Charge
Shifting Steel Volume 2
Stephanie West
Contents
Preface
1 Paying Back a Favor
2 Caged
3 Unexpected Alliance
4 In the Arms of a Jaguar God
5 On the Run
6 Calling on Tlaloc
7 Retribution
8 Moving On
Epilogue
Preface
Trip is unusual for his kind, a full Shifter, able to take the form of a black jaguar instead of just fanging out like most of his brethren. While on a job for the Reapers Motorcycle Club hunting down a Mexican drug lord Trip finds himself trapped as an exotic pet.
Unable to escape in his jaguar form, Trip thinks his prayers are answered when the dark haired tan skinned beauty is tossed into his cage. Little does he know that the angel who helps him escape is just as unusual as he is.
Marisol was taken from her home by the Mexican cartel because of her strange gift, one that she can barely control. Though her captivity is anything but a blessing it does force Marisol to learn to wield the lightning and accept the birthright granted to her by the ancient gods.
Can Trip save the woman his jaguar has claimed from the Cartel, or will he end up being the one needing rescue?
Thank you for your interest in my story.
I began writing when I was younger but set the hobby aside as life got in the way. Now that I’m older I’ve picked it back up again. As a child I had a hard time learning to read so anything I took an interest in was deemed acceptable since “I was reading.”
I enjoy fairy tales, the older unsanitized versions as well as the modern ones, mythology, science fiction, action and romance, or as I liked to call them grocery store porn. For some reason I have always found that as I read my mind likes to spin its own tales.
My stories are always a bit tawdry featuring a heroine who is gifted in some way and will always end happily ever after. It is my opinion this is meant to be entertainment and a depressing ending is not entertainment. Real life offers enough depressing crap.
My apologies for my horrific grammar, it was something I never seemed able to latch on to, probably connected to the slow reading thing. Believe me people have tried. I truly hope that my fairy tale makes up for it. So here you go.
1 Paying Back a Favor
Trip
Trip wished he was on his 37 Indian, as he passed through Corpus Christi, Texas. Restoring that bike had been a labor of love. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite equipped for the long ass haul he was currently on.
“Hell I’d even settle for a crotch rocket at this point.” Trip groaned as he changed the radio station yet again in disgust.
He had three options for his listening pleasure, country, some evangelist - “And JESUS SAID” - or static. He’d prefer the roar of an engine and the sound of the wind whipping past him going sixty-five down the blacktop. Nothing was quite so liberating.
Trip punched off the radio and cranked the window all the way down making a mental note not to be such a bitch and man up.
Sadly, rather than riding the only thing he’d ever admitted to loving, Trip had driven the nineteen hour trip from Chicago in a beater of a truck, a fucking cage. Just the thought that he still had at least ten hours more ahead of him before he got close to Mexico City was enough to make him want to slam his head into the dash.
“Tough shit.” Trip chastised himself. This wasn’t a joy ride, it was club business.
The Reapers Motorcycle Club had voted to help a new friend, Thomas. The man had gotten them out of a spot of trouble a few months ago.
The Reapers had a run in with a prick of dirty cop. Cain, the club’s president, had rescued his old lady from the pig. In turn Iris had rescued Cain’s sister, Penny, and her little girl when the fucking cop retaliated, not to mention saving Swain’s sorry ass. Making the cop disappear hadn’t been a problem, it was the other shit the pig instigated that had police nosing around where they didn’t belong.
The Reapers weren’t into anything too unethical, but no one wanted the cops pulling any skeletons out of closets. Luckily Thomas came along, a wolf Shifter, who worked for the DEA. The man knew straight away what the Reapers were hiding, which had less to do with criminal enterprise, than it did with keeping their kind under wraps.
Never one to let a favor go unpaid the Reapers M/C had voted to help the man out with an investigation that traced back to a drug cartel, the Zetas, in Mexico.
So here Trip was making the long ass trek south of the border, letting his mind wander rather than concentrating on the road.
Trip owed the Reapers everything. His brothers had taken him in when his own family rejected him. Unlike the majority of the Reapers, he was a jaguar, a black panther as most might call him.
When Trip reached his teens, the age his kind first shifted, he’d learned just how different he was from his own spotted clan. Not only was he solid black, unlike his kin, he could fully shift.
It was a rare trait among Shifters, considered a throwback to more primitive generations. Most Shifters, could fang out and sported claws. Their eyes would change and they might sprout hair. It was even common to see a shadow or mirage of the animal shimmering across the skin when shifting. But a full Shifter was an aberration. Trip was looked upon by many of his kind like humans might view the neanderthals.
As a youth he found himself in more than his fair share of fights. It wasn’t long before it got him shunned. He’d probably be dead if Cain’s father, Lowe, hadn’t found him scavenging in a dumpster in southern Arizona, while on a road trip.
Trip grinned at the recollection.
That was the first time he’d ridden on a bike. From the moment he felt the wind in his face he was hooked, even though he’d been riding bitch on the back behind Lowe.
That man had raised him like his own son. Since then the Reapers had been his life. He’d do anything for them.
Its not like just anyone could make this voyage. Cain had his old lady, Iris, to look after, and Eric had Penny with little Nola. Since Trip could fully shift he’d be able to wander close to places a full human or even a normal Shifter couldn’t. That along with the fact jaguars were prevalent in Mexico so he wouldn’t look out of place, made him the best man for the job. So now it was up to him to get in and do the surveillance Thomas needed.
The Reapers M/C wasn’t squeaky clean. They had several businesses that the government might not consider completely legit, like underground fighting and strip clubs. They didn’t have a big problem with folks running drugs, it was more the issues that surrounded the drug trade.
The Zetas were a real nasty group. The cartel wasn’t opposed to mass slaughter to send a message to anyone that screwed with them. The gory details of a video Thomas had shown the club were enough to give even Trip nightmares, which was no small feat. The Zetas, a group of ex-Mexican-military, were known for beheading their victims. In 2011 they were responsible for the death of 193 San Fernando immigrants in a gladiator style mass murder.
Trip could barely dwell on the things done to the woman. What the Zetas did to mule drugs gave a new meaning to the term cavity search. That more than anything got his blood boiling. The Reapers drew a hard line at hurting women and children.
Trip was tasked in discovering who the current lead asshole was for the cartel. No one connected with the Feds could get close enough to discover who really headed up the nefarious operation after having captured the former suspected leader two years ago.
Los Zetas were the predominant ca
rtel in the Mexican State of Tamaulipas, just South of the border. However that wasn’t necessarily where the leader resided. Many of the heads of various cartels preferred to live in Mexico City. The question was exactly where?
Trip would start in the barrio Tepito, at the heart of the capitol. It was known for many vices, drugs, extortion, you name it. In recent years thirteen teens were abducted in broad daylight from a bar there, and found murdered in a town not far away. If you were looking for trouble Tepito was the place to go, and coincidentally Trip was looking for trouble.
Trip walked through the barrio of Tepito, in Mexico City, passing a shrine where people knelt paying homage to a skeleton dressed in pink like a strange version of Mary.
It was his third day here and as of yet no one attempted to mug him as he walked the street passing the market that sold everything from porn to knock-off purses. He was an imposing figure standing over six and half feet tall. If his numerous tats and the piercings in his ears, lip, nose and eyebrow didn’t scream back the fuck off, then the natural aura his kind tended to exude did.
Trip wandered into another questionable looking bar one of many on a long list that he’d visited looking for a lead. He grabbed a stool at the far end of the bar so he had a good view of the door. He nursed a beer that wasn’t too bad as he surreptitiously surveyed the room.
There appeared to be several locals, a young couple, a group of five men in their twenties and a trio of old men. Trip listened with heightened hearing for any conversation that might peak his interest. Unfortunately the young couple was arguing, the group of guys were talking about pussy and the old men were betting on a soccer match. Nothing was yet mentioned about drugs or Zetas.
A group of young guys, white as the driven snow entered. They weren’t fraternity types, but they looked like they were college boys on spring break looking to score drugs. The dumb shits were going to get themselves killed. The boys stood at the door and looked around the bar, wide eyes focused everywhere at once. Their body language screamed rob me.
Trip laughed, maybe they weren’t complete morons cause they wisely turned and left.
He ordered another beer as a couple of men entered the bar. The trio of older gentleman sitting in the corner quickly opted to leave as the incoming men approached the table of younger dudes.
“This might prove to be interesting.” Trip thought as he took a drink.
“Do you need something Senor?” The bartender asked in an accent that wasn’t too thick.
“The cerveza is fine.” Trip replied as he noted the man’s concerned gaze swing from him to the new group of men.
“Unless you looking for something in particular it might be best if you not hang around.” The bartender made the suggestion. It wasn’t a threat, just a friendly word to the wise. However Trip wasn’t too worried.
“Thanks but I’ll finish my beer.”
Trip suspected the younger guys were low level distributors and the two newcomers were mid-level cartel flunkies, but the question was which group, there was more than one. He listened long enough to feel comfortable that he’d finally found who he was looking for. Trip finished his beer then went out and grabbed his truck.
Trip sat about a block away and watched the bar from his truck. It didn’t take long before the two men that he’d been listening in on exited carrying a bag they hadn’t come in with. Trip wasn’t too conspicuous as he pulled out on the street and followed the new model jeep, since they both took the main route out of the barrio that a lot of other cars traveled.
Following discretely became a little more difficult when the vehicle exited the main highway for a suburban town East of Mexico City. The men drove through the town that was at least large enough to have a hotel and restaurant then turned off onto a gravel road leading towards the foot of the mountains snaking through ranch land. Trip watched through his mirrors taking note of the location before continuing on.
Trip figured he’d only have to traverse a few miles over land to reach his target as he drove back to the town named San Something. The route the men had taken led through an area that seemed have fewer but larger ranches and estates.
Trip ditched his truck at a shitty little hotel at the edge of town after paying for few days, then wandered to a restaurant where he leisurely ate dinner and waited for night to fall.
It was dark by the time Trip made it back to his truck.
“Fanging out might be a few.” He sent a final text from his burner phone to Cain’s before locking it in the glove box.
Trip then stripped in the cab, pulling off his t-shirt tossing it aside, unsnapping his jeans and yanking them off along with his boots. He didn’t wear boxers they just got in the way.
The worst part was pulling out all his piercings. He’d gotten naked and shifted hundred’s of times, but never once had it been like this, a situation where he was intentionally going in undercover. Trip laughed at the thought of someone seeing his jaguar sporting several piercings. At least the one below the belt could stay, it would’ve been a bitch to get back in.
Trip ran a hand through his short black hair before stepping out naked into the warm night air. He felt beyond naked on this trip since he’d left his colors at home. No one could know his club affiliation on this little venture.
Under the shadowy cover of his truck Trip cracked his neck then let his claws and fangs loose. He dropped to the ground as his bones and muscles shifted and reformed. Trip was at a full run a moment later hitting the open terrain rather than the streets as he crossed the landscape towards the area neighboring the small town where he suspected to find the cartel stronghold.
Trip let the smells lead him once he got close to the road the car had turned off on. His nose led him to a compound beyond an eight foot fence, where he saw a group of buildings and the vehicle he was looking for. He had to be cautious from here on out. The house and buildings looked like the occupant’s bank account wasn’t hurting, this was the place for sure.
Trip’s long sleek black tail swished fervently as he prowled the perimeter at a safe distance. The thing was like a barometer for his emotions, and right now it was worked up.
There was a barbed wire fence surrounding the property. Another four hundred yards in there was a giant stone and stucco house surrounded by a manicured lawn and low stone wall.
Two men were stationed at the gated entrance, and from what he could smell several more patrolling the fence perimeter from inside. There were several smaller buildings inside the wire fence, one looked like a barrack and the other large one, a garage or warehouse.
Trip paid close attention to the smells of the men, noting their location as they patrolled, before jumping the barbed wire. He cleared its eight foot height with ease.
There were dogs, but none of them were nearby. The mutts were likely trained to only alert the guards if a new human scent came along, so he’d be okay. Trip moved like the predator he was as he slunk in the shadow of the outcropping rocks, and scrub brush.
He could see cameras all along the roof line of the various structures, but unless they picked up his heat signature he was hidden by the night. Even if they did pick him up he’d only appear to be a wayward predator on the prowl.
The majority of light to be had in the dark countryside spilled from the big house illuminating a massive veranda, flanked with arches and stone columns. A couple men were drinking and laughing as they relaxed. Trip would bet his left nut that the man dressed in a high priced suit was his mark.
Someone, an underling, walked out of the house and approached the suited man. Words were shared but Trip wasn’t close enough to hear, so he stalked closer.
A shot rang out and struck his shoulder. Trip had been made. The fucking cameras must have infrared, and clearly the guards didn’t take kindly to his presence.
Trip bolted like a spooked jaguar would, turning to glance at his burning flank. What he saw sticking out of his shoulder wasn’t good. They’d shot him with a fucking dart.
&nb
sp; “Of course nothing can ever be easy!” Trip thought as his muscles went numb dropping him to the ground.
Trip fought the darkness closing in on him, growling as a man approached.
“Tell El Patron he has a new pet for his collection.” Was the last thing he heard.
2 Caged
Trip
Trip awoke groggily with a nasty chemical taste in his mouth. He stretched out his paws as he cracked open his eyes. Everything flooded back into his mind.
“FUCK!”
Trip felt like he was practically suffocating as he looked around seeing bars on all four sides. He was locked in an overgrown kennel with a tight metal collar around his neck. The chain connected to it snaked through the bars, a Latino man standing at the other end glaring at him.
Trip launched himself at the bars snarling viciously.
The man wisely jumped back. He grabbed the chain and gave it a rough jerk. Barbs on the inside of the collar dug into the flesh of Trip’s neck. It was enough to make him wince inwardly but not enough to quell the menacing growl that rolled through Trip’s chest as he eyed the Hispanic male.
The man couldn’t out stare Trip and eventually gave up, relinquishing his tight hold on the chain.
Trip paced the overgrown cage. He was well and truly fucked. As long as the collar had him in a strangle hold he couldn’t shift. Not that this was a good time for it. But once he was alone it would be nice to have hands to open the cage.
This was not good. The longer he stayed in this form the more his base instincts took over. He would have to figure something out sooner rather than later.
Marisol
Marisol sat on the dirty mattress that lay on the floor of her concrete block cell studying the hash marks on the wall marking the days and weeks she’d been here. Although the days and nights often ran together the best she could tell she’d been here for seven weeks. There wasn’t much to do but think or sleep even though she’d taken to creating intricate designs in the sandy dirt that covered the floor.
Charge: A Motorcycle Club, Shifter, Romance (Shifting Steel Book 2) Page 1