Grant: Special Ops (Shifters Elite Book 6)

by Ava Benton

  “Right. You said that already.”

  I chewed my lip as I tried to figure it out. “So why hasn’t he gone back yet? I mean, if it were me, I’d be on the first flight.”

  “He can’t just hop a plane. He doesn’t have any money.”

  “True. Okay. So I’d hitchhike. Or walk. Or shift and run the whole way. Hide on a truck or a freight train. Something. You couldn’t keep me away. I’d want to know what happened to my clan.”

  “You’re right. I’d want to do the same thing.”

  We walked along the gravel path between two rows of trees for a spell in total silence.

  For a while, all I heard was the sound of our feet crunching the gravel and the birds saying goodnight to each other before the sun went down.

  “But you know what,” she added after a long time, “he went through a lot. He might not be the same person now that he was before. You don’t know him. Not the full him. Just the Grant who exists now.”

  “That’s… depressing,” I muttered.

  “It doesn’t have to be. What if he doesn’t want to be that other person anymore? This could be a new start for him. Just like it’s a new start for all of us.” She giggled softly. “You could both start over again. Together.”

  “I warned you…”

  “I know, I know. I shouldn’t try to throw the two of you together. Sorry, but I want my friend to be happy. I can’t help it.”

  “Nosy.”

  “Stubborn.”

  We burst out laughing, and that was good.

  I needed to feel like we were still close even though her life was so wrapped up in her pregnancy and Lance and helping him step up into his new position. If I had grown up like a normal human girl with friends and a love life, I would be used to dealing with my friends hooking up with guys and moving on to new things by now. But I had lost out on all those times, just like most of us had.

  “Will we ever catch up with the rest of the world?” I wondered.

  “Catch up?”

  “I mean, will we ever be like the rest of the world? Like humans our age? I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I have no work history. I don’t even have a valid driver’s license. We’ve been so cut off from the rest of the world. Where do we start making things normal?”

  “What’s normal, though? So what if we’re not the same as the rest of the world?”

  She would never understand how it felt to want to be like everybody else because she was comfortable being herself. Miss Flower Child, dancing under the full moon like her mom taught her when everything in her life fell apart. And that was all right for Layla if it made her happy. It just wasn’t enough for me.

  “Yeah. I guess so. But I need to be able to get a job one day.”

  “Granted. You could always go back to school, right?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I mean, what would I do? I’m not good at anything. I was never very good in school.”

  She took a few steps away from me, then stopped with her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? Or are you that unaware of yourself?”

  I looked myself over. “What are you talking about?”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve been living in the woods for, like, weeks and weeks. We were on the beach before that, and in the desert before that. We bathe whenever we can, wherever we can, and wash our clothes whenever we come across a laundromat which doesn’t happen nearly enough. And you look like you just walked out of a salon in LA or something.”

  “I do not!”

  She walked around me in a slow circle. “Your hair has that beachy wave thing going on, which most girls would kill to have.”

  “I let it dry in braids after I wash it…”

  “And you wear a sundress and sandals like you’re on your way to a garden party. You even have a cute little sweater tied around your waist that matches the color on your finger and toenails.”

  “I like to match…”

  “Yeah, well, you look fantastic. Always.” She was smiling when she stopped in front of me. “What if you studied fashion design? Or you could go to beauty school. Do they even call it beauty school anymore?”

  “No idea.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she decided. “I think it’s an extremely viable option, young lady. You’re gifted. Share your gift. Make us all more beautiful.”

  I cracked up. “You’re insane.”

  “Yeah, well, I know.” She slung an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I told Lance I’d be back before it gets too dark, and he’ll want you back, too.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “He’s a little overprotective, isn’t he?”

  “He’s adjusting to being in charge. Things will be a little different for a while, but he’ll loosen up. Maybe.” She shrugged. “Hey, so we call it an early night unless we’re hunting. No big deal.”

  “It’s been a while since I hunted. I could use a hunt.”

  “Make sure you don’t go alone, okay? He’ll lose his mind. I don’t feel like dealing with that.”

  “Okay.” I dropped her off at the cabin she shared with Lance and watched with a sad smile as she walked in.

  No matter what happened, she had him and they were happy. They would make a life together. It was nice for her, but I couldn’t hang around and feel like a third wheel forever.

  I needed to figure out something for myself.

  Karl and some of the other guys were putting together the night’s bonfire and talking about going for a hunt later. I didn’t want to go with all of them—some of the guys tended to forget they weren’t the only ones out there and didn’t leave much for the rest of us. Maybe something Lance could talk about with them, since he wanted to be such a great leader.

  It wasn’t until I walked around our section of the camp site that I figured out I was looking for Grant.

  Since when did that happen? I liked checking in with him at the end of the day. It was nice to talk with him about nothing important.

  I remembered the conversation I had with Layla and wondered if it was time to talk about important things. Like why he didn’t want to go home.

  3

  GRANT

  “Wake up, Grant.”

  I pried my eyes open and blinked against the bright, white light shining in them.

  It felt like knives driving into my brain. I winced and tried to turn my head away, squeezing my eyes shut. Anything to make the pain go away.

  “Still light sensitive,” the voice near my head murmured. The clicking of a keyboard. Then, “Grant, would you say the sensitivity has gotten worse since yesterday?”

  “I… I don’t remember,” I groaned, struggling to get away from that sharp, horrible light.

  Why wouldn’t they turn it off if they knew how much it hurt?

  “You don’t remember yesterday?” the voice murmured.

  Who was that? The doctor. Right. I was in the lab, like I had been for weeks. Months, even. I had no idea how long.

  They came in and shaved my face every day and trimmed my hair, too, so I couldn’t even use that as a way to mark time.

  “No,” I grunted. Was I not speaking English?

  “Hmm.” A whispered conference.

  I wasn’t giving them the answers they had expected. But the doctor sounded excited—I could hear it in the way his voice kept getting louder, even though he was still trying to whisper. Probably one of the many things they were giving me was screwing with my memory. I had lost track already, they were shooting me up with so many different things.

  I used to try to fight it. I used to struggle and growl and spit at them. I even shifted the first time they made the mistake of releasing my restraints. That was a lesson we all learned the hard way. I wouldn’t shift again. What they did to me hurt too much.

  It was easier to let them do what they wanted and hope it would all be over soon. I wished they would kill me—either on purpose or accidentally, it didn’t matter as long as I didn’t have to feel the pain anymore.

  “We’ll be t
esting your pain threshold later today, Grant.” The doctor’s voice was smug. Like he was proud of himself for tying me down and torturing me.

  I ground my teeth and glared at him even though the light was still stabbing my brain and it was easier to keep my eyes closed. I heard my heart rate picking up speed—the beeping got faster, faster, and louder until the sound filled the room and echoed off the hard walls and floors and tried to tear my mind apart…

  “No!” I woke with a start, covered in cold sweat. My pillow was soaked with it. So was the thin sheet under me. I had already kicked the blanket off and tangled it around my ankles.

  I stared up at the ceiling of the tent, breathing like I had just run a marathon.

  “It’s okay. You’re out. You’re out. You’re never going back.” It was my new mantra.

  I said it to myself every night, sometimes more than once. Every time the nightmares woke me up.

  It was useless to try to fall back asleep in a sweat-soaked sleeping bag. I rose and shook everything out, then pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and left the tent barefoot.

  Smelling the fresh air, looking up at the open sky, these things helped push the rest of the nightmare out of my head. For the time being.

  The rest of the camp was asleep, the way people usually were in the middle of the night. I looked at the wristwatch—no way I would ever let myself go without knowing what time it was ever again. I needed to know. I needed to hold onto all the real things I could.

  Four-thirty. Nowhere close to dawn.

  I sighed deeply and wondered what to do until then. And after that. And the next day.

  A walk to the lake was pretty much the best option, so I started through the thin patch of woods between the camp clearing and the deep, cool lake.

  The idea of hunting crossed my mind, but I didn’t think I would ever hunt alone again after what happened the last time I tried it. Especially not in a place I didn’t know like the back of my hand.

  I peeled off my shorts and waded into the lake without thinking about it. I needed to wash off the dried sweat—I wished I could wash off the memories. Not just of the dream, but of what caused it. There were too many.

  I didn’t know where to start. The smell of antiseptic. The way I could taste saline in the back of my throat whenever somebody flushed the line in my arm after injecting me with something that would screw with my brain or my body. That painfully bright light. I had the feeling I would like dark rooms for the rest of my life.

  I dove deep into the water and let myself rise slowly to the surface. I was completely alone in the center of the lake with nothing but water under me and the sky above me when I broke the surface. I let myself float on my back for a while, so I could stare up at that dark sky with the thousands of stars that looked down at me and probably remembered more about me than I did about myself.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t remember anything from my life. I knew I was an Everglade. I knew my home was in Florida. Vincent was the head of the clan. Pretty simple stuff.

  It was what happened after that night outside Chicago that was a blur. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe I remembered deep down inside and the part of my brain in charge of keeping me sane knew it would be better if the memories never came out. I was fine with that. The little bit I did remember through my dreams was bad enough.

  “I should go home, shouldn’t I?”

  The stars didn’t have an answer. Nobody would.

  I’d have to answer for myself—not like I didn’t know the right thing to do. I had to go. My clan was at war.

  But if Bradford Eastwing thought I was dead or at least gone forever, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be the best thing. I couldn’t go home knowing what he expected from me when I got there.

  The thought filled me with shame. I wasn’t that sort of guy. A real man didn’t run away from problems—Dad taught me that, and Vincent lived by it.

  I used to live by it, too. But it was one thing to tell yourself in theory that something was wrong and another to experience actual, serious, life-or-death shit and try living by the same principles.

  I had never faced anything like the trap Bradford set for me. It had sort of wiped everything clear and destroyed everything I thought I knew about myself.

  My skin was starting to prune. I turned from my back and swam to shore with long, slow strokes. Stretching my muscles still felt good after being locked up for so long.

  I wasn’t even fast on the hunt anymore. Time would take care of it, just like it took care of all sorts of things. Except guilt. I felt a pang in my chest that I knew had nothing to do with the exertion of swimming across the still water.

  It would be morning soon.

  Right away, I pictured Daniela in my mind and smiled as I stepped onto the stony shore.

  Funny how she was the first person I thought of. I looked forward to seeing her again, even though I had only just seen her the day before, and every day before that for two weeks. Whenever we said goodnight, I looked forward to seeing her again in the morning.

  I thought about the guys back home and what they would think if they knew about her. She was gorgeous, so they would assume it had to do with that and only that.

  Sure, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met. I didn’t think there were real live girls as beautiful as her. But it wasn’t just the face or the body.

  And that was where the guys wouldn’t believe me—or, if they did, they’d laugh themselves sick.

  Liking a girl because she was a good person. A sweet, kind, thoughtful person who had been there for me from the morning after the lab was destroyed and every day since. They would roll their eyes and tell me I was kidding myself, and maybe they’d be right about that. Maybe I was trying to make myself feel better for already caring way too much about her.

  I wondered if she knew she snored a little.

  I passed her tent, which used to belong to her and Layla before Layla started sharing quarters with Lance.

  I could hear her soft snores coming from inside and the sound made me smile to myself. She would probably be embarrassed if she found out. It would be my secret. I was used to having them, but nothing as innocent as this one.

  I sat down on the leaf-covered ground in front of the tent, legs crossed. I wasn’t waiting for her—and I knew it looked like I was, anybody who passed by would assume I was a stalker. I just wanted to be sure she was okay. Something about sitting out there, guarding her, made me feel more like myself. Like one of the good guys.

  “You and I both know why you need to do this.” Bradford’s voice rang in my mind.

  I shook my head, hoping to clear him out, but he was in too deep. His claws were hooked in and there was no pulling them out.

  I remembered feeling cold inside, like ice was forming in the pit of my stomach and only getting worse the longer I looked at him.

  The longer I breathed the same air he breathed. I had never been in his office before that moment, or in the club he owned.

  We Everglades made it a point to steer clear of him and his nasty crew. And they were nasty bastards, too. They’d sell their own mothers if it meant making a profit.

  “You can’t make me,” I’d muttered, even though I knew he could. And he knew I knew. That was why he had smiled even wider.

  “We’ll see what the police think about it. Not to mention Vincent. What will he say when he knows you were the one who got his best friend killed?”

  I clenched my teeth and told myself to forget it.

  Bradford didn’t know I was alive.

  If I could stay away, I could start again.

  Maybe with Daniela, maybe without her.

  Either way, I didn’t have to be under Bradford’s thumb so long as I never showed up on his radar again.

  And I had no intention of doing that.

  4

  DANIELA

  Lance sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “That makes four more of us moving on.” Deep frown lines creased his forehea
d.

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Layla sat at the table near the window. “They feel like they can move on to other things. They feel secure enough now.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He was still frowning, though.

  “What’s the real problem?” she asked.

  “Hey. I can leave, you know. This sounds like it’s getting personal.” I edged closer to the door, looking back and forth at the two of them.

  “No, no.” Lance smiled, though he still looked tired and discouraged.

  I knew he felt like he was losing his pack just when he took leadership of it. Lance was a good man. A smart and strong and capable man. But he still compared himself to Jordan, so he always felt like he was coming up short. Layla and I had already spent hours talking about it, how much we both wished he would focus on what he could do and not so much what Jordan would do in a situation.

  “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” But Layla didn’t look at me when she said it.

  She stared at Lance, concerned. One of her hands stroked her belly, which was starting to pop a little already. When I was being really honest with myself, in my heart of hearts, I knew I envied her. He loved her and she loved him and they were having a baby together. No, things hadn’t gone the traditional way for them. They didn’t even admit their feelings until after the baby was conceived and after Layla was kidnapped by those shitheads. Still, they were happy. They had a future.

  But I didn’t envy her right now. She had to find a way to make him feel better about losing his pack—the way he saw it, of course. Not really the truth. He was there to lead those of us who chose not to move on and to encourage those who chose to leave. Jordan knew he would do well with that, but Lance still didn’t understand it.

  “Are you confirmed on where we’ll go next?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  “Yeah—Jordan already staked out that spot in Santa Barbara,” he reminded me. “We’ll go there for a while before moving on.”

  “Have you given any thought to my idea?” Layla asked in a soft voice.

  “Can we talk about this later?” he asked.