“Not of you, tabby.” He licked his lips in appreciation of the view, and I swallowed to keep from gagging. “But I have a healthy respect for Miguel. Those jungle cats don’t like anyone else’s shit in their litter box.”
Litter box? I thought. No wonder the guy has to play snatch-and-grab to get some attention.
Flattered as I was by the description of me as someone’s toilet, I managed to keep my reply on topic. “Sounds to me like you’re a scaredy-cat.”
Eric’s eyes hardened as he came a step closer. “Talk to me tomorrow, and we’ll see who’s scared.” He scowled down at me, clearly trying to intimidate me with his height and bulk. Apparently he’d had some success with that tactic in the past, because he seemed unable to understand why it didn’t work on me.
I met his eyes without blinking, letting him see how undaunted I was. I saw no reason to fear a man who preyed on children. Men like Eric chose victims who didn’t fight back; he’d want nothing to do with me when there weren’t bars between us. Unfortunately, that meant he probably wouldn’t come close enough for me to snatch his key, either.
“Stay away from my cousin,” I demanded, hoping to piss him off by ordering him around, like an Alpha to his subordinate Pride member.
Still well out of reach, he gave me a taunting smile, and I was reminded of people who go to the zoo to tease the lions from behind a thick pane of safety glass. “Sorry, but that little tabby’s mine,” Eric said. “Bought and paid for.”
Bought and paid for? A chill shivered through me at his phrasing, and I glanced at Abby for clarification. “What’s he talking about?” I asked, but she shook her head. She didn’t know.
“You’ll figure it out,” Eric said. “I heard you’re a smart one. College girl, right? You’re a long way from campus now. Long way from home, too.” He started to turn away, and I saw my chance for escape slipping through my fingers.
Desperate now, I clucked my tongue, shaking my head in mock sympathy. “Just not Alpha material, are you, Eric?” I said, daring him to prove me wrong.
He pivoted slowly and wrapped his hands around the bars of my cage, on either side of my own. Staring down at me, he growled deep in his throat.
Unimpressed, I let contempt shine in my eyes. I’d heard better. Hell, I’d done better. “Come on in and prove you’re a real man. Or can’t you get it up for an adult?”
Eric snarled, his face aflame with rage. Before I could react, he thrust one hand into the cage and grabbed the back of my head, slamming the left side of my face into the bars. Pain exploded in my cheekbone, radiating in all directions. Soon I’d have a bruise to match Abby’s.
Wincing, I pushed against the bars with both hands, trying to pull my face away from the cool steel. It did no good; Eric was as strong as he looked.
Great job, Faythe, I thought. You’ve got him right where you want him, now.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my words muffled from having my jaw pressed into the bars. “Did I strike a nerve?”
His fist clenched, pulling several of my hairs out by the root. “You just remember who roughed you up first when Miguel has you nailed to the floor.”
“Remember this.” My right hand shot out, and I raked my nails down the length of his face, echoing the shape of Abby’s bruise. Though short, my nails were sharp and hard, even in human form, and I gouged four long ruts into his cheek. He howled and let go of my head.
Pleased, I stepped back out of his reach as he clapped a hand to his ruined cheek. It came away bloody.
“You stupid bitch!” he yelled, turning to snatch his shirt from the ground. He pressed the wad of white cotton to his face to absorb the blood. And there was plenty of it, for such shallow wounds.
Maybe they’ll scar, I thought, barely resisting the urge to clap my hands and jump up and down with glee. Instead, I made a show of slowly licking his blood from my fingertips, one at a time. “Mmm. Tastes like fear to me.”
Eyes wide, Eric spun and ran for the steps, tripping and fumbling his way to the top. Voices and light flooded the basement as he shoved the door open, but they stopped abruptly as he stepped across the threshold. An instant later, the new silence was replaced by derisive ribbing. I couldn’t help but gloat.
“The kid too much for you?” Miguel asked between fits of barbed laughter.
“Your bitch-kitty did this,” Eric said, fury rolling from his voice like smoke from a fire.
“Faythe’s awake?” a new voice asked, and my smile died on my face. I scrambled to the far corner of my cage, desperately pressing my still-throbbing cheek into the bars. But no matter how I turned, I couldn’t see into the room at the top of the stairs.
“I told you not to touch her,” Miguel said, his accent thick with anger. “You got what you deserved. Close the door.” Someone pushed the basement door shut, cutting off the light and the voices. But I’d heard enough.
I sank to my knees, numb with shock and betrayal. I’d recognized the new voice. I hadn’t heard it in ten years, but I’d know my brother’s voice anywhere. It was Ryan.
Twenty
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Abby said, her voice trembling on the last word.
I wanted to look at her, but I couldn’t drag my focus from the landing at the top of the steps. I drew in a breath slowly, concentrating on each inhale and exhale until I was sure I could speak coherently. “Shouldn’t have done what?” Still kneeling on bare concrete, I turned to face her, not surprised to find her standing at the front of her cage, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Scratched him. You shouldn’t have scratched him.”
“Why not?” I asked, though at the moment I didn’t really care about the answer. I only cared about getting the hell out of that cage so I could rip Ryan’s throat out. Or maybe just his tongue, so he would live to face my father and the rest of the council.
“You embarrassed him, and pissed him off.”
Using the bars to pull myself up, I crossed my cell to the wall nearest her cage. “That was kind of the point, although knocking him out and taking his key was what I actually had in mind.” I smiled and shrugged, pretending I wasn’t completely devastated by my failure. “Besides, apparently Miguel won’t let him touch me.”
Even as I spoke, my cheek throbbed, reminding me that Eric had, in fact, touched me. But I’d touched him back.
Abby sat down facing me, her knees brushing the bars. “Miguel’s bad enough by himself,” she said. “And anyway, Eric will just take it out on me next time.”
Next time. Great. We’d simply have to make sure there wasn’t a next time.
I sat to mirror her position, and nothing separated us but two rows of bars and five feet of bare concrete. It may as well have been the Grand Canyon.
“Are you okay?” I asked, eyeing her cheek. A new stripe was forming less than an inch from the old one, as if her first bruise had developed a shadow. I touched my cheek gingerly, knowing I would bear an identical mark. But at least nothing was broken. I’d live, which was more than I could say for Eric, if I ever got another shot at him.
“No.” She frowned, watching me feel my face. “Are you?”
“So far, so good, actually.” I grinned. “That was kind of fun.”
Abby gave me a hesitant smile, the corners of her mouth curving up toward freckled cheeks. “I bet it was.”
“He really did taste like fear. Yummy.” I licked my lips in jest.
She laughed, but then her face sobered quickly. “I’m sorry they caught you, but I’m so glad you’re here.” She rubbed her arms as if to warm them, but it was far from cold in the basement. There was no air-conditioning, and I was already sticky with sweat.
“Thanks,” I said, for lack of a better response.
“I don’t suppose you have a plan?”
“Yeah, don’t let them touch me.”
Abby snorted. “Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Ahhh. Wisdom comes with age, my child.” I gave a small head bow, my h
ands templed beneath my chin. But the moment of levity faded as I thought of Sara and wondered whether either of us would live long enough to accrue any true wisdom.
“How many of them are there?” I asked, glancing away to keep her from reading my expression.
“Just four that I know of.”
Four. I counted them in my head. Miguel, Sean, and Eric, and…“Was that Ryan?”
She nodded solemnly.
“He hasn’t…?” Unable to finish the question, I stared at the concrete, studying a long crack a couple of feet from my cage door. I couldn’t ask her if my brother—her own cousin—had raped her.
“No,” she said, and I exhaled in relief. Abby stared at her shoe, scraping dirt from the sole with one jagged pink fingernail. “Just Miguel and Eric. Ryan only brings the food.”
Thank goodness. It wasn’t exactly good news, yet still better than the alternative. I was certain Ryan hadn’t touched Sara either, because if he’d made physical contact, Vic would have smelled his scent on her. Or maybe Vic had, and Michael had lied to me. No, I thought. Michael wouldn’t lie. And Ryan wouldn’t rape. So what the hell was he doing here?
With Ryan, there was no telling. He’d always been different from most other toms. He had the strength and speed of a cat but never developed the instinct to properly use them. And until his eighteenth birthday, he never seemed to mind his own mediocrity.
A couple of months after Ryan came of age, Michael quit his job as an enforcer to attend law school full-time. Ryan wanted his job. Unfortunately, with the best interests of the Pride in mind, my father couldn’t give it to him; Ryan just didn’t have what it took. Daddy hired Marc instead, though he wouldn’t turn eighteen for another month. Ryan left the Pride that night, in spite of the only screaming, crying fit I’d ever seen my mother throw.
I pushed damp, stringy hair back from my face, trying to push back my memories at the same time. Thinking about my family would only make me homesick, a cruel irony, considering I’d nearly fled the ranch on my own only hours earlier.
“What about the other jungle cat? The second stray?”
My cousin’s brow crinkled in confusion. “I’ve only seen one stray. Miguel.”
Hmm. Was it possible that the two crime sprees, both committed by foreign strays, were unconnected? Surely not.
“How did they catch you?” Abby asked, smashing tiny clumps of dirt into powder with her thumb.
“I got stupid,” I admitted, my face warm with embarrassment.
She looked up expectantly, but a faint creak overhead saved me from having to elaborate. We both turned toward the sound, just as the door opened. This time, along with light, I caught the aroma of beef and onions. I tensed, expecting to see Miguel’s black work boots on the steps, but saw a worn-out pair of tennis shoes instead. That, combined with the scent of food, told me who was coming.
Time for a little family reunion.
My pulse raced in anticipation as Ryan slunk down the stairs. A hundred questions chased each other in my head, and I bit my lip to keep from shouting them all at once. I wanted answers, and he was going to give them to me. One way or another. Starting with what the hell had happened to him.
My brother’s formerly bright brown eyes were dull, his sandy hair lank and lifeless. He looked taller than I remembered, and it took me a moment to understand the optical illusion at work. He wasn’t taller; he was thinner, as if he hadn’t been getting enough to eat. But for a cat, hunger should never be a problem. Even if he was too broke to buy food, he could always hunt. So why did he look like he belonged in a commercial alongside Sally Struthers?
Ryan carried two fast-food bags in one hand and two plastic bottles of springwater in the other. My stomach growled, fighting with my anger for top priority as I realized I hadn’t had any breakfast. I wanted answers, but I needed food.
He dropped one bag and bottle on the floor next to my cage and marched right past me, without a word of acknowledgment. But I watched him closely, and his gait was anything but relaxed. He knew he’d have to face me eventually.
At Abby’s cage, he slipped the bag between two bars, holding it out to her, but she backed away from him, all the way into the far corner. Ryan’s narrow shoulders slumped. “Come on, Abby, be reasonable,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Take the burger.”
Burgers. How original.
Abby shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. “I told you, I’m on a hunger strike.”
He sighed, lowering his arm. “You’ll only feel worse when you’re too weak to move.”
“What do you care?”
“He’s right, Abby,” I said. “Take the food. You need energy to fight.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ryan turned to glare at me, brows furrowed. “It’ll only be worse if she fights them.” His gaze flicked to the empty cage next to mine, then back to me quickly.
“How much worse could it get?” I gripped the door of my cage, my hands white with tension. “She’s already been kidnapped, caged and raped.”
Ryan winced at my last word, dropping his eyes to the concrete. American tabbies were protected and often spoiled by the men in their lives. Hitting a woman was grounds for expulsion from the Pride. Even if she deserved it. Even if she threw the first punch. Even if she begged for it. And though I’d never heard of a tabby being raped before, I was pretty sure such a crime would justify a death sentence.
Ryan must have thought so too. He was clearly troubled by what had happened to Abby. But not enough to stop it. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”
“No thanks to you,” I spat, pleased to see him wince again. He was suffering major guilt. Good. I could work with guilt.
“I haven’t touched her.”
“You haven’t let her go, either.”
He wagged his finger at me, as I’d seen our mother do a thousand times, and the familiar gesture made me ache with homesickness. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted to go home, but I would have willingly locked myself in my father’s cage at that moment. I’d have even let my mother nag me. Or knit me a sweater.
“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Ryan said, jerking me out of my private pity party. “After I convince her to eat.”
I exhaled in a huff. “Abby, take the bag so Ryan can ‘deal’ with me.”
Abby glanced up sharply, surprised by my harsh tone. But then she took several steps forward and snatched the bag and water bottle from him. Pouting, she carried them back to her corner, where she dropped them on the mattress, unopened. It was better than nothing. And frankly, I was kind of tickled to have someone take orders from me without argument.
“Thank you, Abby,” Ryan said, sounding genuinely relieved.
She flipped him off, and that time I did laugh. I couldn’t help it.
Grumbling something unintelligible, Ryan nudged my paper sack with his foot, shoving it between two of my bars without meeting my eyes. He left the bottle where it sat, within reach, should I want it.
“Do I have to threaten a hunger strike to get you to talk to me?” I asked. “Or don’t you care if I starve myself.”
“He cares,” Abby said, arms crossed over a nearly flat chest. “Miguel will kill him if anything happens to either of us.”
I raised my eyebrows, thrilled with that little tidbit of information. “So, you’re our keeper? How does one find a job like that? Answer an ad in the classifieds? ‘Wanted—werecat with a small brain and even smaller heart.’ Do you get benefits? Dental, maybe? ’Cause you’re going to need it when I break off every tooth in your mouth.”
Ryan frowned, looking more ashamed than frightened. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s it.”
“A victim of circumstance, huh? And since misery loves company, you decided to hand your sister and cousin over to be murdered by a group of feline serial killers?”
“He’s not going to kill you, Faythe,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes at my melodrama as he shoved his hands into the pockets of a tatte
red pair of jeans. “You’re too valuable.”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking whether he’d promised Sara the same thing.
Ryan glanced away again, too chicken to meet my eyes as he continued, “He won’t even hurt you if you’ll just shut your mouth and cooperate.”
Furious, I gripped the bars, squeezing until my hands throbbed. “Cooperate?” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You must be fucking joking, Ryan. You do know what he wants, don’t you?”
“Better than you do.” He stared at his feet, scuffing the toe of his sneaker on the crack in the floor.
My heart clawed its way up my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Trying to get closer to my brother, I shuffled sideways, moving my hands arm over arm from one bar to the next.
“Nothing.” Ryan shook his head, and I was reminded of a child shaking an Etch A Sketch to clear it. When he finally met my eyes, his own were blank, as if he’d done exactly that. “Look, I’m only trying to help. Don’t make things any harder than they have to be, okay? This isn’t the time to make trouble.”
Funny, I couldn’t think of a better time to make trouble.
“How could you do this?” I demanded, trying to rattle the bars. They wouldn’t budge, and that only made me angrier. “How could you sell me out?” I didn’t have words strong enough to tell him how pissed off I was. How betrayed I felt. But if he’d come just an inch or two closer, I could sure as hell show him.
“I had nothing to do with it.” He stared at me boldly for the first time. “I never even mentioned you, but when Miguel found out about Dad, he put it together.”
“Who told him about Daddy?” I did my best to look curious rather than enraged as I lowered myself to the floor, hoping to appear less threatening off my feet.
Ryan shrugged, and his shirt drooped at his throat, exposing too-well-defined collarbones. “My guess would be Eric,” he said, sitting on the ground across from me. “But it could have been anyone. There isn’t a cat in the country, stray, wild or Pride, who doesn’t know that Greg Sanders is head of the territorial council.”
Stray Page 24