A Kitty in the Lion's Den

by A Kitty in the Lion's Den [Evernight] (mobi)

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Jenika Snow

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-698-0

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  Just because something seems wrong doesn't mean it isn't exactly what you need.

  A KITTY IN THE LION’S DEN

  Sweet Water, 3

  Jenika Snow

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  He was a monster, an animal, and a cold-blooded killer. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. And even though Maverick knew getting wasted would only make those emotions intensify inside of him, he brought the bottle of whiskey up to his mouth and took another long pull from it. The liquor didn’t burn going down his throat any longer, not when he was drunk as fuck, and trying to further numb himself until the oblivion of the void settled inside of him.

  He put the bottle between his thighs and leaned back in the chair. The lights were off in his home, but he was a moody bastard and liked the shadows that wrapped around him regardless. The small one bedroom house he had built above the garage he had bought six years back wasn’t anything fancy, and in fact barely had anything in it aside from the essentials. No houseplants, pictures hanging on the walls, and certainly nothing that held sentimental value. But Maverick had nothing that he cared about, and certainly not anything that meant shit to him. The profession he had been involved in for the better part of his life hadn’t been about making friends or keeping lovers, and certainly wasn’t about keeping trinkets that he had to keep close. It was about killing without remorse, fucking to let off the aggression and nervous energy, and not giving a damn about anything.

  He took another swig, felt it start to grow lighter since he had downed almost the whole thing, and wished he had been smart enough to buy another bottle of Jack. The need for blood and violence never left a person, not when they lived for the sound of another man screaming in pain, and begging for his life. It was those pleas for mercy, the ones Maverick Storm never gave himself, but had heard enough times at his feet, that he dreamed about. He could admit that he was a sick male, a lion shifter that had enjoyed the hunt and catch, for the thrill alone. At forty-five years old he had seen a lot, but then again being the male most of the scum of the world sought after to handle their “business”, had made Maverick witness a lot of death. And it had always been at his hands. He was a killer because he knew how to take a life with little thought, with no sound if he chose, and before the target had even known he was right behind him. Sometimes he liked the sound of their death, but if his employers wanted a quick, clean hit, then that was what he gave them. But the men he killed weren’t good and wholesome. They were shit on the bottom of his boot, and deserved a hell of a lot more than what they got. He was good at what he did, and sick, too, because of how much pleasure he derived from it. There were no delusion that he wasn’t fucked up, because Maverick would be the first one to admit that he was.

  The sound of cars passing by periodically broke up the stillness. Since moving to the quaint little town of Sweet Water six years ago, Maverick had been stupid enough to think he could try to live a normal life. How wrong he had been. Even years later he couldn’t get rid of the images ingrained in his brain. They were ones where he had killed countless men because he had been paid to do it. He could blame his need for violence on the fact he had a shitty childhood, that he had been beaten everyday by his drugged up father, but he wasn’t about to play that card. He was a screwed up lion that had been a hit-man for some very bad people, and although he had tried to get “out of the business” he really hadn’t. No one left that line of work alive, not when he knew too many high-profile people had hired him to kill their enemies. But even faking ones own death could only afford a small amount of peace, especially when the threat of being caught was always a risk. If you weren’t really six feet under the ground, in a shallow grave out in the middle of nowhere, or floating in the bottom of a river, being found was imminent.

  The last hit that he had been ordered to carry out had been by a bastard and coldhearted male named Viktor Milokov. But Maverick had left that night without killing the family Viktor had wanted gone. So he had taken the family away, and set them up so they would be safe, and faked his own death before anyone could stop him. He might be an asshole and a monster, but Maverick didn’t kill women and children.

  But he was smart, had been in this game a long fucking time, and knew how it worked. So, even pretending to be dead was tricky. He had changed his last name, become someone totally new, in a new town, with a new life. He started working part time at Trace’s bar—the polar bear shifter who had been the first person to befriend his lethal ass—and made the rest of his living running the small garage. Trace’s kid, Liam, worked for him, but no one knew who Maverick really was, and that was just how he liked it. Everything about his was just a façade, because he would never be able to show who he truly was. He was a coldblooded killer, and a fucking monster at that.

  It was well past three in the morning, but not even alcohol could make sleep come. But in reality he didn’t want to sleep anyway, not when the ghosts of his past haunted him, causing the nightmares he had every fucking night to bring him right back to the horror that surrounded him. He downed the rest of the whiskey, and felt his lion pace within him, but that wasn’t a surprise from the sadistic fucker. He kept the asshole on a leash, knowing that if he ever let the animal out it would go right back to destroying everything in its path. Blaming the evil he had done on his animal wasn’t really fair, but then again that bastard had given him the sadistic strength to point a gun at his hit without blinking and feeling nothing but a void of darkness that filled him completely. He hadn’t allowed himself to shift for six fucking years, for fear that his inner animal would once again take control. Maverick had done a lot to keep himself in check this whole time, and he wasn’t about to fucking let go because his baser urges roared out for him to let loose.

  Fuck. That.

  He had come here for a new life, to get away from the world of death, drugs, and deceit, and that was exactly what he kept reminding himself, even six years later. But things have a way of never working out the way they are supposed to.

  ****

  “I will not have this conversation with you again, Kettah. I don’t know how many times I must explain that a marriage to Marlon will ensure our alliance with the Ungaro family, which is essential for growth.” Kettah Milokov stared at her father, Viktor, and took a step back. She could sense the anger radiating off of him, knew he was in a foul mood before she even walked into his office, but had still told him she wouldn’t be marrying Marlon Ungaro, a wildcat shifter from the biggest Romanian shifter mafia located in America. “Now, I will not talk about this again. Do you understand me?”

  It took her a moment, but she found her strength, bit back her argument and said, “Yes, Father.”

  He nodded once. “Good.” The phone on his desk rang, and he picked it up and barked out, “Yeah?” There was a moment of silence, and Kettah looked out the window. The sun was shining, and a sparrow was on the branch brushing against the glass. I
t had freedom, something she would never have, not unless she wanted to risk everything for the hope that one day she would touch it. “I don’t care how much it is. You make the Tingarians hand over the thirty kilos they owe me, or bodies are going to hit the ground, Strauss.” Her father’s voice was deadly low, and she looked over at him, knowing she could go but unable to move. He was talking about cocaine, one of his bigger productions. She had heard enough through from whispers throughout the house to know that Strauss was a middleman, setting up the mule-ing of the coke for her father. She tried to block all of this stuff out, but there were times it was just too hard, especially when it was thrust in her face. “Don’t call me again until you get this shit taken care of.” He slammed the phone down, and his rage was tangible. “It’s time for you to go, Kettah.”

  He didn’t look at her as he started to go through a stack of paperwork on his desk. There were two guards assigned to Kettah. One of them, Sevastian Damonoff, was a security guard who had risen in ranks over the last year and was now one of Viktor’s most trusted men. He gently took hold of her upper arm and steered her in the other direction. Her father liked to keep “his own kind” working for him, but Pallas’s cats were small and not very intimidating in animal form. Because of this her father had sought out protection from one of the biggest shifter species, the brown bear. That was Sevastian's breed, and even though he was frightening and intimidating, the big male was also the one that was the gentlest with her. He led her out of the office, and although only she saw a softening in his light blue eyes, he showed no other emotion. He slowly shut the door, blocking out her father, and everything that had to do with this nightmare of a life. The door shut behind her with a resounding click. She saw a few of her father’s guards speaking hushed tones, but the only thing she could make was one word: Marick. Her heart raced at the sound of that name, and she looked over at the still closed door behind her. She moved closer, and pressed herself against the wall, listening harder.

  “Boss has been trying to find someone comparable to Marick for the last six years, but they keep fucking up.”

  “Ain’t no one ever going to match Marick. That fucker was one bad motherfucker.” The other guy grunted in agreement. She heard their retreating footsteps.

  Marick Leonous, the once most sought after hit-man in organized crime. She had heard enough talk about him over the years to know that he had been lethal, ruthless, and had absolutely no emotion when it came to taking a life. It was also known if someone wanted another person gone, he was the lion shifter to look for. She had no other information on him aside from what she gathered from the rumor mill, but knew that when he had let his animal free there was no stopping the destruction. The one and only time she had seen the lion had been when she was fifteen years old. She had snuck out of her room and down the hall, had heard the deep sound of her father’s hushed voice, and peeked over the railing. All she had seen was a flash of Marick’s black hair and the tail of his dark trench coat as he strode out of their home. There had been a rush of murmurs after he had left, but they all had the same reaction: deadly, frightening, and not one to fuck with. But even at fifteen she had felt her heart race as she watched him leave. It had been a strange sensation to have such an intense reaction to a male when she hadn’t even seen his face, and didn’t know anything about him aside from the fact he was deadly and someone she should stay away from. But the truth was she hadn’t forgotten about him in all that time. But that had been the last time she had seen him, and not because he had kept to himself. Marick hadn’t followed through with her father’s orders, whatever they had been, and a few hours later they had recovered the charred remains of a lion shifter from a very expensive vehicle. The shock that Marick was actually dead had affected the entire organization, and people had talked about it for a very long time. Her father had been pissed at the loss of the lion, not because he grieved for the male that had worked for him than Kettah couldn’t even remember, but because he was out a lethal killer. The most lethal killer, in fact. She didn’t know any more details than that, but she didn’t really want to know them either.

  She looked around the corner to make sure the males were gone and sighed in defeat. This was her life, one of drugs, murder, lying, and cheating, and of course arranged marriages so that the “families” could come closer together and unite to become stronger and more powerful. But Kettah didn’t want this life, had never wanted it since she knew what was going on. The only problem was when someone was part of this type of family, dealing with organized crime and paid hits on enemies, there was no way out. Well, there was, but it meant a bullet to the back of the head if the offending person was lucky. It didn’t matter that her father was the head of the Russian shifter mob located in America, or that she was his only daughter. No one ever went against Viktor Milokov, blood or not. Okay, so she’d known telling him she wouldn’t marry Marlon would end like this, but she also knew she had to give it a shot. To be born into this world, and into a family that thrived on hurting others, was not how she wanted to live her life. At twenty-one she was an adult, and old enough to make her own decisions, but that wasn’t in the stars for her it seemed.

  She took off down the hall, knowing that if she allowed her father to pair her with a male as cruel as he was, her life would end up like her mother’s had: disappearing in the middle of the night after an argument on how her mom wanted out of “the life”. It was just herself and Konstantine, her older brother, who was shamelessly following in their father’s footsteps, and would one day run the business. Her brother was just as apathetic and ruthless as Viktor, and asking him for help would be fruitless, not to mention dangerous since he would see it as a betrayal of the family. Konstantine might be her brother, but she didn’t care for him, not when she had seen him hurt countless people with little thought or regard. She passed guards at every corner, and although they were meant to keep them safe, they were also meant to keep their enemies out, which were plenty. She went into her room, closed the door, and leaned against it. She looked around her perfectly gilded room, smelled the vase of fresh lavender the help had placed on her side table just that morning, and knew she had to escape. Even if Marlon had been a kind and gentle male, she still wouldn’t have stayed. But Marlon was far from the male she envisioned herself being with. He was cruel, sadistic, and took pleasure in degrading and causing pain in others. He was nearing forty, and although that wasn’t too old if she had loved him, the truth of the matter was she despised him. He disgusted her, and she knew as soon as he had her as his wife the pain would be in the form of verbal and physical abuse.

  Kettah didn’t dare speak her thoughts aloud, not when every part of the house was bugged for “protection”. But living with the mafia, when there were people just right outside the door waiting to “off you” had every available precaution being taken. Kettah lived in a beautiful golden cage, but it was a cage nonetheless, and she was a prisoner. Tomorrow she would leave under the pretenses of going to the spa. It sounded like an easy enough task, but there was always someone watching, always someone tailing her, and not because her father worried about her safety, but because he didn’t want one of his enemies taking her and using her as collateral against him. It would be tricky slipping away from the goon that followed her out of the house, but it wasn’t impossible. Besides, she had been thinking about this, calculating how this would all play out, for so long it was ingrained in her brain. God, she just hoped this didn’t end up backfiring, because the repercussions were enough to have her skin crawling.

  Chapter Two

  “Yo, boss, you have that requisition for that ’05 Ford engine?” Maverick looked up from the stack of papers strewn across his desk. Liam, Trace’s son, leaned against the frame and wiped his greasy hands on an equally greasy rag.

  Maverick leaned back in his old ass chair, the metal squeaking from his weight, and the stench of motor oil filling his nose. “Yeah, sent that in last week. It should come in today.” Liam nodded, and glance
d over his shoulder. The kid was just as big as his fucking dad. Trace Dakota was a burly polar bear shifter that owned the bar and grille Dakota Dark’s. It was also the place Maverick worked occasionally as a bartender, not because he needed the money, but because the work was a distraction that helped to keep his mind occupied on other things than maiming and killing, and silenced the edgy need that was a living entity inside of him. It didn’t matter if he moved to Alaska, or if he became a priest, there was still anger, violence, and pent-up aggression inside of him, feeding his lion until it was like a wildfire consuming him.

  “You working at the bar tonight?”

  Scratching the stubble that lined his cheek, he nodded and eyed the young bear shifter. Liam was the spitting image of Trace, right down to the green eyes and dark hair. He was also a big bastard, almost as big as Maverick, and that was saying something since he wasn’t small by any means.

  “Nah.”

  Liam nodded slowly. “It doesn’t look like you got much sleep last night.”

  For being in his twenties Liam was a smart and perceptive fucker. Maverick didn’t even bother responding, just glared at him. He had known Trace for the past six years, since the first day he moved to Sweet Water. Maverick had been getting drunk at Slater’s, the sleazy bar on the outskirts of town. Trace had walked in, sat his ass on the barstool next to him, and the two of them just started bullshitting. One thing led to another, and before he knew it he was befriending the polar bear. Then a year later shit had hit the fan with Trace and his then-wife, Karla. Maverick had shown up at Trace’s house just in time to stop Trace from killing the guy Karla had been fucking behind his back. That had been years ago, and now Trace was mated to a wolf with a little one on the way.