by Paige Tyler
While Liam might have been stronger than the other werewolves in her pack, he wouldn’t be a match for any of those guys on the SWAT team. Jayna couldn’t imagine how Liam would react if he ever came face-to-face with the werewolf who’d picked her up like a rag doll and stuffed her in that box like an oversized Christmas present. He’d probably run the other way.
Jayna mentally cringed, immediately feeling bad for thinking like that. Liam was the one who’d gotten her off the streets after she’d left home…when she’d been cold, hungry, and confused. He’d helped her understand what that night with her stepfather had turned her into, how it wasn’t a bad thing, even how to control the anger inside her. With his guidance, she’d come to accept that she wasn’t cursed but, instead, was amazing.
Liam had taken her into his pack and made her feel like she belonged. He’d given her friends and a new family, people who understood what she’d been dealing with because they’d dealt with it too. He’d taught her that the pack had her back, and she’d learned what it meant to trust people again. She owed him more than she could ever repay, and the rest of the pack felt the same way. He was like an older brother to all of them.
That was why they were here in Dallas stealing things for a group of Albanian mobsters when everything in her screamed they should get the hell out of Dodge.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t stolen stuff before. The pack’s nomadic lifestyle sometimes made it hard to pay the bills and still put enough food on the table for all of them and their crazy appetites. It had only been little stuff here and there, and it had never involved carrying guns or hurting anyone. But Liam had borrowed money from a man named Armend Frasheri, the head of an Albanian crime family, and the only way Liam could pay him back was to work off his debt. If he didn’t, Frasheri would kill him. It was as simple as that. And because Liam had used the borrowed money to support the pack, she and her pack mates felt obligated to go along with the plan.
Of course, they hadn’t known at the time that Frasheri was a mobster—or that Liam had told the man and the thugs who worked for him that they were werewolves. But when Liam had introduced them to the crime boss, Jayna had known the pack was in trouble. Because Frasheri wanted them to act as his enforcers, using their werewolf strength to help him take over the city.
When Jayna and the others had hesitated, Liam had promised they’d leave as soon as he paid back the money he owed. That had been almost four weeks ago. And in that time, Liam had not only gotten comfortable in his new role as lead enforcer, but had also brought in omega werewolves to fill out the ranks, though where he’d found them she wasn’t exactly sure.
The pack had run into omegas frequently over the years. Werewolves were rare, but they always seemed to find each other. It was like there was some kind of instinct that drew them to each other. And while the pack sure as hell never went out looking for omegas, those same omegas always seemed to come looking for them. Going it alone could be hard on a werewolf, so Jayna understood why one would want to join the pack, but that didn’t mean they were stupid enough to let just any omega run with them.
Omegas were loners who were big and strong…almost as strong as alphas. But unlike alphas, omegas couldn’t control their emotions or their rage. Something about being without other werewolves for company did strange things to their heads. It was like they were more animal than human, and when they lost it, look the hell out.
Even when they could control themselves, they weren’t suited to pack life because they could never put the group ahead of their own wants and desires. But now, without talking it over with any of them, Liam had decided to bring them in, saying he was the pack alpha and would do whatever he felt was right.
Jayna snorted. Liam was doing that a lot more these days, deciding his opinion was the only one that mattered. She didn’t care that Liam felt he had the right to do anything he wanted or that Frasheri wanted more enforcers. Omegas couldn’t be trusted. She’d known the moment Liam had hired them that things were going to go bad.
She’d found out just how bad last night…over and over again. First, they’d ignored Liam’s instructions to focus on the platinum medallions, instead poking around the warehouse like they were shopping at a freaking Sam’s Club. Then, when the SWAT pack had shown up, the omegas had refused to fight as a team, abandoning her.
One more piece of proof that omegas couldn’t be trusted to do anything but cover their asses—and that Liam had been wrong to allow them into the pack.
Jayna asked the cabbie to let her off two blocks from the loft—not because she was concerned the man would remember her or where she was staying. No, she’d hopped out early so she could delay her return just a little bit longer. It was juvenile, but she really didn’t want to go back, and if it wasn’t for her pack, she wouldn’t have.
She nodded at the people on the street as she walked toward the industrial-style building on Canton Street. With its renovated lofts and bohemian feel, this part of Dallas was way beyond the pack’s means, but with Frasheri footing the bill, that wasn’t an issue. The Albanian mobster hadn’t purchased just a single loft apartment either, but an entire building. Considering there were almost thirty people in addition to Frasheri living there—her pack, the omegas, and the Albanians—they needed it.
Jayna saw the two Albanians standing guard on either side of the building’s front door long before they saw her, and the urge to turn around and walk away hit her again. But she kept going. She wouldn’t leave her pack mates no matter how much it hurt to stay here.
How the hell had her life gotten so screwed up so fast?
The stocky, dark-haired Albanians blatantly eyed her as she walked up the wide concrete steps to the entrance of the building, but didn’t say anything. They’d almost certainly heard about what had gone down last night and were probably curious why she was just now showing up. But they didn’t try to stop her. They weren’t dumb enough to try that.
Inside the large central atrium, someone came at Jayna so fast they were a blur. The only thing that kept her from shifting and taking a swipe with her claws was the petite, dark-haired girl’s scent. Megan Dorsey wrapped Jayna in an embrace so tight she could barely breathe.
“I’m okay, Megan,” she said with a strained laugh. “You can stop now.”
Despite her words, Jayna didn’t care if the other werewolf hugged her so hard she broke a rib. Megan was more than her closest friend in the pack; the twenty-two-year-old girl was her sister in every way that mattered. For about the hundredth time, Jayna said a silent prayer of thanks that Megan hadn’t gone on the job at the warehouse with her. Quiet and gentle by nature, she wouldn’t have fared well once the shooting started.
Megan finally pulled away and looked up at Jayna, her blue eyes filled with relief. “Where have you been? We were worried to death. I couldn’t even call because you forgot to take your phone. Again.”
Jayna opened her mouth to answer when the rest of her pack entered the lobby at a full run. All three of them stopped at the sight of her: Moe Jenkins, a muscular African American kid barely out of his teens; Joseph Garner, a twenty-eight-year-old, blond, blue-eyed farm boy from the heart of the Iowa Corn Belt; and Chris Hughes, a self-proclaimed redneck from Biloxi. Jayna’s heart squeezed for a moment. As one, the guys rushed over to greet her, and together with Megan, they enveloped her in a big group hug. These four were exactly why she’d come back.
No one looking at them would ever call them a family, and in reality, the five of them couldn’t be more different. But they’d all had their own violent episodes that had changed them forever.
The pack had picked up Moe about a year ago in a back alley in L.A. after he’d been beaten nearly to death by a gang who didn’t like him walking in their territory at night.
Joseph had been shot while trying to help an elderly couple whose car had broken down on the side of the road. The shooters had been a bunch of teens out taking pot shots at road signs who’d decided shooting a person would be more fu
n.
Chris had been out celebrating with some old friends from high school when a cop had noticed their car weaving all over the road. His best friend in the world had been driving and tried to outrun the cop. After a long chase, during which Chris had begged his friend to stop, they ended up in a river after flipping the car over a dozen times. Chris had been thrown so far out of the vehicle, the police never even knew he was there, and he lay broken and bleeding for four days until his body had healed itself. He still moved with a noticeable limp thanks to a broken leg that had healed without being set straight.
And then there was Megan, whose story was worse than any of the others.
Yeah, they were a screwed-up collection of somewhat damaged people, but they were Jayna’s family, and she loved them completely.
Moe was the one to finally break up the hug fest, pulling back to nudge her. “We’ve been glued to the TV all morning, waiting for them to say you’d been arrested. When we didn’t hear anything, we really started getting worried. Where have you been?”
She was about to answer when a rough growl from across the lobby interrupted her. “That’s a damn good question. Where the hell have you been?”
Four pairs of eyes flared into bright color as her friends responded to the accusatory tone with a partial shift and turned as one to face the big, curly-haired werewolf who’d come into the lobby.
Brandon West was one of the first omegas Liam had brought into the pack, and he was the biggest asshole of the bunch, but somehow, he’d become the informal leader of the omegas. Worse, these days, it seemed Liam spent more time with this jerk than he did with his real pack.
“What the hell do you care?” Joseph demanded. “You were one of the shitheads who ran out and left her on her own.”
Brandon advanced on Joseph, clearly expecting the blond to be intimidated by his greater size and glowing eyes. It didn’t work. Joseph stood his ground and bared his fangs in a low snarl.
Brandon stopped short—probably because he knew Jayna and the rest of the pack would stand with Joseph. The same couldn’t be said of the few other omegas who’d drifted into the lobby. They didn’t have a loyal bone in their bodies.
“I care because I have to wonder how the hell she made it out when all those other werewolves—bigger werewolves—didn’t,” Brandon said. “How do we know she didn’t get grabbed by the cops and decide to make a deal with them?”
Jayna’s hackles rose. She might be alive because some SWAT cop had saved her life for reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, but those other omegas were dead because they’d been too stupid to listen to her when the raid had started. And only a dumbass omega like Brandon would think for a second that she’d betray her pack to the cops—probably because it was what he’d do.
She was just about to tear into the omega—figuratively, at least—when Brandon stunned her into silence by leaning forward and sniffing her.
“What the hell is that smell?” he muttered.
Jayna’s stomach clenched. Crap. He must smell the SWAT cop all over me. How could he not? The guy had pulled her against his body and slapped his gloved hand across her mouth. There had to have been a scent transfer, even with the gloves and tactical vest he’d been wearing.
Her mind spun a hundred miles an hour as she tried to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t paint her in a horrible light. But nothing came.
Brandon backed up a step, his lip curling. “You smell like you spent the night in a French whorehouse.”
Jayna’s mind faltered for a second. What the hell was this stupid jerk talking about? Then it hit her…the perfume.
She’d been sitting in the stuff for so long she barely smelled it anymore. But since Brandon had called her attention to it, she realized she did smell like a walking bottle of perfume. Thankfully, the potent fragrance overpowered every other scent that might be on her.
Now that she had a second to catch her breath and calm down, she doubted Brandon could have smelled the SWAT cop on her even if she hadn’t been doused in perfume. They hadn’t even realized the SWAT team had been made up of werewolves until she’d told Brandon and the others back in the warehouse. That was because omegas couldn’t use their noses worth a crap. As they got older, the only werewolf abilities they seemed to retain were their strength and aggression, and the claws and fangs that came with them. They let most of their finer talents simply waste away.
She grabbed at the opportunity offered by the distraction of the perfume and took a step toward the tall omega. Brandon flinched slightly but didn’t retreat. “It’s not a French whorehouse you’re smelling, not that I believe for a second you’ve ever been in one. What you’re smelling is Clive Christian perfume, and it’s worth almost as much as that platinum we were there to steal. I got tossed into a whole pallet of it when I fought with one of those SWAT cops. You remember them—the big-ass alpha werewolves you and your omega friends ran from like a bunch of little girls while leaving the real girl behind to fight them by herself?”
Brandon seemed stunned. “You fought them hand to hand?”
Jayna took another step closer and let her fangs slide out as far as they would go. For whatever reason, her canine teeth were starting to come in longer these days…almost as long as Liam’s. And when she was really fired up, like now, her incisors seemed to be sharper too. Megan had told her that made her look damn intimidating to other werewolves, especially omegas.
“That’s what real werewolves do once we’re out of ammo but there’s still someone in our way,” she said. “Or didn’t you think I could because I’m a woman?”
Brandon looked like he wanted to say that’s exactly what he thought, but she knew he didn’t have the balls to try it. The rest of her pack standing right behind her obviously had something to do with that. But she noticed him eyeing her fangs and debating just how tough she had to be if she’d stood up to those SWAT werewolves by herself.
Brandon might have gotten in a lot of fights and had the face of a lifelong bar brawler to prove it, but right then, she knew he was wondering if she was someone he should stay away from. On the other hand, he didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of the other omegas—or the Albanians who’d come in while the two of them were squaring off.
Jayna was still waiting to see what Brandon would do when the sound of someone clapping cut through the tension in the room like a knife.
She turned to see Kostandin, Frasheri’s trusted underboss—or “Kos” as everyone called him—leaning with his massive shoulder against a doorjamb on the far side of the lobby, his big, scarred hands slapping together in a slow, deliberate show of disdain.
“Perhaps if the rest of you had balls as big as Jayna’s, last night’s job would not have failed so miserably.”
The man’s heavily accented words were softly spoken, but he might as well have thrown a hand grenade into the room. The Albanians and omegas who’d been hanging around the edges of the atrium melted away without another word. Her pack members and Brandon were still there, but Jayna could almost taste their desire to be anywhere else. She couldn’t blame them. She wanted to be someplace else too.
Even though Kostandin wasn’t a werewolf, he still scared the hell out of everyone, and that seemed to include the other Albanians as well. The man was Frasheri’s nephew, but the two couldn’t have been more different. While Frasheri’s every action seemed to be driven by a clinically detached desire to make the family richer and more powerful, Kos seemed to only care about one thing—hurting people.
She tried not to flinch when Kos walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, letting the tips of his long fingers graze her neck slightly as he squeezed possessively. “Good to see you back, she-wolf. I would have been very upset if you had died in that warehouse.” He turned to eye Brandon. “More upset than I am at the loss of all those platinum medallions. If Jayna had died, I would have likely been forced to kill those I thought were at fault.”
Brandon dropped his eyes to stare at the floo
r. Around Jayna, her pack was gazing at the marble floor just as intently. Good. That meant no one saw the shudder that passed through her body as Kostandin’s hand slowly slid down her back and dropped away. The way he looked at her sometimes reminded her of her stepfather.
Jayna had known Kos was a sick bastard the first time she’d looked in those cold, dark eyes of his. Since then, she’d seen him go out of his way to inflict pain on people before he killed them—shooting them in the knees, cutting off fingers, slashing faces with the wicked-looking knife he always carried—all so he could see the fear in his victim’s eyes before the end.
She wasn’t naive enough to believe that any of the people Kos killed were innocent, not by a long shot. They’d been the worst kind of drug dealers, pimps, and gangbangers, and the Albanian mobster hadn’t done anything to them that they probably hadn’t done to others. But that knowledge didn’t keep her from seeing those dead people every time she closed her eyes. It didn’t stop the involuntary shiver that passed through her when she remembered the gleam Kos got in his eyes as he toyed with his prey either.
Beside her, Kostandin regarded her appraisingly, as if he could somehow hear what she was thinking. She frequently caught him looking at her like that. Sometimes it made her think he’d have happily put a collar around her neck so he could keep her as a pet.
Liam chose that moment to come into the lobby, and for the first time in a while, Jayna was glad for his presence, if for no other reason than it momentarily distracted Kos enough for her to put some distance between them. While not quite as tall or muscled as the SWAT werewolf, Liam was bigger than any of the Albanians and a couple of the omegas.
She gently nudged Megan and the guys toward Liam, falling into step with them.
“Jayna, you’re back!”