“OK, man.” Doctor Shane ‘Mac’ MacIntyre sat down across from King, nailed him with those intelligent blue eyes. He reached out, took Mirrie’s hand. “Let’s have it.”
“Alright.” King took a breath. “Warren’s babysitting for Kirk Jensen right now, up in the mountains.”
“Babysitting who?” Mirrie asked, her voice hushed.
“A woman named Shay Alcott.”
“Who is she?” she asked him.
“Her brother Crusher runs an MC over in Utah, and those boys are heavily involved in Jensen’s drug corridor in to Nevada.”
“OK.”
“Something’s going on between Crusher and Jensen, and the sister is collateral damage while they sort things out between them. She has nothing to do with the MC, so she’s been dragged in to this totally blind.”
“Shit,” Mac said. “She’s OK?”
“Ace says she was when he dropped her off four days ago, and we all know that Warren ain’t going to beat a woman up for kicks. So we can work on the assumption that she’s fine.”
“For how long?” Mirrie said, her tone listless.
Both men gave her their full attention.
“How long what, babe?” Mac asked gently.
“How long will Shay Alcott be fine,” Mirrie said. “I mean – will Warren be asked to kill her if the brother and Jensen can’t sort whatever it is out?”
King paused, caught Mac’s eye. Mirrie was no fucking delicate little flower, and she wasn’t a woman who needed shielding from the truth. In fact, she’d strenuously objected once to Mac keeping crucial information from her – she’d objected so strongly that she’d dumped his overprotective ass without a second of thought. Lying to her wasn’t an option; withholding what she needed to know was equally unthinkable. So King launched in to it.
“It’s a possibility. A good one.”
“And would he do it?” Mirrie said. “Would he kill an innocent woman, just because he was told to?”
King hesitated. The truth was that he and King’s Men had been watching Warren for just over six months – ever since they’d returned him to the Fallen Angels after weeks of them holding him for leverage. Despite the fact that he’d been their prisoner, held quiet and captive in one of the team’s safe houses, and despite the fact that the team was made up of hardened ex-special-ops types, Warren had won them all over.
The man was decent, they’d all concluded, though undoubtedly naïve, pretty much to the point of stupidity. He’d shown up in Denver to prospect for the Fallen Angels – and he’d actually thought that he could just up and leave if he decided that the MC life wasn’t for him. It had been Clarice ‘Honey’ Potts’ unfortunate task to set Warren straight about that. The woman was nothing short of pure lethal… but she’d admitted to Jack and King that Warren had broken her heart a tiny bit when he’d faced the cold, hard facts at long last.
Since setting him loose, Honey had made it her personal mission to keep an eye on Warren, and to keep everyone else up to speed. Because of this, King’s Men knew quite a bit about Warren’s criminal activities with the Angels – including one murder, for sure, and maybe one more.
The guy that Warren had helped to shuffle off this mortal coil was certainly no great loss to humanity. He’d wasted more than his fair share of oxygen, and nobody was losing any sleep that the bastard rapist and child abuser was gone. What was cause for disquiet, though, was the fact that Warren had pulled the trigger on command at least once.
If he could point and kill because his Prez had told him to, then maybe the sweet, kind young man that they remembered was gone. Maybe his innate goodness had been eaten away and eroded by his life under Trigger MacGee and now Ace Cuddy. Maybe he’d just succumbed to the environment in self-defence and from sheer exhaustion… and maybe, he was now lost to it.
So, would Warren pull the trigger on command? Hell, yes. Yes, he had, and yes, he would in future. King was no expert on human psychology and behavior the way that Jack was, but he’d lay money on Warren being able to kill again, and more easily, now that he’d done it once.
But would he pull that trigger if the intended victim was an innocent woman? That, King didn’t know. He hoped that Warren wouldn’t… but it all depended on how far gone the guy was. If his humanity was lost, then yeah, he’d kill Shay.
King hoped hard that Warren had hung on to even a shred of his sweetness and kindness. Just a tiny bit, dear Lord, could make all the difference when faced with an unarmed, terrified woman. If he’d been able to cling to even a shadow of his former values and beliefs, then King would retain his faith in the younger man, and take his part. King would move heaven and earth to help Warren, if Warren asked. King would protect Warren’s life with his own, because he could be damn sure that Warren’s life was worth saving.
But. If Warren could stare on in to Shay Alcott’s eyes, and pull that trigger in cold blood, then he was beyond saving, not worth saving. Not anymore. Worse than that, if he’d reached the point of being capable of something like that, then he was the enemy. That meant that when King and his people faced Warren, they couldn’t trust him to not shoot – so they’d have to fire first.
Then they’d probably live the rest of their lives wondering if they’d been wrong. If maybe that wonderful, funny, polite young man that they’d known had been hidden away under there after all.
That was the kind of thinking that could drive a man or woman insane. It was the kind of guilt that could destroy a whole life. King had seen it, and he’d do a lot to avoid it happening here.
So, would Warren kill Shay? That was the million-dollar question – and King wasn’t the man with the answer. Only one man knew the answer to that, and right now, he was up in the mountains, holding said woman hostage.
King stared in to Mirrie’s violet eyes, eyes that were afraid and silently begging, and he wondered just how much of this reality to drop on her. Some, he decided, but nothing like all.
He shot Mac a quick look, saw the warning all over the other man’s face, then he returned his attention to Mirrie.
“Honestly, hon?” King said gently. “I don’t think he would. I think if that was the order on the table, he’d help Shay escape.”
“But then they’d kill him, wouldn’t they?” Mirrie said bluntly. “As punishment?”
“Yes. But I also think that for Warren, that’d be preferable to killing Shay. I think – I think he’s the kind of person who’d die to protect someone else.” King gave her a half-smile. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear…”
“No,” she said, surprising both men. “No, that is what I wanted to hear.”
“It is?” Mac asked her, pushing his long blond hair off his forehead.
“It is. Even when we were kids, Warren always, always put himself after others. He always thought about everyone else before he thought of himself. He sacrificed for his Mom, he took beatings from his Dad to protect her, he turned the violence his way, so his Mom could avoid it. He – this is what he’s like, guys. He puts others first, he cares with everything that he has, and if that would mean dying to save someone else, then that’s what he’d do.” She paused. “Or, at least, the Warren that I remember would do that. I hope he hasn’t changed so much that he’d hurt Shay and save himself. I don’t want him hurt, and I sure as hell don’t want him dead – but I don’t want him to be the kind that kills a defenceless woman, either. I don’t want him to have turned in to a monster… and the old Warren wouldn’t have wanted that either, I promise you.”
Once more, King and Mac held their stares. They’d been friends for a long time, and they could read each other’s faces and thoughts by now. And they were in total fucking agreement on this one: they were leaving it here.
“OK, sweetheart,” Mac said. “I think that’s enough for tonight, yeah?”
Mirrie nodded, and now they saw that she
was near tears. This was so unlike her, it took them aback for a few seconds, then King got to his feet, and showed himself out. He knew that she needed for him to go now.
The second that King shut the door behind him, Mac pulled Mirrie in to his arms. “It’s alright, babe.”
“It’s not,” she choked out. “God, Shane, every single time King comes here to tell me something about Warren, it’s just worse and worse. You know? How long before he’s…” Her voice trailed off, and she found that she didn’t even want to say the word ‘killed’ out loud. It felt too much like tempting fate.
“Don’t think about that,” Mac reproved her gently. “Just don’t, OK?”
“I try not to,” she said in despair. “I really do, but –”
“I know.” He stroked her honey-blonde hair, held her closer. “It’s hard to keep the faith, but sometimes we just have to. Trust in Warren, just a little bit longer. Can you do that?”
She nodded, wiped her eyes. “ I can try.”
“What do you need me to do?” he asked. “Tell me, Mirrie. What can I do for you?”
She stared up at him, then smiled. “A totally huge and guilt-free Chinese food blow-out? On you, doc?”
He grinned down at her, the relief huge. “Yeah? You think an overdose of sweet-and-sour chicken balls will do the trick?”
“Only if you include some spicy tofu to the order.” She considered. “And fried noodles with shrimp.”
“Consider it done.” Mac kissed her gently. “Nothing’s too good for my girl.”
“Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Good Lord, babe… I love you too. I always will.”
“Even when I gain a hundred pounds from stress-binging on spring rolls?”
“Yeah.” He stroked the forget-me-not tattoo on her neck, cherishing what it represented to both of them. “Yeah, even then.”
Chapter Nine
Shay soaked in the tub until her fingers were wrinkled like prunes, and she loved every second of it. God, it felt so good to be clean, and she washed and shampooed and scrubbed until she felt like all of the grime, sweat, and fear had just seeped out of her pores.
Slowly, carefully, she managed to get to her feet, then she sat on the edge of the bathtub again. She drained the water and dried off, gazing at herself in the mirror above the sink. She wished hard for her makeup bag, not that she had all that much stuff in it. Still, though, she thought that she’d seriously benefit from a bit of blush on her too-pale cheeks, a slick of color on her lips.
She wanted to be beautiful for him, she was surprised to discover. She wanted him to look at her with desire, and want, and need. She wanted that badly… and she was shocked to find that the thought didn’t scare her at all now.
He didn’t scare her. Not one bit.
She did the best that she could with her wet hair, but she hadn’t been able to find a hair dryer anywhere before her bath. She sighed a bit, shrugged. Well, it’d dry by the fire, she figured, so no biggie.
She slipped on his denim shirt again, liking how it smelled. It smelled like Warren: clean, strong, fresh. All hard, tender man. All him.
Shay got to her feet cautiously, reached for the sink for support, took a step. Her right leg shook wildly under her, and she sat again. The last thing she wanted was to go crashing down, and have Warren have to pick her up off the floor. She was done with him rescuing her, done with being weak and needy. She wanted to reclaim some of her physical strength – but maybe she wasn’t there quite yet.
“Warren!” she called.
Three seconds later, she heard his footsteps pounding down the hallway to her.
“Shay? You alright?”
“Yeah. It’s just – I can’t walk by myself.”
A pause. “You decent? Can I come in?”
She glanced down at his shirt, tugged it over her thighs. “Yes.”
The door swung open, and he stepped in to the bathroom, looked at her sitting there. Hair damp and loose, cheeks flushed, legs going on for miles. His blue eyes darkened, turned all smoky, and he came to her right away, not able to hold himself separate from her.
He extended his large hand, and she took it without hesitation. He hauled her up and in to his arms, and she sighed again, this time from a sense of rightness.
Yeah, on the face of it, he was the most wrong thing that she could ever want… but that didn’t make him wrong. The man’s circumstances were everything that she’d ever despised… but the man himself was everything that she’d ever desired. Nothing was right in this whole mess… nothing but him.
Shit. Things were going to get complicated.
Don’t kid yourself. You’ve been kidnapped by his MC, and he’s holding you hostage, and he’s calling you ‘baby’, and you like it. Things already are complicated.
“Baby?” That husky voice washed over her, stroking her most secret places, touching her as sure and soft as hands. “You good?”
Not trusting her own voice, she nodded. He nodded back, and without a single word more, he just picked her up.
Shay squealed in shock, and he grinned down at her as he headed out to the living room.
“Not used to having a man carry you around, huh?” he teased.
“Nope.” She snuggled closer. “But I could get used to it.”
“Oh, yeah?’
“Mmmmm.”
Warren deposited her in the chair closest to the fire, wrapped a blanket around her. He wanted her toasty-warm, and totally relaxed. He wanted her to feel safe with him, and considering how the hell they’d ended up in this cabin and all that had happened since, that was a tall order. He was putting it in, anyway, since he couldn’t do anything else. He was giving this his best shot, and he was hoping with everything that he had that it was enough.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“You want veggie soup, or do you think you can handle something with substance? Meat?”
“I’ll take the meat, every time.”
“Good.” He briefly caressed her cheek, stepped away. “I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
Shay watched him in the kitchen, surprised at how at-ease he looked. Whatever he’d made smelled delicious, and her stomach gave a huge, long rumble. She tried to remember when she’d eaten that pasta dinner that she’d made for them, realized that it had been four days earlier.
“Do you need some help in there?” she asked, feeling like a princess being served, and not liking the feeling. “Maybe I can do something?”
“Nah. I’ve got this.” He flashed her a sexy grin. “I love cooking.”
“You do?”
“Yep. One of my favorite things. You like it?”
“Uh, honestly?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I hate it. Like with a passion.”
“Good thing I’m in charge of the pots and pans then, huh, hellcat?”
She blushed at his teasing. “Indeed.”
Warren came back now, carrying a plate piled high with steak, potatoes, and green salad. She stared in utter shock as he set it on the coffee table next to her, along with a glass of water.
“You – you made this?” she stammered.
“Yep. You like steak?”
“Love it.”
“Girl after my own heart.” He wandered back to the kitchen. “Dig in, Shay. You have to be hungry.”
She didn’t dig in so much as dive in. The strength of her hunger roared up her body, and she was almost shaking from the need for food. She forced herself to eat slowly, though, and take sips of water between bites. She knew that if she jammed the food in too fast, she’d just throw it all up, and there was no way that she was wasting this perfect steak.
He came t
o her now, sat across from her. He glanced at her plate, saw the huge dent that she’d made in her dinner.
“You want some more?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m good for now.”
“Yeah. Better to take it easy.” He cut off a piece of his own steak. “Your body’s had a bad shock, and you need to go slow.”
“If we’re talking about food, I’m not really a ‘going slow’ kinda girl.” She ate some salad, drained her glass. “I’m actually kind of a ‘stuff it down my throat’ type.”
He paused, took in her long, lean curves. “Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Fast metabolism?”
“Yeah. Courtesy of my Mom.”
“Lucky girl.” Warren forked up some potatoes. “You and your Mom close?” It suddenly occurred to him that she may well have people out there in the world worrying about her.
“We were,” Shay said slowly.
He looked up at her. “Were?”
“Yeah.” She stared down at her plate now. “My parents died when I was fifteen, and Hal was nineteen.”
“Hal?”
Shay looked up briefly. “My brother.”
“Ah. Right.” He shifted. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Do you want to talk about them?” he asked gently.
“No.” She shook her head. “Right now, I want to hear about you.”
“I promised, right?”
“Right. A promise is a promise.”
“It sure is. OK. So.” Warren sighed and chewed on his steak, trying to think where the hell to begin. “I was born and raised in a small town in Kentucky.”
“On a farm with eight other kids and your Mom.”
“Yeah. On a farm with eight other kids and my Mom.” He drank some sweet, milky coffee, took a breath for courage. “And my drunk Daddy who loved using his fists on all of us.”
Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) Page 11