by Dani Wyatt
There’s a clutch in my chest, my temples throb as I remember the day the sheriff showed up at my elementary school with my gran. Her eyes red-rimmed and her skin white as she took my hand and drove me back to her house, then set me on the sofa in the living room and told me about my mother.
That my father had killed my mother in a shifter’s rage.
Then, trying to exact his revenge, he was killed as well.
If I’m going to be the right man for Wynter, I need to believe I’ll never let my anger get away from me. I need to believe, even in my worst moments, I’d never hurt her.
“Hey,” Wayne interrupts my thoughts, thank fuck. “I was scared when I found Tina. Shit, I practically blew it with her several times because I couldn’t get out of my own goddamn way. As soon as I put the ring on her finger, my wolf and I both settled down. When we got married, had our first baby, I settled more. You just gotta move forward, man. Don’t get stuck. Get her locked down, I know that’s what you want. I can see it in your eyes.”
I nod as I get back to work, the thought of a ring on her finger settling me a bit, and imagining her with my name nailed to her, my baby in my belly, I relax even more.
So, in my mind, I make my plan.
I’ll finish up my work, get in my truck and do what needs to be done to get her sassy ass locked down.
Chapter 10
Ragnar
Two hours later, my bank account is a fuck ton lighter, but the little box in my pocket feels like I’ve already won the lottery.
Whether she’s ready or not, here I come.
I park my pick-up behind the shop, look into my rear view and run a hand through my damp hair. After meeting with Howard at the jewelry store, I stopped at the house. I wanted to do this right, so I showered, cleaned up and put on the one suit I own along with a tie that now feels like a noose around my neck.
Not because of what I’m about to do, just because I don’t get how dudes wear ties every day. I’ll take my jeans and a toolbelt every time over this monkey suit, but I want Wynter to know I can be the man she needs, furry or not.
“Let’s do this.” I whisper to my bear, who has been pacing inside since I got the ring in my pocket.
As I step out the truck and shut the door, I look over and my blood turns into a river of fire.
Coming out of the back door of Wynter’s studio is fucking Robert the realtor, who looked at her like his lunch that day he called me to fix the spraying toilet.
“What the fuck?” I’m stomping forward when he looks up at me and I see the blood.
His nose is at an odd angle, two crimson rivers coming from each nostril and his right eye is sporting a soon-to-be shiner. His tie is pulled sideways and in my head all I can think of is, go Wynter. This fuck tried something and you fucking took him down.
Even so, if that’s what happened, she may have started it, but I’m going to finish it.
“I didn’t do anything to her!” He backs up against the outside brick wall, and I know the rage in my eyes must be clear, but from the way his hands are shaking, something else is going on.
“Is she in there? Did you touch her?”
He shakes his head as I swing open the back door and call for Wynter, but there’s no answer. There’s a new sort of noose that feels like it’s tightening around my throat as Robert’s voice breaks through.
“There were three guys. I was coming over to give Wynter all her copies of the lease documents and an extra set of keys I found, but when I came in the back door, there was this guy. He had his hand over her mouth…”
“Guy? What fucking guy?”
“I didn’t recognize him. I tried to get her away, she was fighting so I knew something wasn’t right. Two of them jumped me from behind and the other one went out the door with Wynter. They must have knocked me out, because the next thing I knew, I was alone. I came out the door and here you are…”
My bear roars from inside and it takes superhuman effort to hold back the shift. But I have to, because I need more info even as a red haze clouds my vision.
“What else did you see? Hear? Anything!” I’m yelling, I know it, and fucking Robert looks terrified as he leans down, resting his hands on the tops of his thighs like he’s going to pass out.
“When I came in the back door, I heard something…” He’s searching his memory and I force myself to hold back. Roaring in his face might make me feel better, but it’s not going to get me any answers. “Something about she had something that belonged to him. That’s all I remember. Something about how she put them in a really bad position and she’s going to fix it.”
Fix what? If she was in trouble, why didn’t she tell me?
I feel the burning tingle start in my gut as my skin stretches, and I know, this time I won’t be able to hold him back.
My jaw pops, my bones thicken and just before I lose the last of my human form, I reach into my pocket, pull out the little box and hand it to Robert.
“You keep that until I come for it.” My voice is deep, gravely, and I watch Robert nod as the last of the shift happens and I take a deep sniff of the air.
If they think she has something of theirs, she would have it at her house, so that’s where I’m headed.
Through the park and the woods, my grizzly is in a blind rage. When the first hint of her scent hits, my grizzly is roaring and running faster than we’ve ever moved.
The scent is stronger, we get closer to her house and there’s no doubt she’s there.
We smell her fear.
Someone is going to pay.
Chapter 11
Wynter
Orwell’s fingers twitch as he paces my living room.
His two friends, Raymond and some guy who just calls himself ‘D’, ransack my bedroom, swearing and throwing things as I sit in a chair at my small dinette table, twisting and untwisting a scrap of napkin, wondering why I’m not more frightened.
“Where is the money?” Orwell screams in my face, spit flying onto my skin, and his breath is a dumpster fire of beer, cigarettes and a disregard for dental hygiene.
There’s a clench in my stomach as I glare up at him. How I ever even dated this guy, for the life of me I can’t understand now.
He’s a cliché. Bad tattoos, a scar on his cheek, black leather jacket and an utter lack of originality.
Sure, he’s got that bad boy thing, and for most girls would be considered good looking. But seeing him through new eyes, I realize just how lost I must have been to have bought into the down on his luck, society has treated me so wrong sing-song story that he performed so well.
The only good thing is, when I figured out the whole game he was playing, I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t care about him really, I think I was trying to save him, save anybody after not being able to save my mom.
So leaving in the middle of the night with the sack of money I had promised to give him so he could make another ‘investment’, not only didn’t feel bad.
It felt good.
It felt right.
Except, my lack of experience when it comes to gun deals, and cartels, and general underground arms deals is clearly not working in my favor right now.
“You find anything?” Orwell yells over his shoulder as he shoves his jacket back with both hands, putting them on his hips and exposing a black pistol shoved into a holster.
He turns back to glare at me as Ray and D come out of my bedroom, shaking their heads.
“Nothing in there.” D comes over and leans down in front of my face. “Is it here or not?”
“I can’t remember,” I snap back on a shrug. I should be terrified, but deep down I feel focused.
Orwell’s manipulation of me was a beautifully orchestrated symphony. A young girl, a dead mother, a sizable inheritance…this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo and grief does strange things to your brain, but that fog has lifted.
I’m not the same lost girl that left Bowling Green in her VW bus unsure where she would end up.
“Fucking bitch.” D stands up, swings back and smacks my left cheek, sending a bright flash of pain across my face.
The shock stalls my breath for a moment, but instead of shrinking or feeling tears spring to my eyes, I start laughing.
Which apparently he doesn’t appreciate, because he gives me a matching smack on my other cheek, only hard enough that stars dance in my eyes this time, and for a second I can’t hear anything but the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
On the ride back to the house, I had stayed calm. Something inside me shifted but I was curious about how he found me. Since I didn’t even know where I was going when I left, and I’ve had no contact with anyone back home, it was a mystery.
Enter one social media post made by a well-meaning reporter, which tagged my name, the city of Bowling Green, my high school because I won a photography award, included a couple photos, and bam.
Even a moron like Orwell could find me.
“Wow,” I manage, shaking my head. “That smarts. But, you know, there are major flaws in your plan. Because the Badlands…well…” I give them each a look, then shrug. “It’s not Bowling Green. There are things here you might not understand. And for sure, at least one of those things is going to be coming for you. Very soon. Probably more than one, to tell the truth. If I were you…” I grin. “Never mind. You’ll find out.”
“What the fuck?” D spins around, throwing his arms up. “You said you had a handle on this bitch. She’ll do whatever I tell her, you said. Now look! We’ve got two days to come up with two hundred thousand dollars, or there’s some very aggressive Albanians that are coming looking for us.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Orwell spits back, moving his hand to the butt of his gun on his hip. “If it’s not here, we’ll take her with us. In the morning, she’ll be in a more cooperative mood, I’m sure. If the cash isn’t here, we’ll drive her fat ass back to Bowling Green and she’ll make another withdrawal. Won’t you, Wynter?” Orwell pulls his gun out and presses it to my lips. “Open wide. You may have gone all ice princess on me when it came to my dick before, but this time…” He shakes his head, biting into his bottom lip before fisting his crotch. “I’m taking your money and you will be sucking my cock.”
The cold metal pushes my lips against my teeth as I clench but he releases his cock and digs his fingers into my neck around my wind pipe, making me gasp, and the acrid taste of the metal spreads over my tongue.
“Good girl. My dick is way bigger than this gun, just so ya know. Here’s how this is going to go down—”
His he-man-alpha-hole monologue is cut short by a crashing sound from the back of the house. Through the kitchen, I see the flying splinters of wood from what I assume used to be my back door as all three of the stooges spin around to see what’s happening.
I know who it is even before I hear the first growl.
“I told you…” I chime as my heart speeds and I prepare for what’s next.
Chaos erupts as Ragnar’s bear comes roaring into the living room. The three stooges scramble toward the front door as the grizzly charges, drool streaming from the corners of his mouth and I bolt up, knocking the chair over as I step back to the sound of screams from all three of them, huddled together, trying to work the door knob. But even with three pea brains between them, they are in far too much of a panic to twist the deadbolt open.
I stumble back toward the kitchen when my calm, subdued amusement morphs into a new fear.
Raymond throws himself over the sofa, coming around to the back of Ragnar’s bear, reaching into the back of his pants and pulling out his own gun.
In front of me, Orwell does the same, coming back and putting the gun to my head and then shoving me forward like a sacrifice.
I fall into the grizzly’s butt and he turns on a roar to see it’s me, giving D just enough time to squeeze by and trip over the coffee table, leaving him flat on his back with Ragnar’s grizzly bearing down.
“Shoot it!”
“Get out of the way!” Raymond yells at me as the grizzly comes from behind me, but they are too stupid and too slow to see what’s coming next.
Ragnar’s grizzly leaps forward, taking D and Orwell down with each of his massive front paws as I back up, my heart racing as blood flows from both of them as they fall to the floor and start to crawl on gurgling screams in different directions.
The grizzly turns his head for a moment toward me, and I see the flash of Ragnar in its eyes as he growls and jerks his head toward the front door.
I spin, knowing in my heart he’s telling me to get out, and as much as I want to stay and watch the show, sometimes doing what Ragnar says is probably the right move.
I get one hand on the knob, the other on the deadbolt key, and turn, hearing the clunk of the lock as it opens. I start to turn the handle, but as I do there’s a deafening series of what sounds like loud fireworks.
I pull the door open, but look back for a second to see D laying on the floor, his arms extended, smoke coming out of the end of his gun and blood spurting from a wound in Ragnar’s bear’s jaw, as more blood begins to stream down his fur just behind his left shoulder.
“No!” I scream as the grizzly spins. This time it’s Orwell who’s struggled back to his feet and two more shots are fired into the bear.
“Keep shooting!” Raymond screams, turning over and pushing up on his knees, taking aim as Orwell takes another shot. “This fucking bear is not going down.”
I don’t know that much about shifters yet. I do know they are tough, tougher even than their animal counterparts, and I know they can heal, but I also know they are not immortal.
There are only so many shots that grizzly can take.
Fear clutches at my throat as the bear spins, leaping six feet and landing on Raymond, his jaws open, and with one swing of his head he clamps down and tears the flesh from the man’s throat, leaving his hand flailing in the blood for less than a second before the grizzly takes him by what’s left of his neck and shakes him until he goes limp.
Blood flies in a splatter across my yellow walls as Ragnar turns toward the others, but they now have him flanked, guns drawn, as terror courses through me.
“No! No!” I scream, wanting to stop everything. To stop time. This isn’t what I want. I ran away to start a new life. Quiet. Normal. I wanted a banker or an accountant. Someone stable, sturdy…boring.
I didn’t want this.
A man that can kill with the swipe of his paw. Crush bone in his teeth. What was I thinking, getting myself involved with Ragnar?
A shifter.
Still, I lunge forward, running to Ragnar, wanting to stop whatever this is. To hold back the tide of violence. But I know it’s futile. And yet, I have to try.
Another shot rings out just as I get to him. He roars, up on his hind feet, the tops of his ears brushing the ceiling as fresh blood flows from another gunshot wound on his neck.
“Stop this!”
I turn in the center of it all. Ragnar’s grizzly already lunging forward, swiping at the gun with his paw, but instead of connecting with the outstretched arm aiming the pistol, his claws dig into my skin, tearing through my shoulder and sending me flying back against the wall.
My head is ringing as I slump to the floor. When my eyes focus again, terror compresses around me as I watch D take aim.
Ragnar won’t be able to survive much more. A shot to his head would take him down… God, how is this happening? The grief of losing my mother is just under the surface, and if I lose Ragnar?
If I lose Ragnar, I don’t want to live anymore…
I calculate the angle and tense, ready to leap forward, even as the pain in my shoulder makes me dizzy. If I can get my arm around D’s neck, maybe, just maybe—
Suddenly there’s more roars. Different now. Two. No, more, as I spin and see another grizzly lumbering through the door with two enormous wolves following behind.
There are shots firing, furniture breaking, men screaming and animal sounds coming
from everywhere.
I back up again against the wall, slipping down and covering the back of my head with my hands as I scream until my throat feels like I’m breathing fire. I hear glass breaking around me and for a split second, I think of the look on Ragnar’s face just after he put his mark on my neck.
The way he looked at me, made me believe in forever, and rage fills me. I want my forever. It’s only just started and I’m not going to sit here and let it be taken away from me without joining the fight.
I push up, looking around as the two men and the animals spill out the back door. Blood is soaking the fabric of my shirt and I pull it away, looking under to see that the grizzly’s claws broke my skin, but it’s nothing life threatening.
One of the wolves is limping and I see blood coming from the other wolf’s side. I look down at Raymond’s mangled body and see his gun laying there.
The metal is cold, slippery in my hand, as his blood drips down my wrist and I lunge toward the back door.
The grizzlies and both wolves are darting and circling as Orwell and D take aim, backing toward their rusted SUV, screaming for them to stay back. All the shifters are shot, most more than once, and I can’t believe they would all give their lives for me.
I click off the safety, something I only know from watching movies, and I take aim on a stiff arm, my other hand holding the gun steady as a cold calm drenches me. I channel my inner action hero and take a long breath.
On the back porch, the six are caught in a tense standoff, all of them intent on attack, but knowing one more wound and it could mean their lives.
I think back to when I left, shaking and crying, driving away from my mother’s house in my VW van. How scared I was. Of everything. Of nothing.
And now? Standing here, watching wild animals and men with guns try to kill each other over me?
I’m not scared anymore.
I take aim. Lean in, and squeeze.
Before I pull the trigger, I yell… ”I told you, this isn’t Bowling Green!”
Bam. Bam.