by Jools Louise
Reaching for the flowers, Shark gingerly retrieved the card and read the missive.
Roses are red, irises are blue. I know a secret, how about you? Irises are blue, roses are red. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be wishing you were dead.
“Shark? What’s wrong, boss?” Noah asked, looking concerned.
Shark handed the card to Noah, who read it and cursed luridly. “Fuck. This is escalating.”
Oliver came over and grabbed the card, whimpering in dismay at the message. “Crash must have escaped,” he said, his voice trembling. Then he wrenched the flowers from Noah’s grasp and threw them violently into a large trash can. “It’s the only explanation. He’s the only person who knows this poem.”
“He’s in San Quentin,” Shark said wearily, removing his cap and rubbing his Mohawk nervously. “No way he’s out yet. He was in there on a double homicide, fifty years apiece, after ripping apart his last victims. He’s lucky he didn’t get a death sentence after he beat up that old couple in their own home and then tortured them until they died.”
“I know, Shark, but Crash used to send this message, from prison. Every time we thought we were free of him, he’d find us somehow. It only stopped when we moved to Sage.”
“Crash?” Slade asked in a dangerously quiet voice, rising and coming over to stand beside the counter, having been listening to entire exchange.
Shark forgot his attitude for a moment, too scared to be snarky. “Crash was our lover, years ago, before he was arrested for murder. He was abusive and violent. We were the ones who put him inside. He killed two people for fun, and stole their life’s savings, murdering them even after they gave him whatever they had. He told us what he’d done, and we called the police on him. We couldn’t risk that he’d do it again. He likes hurting people, gets off on torture.”
“He promised that if he ever got out, he’d come for us,” Oliver said, moving closer to Shark and holding his lover, the two of them sharing a speaking glance as they remembered the vicious threats, shouted at them as the Crash had been dragged out of their apartment, screaming bloody murder, encased in a straitjacket after he’d attacked three police officers, causing serious injuries. It had taken an entire SWAT team to subdue him.
“Crash isn’t in San Quentin,” Slade said grimly. “He’s known to Kaden and me. Used to run with our crew until he showed his nasty side. Put one of our guys in a coma when he went too far with a friendly wrestling match. Crash is a fucking sociopath. Luther is in a wheelchair now, permanently disabled after what Crash did to him.”
“When did he escape?” Oliver asked fearfully, clutching at Shark’s arm. Shark hugged his lover, stroking his back soothingly.
“I don’t know exactly,” Slade replied tautly. “But I have connections, and while I was out on the road, trying to decide what I wanted to do after Kaden got himself mated, I heard a few things. Apparently, Crash was being transferred to another facility, after killing two of his cellmates, wolverine clan members who got the wrong end of his temper. There was a nationwide manhunt for him, but he went to ground, and nobody’s seen him.”
“Claw and Ruckus,” Shark stated, knowing exactly who it had been. They had been hard cases, mean and nasty. If Crash had gotten the better of them both, it didn’t bode well for anyone.
“You think this came from Crash?” Noah asked bluntly.
“He used to like sex play, bondage, and toys, and stuff,” Oliver replied, his voice quavering a little at the admission. “He got rougher and rougher with us, ignoring safe words, laughing when we begged for him to stop. He loved it when we pleaded. He never stopped until he was ready. The day after, every time, he would buy us red roses.” Oliver shivered against Shark, who cuddled him soothingly.
“I’m going to call Pace,” Noah said firmly. “He needs to know what’s going on.” He shot them a sharp look. “Is this who you think has been spreading those rumors? When you first opened?”
Shark shook his head. “We didn’t, until now. We didn’t know that he was out. This confirms that he’s in town, though. We have the feeling that one of our own helped him to find us. Our clans weren’t happy when Oliver and I got together. They were even less so when we went to culinary school. That’s not the right kind of occupation for our families, apparently. We’re not supposed to get our hands dirty—we’re supposed to work in an office. They disowned us when we left home. They don’t want us to be happy, and they don’t want to recognize us as their kin, either. They hate that we’re not under their control anymore and making money without their help.”
Noah turned to make the call, leaving Shark and Oliver alone with Slade.
“Is he the reason you’re so scared of me?” Slade asked, looking a little sad.
Shark looked down, avoiding Slade’s searching perusal. “Crash is a similar build to you,” he admitted. “He had that whole badass thing going, like you do, and it’s a turn-on.” He shot a lightning peek at Slade and saw the slight twitch of the man’s lips in response. The grin disappeared when Shark spoke again. “He persuaded us to try BDSM. At first it was kind of fun, you know, a bit daring, not too extreme.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “We had safe words, but he ignored us when he got too into it. He liked using whips—a lot. He’d strap us up, and we’d be so helpless.”
“Do think I’d hurt you?” Slade asked, sounding slightly horrified.
“We didn’t think he would hurt us,” Oliver replied timidly. “But he changed. He had two personalities. The one that he used to seduce us, and trick us into trusting him. Then he’d flip, and his evil side took over. Once he had us in his clutches, he would swap from one to the other, a Jekyll and Hyde kind of deal.”
The sheriff arrived minutes later. Pace looked grim, his eyes glittering with sparks of anger. Shark felt nervous, but relaxed when the sheriff met his look with one of empathy and understanding.
“Gentlemen, why don’t we step into the back, and you can give me your statement?” he said gently. “Where are the flowers?”
Shark pointed to the trash can. “We’ll need to take them for forensics,” Pace said. “The card, too. I already spoke to Skull, and he’s making some calls. Sherman and his boys remember Crash quite well from when they were incarcerated. He was transferred to San Quentin after a series of violent outbursts against prison officers and other inmates. The other prisons refused to handle him. San Quentin have had their hands full. I can’t quite believe anyone would risk transferring him, given his nature. They had to build a special facility just for him, even before shifters were outed and prisons had to revise their systems, keeping humans and the more dangerous shifters separated.”
“Can you handle this place for a little while?” Shark asked Noah.
Pace interjected. “Perhaps it would be best to close the restaurant. I’ll need to speak to all of you. I don’t imagine it’ll get too busy for another hour or so, will it?” The wolverines shook their heads. Slade was often their only customer at ten o’clock when they opened. The lunch/late breakfast crowd came in later. “Deputy Mabel’s reviewing security footage. We’ll find out if he’s here alone or working with someone.”
“He’s a loner,” Slade said, frowning, his blue eyes serious. “The guy has a hair trigger, and isn’t real good around people. I can’t believe he’s working with anyone, but someone must have helped him escape. Either that or he met up with someone here. If your family has been in contact, perhaps that’s the connection.”
Noah rounded the counter, aiming to lock the door, when a young wolverine came rushing in. He was someone who Noah and the other wolverines knew well, having been trapped for weeks together inside a disused mine.
“Shark, Oliver, I can’t find Mystery,” the guy said, looking distraught.
“When did you last see him?” Shark asked, feeling a lurch in his gut, a premonition that this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.
“He was meeting an old friend last night, going to the cinema,” the guy known as
Shock said. “He was a little nervous, though, and he took Humdrum with him. Humdrum came home just now and is too terrified to speak. Mystery is nowhere to be found.”
Sheriff Pace palmed his cell phone and made a quick call. “Skull’s on his way to speak to Humdrum,” he told Shock when he’d finished. “Do you know who the friend was?”
“He wouldn’t say,” Shock said. “But it was as though he was being forced to go out with this guy. I got the impression he really didn’t want to be anywhere near the guy. I asked Mystery if he wanted me and Croak to tag along, as well, but he declined. Said something about family connections. Whatever that means.”
“Crash is out of jail,” Shark said flatly. Shock gasped, and then looked sick as he absorbed the revelation.
“Then Mystery’s as good as dead,” Shock said flatly, closing his eyes, looking defeated. “Crash must be the old friend. He’s Mystery’s second cousin, by marriage, and Crash used to bully him like crazy when they were kids. When he and Humdrum hooked up, Crash went ballistic and beat them both up. They nearly died. He doesn’t like sharing and considered Mystery his property. He took a sick sort of interest in Mystery and was jealous as hell when Mystery fell for Humdrum.”
“Why would he take Mystery and not Humdrum?” Pace asked curiously.
Shock sent him a fearful look. “Because Mystery was his first sex slave, when Crash was practicing his skills as a Dom.” He snorted at the description, his lip curling with disgust. “He was never a true Dom. He never cared for his victims. He just liked having someone at his mercy. Mystery escaped, and Crash never forgave him. Humdrum’s lucky he got away this time…Crash would have killed him for sure. He said Mystery went to the bathroom and never came back. I’m sure if he’d seen Crash, he would have said.”
“Crash hurt us, too, in the same way. He tortured us under the guise of sex play,” Shark told his friend, revealing something he’d never told anyone else, at least not anyone from the wolverine clans. “Humdrum looked terrified, you say? Perhaps he did see something and was too scared to tell.”
Shock immediately came over to hug Shark and Oliver. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know about what happened to you. That’s horrible,” he cried, tears glinting in his brown eyes. “There’s a glimmer of hope, maybe. Crash will take his time with Mystery, wanting his victim to suffer. He likes to play mind games first, which may give us a window of time. We just need to figure out where he’s holed up.”
“Chill and Bone may know,” Oliver said timidly, mentioning a pair of wolverines who had also been rescued from the mine in Colorado. “They just moved into a little cottage outside of town, off the main highway and hidden by trees. It would be a perfect place for Crash to hole up.” He looked as though he was about to throw up. “They were supposed to meet me this morning for an early coffee at John’s place, but they never showed up. I should have known something was wrong when I called them, and nobody answered, but I figured they just overslept.”
Pace palmed his phone again and sent a text. “We’ll get our home task force on this one,” he said. “Crash is dangerous, obviously. I’m not letting him hurt anyone else.” He stared intently at Shark, Oliver, and then Shock in turn. “We’ll make sure he never victimizes you or your friend again.”
Noah shut the door, flipping the little sign that hung there to “closed,” and the others headed into the small kitchen area in the back to discuss strategy. Noah waited by the door for the task force to arrive.
Chapter Two
Crash eyed his victims with a menacing leer. All were naked and bore bruises from their capture. Mystery was unconscious, slumped in the sling that Crash had constructed, his body littered with bites, bruises, and knife scars. Mystery’s left leg and right arm were bent at odd angles, signaling that they were broken, his back striped and bloody from being whipped. His rear end showed the evidence of Crash’s repeated, brutal invasions, and he was bleeding sluggishly. Crash’s two other reluctant playmates, Chill and Bone, were staring at him through eyes wide with hatred, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Just the kind of expression that Crash liked. It meant they would scream loudly, once he got to work on them.
“You won’t get away with this in Sage,” Chill stated venomously, curling his lip as he gave Crash an insulting once over, his dark blue eyes glittering with aggression. “We don’t tolerate morons like you here.”
Crash grinned malevolently and lifted a blowtorch from the tray he had brought through, conveniently, if unwittingly, provided by the two wolverines. Chill and Bone were trainee chefs at the college, wanting to open their own high-end restaurant and had a full array of fun tools that could be used for torturous purposes. “You won’t live long enough to appreciate just what I can get away with,” he sneered back, igniting the gas, and then narrowing the flame so it glowed blue.
Chill’s expression grew even more intense, and he snarled furiously.
“You’re a coward,” he growled. “You drug your victims so they can’t fight back and then string them up so they’re helpless when they wake up. What’s the matter, douche? Can’t fight properly? Afraid you might break a nail?”
Crash laughed loudly. “Sweetie, I don’t need to fight you. I just want to make you scream.” He applied the flame to the sole of Chill’s bare foot, baring his fangs. “Make as much noise as you like,” he encouraged maliciously. “It’s music to my ears.”
Chill did just that as Crash laughed again. Bone cowered, flinching as he watched in terror, waiting for Crash to turn his way. Crash winked at him. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I haven’t forgotten you. I’m saving you until last. You’re so cute. I want you to enjoy the buildup.” The stench of burning flesh became unbearable as Crash applied the blowtorch to the soles of Chill’s feet.
* * * *
Pace crouched beside the Spirit Ink wolverines, Rage, Slug, Lash, and Charm, plus Kaden and one of his mates, Skull, a wolverine shifter. On the other side of the cottage, blocking the rear exit, Slade, Mason, Kaden’s second mate, Sketch, Jay, and Sherman waited for the signal to move in. Mason was a black jaguar shifter, and his mate Jay, a snow leopard shifter, was the brother of John Hastings, owner of Café Anglais, a local business. Pace missed John and Ryder, two kick-ass shifters who were part of a new team, known as the Warrior Brigade. Ryder was leader of the Brigade and had taken John with him to England for a mission. Both men helped train shifters into Warriors, but had been called on to help quell a nasty little coup attempt of the British government, courtesy of Fortress, a group affiliated with Flashpoint and a thorn in the side of every shifter in Sage, and beyond.
A shrill, terrified scream came from the cottage, and Pace ordered the team to move in, slowly. “Take him down, folks,” he whispered into his comm link. “We need him alive for questioning, but if he leaves you no option, rip out his jugular.”
As one they moved closer, tense and ready for action. Crash was not a guy to take lightly. He liked fighting, excelled at it, and would do whatever it took not to be sent back to jail again.
“Put him down, and make sure he stays down,” Slade murmured to everyone over the link. “Crash is a dead shifter walking.”
“Hear, hear, bro,” Slug replied laconically. “He’s long overdue for his final resting place.”
Another scream rent the air, and they rushed forward. Pace kicked in the front door and heard the back door splinter as he hurried inside, gun drawn. A huge, muscular man came out of one of the rooms, brandishing a blowtorch of all things, his eyes glittering with maniacal glee. The man had a brown buzz cut, was twice as wide as Pace, and looked wired and dangerous.
“Oh, goody. I get to incinerate a sheriff,” the man chortled, darting forward, hand outstretched, waving the torch around. “Let’s dance, pig.”
Pace watched the psychopath intently and then lashed out with a high kick, trying to get his opponent to drop the torch. A second later, after failing to make contact, Pace felt a burning sensation on his forearm as his combatant got in a direct
hit.
“Drop the torch, or I’ll shoot,” Pace warned, clutching his injured arm to his chest, wincing in pain.
“Crash, you fuckwit, put down the goddamned blowtorch,” Slade yelled, letting out an impressive snarl as he came in, fangs bared warningly.
Crash’s attention flickered for a split second, giving Pace the chance to kick out again, this time making contact and knocking the weapon from Crash’s grasp.
Slade rushed past, leaping onto Crash, taking them both to the floor as they grappled for supremacy. Pace rapidly switched off the flame of the blowtorch and dived in to try to keep Crash down. The man was crazy, giving him a super strength that had both Pace and Slade barely hanging on.
Kaden entered the fray, snarling viciously at Crash, until between them they managed to put him in a headlock. Skull darted in, administering a heavy-duty dose of ketamine, and finally Crash was unconscious and out of trouble. For now.
Sighing, Pace stood up, dragging Kaden up, as well.
“You weren’t kidding about his personality,” he said, panting heavily as he wiped his brow. “The guy’s insane.”
“In here, guys,” Sherman said, having entered the room that Crash emerged from.
The men followed Sherman’s voice. Pace snarled in fury at the sight of the three men strapped up, with one young man lolling helplessly, his eyes rolling in his head, scorch marks on the soles of his feet, genitals, and other sensitive parts of his body. This must the one who’d screamed, his whimpers that of an animal in the throes of a waking nightmare. He saw a second man in a sling and felt sick at the signs of sexual assault and sustained physical torture. The third guy was cringing beneath his own restraints, trembling violently, but he appeared to be terrorized, rather than brutalized. He stared at his companions through dazed, tear-drenched eyes, letting out an occasional sob.