The Unleashing

by Shelly Laurenston

  Erin eventually put in a call to one of the Crows who worked as an executive at a bank. She told her to set up a business account for Kera’s “nonprofit thing. I don’t know. Something with dogs and Marines. No. Not porn.” Erin glanced at her. “Right? Not porn.”

  Kera stared at the woman for several long seconds before replying, “No. Not porn.”

  “Yeah. Not porn,” Erin laughingly told the Crow. Then, with the account being taken care of, they continued on until they ended up back at the sound stage where Yardley was filming her commercial.

  “It’s going long,” Yardley complained while sipping a freshly made berry-and-banana shake.

  “How hard is it to shoot a commercial of you standing in front of a luxury car while wearing that stupid designer dress?”

  “You’d think not hard at all.” She glared over at the director. “But apparently . . . the lighting has to be just right.” She suddenly stared at Erin. “But you guys aren’t done yet, are you?”

  “Well—”

  “Are you?”

  “Actually, we are. But, I have a little gift for Kera.”

  “For me?”

  “Yeah. You’re doin’ Vig Rundstöm, right?”

  Kera shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Yardley giggled. “I love how honest you are.”

  But Kera would never be with anyone she wasn’t proud of claiming as her own. Besides, might as well let these bitches know that Vig was taken. At least for the moment.

  “Well, this will be a gift for him, too,” Erin said. She pointed at Yardley. “Can we take your car? We need to go to West L.A.”

  “What’s in West L.A.?”

  “You’ll see. Yardley?”

  “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll sadly be another couple of hours.”

  Erin and Yardley hugged, then Yardley was hugging Kera.

  As they started to walk off, Yardley held up one finger to halt them, and said over her shoulder, “Clem?”

  The director practically ran over to her. “Yes? What do you need?”

  “Did you contribute to my friend’s organization?”

  The director sized Kera up and seemed unimpressed. “You know, darling, I actually have my accountant handle all my financial stuff, including charities.”

  “She’s a vet, Clem. Fought for this country . . . or whatever. She was even over in one of those, like, desert countries. Istanbul or whatever.”

  “Afghanistan,” Kera gently corrected.

  “Exactly! Do you think she was over there getting one of those Afghan dogs? No! She was there fighting for our country, Clem. Our country!”

  Kera frowned and glanced at Erin, who was silently laughing.

  “You can’t ignore a vet,” Yardley went on, her bright blue eyes locked on the director. “Not if you expect me to stay late and not complain online to the universe that you didn’t help a war vet.”

  Poor Clem blew out a breath and softly said, “I’ll go get my checkbook.”

  “You do that, gorgeous.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Kera told her, but Yardley waved that away with her well-manicured hand.

  “Don’t even sweat it. It’s the least the bald-headed bastard could do.”

  “Sorry you have to stay late.”

  “Yeah. It blows. But the later the shoot runs, the more penalties he racks up.”

  “Penalties?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “I get like ten grand extra every half hour he goes over the schedule. So . . . it’s not really that big a deal to me.”

  Kera didn’t realize her mouth had dropped open until Erin gently closed it.

  Clem returned. He started to hand over a check to Kera but Yardley snatched it out of his hand and studied it for several seconds. “This’ll do,” she said before handing the check to Erin.

  “Can I get back to work now?” Clem asked Yardley.

  “Of course. Because,” she said to his back as he walked away, “tick-tock, tick-tock, cha-ching!”

  Then she laughed and it was kind of evil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kera gazed up at the small West Los Angeles shop.

  “A tattoo parlor?”

  “My tattoo parlor. Come on.”

  Kera followed Erin inside. As soon as they walked in, the other tattoo artists greeted Erin with smiles and hugs. Like they were actually happy to see her. The clients gazed at her as if they were seeing a Yardley-level superstar.

  “I thought you were out this week,” one artist said.

  “I am,” Erin replied as she went to an unused station. “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

  Kera watched Erin set up her work area. She moved quickly and efficiently, stopping long enough to ask the hot, goth receptionist covered in tattoos to toss her one of the T-shirts with the shop name, Amsel Tatts, on the front. She took a pair of scissors and quickly cut out the neck before handing it off to Kera.

  “Put this on.”

  “Why?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “Erin.”

  “Why do you think when you’re standing in the middle of a tattoo parlor that does nothing but tattoos? Now just put it on.”

  Kera went into the clean bathroom and changed out of her Zeppelin T-shirt and sports bra and into the shop tee. She then used the facilities and washed her hands before going back to Erin’s station. By then, Erin was already waiting for her.

  She motioned for Kera to sit down in a chair that reminded her of a barbershop.

  With rubber gloves on, Erin began to clean and shave the tiny hairs lightly covering the old tattoo of Kera’s ex-husband’s name. That’s when Kera asked, “Are you going to ask me what kind of tattoo I want?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because you just know?”

  “Yep.”

  “I may have some ideas on what I want, you know?”

  “Ideas? Would those be the same ideas that prompted you to tattoo your ex’s stupid name on your shoulder?”

  “He wasn’t my ex at the time.”

  “Were you sober?”

  “I was . . . pleasantly buzzed.”

  “Exactly. So can I get on and do my job?”

  “Fine, but I better fucking like it.”

  “You should feel honored,” Erin said, moving a rolling tray of her tattoo gun and inks close to her left hand. “People wait four months to get an appointment with me.”

  “Six,” the receptionist said, walking over to place cold bottles of water beside Erin and Kera.

  “What?”

  “You’re now booked for six months as of yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “That article about your work came out in Rolling Stone yesterday. And we’ve been getting calls and e-mails all day today, so it may stretch into a seven-to-eight-month wait.” She smiled at them. “Isn’t that great?”

  “Fabulous. Now go away.”

  The receptionist giggled and went back to her desk.

  “You really own this place?” Kera asked.

  “Yep.”

  “All these people work for you?”

  “Yep.”

  Kera glanced back at her. “That fascinates me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because it’s you.”

  The other artists laughed and Erin picked up her tattoo gun and sucked her tongue against her teeth. “Keep it up and you’re going to find a tacky drunk pig tattooed on your back.”

  The sound of the gun started and Kera braced herself for that first sting of needles filled with ink being shoved into her skin. It was, in a word, unpleasant. And yet she always forgot the worst part of getting a tattoo. Not just the tattoo itself, but the soreness of her flesh because of the needle going over the same area again and again.

  She was worried, too. She couldn’t help it. Erin was free-handing her tattoo. She wasn’t using a stencil, and she hadn’t given Kera any idea what she was putting there.

  Kera was just going to have
to wait and see. She really hoped it wasn’t something as stupid as putting her ex’s name on her shoulder.

  “How come you got divorced anyway?” Erin asked.

  “We just stopped getting along.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “At the time, yeah. He’s happier now, though. He’s got a wife, two little girls, and the last time I saw him, he was really doing well.”

  “Are you happier?”

  Kera had to think on that, but between getting more comfortable with the Crows and her time with Vig . . . “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Good. You like cats, right?” Erin suddenly asked. “Like little adorable, fluffy kitties?”

  “I am not a cat person.”

  “Really? Uh-oh.”

  “Okay, you’re just trying to freak me out right now, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Erin said on a laugh. “But you make it so damn easy.”

  After talking to Kera’s old building manager, Mrs. Vallejandro, the Crows had found that no, Brodie had not come back to Kera’s previous apartment, but that the local gang members did run a dog-fighting ring in the neighborhood. She also knew that they kept the cops off their back by moving the fights around to local, abandoned warehouses.

  The warehouse closest to Kera’s place turned out to be a bust, but Jace had a feeling Brodie was around here somewhere, so they kept searching and searching . . . and searching until they practically stumbled upon an abandoned warehouse nearly a mile from Kera’s old apartment.

  Jace knew it was the right place from all the barking. But what concerned her wasn’t the barking dogs.

  It was the screaming.

  Jace ran into the empty parking lot beside the building and went to the back door. Just as she touched the handle, something heavy hit the metal door from the other side.

  The Crows backed up.

  “That does not sound good,” Annalisa muttered.

  “No.”

  Jace reached for the door handle again and pushed it down. The door was blocked from the other side, so Jace and Annalisa shoved the door open together. The mangled body of a gang member rolled back and away to flop against the floor. She knew he was in a gang from the tattoos that covered nearly every inch of visible skin.

  She pushed the door all the way open, but before she could step over the man’s body, Annalisa yanked her back as a pack of dogs charged out of the doorway in a panicked mob.

  The Crows squealed, moving into what they called a “protective flock” until the freaked-out dogs disappeared down the street.

  “Should we track them down?” a sister asked.

  “Can we just focus on one dog today, please?” Annalisa pulled away from the sisters and peered into the open door, but she reared back when she heard men screaming. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it does not sound good.”

  But Jace was determined to find Brodie, no matter what the consequences. So she walked into the large building, stepping over the gang member’s body, her sister-Crows following her in.

  There were cages stacked off to one side, but the doors had been torn off the hinges, freeing the poor animals inside.

  It seemed it was too early for a fighting event, but a small number of men had come to the warehouse, maybe to feed the dogs.

  And now, most of those men were dead. Most but not all. The survivors were in the back of the warehouse in an office. That’s where the screams and now gunshots were coming from.

  Jace moved forward until she reached a makeshift pit in the middle of the room. The bodies of smaller dogs were lying in the pit, used as bait dogs probably. She quickly looked away, always unable to look at any kind of animal cruelty. It just broke her heart.

  There were more screams and shots, and Jace watched two men run from that back room.

  “Run!” they screamed at the Crows as they came toward them. “Run!”

  Jace glanced back at the Crows and Annalisa slammed the door shut, forcing the two men to slide to a stop.

  The men gawked at the Crows as Jace walked over to stand in front of her sisters.

  “You stupid bitch!” one of the men snarled. “Why did you do that?”

  “Just move!” the other yelled. “It’s coming! It’ll kill all of us!”

  The Crows stood their ground, gazing at the men coldly.

  “What the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”

  Annalisa pointed at the pit where the dead dogs were. “Did you do that?”

  “What are you? One of those crazy animal-rescue people? Is that thing in there yours?” he demanded, pointing to the back of the warehouse.

  Jace shook her head and said softly, “You deserve whatever you get.”

  One of the men punched Jace in the face to move her, but Jace had been hit before. A lot harder than this. Long before she’d even been a Crow. The difference now, though, was that she knew how to fight back.

  She grabbed the fist that hit her with both hands and twisted hard, snapping the bone at the wrist. The man screamed out in pain, and Jace punched him in the chest, sending him flying back several feet.

  The other man raised his gun but Annalisa slammed her foot against his kneecap, crushing it. She yanked the gun out of his hand and tossed it across the room.

  The first man suddenly began screaming, his body dragged back behind a stack of wood boxes. He begged for help but the Crows wouldn’t be doing that.

  The man at their feet started to drag himself toward the door. The Crows stepped back to let him get by, watching him silently.

  A low, rolling growl radiated around them and Jace looked to see Brodie walking slowly toward them. The dog was studying them as she moved, waiting to see what they would do.

  But the Crows wouldn’t do anything but back her up. That’s what Crows did . . . for their sisters. Because that’s what Skuld had done here. She’d made Brodie one of them.

  Wings extended from Brodie’s furred back and her muzzle was covered in a thick, fitted slab of steel that stretched down and around the majority of her teeth, giving the animal metal fangs. A special gift from Skuld just like Jace’s rage or Kera’s strength or Erin’s flame.

  Jace remembered the pictures in Kera’s old apartment when they were moving her out. Pictures of Brodie. Not only had most of the poor dog’s teeth been pulled by these bastards, but her muzzle had been so badly damaged that her gums had been visible even when her mouth was closed. Jace remembered thinking how amazing Kera was; she’d done what a lot of people would not have been able to do. She’d not only approached and rescued Brodie, but she’d kept her despite the way she’d looked. She’d accepted her just as she was, which was a big deal in a city where style and glamour were of über-importance.

  But Kera hadn’t cared about that. She’d cared about helping this dog. And when Skuld had brought Brodie back to be with Kera, she’d made sure the dog could not only be by Kera’s side, she’d be able to fight by Kera’s side. As a sister-Crow.

  When none of the Crows stopped her, Brodie leaned down and sniffed the man on the floor. Panicked, he reached out and begged, “Please. Help me.”

  Jace looked at her sisters and, as one, they all nodded. Jace looked back at the man and said with great finality . . . “No.”

  As Erin had worked for the last three hours, her fellow artists would stop and watch her during their breaks. They didn’t say anything, but Kera tried not to take that as a bad sign.

  “Do you have any tattoos?” Kera asked.

  “No.”

  “No ‘it’s an exit, not an entry’ tattoo?”

  “I never said that was me.”

  “Still. A tattoo artist with no tattoos?”

  “I’m half-Jewish.”

  “So? You, like me, were raised Catholic.”

  “I was actually raised to keep my options open. As my mother pointed out, maybe when I’m ninety, I’ll want to be buried in a Jewish cemetery.”

  “So you might want to bury your body in a Jewish cemetery while your soul is b
attling in Asgard? That seems kind of confused.”

  “Maybe. Okay.” Erin rolled her chair back, stretched her neck and shoulders. “Take a look.”

  “Really?”

  Erin grinned. “You’re kind of afraid, aren’t you?”

  “More than kind of.”

  “Thought you were tough,” she said, her voice dropping several octaves. “A Marine!”

  “Oh, shut up.” Kera stood . . . and immediately stopped to stretch her own neck and shoulders. They hadn’t taken any breaks during this session and she felt it now.

  Finally, Kera walked over to a large standing mirror near the shop T-shirts that were for sale. And, after a deep breath, Kera turned and looked at what Erin had done to her back.

  Using her stainless-steel maw, Brodie grabbed hold of the man by his ass and dragged her screaming, begging prey off behind that stack of boxes.

  Jace faced her sisters and said, “I want ice cream.”

  “Frozen yogurt’s better healthwise,” Annalisa noted.

  Jace cringed. “That’s not ice cream. I want ice cream.”

  “Okay, but it’s going to go right to your hips. And that’s not a good thing for you.”

  Jace’s mouth dropped open at the insult just as the screams abruptly stopped.

  Blood-covered but back to her normal pit bull self, her wings hidden behind fur and thick muscle, Brodie padded over to them and sat.

  Jace stared down at the dog and asked, “Ice cream?”

  Panting, Brodie’s mouth pulled back in a doggy smile.

  “Or yogurt?”

  Brodie yawned and looked away.

  Jace shrugged. “Ice cream it is then.”

  “We can’t take her back looking like this,” Annalisa pointed out. “The new girl is pretty OCD. I’m almost positive she’ll notice the blood and gore.”

  Erin adjusted her tattoo gun and tossed a few things out, just to convey an air of nonchalance that she wasn’t even remotely feeling.

  She had no doubts about her ability as an artist. She was good. She knew it and the tattoo world knew it. And although she’d been bold in her decision not to consult Kera even the tiniest bit about the permanent markings she was putting on the woman’s flesh, she was beginning to wonder if that had been the best idea. Because Kera wasn’t saying anything. Nothing at all.