Bloodshade

by Isadora Brown

  I blinked. My entire body seized up the way it would have if I had been submerged into freezing cold ice temperatures. I looked down at the fallen body of Stephanie Guzman. Because of the close proximity I was to her, blood sprayed me, skull fragments snapped out, and brain matter flung across the room. She was dead before her body hit the floor, but her left ankle kept twitching, like she was trying to wake herself up.

  I covered my mouth when I finally registered what happened.

  Ramiro had shot his own niece.

  The mayor was dead.

  I let out a muffled scream. I didn't think that was the right word. Maybe it was a grunt or a groan ore something that resembled all three things put together. My eyes filled up with tears. Not because I was sad for Guzman's death, but because I was afraid.

  I was suddenly cognizant of the fact that there was a good chance that I wasn't going to survive. Nobody knew where I was. I hadn't listened to Robbie. I hadn't thought about how he might feel.

  Jesus.

  I started tugging at my necklace. It was the only thing in me that could move right now.

  Please. I didn't know if I was praying or if I was talking to myself. I didn't know what I was doing anymore. My eyes were on the body. I couldn't look away from the body. Jesus, I didn't know what I was doing. If I survive, I promise I'll be better. I promise I'll put other people first. I'll let my uncle go.

  But would I? If I was talking to God—and I still wasn't sure if that was what I was doing—could I make that promise to Him?

  I had been searching for proof that Guzman had something to do with my uncle's death. I didn't have that. Not yet.

  Now, though, it didn't matter. Guzman was dead.

  Maybe she wasn't anyone important. A pawn on a chessboard.

  "My niece is an idiot," Ramiro said as he stepped into the room. "Oh, I apologize. Was an idiot."

  I dropped my necklace and put my hands up. The gun was now pointed at me. I swallowed. My throat was so dry, I had to clear my throat. Not that that helped at all.

  "You think I'm going to kill you?"

  "You killed my uncle," I stated. I was surprised when my voice didn't shake. I was surprised when I was able to hold his eye contact. There was nothing in those eyes—a void. Blackness. I couldn't let myself get sucked away. "You just killed your niece. Why wouldn't you kill me?"

  Ramiro started to laugh, a long, hollow sound. "You think I killed your uncle?" Ramiro asked. "It is true that Richard Kent was a thorn in my side, but I was not allowed to kill him. I did not have the proper authority. And, unlike you, I only act when I have permission."

  "You mean you had permission to kill your niece?" I asked. I honestly had no idea how I had the ability to keep talking. I had no idea how it was possible that my voice was so strong. All I knew was that maybe, just maybe, keeping him talking would save my life. It would buy me some time until I figured out what the hell I was going to do in order to save my life.

  Ramiro laughed at what I said. Like murdering family was a joke. He kept the gun steady on me but he tilted his head back and laughed, a deep, joyful sound that seemed so out of context in such a bleak context.

  "I’ve had permission to kill my niece for months, now," Ramiro said. "When your uncle discovered our involvement in the Silver Bullet Initiative, I had permission to kill her. But I didn't. I waited. I bided my time. She seemed to get under your skin more than usual, so I let my niece think she was doing us good when, the truth of the matter was, she was fucking things up left and right. She completely destroyed an incoming shipment of Bloodshade."

  "Bloodshade?" I didn't know what that was, but he said it like I did.

  His dark eyes went wide though they continued to sparkle with amusement. "Oh, something the great journalist who thinks she knows everything finally doesn't have a clue?" Ramiro asked. "I'm shocked. Honestly, I am."

  "What is Bloodshade?" I demanded. It was like the journalist part of my brain didn't seem to care that there was a gun pointed straight at me. I had to know what that was. I knew it was important. I just wasn't sure how yet.

  "Do you remember when you went to the docks?" Ramiro said, shifting his weight. I had no idea how he was able to keep his arm out and pointed steady at me. I could barely do that arm exercise for fifteen seconds let alone the few minutes we had been talking. "When my men tried to kill you the first time."

  I caressed my ear—the one that had been clipped by a bullet weeks ago.

  His grin deepened. "That's the one," he said. "We were getting a supply of Bloodshade shipped to us via cargo ship. Taking it on a plane—even on a private military jet—would be impossible. People would ask questions. If we shipped it to the harbor, no questions asked."

  "The cargo ship?" I furrowed my brow. "I thought… I thought you smuggled in children. For human trafficking."

  He balked at my words.

  "We would never do that," he insisted. "You may think me a monster, Ms. Tucker, and I assure you, I am quite villainous. But we would never sell children for sport. We do not even use children to control the streets in our drug trade. They come to us, of course. The poor. The desperate. The ones who need to feed their families, either because their parents don't make enough or because they, themselves are the parents and they don't want child services coming in and ripping their families apart. Stephanie did what she could. Gave them money to survive. Refused to allow CPS to go to those houses. But it wasn't enough. It never is." His eyes shifted back to me. "I would know."

  "I don't give a shit about your life story," I said.

  Ramiro picked up his arm and pointed it back at me. I straightened under it, and felt my confidence give way to the fear once again. I hated that I couldn't just keep my mouth shut. At the end of the day, my stubbornness was going to get me killed. Robbie was right. Jon was right. But it was as though I didn't want to admit it. It was that same feeling I got now when the words spilled out of my mouth and I couldn't stop them even if I tried. The problem was, I didn't even try. I didn't want to. And now, there was a good chance I was going to die because of it.

  "You're not very bright, are you, Ms. Tucker?" Ramiro asked. "You might be interested in my story because it heavily involves people that are supposed to be close to you, personally."

  I clenched my jaw. "Are you going to tell me you killed my uncle?" I asked in a tight voice. "I already know that."

  "Your uncle is only a fraction of the story," Ramiro said. "I do not have permission to kill you, but I don't want to wait. I want to see your reaction first. I want to see you break into pieces before my very eyes."

  "I've been through a lot of shit," I said. "I don't break easy."

  "Perhaps not," Ramiro acknowledged with a nod. "Which is why this is going to be so much sweeter. This story doesn't just involve your uncle, but it involves your grandfather as well."

  I froze. My mouth went dry again. My eyes widened. I hated that I was reacting so visually to his words when I was sure they were nothing but bullshit. He wanted to bait me, but I didn't know what for. I couldn't give him the satisfaction, either.

  "Fuck off," I said.

  "No, I don't think I will." Ramiro took a step closer to me. "I think you'll want to hear this story. It might finally shed some truth on the mysteries of your life. I wonder what he would think of how you turned out." Another step toward me. I was too hung up on his words to realize what he was doing.

  "You didn't know him," I said through gritted teeth.

  He reached out. The second his hand touched my cheek, I slapped it away.

  "Don't touch me," I snapped.

  He smirked, seemingly amused by my disgust.

  "That's where you're wrong, nina," he said. "I knew your grandfather a great deal. He got a kick out of you, though. Thought your tenacity was amusing. Said you got it from him."

  I scoffed. "My grandfather is dead," I said. "I never knew him. Maybe you're confusing him for my uncle before you dropped him from the construction site his body was found."<
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  Ramiro's smile widened into a grin that reminded me of a snake. I felt a shudder rip through my body. He seemed to sense it too, but amusement lit his eyes as he continued to look at me. He reached for me again. I slapped his hand but he pushed my slap aside and gripped me tight, as though he wanted me to know who was in charge and that little games would not be tolerated further.

  "Your uncle deserved everything he got," Ramiro growled through gritted teeth. His nose skimmed my jaw line and I flinched at the intimacy of the touch. "He stuck his nose in business that was not his. You certainly got your insatiable curiosity from him."

  He tilted his head downward so his lips caressed my throat as they trailed downward. I bit my bottom lip to keep from whimpering. I knew what this was. I knew this wasn't because Ramiro found me attractive, and I doubted he wanted to have fun with me the way Asher Grey had. He wanted to exert dominance. He wanted a reaction out of me. I couldn't give it to him. And yet, it was hard to stay still. To not want to throw up all over his expensive shoes.

  "It's a terrible shame you are going to end up dead, just like him," he said. "Just like the rest of your family. No legacy to leave behind except your words. Another bloodline snuffed out because of your meddling."

  I opened my mouth, ready to retort something, when a pair of familiar eyes caught my attention. I immediately flickered my gaze away. I couldn't let Ramiro know that Jon was here.

  No, not Jon.

  The Big Bad Wolf.

  I had no idea what Jon's plan was. I had no idea how he found me, but in that moment, I was so fucking grateful, I was ready to start crying. Ramiro would enjoy that, though, so I refused to do it.

  Instead, I took a breath. I tensed my body. I saw Ramiro move his mouth but I didn't hear what he said. He could say whatever he wanted.

  Jon roared. The sound pierced my ears.

  And then, everything felt like it was in slow motion. I watched Jon leap into the sky. He was glorious, beautiful, majestic, and dangerous. He was a black wolf with thick hair and dark eyes, black as oil. And he was large. From the way he stretched out, his length was two of me at least. He had muscle even as a wolf, and his claws were the size of my fingers. His fangs glistened in the lighting of the room we were in—sharp and white, dripping with saliva.

  I was in awe of him and also afraid of him, even though I knew he would never hurt me.

  Ramiro managed to get out of the way just in time. If he had waited a second longer, he would have been shredded into ribbons.

  As it was, Ramiro hit the floor with a loud grunt. For an older man, he managed to jump onto his feet. He rushed at me, the gun securely in his hand. He grabbed me before I even realized what was happening. I heard Jon land with a screech, his nail digging into carpet. Bits of the beige material flew into the sky and rained down on him.

  Ramiro positioned himself behind me and placed the gun under my temple. I let out a sob when I felt the metal—still warm from when Ramiro shot Guzman—on my skin. I had been shot at, but never had a felt the barrel of the gun resting so soft against me, like an angel's embrace.

  Jon growled. The sound was softer than thunder but much more threatening. I felt Ramiro shift his weight behind me. I could tell he wasn't quite sure how he was going to get out of this. He was nervous. I highly doubted he had any silver bullets, either. Why would he? He wasn't expecting a wolf.

  "You want her, pinche pendejo?" he asked. His voice was coming out low but loud. My ear rang. "You come get her." He was inching towards the door. He was a fucking idiot. Even if he made it to the door, there was no way Jon was going to let him go. There was too much at stake.

  Until I caught Jon's eyes.

  And I knew, I knew he was contemplating it.

  For me.

  I couldn't let that happen. If Ramiro got away, he would disappear. I knew that. Jon had to do that.

  I tilted my head in a way that seemed to indicate I would shake my head. Jon closed his mouth. I knew what that meant. Jon didn't give a shit. He was going to do whatever he wanted.

  Even let Ramiro go.

  I closed my eyes. My heart hammered against my chest. And then I stomped on Ramiro's foot as hard as I could and pushed the hand holding the gun in the sky. It went off. I let out a sob, knowing that could have been my head, but I didn't stop doing what I was doing.

  Jon leaped in the sky again. I tried to duck but Ramiro wouldn't let me. Instead, I twisted and turned, collapsing to the floor. Ramiro fell on top of me. Jon grabbed Ramiro with his claws and threw him off of me. He screamed in pain.

  I wondered how long this would last. How long until someone heard the noise and came after us again. How long until we were outnumbered, and it didn't matter that Jon was a werewolf because ten men with guns—maybe with silver bullets—would overpower him at some point.

  Jon flung Ramiro off of me. He landed with a thud against the wall and then collapsed to the floor lack a sack of potatoes. It looked like the throw required no effort on Jon's part, either, which showed just how strong and brutal he could be. His eyes were fixed on his target. I didn't think he even remembered that I was there in the first place.

  And then, Ramiro's gun went off again. This time, it hit Jon. Jon let off a roar and I could tell it had to be silver simply by the amount of pain in that roar. I went to him. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I went to Jon.

  Not that he needed me.

  He stomped Ramiro's head with his paws. I had to look away. I fingered my cross. I couldn't imagine what it felt like to have weight like Jon's stomping my face. I was sure my skull would have collapsed.

  Ramiro let out a garbled sound. It was difficult to hear, even though I strongly disliked Ramiro. I wasn't sure I could hate him. I didn't know if I was allowed to make a judgment as strong as hating someone. I would rather leave that up to God. But regardless of my feelings for him, even I couldn't handle the noise that came out of his mouth. It was like a sob, but one where he was choking on his own saliva or blood.

  Jon stomped on him again, and again. There was a liquid of blood pooling underneath him. The marks Jon left in his body were starting to emerge. His body twitched once, twice, three times, before it stopped moving completely.

  The whole time, Jon was starting to turn back into a human. Drops of blood came out of his wound, but he must have properties that healed his body. I wondered if it was the silver that forced him to transform.

  "I think," I managed to get out. "I think he's dead, Jon."

  Jon gave his body one last kick, like he had to make sure. Without looking at me, he went through the closet and managed to find a pair of sweatpants to put on. They didn't quite fit him but at least we were decent.

  "I didn't like him touching you," Jon rasped out, still not looking at me.

  Before I could respond, I heard noises. We weren't alone.

  Chapter 25

  People were coming. We needed to leave now, if we were going to get out at all.

  Ramiro was dead.

  Jon killed him.

  I should have been more upset. How was my uncle going to get the recognition that he deserved?

  But I wasn't. I was just glad to be alive.

  Jon tugged at my hands, snapping me out of my thoughts. We needed to get out of here. People would be coming.

  I could hear cars outside, pulling up, breaking hard. The sounds were muffled but I heard them. Strange. I thought we were deep into the facility but maybe we weren't. Maybe my hearing had gotten way better. Maybe…maybe I didn't need to figure everything out. Maybe I just needed to acknowledge it was happening and then let it go.

  I followed him down the dark hallway. My breathing was ragged. Loud. I nearly tripped over myself. I caught my footing. I steadied myself. I kept going. I didn't want to fall behind. I didn't want to be the reason Jon got caught. I was already the reason for a lot of what happened. I wouldn't be that for Jon.

  I pushed harder. My body ached. I was limping but I couldn't remember why.


  A bullet whizzed by my ear. I yelped. I hadn't even heard the shot.

  Jon pulled me to the right, yanking my wrist so hard I nearly tripped over myself again. I slammed into his chest and he closed the door. We were in an enclosed space. I wanted to say it was a closet, but there were no uniforms hanging from metal, no cleaning supplies. It was just a space, an empty space, that was entirely too small for two grown adults, especially when one of those adults was as big as Jon was.

  I tried to catch my breath. I knew we couldn't talk. Not right now. I closed my eyes. I leaned forward. I was still pressed against his chest. His hands were down by his sides but I didn't care. I just needed time to collect myself.

  When I felt like I could breathe again, I heard footsteps zoom by. One of the thugs was muttering. I couldn't hear what he said, but I knew Jon did.

  After another moment, the footsteps trailed away.

  I let out a breath. It came out like a garbled sob. Tears misted my eyes and they fell before I even had the chance to control them. I raised my hands to wipe them away, but Jon took my hands in his own to stop me. I looked up at him. He shook his head once. He gave my hands and gentle squeeze and slowly released them. But only so he could bring his own up and wipe them away himself.

  I melted into him.

  I pressed my lips together. I didn't want to make a sound. I didn't want to be the reason we were caught when I was already the reason for so many other things.

  Jon took his hands from my face. One fell down to his side. The other went behind my head and pulled me even closer to him so that my forehead grazed his. We stood like that for what felt like a second, for what felt like forever. My mouth was open, breathing his air, sharing it.

  Our eyes met. It was strange, this odd communication that passed between us. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. But I felt safe with him. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I knew, no matter what, it was all going to be okay because Jon was with me.

  His eyes dropped to my lips. For a moment, I thought he might lean in and kiss me. I had no idea what I would do if such a thing were to happen, but I found myself sticking out my tongue and dabbing my bottom lip, as though I was getting it ready. His eyes seemed to widen slightly. His own mouth dropped open. He tilted his chin upward. His nose grazed the side of mine.