Flynn had his gun out, pointed at Carruthers. “Explain,” he said in a deadly voice.
Corporate Douche Carruthers leaned back in his chair, looking calm and relaxed. “We’ve sent in an assault team to recover the alpha’s heir and his consort,” he said.
“They won’t get her.” That was Flynn’s deep growl.
“Because of your territory magic?” Carruthers shook his head, making “tsking” noises. “You think you’re the only person in the world that has magic?”
Fuck. They were coming after the crew with magic.
“If you hurt any of my crew, I will rain down hell on your clan like you’ve never imagined,” Flynn said. “I will end every last one of you.”
That did shake the fucker’s confidence a little. But not enough.
“We’re not interested in your crew,” he said. “All we want is what’s ours.”
“They’re not yours,” Xander growled.
The guy’s phone beeped again, and he checked his messages. “Wrong again,” he said. “As of this moment, they are.”
Xander felt red rage overwhelming him in waves.
Blood. Kill. Die.
He pressed the knife harder, and a thin trickle of blood ran down Bledsoe’s neck.
Flynn’s phone rang again.
“They got them,” Sloan said, sounding exhausted. “We’re all okay, but they fucking got Jenny and Brandon.”
“What the goddamn hell happened?” Flynn demanded.
“They had some kind of sorcerer with them. They punched through the boundary magic and attacked. She created illusions…shit. We didn’t know how many they had, or where anybody was…she just kept us running after shit that wasn’t there. And it was all a diversion…”
His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. Tell Xander…fuck.” He broke off.
The red rage receded, and Xander felt cold fury take its place. He stared at that fucker Carruthers. “Now I’m going to kill him,” he said, giving the man in his death grip a little shake. “And then I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you won’t,” Carruthers said, still with that arrogant sneer on his face. “You’ll come to Broken Hill and answer for your crimes.”
“My crimes?” Xander said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You tried to steal our future alpha, claim him as your own.”
“He is mine,” Xander said. “I have the DNA test to prove it.”
The asshole glanced negligently at the torn paperwork. “Tests can be faked,” he said. “If you really believe this boy is yours, then prove it like a man. Like a true panther.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Flynn was shaking his head. “Trial by combat,” he said in disgust.
“That’s right,” Carruthers said. “Come to Broken Hill, and fight for your so-called family.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then the woman will die.”
It was all Xander could do to keep his shit together. Flynn wanted to refuse to let him go, and then he wanted to come with him. The Broken Hill contingent shut him down at every turn.
“You have nothing to do with this,” they said. “Stay out of it.”
Xander knew there was nothing Flynn hated more than being over a barrel, with no way out. He always had a contingency plan, but Broken Hill had fucked with them both.
Xander’s only consolation was that Flynn was not going to let them get away with it.
“I’m his fucking alpha,” Flynn said. “He’s pledged to me. That makes me involved whether you like it or not.”
“He was Turned by Broken Hill. He’s under our jurisdiction.”
Flynn gazed at them long enough, with enough hatred burning in his eyes, for them to start shifting uncomfortably. Then he said, “Xander?”
“I have to go with them,” Xander said. “It’s my family.” He didn’t know what the fuck he could do for them out there alone, but he had to go.
Flynn turned that penetrating gaze on him, then gave a short nod.
Xander let his prisoner go, sheathed his knife and handed it to Flynn. No sense in letting these guys take his favorite knife. Bledsoe backed away from him, wiping blood off his neck.
Flynn clasped Xander’s hand. “We got your back,” he growled.
Xander felt something hard and round pressed into his palm, about the size of a quarter.
One of Flynn’s damn tracking devices.
The darkness around his heart lifted just a little.
He closed his hand around it and shoved his fists in his pockets. “Fine,” he said, looking at the fuckers who had his mate and his son. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 24
The Broken Hill corporate jet looked just like a private jet in a movie. Jenny sat on a cream-colored leather sofa, holding Brandon close to her. There were ten other seats—some singles, some facing each other with tables in between them, like train seats.
She’d never been on the jet before—she wasn’t important enough in the clan hierarchy to be given the privilege.
Not until she was a prisoner. There was some irony for you.
Right now, all the seats were empty except for a single seat in the back. Tomas, one of Alton’s bullies, lounged there, idly extending his claws and pulling them back in. Her only other guard, Trace, was behind the curtain at the front of the plane, talking to the pilot.
The rest of the team had been left behind, “to deal with Fierro.”
She had no idea what that meant. She just prayed Flynn and the Bad Bloods had been able to keep Xander out of their hands. She should never have dragged him into this.
“Imma hungry,” Brandon whined. “An’ imma want juice.”
Jenny breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. She couldn’t panic. She had to stay strong, for Brandon.
Below the panic, though, was a white-hot rage that terrified her even more. They had no right to drag her and Brandon away from Xander, away from the Bad Bloods, away from the home they’d made. And if they tried to hurt Brandon, she’d kill every last one of them.
Trace ducked back through the curtain that led to the cockpit. He’d made a stop in the galley, and was carrying a bottle of water and a juice box, which he handed to her. That was it. No food. Apparently this was the no-frills flight.
“Hungry,” Brandon whined, louder.
“Is there anything to eat?” Jenny said. “You know how Brandon gets when he’s hungry.”
Trace snorted. “Jeez, haven’t you learned how to keep him quiet yet? You’d think the Bad Bloods would have smacked some discipline into him, even though Fierro’s a pussy.”
Jenny took another couple of deep breaths and didn’t answer. It wasn’t worth it.
Brandon frowned. “Where Xan-Daddy?”
“He’s home, baby.” Please, make that the truth. “Maybe we’ll be able to call him when we land.”
Trace grinned. “Oh, that’s been taken care of, Sweetness,” he said. Jenny wanted to barf at the name. To Brandon, he said, “You’ll see him soon, kid.” Under his breath he added, “If not for long.”
Cold fear stabbed through Jenny. What the hell did that mean? Had they captured Xander? Why? Alton had no reason to care about him—unless he wanted to kill him as some kind of “example.” Alton was big on examples, even if they made sense to no one but him.
Brandon was still frowning. “Where Bib Bear?” he demanded. “Where Alfacat?” He looked around, as if Tank and Flynn were going to materialize on the plane. She could feel a tantrum building.
Trace had lost interest in the conversation. “You’re not going to see them any more, kid.”
Bad move.
“Not?” Brandon’s eyes opened wide for a shocked moment. Then he got pissed off.
“I want Bib Bear!” he shouted. “I want Alfacat. I want Xan-Daddy!” Trace opened his mouth to speak, and Brandon drowned him out with an ear-piercing shriek.
Jenny made no attempt to stop Brandon’s tantrum. Why the hell should she? These asshole
s deserved to deal with it. She was pleased to see that his piercing screams were obviously painful to Trace’s sensitive panther hearing. Hers, too, but she was more used to it.
But when he drew his hand back to slap Brandon, she had her claws out in a second. “Don’t even try it, asshole. That’s your future alpha.”
Trace gave her an evil grin. “He won’t remember.”
Fucker. Jenny flexed her claws. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind him.”
Their gazes locked.
“Fine. Just shut him up,” Trace said, dropping his hand.
“Good luck with that,” Jenny said. “Once he gets started…” Brandon had worked up a good head of steam, kicking his feet against the seat and yelling. His face was bright red.
Trace winced as a particularly loud scream split the air. “Jesus fuck, shut him up!”
He lunged at Jenny this time, and she grabbed his wrist with one hand, stopping it inches from her face. With the other, she let her claws rip out and brought them to his jugular. Her voice was low and deadly. “Try. I will rip your fucking throat out.”
Trace narrowed his eyes. He was holding onto his bravado, but she felt him swallow hard.
“In front of your son?” he asked.
Jenny’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve spent way too much time with those crazy shifters in Tennessee. You have no idea what bad habits they’ve taught me.”
Brandon’s attention had been distracted by the drama going on next to him. Now he fastened his dark, enigmatic gaze on Trace. He gave a leftover sniffle.
Then he turned to Jenny and said, “Kill it?”
“Not yet, baby.” Jenny said, her eyes still locked on Trace. “Maybe later.”
Brandon pouted.
Trace looked from her to Brandon and back again. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered again. He pulled his hand out of her grasp, and went to sit on the other side of the plane.
Jenny opened her water and took a sip, the cold liquid soothing her dry throat.
Xander would have been proud.
When they got to the private airfield near Broken Hill, they bundled her and Brandon into a car with tinted windows. It was less than an hour from the airport to the crew’s territory, but Brandon was already worn out with traveling. He dozed, head in her lap, and she stroked his hair, trying to quiet the questions running around and around in her mind.
Did Xander know where they were? Had they captured him already, or were they using her as bait? If the meeting was a setup, was Flynn okay?
She couldn’t believe they’d gotten the drop on Flynn, or managed to seriously hurt him. All the stories made him out to be indestructible.
But it only took one bullet to the head… No. She refused to think it.
When they got to Broken Hill, the car drove straight up the dirt road to one of the small empty bachelor cabins. There were too many of those—too many dead warriors, too many lost for no damn reason.
For the first time, she almost wished Brandon would grow up to be alpha of this cluster fuck. Straighten these assholes the hell out. Make them back into a real crew, one that cared about each other and tried to make a better life for all of them.
But they probably wouldn’t last that long.
Alton wanted Brandon here as evidence that they would—that they’d survive and thrive at least long enough for him to grow up and lead them to whatever bullshit “glory” he wanted to imagine.
But she wasn’t going to let her son be used for that. No fucking way.
They escorted her and Brandon roughly into the cabin and left them there, with guards at the front and back.
At least there was food here—a few basics and some things in the freezer. She made Brandon a hot dog, and heated up some canned soup for herself. It was hard to eat, but she managed to choke it down.
She needed strength.
She was just finishing up the dishes when she heard the door open.
Awesome. No knocking. Another reminder that she was a prisoner, not a resident or a guest. She hoped to hell it wasn’t Alton.
Nope, it was almost worse.
Cindi.
They faced each other across the tiny cabin. “Why the hell did you come back here?” Cindi hissed. “You’re going to ruin everything.”
Was she kidding? “Right,” Jenny said. “Because I called Alton up and begged to be kidnapped and taken away from my true mate, so my son could be warped by his insanity. Why the hell didn’t you manage to make him forget us? Your bitch mojo not working the way it used to?”
Cindi advanced on her, keeping her voice low. “He can’t let go of the idea that Brandon is his,” she said. “Because otherwise, he’d have to face the fact that he fucked all those females and none of them bore a cub. He’s afraid people will think he’s shooting blanks.”
“He is,” Jenny said. “We both know that’s not his cub you’re carrying—if you’re even pregnant at all. And I have a DNA test that proves Brandon isn’t his either.”
Cindi shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you,” she said. “He doesn’t care if a dozen scientists tell him that kid isn’t his. He needs to believe he is, and he’s the alpha. What he wants to believe is the truth for every damn panther in Broken Hill.”
Jenny stepped back. She’d known Alton was unbalanced, but this was flat-out insanity. “That’s sick,” she said. “Why do you people even go along with it?”
Cindi’s eyes glittered. “He’s going to restore the clan’s glory,” she said. “He’s going to make us the most powerful clan in the South.”
He was going to get them all killed. But none of them could see through the delusions.
“Xander will come for me,” she said. “You have no idea what you’ve unleashed.”
Cindi just laughed. “You still think that loser is a hero. Xander’s coming, all right. He’s already on his way.” She started for the door, then turned back. “But the only way he’s going out of here is in a body bag. And there’s no way you or Brandon is going with him.”
Chapter 25
Xander’s ride to Broken Hill was not quite as comfortable. He spent it trussed up in the baggage compartment of a prop plane, trying not to bust out of his skin from worry and rage, and his panther’s terror at being tied up.
He had to keep it together. Don’t get killed, he told himself, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, like Jenny did when she was having anxiety. Save your family. Don’t get killed. Save your family. Don’t get killed.
Save your family. He had a family. Such a bizarre and unexpected thing. He had people he was responsible for; people who loved him and counted on him.
He’d begun thinking of the Bad Blood Crew as his family, but everyone knew he was the fuck-up of that group. He’d always tried to do what he could for the others, but face it—he was pretty useless most of the time.
It was usually them taking care of him.
This was different. This was his mate, his cub. He had to get them the fuck away from the Broken Hill Clan, or die trying.
He just had to figure out what the hell Alton wanted from him, and how to get out of there without giving it to him.
He knew Flynn and the Bad Bloods would be on the way. He could feel the round button of the tracker in his pocket, digging into his skin. The corporate douches hadn’t searched him, because they were idiots and they didn’t know Flynn the way he did. As much money and corporate power as they had, they still thought in terms of physical force.
Their mistake.
Whatever Alton Raines’ plans were, though, Xander couldn’t count on Flynn and the others to save his ass—and his family. What if they couldn’t get there in time? What if Raines’ whole plan was to kill Xander with his own hands the second he got there?
He had to assume he was on his own for the moment. At least, if he died without getting Jenny and Brandon out, he knew the Bad Bloods would do it for him.
There was some comfort in that.
They landed and bundled him into a van, handcuffing
him to a bench in the back like a fucking convict. The manacles were shifter-strong, though, and specially made so that changing his hands to paws wouldn’t help him get out of them.
Plus, his guards all had big-ass guns pointed at him. If he hadn’t been so worried about Jenny and Brandon, he would have been flattered.
They’d never thought he was that much of a badass in the past.
They drove for a while over bumpy roads, which meant they were heading out into the country, away from civilization, into the heart of the panthers’ territory. Finally, the jolting stopped, and they unlocked his chains and pushed him out of the van.
He was in a small green valley surrounded by forest. The landscape was dotted with cabins, the three largest in a semicircle near the center of the valley. There were a couple of firepits at the sides—larger, less fancy versions of the one the Bad Bloods had. The area in front of the cabins, between the firepits, was a smooth green lawn with a square patch of raked dirt in the middle of it.
Right now, the square patch was cordoned off. Bleachers had been set up along two opposite sides, with a row of large striped tents across one end. At the other end stood a long, raised platform with a huge carved chair in the middle of it, decorated with velvet cushions.
It looked like a fucking throne.
Seriously? An alpha throne? Flynn would laugh his ass off if he saw that. And Jaz would probably lift her jaguar leg and piss on it.
That thought almost made him smile.
But the sight of clan members gathering in the bleachers, chatting in muted tones, wiped the smile off his face. They looked suspiciously like an audience, and that cordoned-off area looked suspiciously like an arena.
And Xander suspected he was going to be the main attraction.
Fuck it all to hell.
They tried to lead him to one of the tents at the edge of the arena, but Xander dug in his heels.
“I want to see Jenny and Brandon.”
His guards sneered. “Don’t worry. They’ll be here to see you in the fights.”
Fights. Plural. Xander hoped that all of them weren’t going to involve him, but he had the sinking feeling they would.
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