Typhoon

by Wylder, Jasmine

  “Mind telling me what I need to do to improve?” Twister asked him. “We can talk about it over dinner. I have an invite to The Bombshell.”

  Typhoon almost snarled, but he wasn’t about to make a habit of waving his rivalry with Hailstorm, The Bombshell’s proprietor, around. He clicked his teeth together and nodded. “As long as you’re paying.”

  “Of course,” Twister replied promptly. “It’s the least I can do to repay you.”

  Typhoon shook his head as he got back on his bike. That was another thing that Twister had against him: he was too honorable. You did him a favor, and he wanted to pay the favor back. It didn’t matter how small the favor was, he wanted to show his appreciation. Sometimes—many times—Typhoon even wondered why he was with the Brotherhood at all.

  He knew, of course. Typhoon made a habit out of knowing the names and histories of the new recruits. Twister had as much reason as anybody to hate vampires. He wasn’t in it for the money and excitement—he was in it to protect civilians. Twister was naïve to think most of the others had joined for the same reason, though.

  They made it to The Bombshell quickly. At the sight of Typhoon, the bouncer let them in without asking for an invite. Typhoon had expected it, just as he'd expected Hailstorm to greet him personally no more than half a minute later.

  There was a certain glee in the other wolf’s eye, a pleased look on his face. “Typhoon, I never expected you to one day grace my humble little establishment.”

  “Hailstorm,” Typhoon greeted, “I’m here because the kid wants to talk business, nothing more.”

  Twister’s face tinged pink. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing what your auctions are like for a long time.”

  Hailstorm’s gaze didn’t leave Typhoon’s face. His smile was wide, his white teeth gleaming. “Well, you’re in luck. We’ve got a good lineup tonight. If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know. I’ll have Gerome get you a good seat.”

  Typhoon had been curious about Hailstorm's place, he had to admit. As he and Twister were led to a table close to a large, highly polished stage, Typhoon glanced around. Hailstorm had clearly done well by himself with the joint. The carpets were a forest green with golden-brown trim. The walls had been painted to match. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Each table was adorned with a unique, glowing centerpiece. From the smells curling into his nostrils, the food also promised to be amazing.

  A bottle of fancy wine arrived at the table, compliments of the house.

  Twister smiled as he ordered a plate of lobster and crab. “I should take you on dates more often,” he laughed, and then his face turned white. “I mean…I didn’t mean…It was a joke. I’m not into guys.”

  Typhoon snorted, relaxing a little as he ordered a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs, extra meatballs. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Twister nodded, but he didn’t relax. Typhoon didn’t see a reason to beat about the bush, so he clasped his hands and leaned on the table with his elbows. “You aren’t alpha material, Twister. I know that’s disappointing for you, but you’d have to make some serious changes before you'd be considered for a position.”

  “I’m willing to make changes.”

  “Are you really? As alpha, you'd have to present a strong front at all times. Your men can’t question you, and you can’t be their friend. You’re far better suited to smaller groups, like the one you have, where you know each of them individually and can adjust your dealings with them on an individual basis. You can’t do that as alpha of a chapter. You have to be tough. You have to be willing to make them bleed if they won’t listen to you.”

  Twister leaned back in his chair. He frowned, mulling it over. “I don’t think that’s the only way.”

  Typhoon snorted. “I’ve been alpha of the Savage Brotherhood for thirteen years now, Twister. I didn’t get this position by being kind-hearted.”

  “But you don’t come down on your subordinates without any mercy at all,” Twister argued. “I mean, look at Tornado in Coalfell and Thunder in Ivywood…hell, even Hurricane—they all stepped out of line, and you didn’t give them—”

  “They corrected their mistakes,” Typhoon interrupted, snarling as he glared at Twister. “And that is far different from the men who'll stab you in the back the moment they decide they want to be alpha instead of you.”

  Now, it was Twister’s turn to lean on the table. His expression was intense. “My recruiter told me I’d never among to anything in the Brotherhood because I wasn’t willing to have unnecessary casualties when dealing with civilians. I told him that I was going to make it, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice my morals for it. I believe our brothers are far more interested in doing the right thing than you give them credit for.”

  “And you’re a dreamer.”

  Typhoon shook his head. He remembered when he used to be a dreamer. That was when he'd also thought that love was enough to change the impossible, before his mother died, and before he learned the truth of the world. He envied Twister in some ways: he was still able to dream, even after the pain he'd been through.

  “I just think that you can attract more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  “Which is all well and good if you’re looking to set a trap, but this—” He cut off as Hailstorm strutted onto the stage. “We can finish this conversation after Hailstorm finishes his blathering.” Typhoon snorted and poured himself a glass of wine. “Anybody who buys a mate at auction must be truly desperate.”

  “I don’t know. I think most of them just want someone to hold when they get home,” Twister mused.

  “That’s what brothels are for.”

  Twister gave him an incredulous look, but he didn’t comment. Their meals came, and Typhoon eagerly heaped a quarter pound of cheese on top of his spaghetti before mixing it all together with the sauce. He caught Hailstorm glancing at him as the first person in the auction came onstage. Sex trafficking was one of the few illegal pursuits in which Typhoon forbade the gang from participating. However, when the people on sale were of-age and willing, he had no issue with it.

  The first two were men, both groomed impeccably with bodies that spoke to how they had taken care of themselves while not appearing overly muscular and dominating. Typhoon had to admit there was an appeal to that.

  The next woman had the perfect porn-body: small waist, large breasts, narrow, curvy hips, and a tight ass. She giggled as she twirled around, and Typhoon admired her long, lean legs. Now, those would be something to lay between.

  The fourth person was also a woman. When he saw her, Typhoon choked on a mouthful of noodles. He coughed violently and grabbed a napkin with which he covered his mouth. Twister asked him if he was okay, but Typhoon waved him off.

  Once his airways were clear, he drained his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  His coughing had drawn Mia’s attention, but she deliberately ignored him as she smiled at the crowd. She was wearing a shimmering gold-and-black dress that imitated the stripes on her tiger’s body. There was a thin strap on one side holding up the top, which molded to her large breasts. The slit stopped mid-thigh, showing off every curve of her body. She even wore sparkling black heels, which had to be at least five inches high.

  Typhoon's hands clenched the table.

  She'd been warning him that she was going to quit working for the gang for some time, but he hadn’t believed she was serious. And now, this?

  “Many of you already know me,” she said. She smiled without any of the vapid giggling of the last woman. “I’m Mia Efron, tiger shifter and mother to a four-month-old son, Jasper. I’ve worked for many, many years as a doctor, and I want to have a break.” She jutted out a hip, put her hand on it, and winked. “And a little fun. Want a sugar baby? I’m your gal.”

  There was something about the way she'd said it that drove Typhoon to his feet. If she wanted to retire, fine, but why come to Hailstorm’s sleazy club to auction herself off like that? “What the fuck do you
think you're doing?”

  Hailstorm and Mia both jumped. She turned to him and said, “I just said what I’m doing. Looking for a sugar daddy. I told you I’m quitting the practice.”

  “And you decided that you wanted to marry some jerk with enough money to see women as a commodity?”

  Mia shrugged. “What’s it to you?”

  Typhoon slammed his fist into the table, and he sat back down, nostrils flaring. It wasn’t like he cared what she did, but getting involved with Hailstorm? Clearly, he'd been mistaken when he'd thought she had even one lick of good sense.

  “You can always bid for her, you know.”

  Typhoon snarled as he turned on Twister, who flinched but met his gaze, nevertheless. “If you’re that upset about somebody else buying her, you can buy her instead. Hailstorm’s got a policy that if both parties aren’t satisfied with their marriages after a month then they're annulled, and the money's returned to the buyer.”

  “Why would I want to marry her?” Typhoon growled. He gestured for the waiter, his appetite suddenly gone.

  Twister grimaced a moment and then shrugged. “You just seemed concerned, is all. Actually, I’m going to call Roxy to see if she’ll lend me some money. I don’t see Mia getting into something like this willingly.”

  The auction had started to wind down. Twister wasn’t going to get his money in time.

  Mia smiled at the highest bidder thus far, an older musk-ox shifter whose leer told Typhoon all he needed to know about him. What was she thinking, exposing her son to all of this?

  “And the bid is closing at—”

  Typhoon leaped to his feet with a roar, cutting Hailstorm off.

  Everything went silent as the entire club stopped to stare at him.

  Mia’s eyes were wide, uncharacteristically startled.

  Typhoon clenched his fists and jumped onto the stage.

  Hailstorm backed away a step as he approached, but Typhoon’s gaze was on Mia alone.

  “How much was the last bid?” he demanded.

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  “Make it twenty-six.” Typhoon turned his glower onto Hailstorm. “And she’s going home with me.”

  Hailstorm gaped at him, a stupid expression on his face.

  The back of Typhoon's neck prickled when he realized everybody was staring at him, wearing the same expression. They were wondering what he was doing, what secret feelings he might harbor for the curvy tiger. His jaw tightened. She was his doctor. That was all. If she was really going to leave him in the lurch, he wanted every detail as to why.

  “Twenty-six, it is,” Hailstorm stuttered. “We can discuss payment options later. If you’ll take your new mate through there,” he gestured to a door, “you’ll be married right away.”

  Typhoon scowled, but he took Mia’s arm and pulled her toward the door. He’d find out what it was all about and send her back. In the meantime, they’d be married, all right.

  She stared at him, still gaping and looking uncertain.

  Good. Maybe it meant she'd be more cooperative when he tried to get answers out of her.

  Chapter Three

  Mia

  Mia stared at Typhoon’s profile as the bored-looking wedding officiate rattled out the necessities of the marriage. It had to be a dream. Out of everyone she knew and everyone who had been at the auction, he was the last person she'd expected to bid on her, let alone shell out twenty-six thousand dollars. That was a hell of a lot of money; it was a quarter of what she earned in a year. True, she could have jobs that paid more…but still, it was a lot to pay out for her.

  Was it because he'd wanted her to stay on at the clinic for him? She'd been telling him she was going to quit for months now!

  Hot anger welled in her chest. Her hands clenched. If he wasn’t genuine about this…Considering how angry he was, there was something more than just the auction on his mind.

  Her nostrils flared as the officiate finished and they signed the paper legalizing their marriage. A couple of witnesses signed as well, and then it was done.

  “Come on,” Typhoon grunted at her, a heavy scowl on his face.

  “Being your sugar baby doesn’t mean I’m your slave,” she told him flatly. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  “Did I say you were a slave?” Typhoon glared at her. “I am well aware that you aren’t going to obey my every word, but I have a plate of food that is getting cold, and we need to talk. So, let’s go back to the dining room before the next ‘couple’ comes through.”

  The derision in his voice was more than enough to tell her what he thought of the whole business. Mia grunted as she stomped after him. Why had she worn heels? The pair she'd chosen was impossible to walk in, though they made her legs and butt look terrific. Still, if it was just for Typhoon, it hardly seemed worth the effort.

  “I didn’t know you had that kind of money,” she hissed at him, her tiger pacing in her chest.

  “Well, I do.” He glanced back at her and slowed his long strides so she could keep up. They exited the little room and were ushered back to the dining hall.

  Blake was introducing a pair of women who caressed each other as they gazed over the crowd. The old bidder—the one who had nearly gotten her—jumped out of his seat in his excitement to get to the women. Mia sat at the table with Typhoon and Andy Franks—who was well-known around the clinic (mostly for looking after other people)—with her elbows resting on the table. She didn’t care if the posture wasn’t ladylike.

  “I’m not continuing on as a doctor at your clinic,” Mia said, narrowing her eyes at Typhoon. “So, if you think you can bully me into staying, you have another thing coming. I have to have a different life. For my son’s sake.”

  “Your son?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

  Goddesses help her. Normally, Mia wasn’t a religious woman, but every once in a while, she found herself pleading to various healer-goddesses for their aid. This time, she wasn’t certain they’d help if they existed. She glared at Typhoon as he stuffed his face with pasta, which looked and smelled delicious.

  Her mouth watered at the sight of Andy’s lobster and crab, too. Andy silently passed a slice of toast over to her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. She took a bite to steady herself before turning back to Typhoon. “I have a son. You’ve met Jasper before. Remember last week when you came in with that bear with a knife in his gut? Did you think I'd just picked up a random baby to bring to my clinic for an emergency case?”

  “I know you have a son. What were you thinking, signing up for something like this? You had no idea who was going to buy you…do you think he,” Typhoon pointed at the older man, who had just bought the right to marry the two young women, “would have been a good father?”

  Andy bent over his dish and ate rapidly.

  Mia glanced at him. Her gaze brought Typhoon’s gaze to him as well.

  Andy jumped to his feet. “I’m going to get the check.”

  “You do that.” Typhoon cursed under his breath and shoved his half-eaten plate toward her. “Eat. I can hear your stomach from here. I can’t believe this. It’s a fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

  Mia protested as she ate half a meatball.

  “You never said anything about wanting to do something like this. With a child, I thought…well, I wanted to make sure.” Typhoon glanced around the room. A slight pinkness came to his ears. “People are going to think I’m soft on you. All of my best men have been getting soft on women, and I’m not about to join them. They've all been acting like idiots.” He leaned back, scowling as he folded his massive arms. His tattoos, always bold and black against his skin, seemed to pop out even more than his muscle. “I don’t know what’s happening with the Brotherhood these days. Damn wolves are getting whipped by a bunch of cats.”

  Mia had been eating as rapidly as she could, partly to give herself time to avoid saying something she’d regret and partly because she needed something in her stomach. She’d bee
n so nervous that day, she hadn’t really eaten anything. Typhoon's words, however, made her nostrils flare.

  “Well, you like my cat well enough,” she snapped at him.

  Typhoon glanced at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to smile, but then his scowl darkened. “That is hardly the same thing. Looking for a night of fun doesn’t get somebody tied down and acting like an idiot.”

  “Acting like an idiot: like dropping twenty-six thousand dollars on some pussy?”

  “Oh, is that what you are?” Typhoon took his plate back. “And here I thought I was being a gentleman, making sure you weren’t being sold against your will.”

  Before Mia could respond, Blake was suddenly at their table and Andy behind him. A broad smile crossed Blake’s face as his eyes latched onto Typhoon. “Is there a problem, My Alpha?”

  If she wouldn't have looked like a jerk saying it, Mia would have said yes and broken the whole arrangement, but the last few days of him constantly checking up on her and the way he was almost gloating now, she couldn’t help it.

  “Nothing’s wrong, no,” she snapped, “except that this pasta has far too much salt in it.”

  Hailstorm opened his mouth, closed it, and forced another smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s on the house. I can go get a replacement—”

  “No.” Typhoon stood and threw a handful of bills on the table. “The spaghetti was fine. We don’t have a problem here, I’ll take this to go, along with the rest of the lobster there.”

  Andy glanced warily at him and reached for his own wallet, but a half-glare from Typhoon froze him in place. Hailstorm stood awkwardly for a moment, as though he were weighing his options, and then he shook his head. “Of course. I’ll have this boxed for you, right away.”

  He took the plates and stalked away, probably cursing Typhoon for making such a scene in his club, when he had no choice but to act graciously. The old man and two girls came from the wedding room, all of them laughing and beaming at each other. Typhoon glared at them, making them skirt the table nervously.

  Andy bounced on his toes and cleared his throat. “So, I’ll pay for dinner another time,” he said, keeping his voice low.