Kenny (Shifter Football League Book 2)

by Becca Fanning

  Holy fuck.

  Vomit tried to surge up her throat, but she contained it. Only, when the door opened, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. As she stared at the man in front of her, she saw his surprise when he realized it was her and not his man there, and out it came—a wave of vomit that landed on his chest, chin, and lower mouth. He stared at her, stunned, and she stared back, horrified that that had just happened.

  But as they both processed the information, Christie pulled her hand back and aimed forward.

  Spidey sense came to her rescue again. This time, she managed not to murder the man. She just bopped him on the nose, which had him falling back like something from a comic book.

  She could almost see the stars dancing over his head.

  Christie heard another man rounding the van and knew this was it. The gang, or whoever the hell it was that had snatched her, had obviously thought three men were enough for one puny female.

  Little did they know.

  The third guy clocked the dude on the ground, but when his mouth dropped open, she took her chance, leaping in a smooth arc from the back of the van and running as fast as her legs could carry her.

  She ran and ran. Her heart beat so furiously in her chest, she felt like she could be sick again. Behind her, she heard gunshots as she sprinted down the road, and she knew they were aimed at her.

  She was in a rough neighborhood, one she’d never seen before, but one where the sound of gunshots wasn’t a too uncommon event. No one even bothered to peer out of the windows in the beat-up houses to see what the hell was going on. Kids stared at her as she ran by, but their faces were blurs thanks to her speed. At the sound of the shots, they ducked low but stayed out to watch the unfolding scene with astonishment.

  She guessed it wasn’t often a kid saw a running blur. Everyone knew Shifters existed, but they didn’t know who they were. They were coming face to face with a real-life creature that was talked about but rarely seen. At least, ‘half’ a Shifter. She wasn’t like Mundo, but she’d definitely taken on one of his traits. Before him, she hadn’t been able to run ten feet without feeling winded. Now, she was not only sprinting, but she was burning up yards too.

  Suddenly, she heard a muffler from a bike. It penetrated the wind chasing past her ears. She wanted to stop, wanted to see if it was Mundo or one of his friends, but she didn’t dare. What if it wasn’t? Not only brothers in an MC had bikes. What if the rider belonged to the gang who had tried to kidnap her?

  She had to keep running, had to get out of this neighborhood, had to get to safety. She had to find Mundo, see if he was okay, kiss him, and then kill him for getting her into this shit storm. She needed a cop car to pass by. She needed one more than she’d ever needed one in her life. But as was always the way, there wasn’t one around when you needed one.

  Suddenly, a word penetrated the mad dash of her thoughts.

  “Mundo!”

  The word had her screeching to a halt. She stuttered, wobbling a little at the sudden decrease in speed, and felt the ache in her knees as a result. A sudden stench hit her, and she looked down, gawking at the steam coming from her running shoes.

  Was this for real?

  Had she literally burned through the soles on her sneakers?

  She wasted two seconds gawking at her feet, lifting one to look at the honest-to-God holes at the bottom of the shoes, before more words penetrated her fogged up brain.

  “Mundo. The Nomads. Brother.”

  She blinked at the man. “You know Mundo?” she asked, gulping in air.

  “Travis and I are his brothers,” the guy said—a guy equally as huge, equally as tawny, and equally as brawny as her mate.

  “Get me out of here!” she screeched, almost flinging herself at him. She jumped onto the back of the bike, hugged him close and demanded, “Go!”

  The man didn’t need to be told twice. With a roar as loud as that of the creature he could turn into, the Harley rumbled off, and for the first time in the worst twenty minutes of Christie’s life, she could breathe a little easier.

  She was safe.

  She’d done it.

  She really was Super Dentist.

  Chapter Ten

  “You should have seen it, man, I’ve never…” Riley shook his head, then chuckled. “Those dumb fucks didn’t know what hit them.”

  “I guess they didn’t take into account that projectile vomiting could be used as a weapon,” Mars retorted, his tone wry. He clapped Mundo on the back and said, “Congratulations, Mundo. You’ve got a wicked mate on your hands.”

  Mundo blinked, shaking his head at the fact that he had Christie back, and all thanks to her own ingenuity. Although, he guessed the projectile vomit had been more fortuitous than well planned. Either way, he wasn’t about to complain. She was here, safe and well, and back in his line of sight. The latter filled him with a bone deep satisfaction that he didn’t know how to handle.

  Mundo didn’t feel like smiling, nor did he feel like weeping. He was just so damned grateful but didn’t know how to express that gratitude without waking up his mate.

  They were at HQ back in Channelview, the clubhouse that housed the top ranks and the youngest cuts. The council was at his back, lounging in the hallway outside his new bedroom, discussing what had happened today, while he stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, and watching Christie sleep.

  She’d been out for the count ever since Riley had returned her here. Travis had called Mars when they’d picked her up, running away from the cartel safe house in Greenspoint. They’d all headed back to HQ; Riley, Travis, and Christie thirty minutes behind them. Mundo had wanted to go and meet them, to catch sight of his mate so he could see with his own eyes that she was safe. But as he’d had to ride on the back of Mars’ bike—too weak to drive thanks to the bullet wound still healing on his chest—he’d had no say in the matter.

  Christie had made it to the clubhouse, had held it together long enough to see him and tell him she’d kill him later, before she’d passed out.

  She seemed to do that a lot around him.

  He wondered if it was a mate thing, because the only one who hadn’t freaked out at the sight of her fainting was Mars. He had a mate of his own, so maybe Annette did it a lot too?

  When she’d staggered through the door of the clubhouse, he’d felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. She’d been white, oh so white. Her beautiful olive skin was pasty, her clothes rumpled. She was nothing like the fresh-faced beauty he’d taken out for something to eat two hours previous.

  How had everything changed in such a short space of time?

  It didn’t make sense, and yet, that was his life, wasn’t it? It was the MC life.

  He shuddered, feeling sick himself at how badly this entire situation could have turned out. Instead, his mate was back with him, in his bed, resting after the nightmare she’d just endured—a nightmare that could be quantified in minutes but was no less harrowing for it.

  She’d fallen into his arms the second she’d seen him, cupped his chin, moved his jaw from side to side, whispered, “You’re alive until I get my hands on you later,” and then slumped into his embrace. He’d carried her out to his quarters—new ones because of his mated status—and laid her on the bed.

  She’d been there ever since, and he’d stayed with her, watching her as she rested.

  The forced inactivity had been driving him nuts, so he’d asked Mars and Kiko to get some of the guys to help transfer his shit from his old room to this one. Normally, they’d have told him to fuck off, to stop being a lazy motherfucker and do it himself. But this was different. His mate was unconscious. His mate had been abducted because of MC business and could have been… He couldn’t even think about what might have happened to her without wanting to kill someone.

  For the past two hours, he’d been busy moving the shit the guys brought him, quietly unpacking and making sure to leave enough space for Christie’s stuff.

  He knew without ev
en having to think hard about it that she’d make a fuss about living here. Not that he could blame her either. Even in the mated quarters, the room wasn’t exactly big. At least they had a connecting bath and a king-sized bed, but that was it. The space was bland and contained the bare minimum of furniture, ready for the mated female to decorate it. It wasn’t exactly a dream home, but it would have to be their main seat until this threat had been averted.

  He shuddered when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it to her, but he valued her life more than he valued his balls.

  He could deal with her sulking with him, could even deal with her throwing shit at him—not that there was much to throw. What he couldn’t handle was her being injured or snatched again.

  After the threat was dealt with, they could move back into her apartment. It was actually more convenient for him, as close to the garage as it was, and when it came time for ceremonies and the like, which always happened at the weekend, they could spend those days here.

  Mundo hoped to pacify her with that compromise, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

  Mars clapped him on the back again, jerking him out of his thoughts. “You’ve a mate to be proud of,” he told Mundo, a wide smile on his face.

  He knew that already; he hadn’t needed today to confirm that. He just nodded and said, “Thanks for getting all my shit together.”

  Kiko snorted. “I need more than a thanks. You can buy me a fucking beer.”

  Mars chuckled. “He was the one who had to handle your clothes.”

  “If I ever see your briefs again, I will burn them,” Kiko promised, the threat alive and kicking in his tone. “Only for her did I do it.” He pointed at Christie as if to underline his words.

  “I know, and I’m grateful, Kiko. I really mean that.” He truly did, and he sensed Kiko realized how earnest he was because the glower on his face softened into concern.

  “Are you okay, buddy?”

  Mars looked at Kiko askance then studied Mundo. What he saw had him frowning. “Yeah, how are you doing?”

  How could he answer that?

  He’d dragged his mate, the most important person in his life, into danger. She’d been leading a regular life, doing ordinary shit and being a normal human female in normal human society. Then, he’d come along and dragged her into the eye of the storm.

  Hell, it wasn’t just any old storm, either. It was a hurricane. A fucking twister.

  The MC was close to all-out war with the Martinez cartel, and he’d just put his mate in the firing line.

  So no, he didn’t feel okay. Everything didn’t smell of roses.

  He didn’t say that though. He shrugged off their concern and mumbled, “I’ll be fine when she wakes up.” He pushed ahead, moving back into the bedroom to carefully take a seat on the side of the bed and then lay down beside her as gently as he could without moving the mattress. He turned on his side, smiling when she rolled into him, nuzzling her back against his chest. Only when she did that did he finally feel like he could breathe.

  As he nuzzled his face into her hair, he heard the door close and knew they were alone.

  He sucked in air like it was going to be rationed in the next few minutes, and each gulpful was loaded down with her scent. Only that calmed him. Her essence soothed the shuddering of earthquake-like proportions that was going on in his soul.

  For the first time since he was a boy, Mundo wept. He finally let the tears that had been choking him since his shift back at the workshop fall and allowed himself to be comforted by the purity of his mate’s scent.

  He fell asleep, only he didn’t realize it until he was being pushed over the side of the bed and falling onto the floor. A pillow hovered over the side as his mate scrambled toward him, and he braced himself for what was about to happen. He deserved it, but he knew with her new speed, her wallops would make a dent.

  She bashed him with the pillow, hitting him with as much force as he sensed she could, and he just lay there, covering his face from some of the nastier hits—punches that came with a warning of her sucking in a single sharp breath as she gathered momentum. He wasn’t sure how long the one-sided pillow fight took, but it ended with her sobbing. The cushion fell to the ground as she sat precariously close to the edge of the mattress, bowed over, hands covering her face as she cried out her hurt, fear, and anger.

  His heart hurt at the sight of her, and he ached with the need to hold her, to try to make this all better even though he knew it was impossible.

  Mundo was cautious as he moved himself from the floor to the bed. Slowly, he let his arm come around her, and the instant she felt him, Christie stiffened, which made him tense up too. About to brace himself for more hits with the cushion, she stunned him by flinging herself into his arms, curling up on his knees, and huddling into his chest like a baby.

  A shaky sigh escaped him as he held her close, rocking her slightly, embracing her as tightly as he could. He was so goddamn grateful that she was there in his arms, safe and relatively sound, that he felt his soul start to weep in gratitude.

  He didn’t realize he was crying again until a soft, gentle hand cupped his face. He blinked at the touch and then focused on Christie’s sore, red eyes. She was staring at him in fascination, her gaze tracking the wetness trailing down his cheeks. With a finger, she scooped up a tear and studied the glistening drop for a second.

  “You’re sorry,” she whispered.

  “You have no idea how sorry I am, baby. I’d kill to make this right. I’d do anything to take your fear away.”

  She gulped then shook her head—a move that he sensed was more to shake off her thoughts than to deny what he was saying. “Big boys do cry,” she murmured softly, wiping away the tear tracks with those silky fingers of hers. “Thank you, Mundo.”

  He blinked again. “You’re thanking me? For what?”

  Her lips twitched at his astonishment. “For crying, of course. It means a lot.”

  He frowned. “It does?”

  Christie nodded and reached up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. “I’m sorry about hitting you with a pillow,” she mumbled against his lips. “I just…” He felt her quiver. “I was so scared, Mundo. And I—”

  He hugged her tighter. “You what, baby?”

  She pulled back, only to nuzzle her face into his throat. “I did something… something bad, Mundo.”

  “What, Christie? I’m sure we can make it right.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “The man who took me, the one who dragged me into the back of the van. He covered my head with a hood, but when he tried to tie my hands together I fought him off. He was going to hit me with his gun, so I knocked his arm out of the way. It was instinct,” she cried. “I didn’t even realize I’d be able to stop him from hitting me. But I did, and I think, because of this new speed thing I’ve got going on, when I smacked him, I did so with force.”

  “So, you knocked him out. That’s great,” Mundo whispered, proud of her despite the seriousness of the situation.

  She gulped. “No. I didn’t. I… Oh, God, I killed him.”

  Feeling himself freeze, Mundo made a concerted effort to relax. She was shuddering on his lap, and he held her close, trying to reassure her, to imbue her with the love he felt for her. This news changed nothing—not what he felt for her or anything like that. Truth was, he was prouder of her. One less scum-sucking cartel foot soldier was roaming around, and if he’d been trying to hit Mundo’s mate, then the bastard deserved to die. He was just disappointed he hadn’t been the one to make him pay.