military precision and discipline were to always be adhered to on the grounds. The only time she could be herself was in the bunkhouse after the guards had left. Only then could Liza hold Tayla, sing to her and tell her stories of happier times and places.
Tayla was one of the youngest children at this location. Liza had heard whispers of other camps. Several of the newer guards had come from a camp that had been raided and disbanded.
Liza remembered wishing the camp where she and Tayla had been held prisoner would suffer the same demise. If they were raided, they might have a chance to escape.
The guards kept a tight rein on the recruits. Chain-link fencing topped with concertina wire surrounded the compound that had one road leading in and out. The gate was manned by no less than four guards, twenty-four-seven.
In the ten months since Liza had been there, only one recruit had attempted an escape. A seventeen-year-old boy they’d called Teej had managed to dig a hole beneath the fence. In the middle of the night, he’d slipped beneath the wire. Unfortunately, he’d tripped a wire that detonated a claymore mine. Teej died that night. Since then, no one had tried to make a run for freedom.
For the first few weeks, Liza had prayed every night that someone would come to their rescue. No one had. No one cared about the single mother who’d packed everything she and Tayla owned into a beat-up 1977 Chevy pickup and left Valier, Montana, for the big city of Bozeman, hoping to find work to start over and make a life for themselves.
No one would’ve worried when she hadn’t checked in. Liza didn’t have anyone left. Her mother had died when she was close to Tayla’s age. Her father had passed a year ago, leaving the old truck and just enough money in his bank account to get them to Bozeman.
The father of her child was long gone, having left Valier for Seattle the moment he’d heard Liza was pregnant. He'd denied Tayla was his and refused to help in any way.
No one was coming for them or anyone else in The Camp.
Spike grabbed Liza’s arm and shoved her after Commander.
Liza dug in her heels, forcing Spike to a halt. She looked back at the hay bale where Tayla stood. “Go to the bunkhouse, Tayla. I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, Mommy.” Tayla jumped off the bale and ran for the long low building painted the same dull green as the trees surrounding the compound.
Spike let go of Liza’s arm. “Stay,” he commanded as if to a well-trained dog.
Liza remained where she stood while Spike stepped over to where PJ pulled eight shiny blades out of her target.
His hand clapped down on the woman’s shoulder beside her long sandy-blond braid. He leaned close to her ear and whispered something Liza couldn’t hear.
PJ turned, a frown denting her forehead, and stared at Liza.
“Do it,” Spike said.
PJ’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She shoved her throwing knives into the pouch strapped to her thigh and headed for the bunkhouse.
Spike returned to where Liza stood, planted a hand on her back and sent her stumbling after the disappearing Commander.
She righted herself and marched alongside her trainer, half-running to keep up with his longer strides. He didn’t release her arm until they reached the TOC. Liza had learned TOC stood for Tactical Operations Center and always wondered what operations they conducted inside.
She’d never stepped through the doors. The only recruits she’d seen go inside had left The Camp shortly afterward. Only one had returned in all the time she’d been there. He’d been “promoted” to a trainer over the younger recruits as he wasn’t much more than a teen himself.
Commander had entered, leaving the door open.
When Liza hesitated, Spike shoved her inside.
She staggered down a hallway with doors on either side and came into a large, open room. Four folding tables were grouped in the middle, with folding chairs lined up on either side. In one corner, an array of six monitors hung from the wall, with images of the camp displayed in real-time.
Liza could see trainers and recruits heading for the mess hall for chow. Her stomach rumbled despite being knotted from apprehension. She’d only had breakfast that day, oatmeal and toast. Lunch usually consisted of beef jerky and water. She’d given her share to one of the other recruits who’d passed out during their morning hand-to-hand combat training.
Spike nudged her. “Show respect.”
Tired and scared, Liza sucked in her gut, shoved back her shoulders and stood at attention.
When Commander turned to face her, the scar on his cheek was even more pronounced by the light and shadows cast by the single bulb hanging over his head.
He held out a computer tablet. “This is your assignment.”
She took the tablet and stared down at an image of a woman with long black hair, high cheekbones and deep brown-black eyes. She wore a charcoal-gray skirt suit and stood on a platform with a sign in red, white and blue that read VOTE LIGHTFEATHER FOR CONGRESS. She was a beautiful woman who held her head high and proud, with determination in her gaze.
Liza looked up from the tablet and met Commander’s gaze. “I don’t understand.”
“This woman is a danger to our country and our way of life as citizens of the United States of America.” Commander’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back in a menacing snarl. “The only way to cleanse society of people like her is to eliminate the threat.”
“Yeah!” Spike pumped his fist in the air.
Commander’s gaze never left Liza’s.
Her heart sank low in her belly and formed a tight knot. “What do you expect me to do?”
Commander stared straight into her eyes and said in a low, tight tone, “Eliminate the threat.”
“How?” she asked.
The fiery intensity of his gaze bore a hole straight through Liza’s chest.
Commander finally looked past her to Spike. “Tell her.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing for the past ten months?” Spike demanded. “You’ve been trained to kill.”
Liza shook her head. “You said it was self-defense.”
“It is self-defense,” Spike insisted. “Self-defense of our country.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. “You’ve been trained as an assassin. It’s time to do your part.”
“I’m not an assassin. I can’t kill this woman. She’s done nothing to me.” She shoved the tablet into Spike’s chest. “No. I won’t. I can’t.”
Commander spun away and paced the length of the room. “Maybe she’s not ready.”
“She’s ready, I tell you,” Spike insisted. “She just needs the right motivation.” He gave her one last shake. “You’ll perform this mission.”
Liza shook her head, horrified at the thought of killing someone. Yes, she’d fought other recruits and the trainers in hand-to-hand combat, but never had she taken it to the extreme, always stopping short of ending her opponent’s life.
