The Alpha Meets His Match

by Georgette St. Clair

  “My hit,” she husked, lying curled up on the floor, shaking. “Please, Vaughn, please.”

  He shook his head, which wrenched a wail of despair from her throat.

  “You didn’t do a very good job.” He nodded his head at the two large, muscular men in dark suits who stood by his doorway, glowering. “Now you’ll have to suck them both off first.”

  She started to climb to her feet, whimpering with sheer misery, and he kicked her hard, his foot connecting with her narrow buttocks, knocking her to her knees.

  “Don’t walk. Crawl like the animal you are,” he snarled, and she obligingly crawled away, sobbing quietly.

  Shifters. They sickened him. They thought they were so strong, so special, when it took nothing but a tiny little pill to knock them back down the evolutionary ladder to the pathetic, cowering animals they truly were.

  A brief picture of himself as a child flashed through his head, a lonely child, curled up in his bed, crying. The taunts of his schoolmates rang through his ears. Your daddy left your mommy for a dog. Your daddy is fucking a dog. Bark, Vaughn, bark!

  A wolf. His father left his mother for a werewolf, and never came back. They’d been the laughing stock of their small town. It only took his mother two years to drink herself to death.

  His vision swam with rage and he grabbed a crystal ashtray from the ottoman and hurled it at the ocelot, Pamela something, connecting with her ribcage, and she screamed in pain, but never stopped crawling. She’d learned.

  “I’m sorry, Vaughn, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she wailed, crawling faster.

  Animals.

  Speaking of animals…

  He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Bobbi Jo Simpson…he had her partly under his thumb, but not far enough. That would change very soon.

  “Hello?” she answered on the second ring, and he heard her struggling to keep the fear from her voice. He liked that. She was proud, and strong, and when he finally got the chance to crush the bitch under his heel and leave her begging for mercy, it would give him more satisfaction than he’d felt in ages. Certainly more satisfaction than he got from humiliating Pamela; that was like kicking a two month old cub.

  “You know what your brother is doing right now?”

  “I imagine he’s sitting in his cell, given that he’s in prison and it’s nine o’clock at night,” she said in a cold, even voice. God, she hated him. His mouth curled in a grin.

  “Yes, he is. He’s reading that book you sent him. The Tom Clancy book. My guards are watching him. Remember that. My guards. They will do anything that I tell them to. How are things going in Playa Linda?”

  Vaughn had half a dozen men at the prison on his payroll. They could make Heath’s life comfortable, or they could make it a living hell. He made sure to remind Bobbi of that in every conversation they had.

  “We’ve made some interesting discoveries.”

  “Like the fact that all of the rabies cases seem to be coming from Caged Heat?”

  If she was surprised that he knew that, she didn’t reveal it in her voice. “Yes. We don’t know for sure if The Chemist is behind it, but according to the coroner the victims’ amygdala was swollen and deformed, so it’s a good possibility.”

  “It’s him, I’m sure of it. Let me know the minute you find him. Or you know what will happen to your brother.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Abruptly, he hung up, and leaned back in the chair.

  She wasn’t submissive enough. She wasn’t respectful enough. He could hear the barely suppressed fury in her voice every time he talked to her.

  For now, he’d tolerate her, because he needed her. Having an insider on the Enforcer’s Council came in very handy, especially now that it appeared that the Chemist had resurfaced. But soon, the time would come that he didn’t need her any more…for anything more than entertainment.

  Soon the time would come that no shifter would dare address a human with anything less than submissive fear and pleading.

  The thought of it made him rock hard again, but he was bored with Pamela, who was desperately sucking off one of his bodyguards. He could only listen to so much of her sobbing and sniveling before it switched over from fun to irritating. He wanted someone who still had a little fight left in her.

  He grabbed his walkie-talkie and stabbed the button. “Send in Jennifer,” he ordered.

  He’d go for the ass, he decided. He was definitely in the mood for some nice tight cougar ass.

  Chapter Eight?” Meg asked.

  “Just peachy,” Bobbi lied. She always lied to her foster mother. Meg was the type who worried, although she tried not to let it show. “How are things at home?” Home, where she hadn’t visited in two years. Meg and Samuel deserved better than that, but there was always another case to be worked somewhere in the country, another emergency. Another excuse.

  “All is well. David is a junior, he made the track team, Carmen is a senior, she’s in the honors society.” Meg was naming some of the foster children she and Sam had taken in. “Bethanny, get off the kitchen counter! Off!” Bethanny was a jaguar shifter cub who loved to leap onto high surfaces, giving Meg and Samuel regular conniptions.

  “Wow. All your kids are such overachievers. Except me.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. You’re an Enforcer! We couldn’t be more proud.”

  “I never did that well in school, though.”

  “Bethanny! Not the bookshelf! DOWN! Come here and help me stir the batter. I need an official taster. What’s that, dear? Oh, school. Well, everyone has their special talent, their area where they shine like a diamond. It just took you a little while to find yours.”

  That was Meg, always putting a positive spin on things.

  “Will you be home for Christmas this year?’

  “I’ll try,” Bobbi promised, guilt rippling through her.

  “I understand if you can’t make it. Your work saves lives. That has to come first. But if you can make it, we’d all love to see you.”

  “Thanks, Meg. Give my love to Sam. I should go, now. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Nothing dangerous?’

  “Oh, no. Nothing dangerous. They mostly have me on desk jobs. I help with research.” Ha. Talk about eyes turning brown. But what good would it do to tell Meg the truth? Meg and Sam were the type who sat home waiting anxiously when she went out with friends to the movies on a Friday night. She could never tell them that she regularly tangled with mobsters, drug dealers, child pornographers, and assorted other varieties of scum.

  “Did you get the fudge we sent you?”

  “Of course. It was delicious. I meant to send you a thank you note.” Ugh. Now she was really hating herself. The address that Meg and Samuel had for her was at her rented apartment in Denver. Travelling as much as she did, she used it more as a storage unit than she did an apartment. The fudge was undoubtedly sitting in a box in the apartment manager’s office with all her other mail.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love Meg and Samuel. She did. It was just that it was safer to keep her love wrapped up in an imaginary trunk and stored in a dark recess of her mind. She’d had parents, real parents, who’d doted on her; she’d been in grade school when she’d received the news of their death in a fiery car accident. She’d had an older brother who’d rescued her from unimagined horrors; she’d been bartending at a nightclub when a grim-faced police officer came to deliver the news of his untimely end.It felt like the universe was sending her a clear message. Her love wasn’t a gift. It was a curse.

  “We miss you, dear. Hope to talk to you again soon.”

  “I miss you too, Meg. Talk soon, I promise.” And she hung up and walked back into O’Malley’s, the dive bar where she’d come to meet Pixie for lunch. She glanced at their table; Pixie wasn’t sitting there. Great. Somewhere, somebody was missing a wallet.

  The din was loud, the air was smoky, and 1980’s rock blared from a jukebox.

  She pushed her way up to the bar
and ordered a beer. Suddenly, her senses went on full alert, her nipples swelling to hard little buds, and she felt hot and itchy, and ready to rub her private parts up against the nearest piece of furniture in a desperate bid for relief. . What the hell?

  It definitely wasn’t because of any of the rough crowd pressed up against her at the bar, reeking of beer sweat and cigarette smoke.

  “Enjoying your lunch?” She turned around to see Jax towering over her, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. He wore a black t shirt, jeans, and motorcycle boots. The t-shirt accentuated the swell of his biceps and his flat washboard stomach. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, she’d wager.

  So – apparently her body could sense when Jax was near, and it was like his presence flipped on the remote control which accessed all her erogenous zones.

  “How did you find me here?” she demanded.

  “Same way you kept finding me, sweetheart. I followed you. How’s it feel?”

  “Creepy, and disconcerting,” she grumbled. She slapped a five dollar bill down on the counter, grabbed her beer, and headed back to her table, with Jax following close behind.

  Then she looked around. “Damn it, where’s Pixie? I don’t trust that girl when I can’t see what she’s up to,” she said, plopping down in her seat and squirming a little, because Jax had deliberately brushed up against her as he sat down and it sent a little jolt of electricity straight to her vagina.

  “You shouldn’t trust me even when you can see what I’m up to. Because you only think you can see what I’m up to,” Pixie said, squeezing between two longshoremen to sit down at their table.

  “If someone decides to snap you in half because you just stole their wallet, you’re on your own,” Bobbi informed her.

  “I’m hurt. I almost never get caught,” Pixie said, making a sad face which lasted for about two seconds.

  Today she was wearing her leather jacket, a red plaid miniskirt, and torn fishnets, and Bobbi could swear she had a couple new piercings since yesterday, although she had so many it was hard to keep track. The pretty leaf necklace dangled around her neck, along with a chain with a lock on it and a charm necklace with a skull charm.

  “What are you up to today, Pixie?” Jax asked.

  She leaned forward and said in a lowered voice, “I gave Bobbi some good intel on a gang that’s selling meth down here.”

  Bobbi nodded. “Yes she did. I’m proud of her. And just think, the only wallet she has on her right now is her own. Right?”

  Pixie shrugged, plucking a wallet from her jacket pocket. “It depends on your definition of ownership. Finders keepers, right?” She opened the wallet and went through it, plucking out numbers written on scraps of paper.

  “Eboni, Velvet, Desiree…you won’t be nodding those numbers any more if you’re hooking up with my friend here,” she said to Jax.

  Jax slapped his hand on his rear pocket. “How in the hell?” he roared.

  Pixie tossed the wallet back to him.

  “I am not hooking up with him!” Bobbi gasped, face turning scarlet.

  “Really?” Pixie arched a delicately plucked eyebrow at her. “Well, that’s too bad. The condoms in his wallet?…ribbed, flavored, and, wait for it, extra large.” She winked. “You’re missing out.”

  Jax’s face flushed with anger, as he grabbed the scraps of paper and tossed them into the ashtray on the table.

  Bobbi swallowed hard, forcing away memories of Jax rubbing up against her a couple days earlier. “Pixie. We’ve discussed this already. Don’t steal wallets from shifters; they might bite.”

  “It’s not stealing if I give it right back. I didn’t even keep any of the money.” She tossed the wallet at Jax, who went through his billfold and then shot her a murderous look.

  Pixie rolled her eyes, fished around in her pocket again, and tossed him a couple of twenties. “Jeez. Fine. Here I am, risking my life for the police department, doing my public duty, helping clean up the streets…”

  Jax made a motion as if he were politely applauding, and then made a shooing motion. “I need to talk to Bobbi alone. Scram.”

  Pixie stood up, giving Bobbi a jaunty wave. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble,” she said to Bobbi. “I know people.” And she sauntered off through the crowd.

  “I’m picturing wallets just leaping out of pockets and landing in her hand,” Bobbi sighed. “She’s freaking incorrigible. But, I’ve got to give her props, she’s very good.”

  She shrugged, then turned back to Jax. “So, did you follow me here just for the sheer perverse fun of it, or did you need to speak to me? Because I’ve got a phone. I gave you my number yesterday. You could have just called me.”

  “Nahhh, this was way more fun. And I came here to tell you that I think you should move in with me.”

  Bobbi sat there for a minute, struggling to pick her jaw up off the floor. “I….you…what?” she spluttered. For once she was so taken aback she couldn’t even come up with a snappy comeback. Jax leaned back in his chair, grinning hugely and clearly enjoying her flustered state.

  “Just for the duration of the investigation. Although if you’re a really good little girl, I could extend that a little bit so- hey!” Jax barely had time to move his hand out of the way of the steak knife that she jammed into the table top.

  “Fiesty. I like that,” Jax grinned fiercely, his knee rubbing up against hers.

  Bobbi jerked her knee away, and suppressed a whimper. “I thought you like your women submissive.”

  “Ultimately, that’s what turns me on, but I like a woman with some fight in her. It’s no fun being with someone when she just rolls right over.”

  “Speaking of your many women, I doubt they’d appreciate me being there when they sleep over.” Bobbi gritted the words out, forcing a polite smile on her face.

  “There will be no sleepovers while you’re there.”

  “Because you think I’ll be taking their place?” Bobbi demanded indignantly.

  “No. Because, believe it or not, I do have some respect.”

  “And you think I should move in with you why, exactly?”

  “Because once we go to the club and people see us as a couple, word will get out. You’re staying at the Plaza Hotel right now; yes, I know what room you’re in and what you’ve ordered so far on your room service menu,” he added at her startled look. “If we’re pretending that you’re my girlfriend, then you should be staying with me. We don’t know how long this investigation will take; we could figure it out tonight, or it could drag on for weeks. I’m in it for as long as it takes, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Are you?”

  His gaze pinned hers to her chair. The rest of the room seemed to disappear as she fell into the ocean of his eyes, which were a light shade of brown flecked with black. They were fringed with thick black lashes which would be the envy of any girl, and they held glints of sensual promise.

  She forced herself to concentrate. Yes, she was willing to do whatever it took. She owed to Marcus. Unfortunately, Jax was right. As hard as it would be for her, she should probably move in with him temporarily, to ensure that nobody saw through their cover.

  “So, I take it you have a second bedroom I can sleep in? Or at least a couch?”

  “I have a couch.” He looked amused, which immediately made her suspicious.

  “Fine.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a key, handing it to her. At her surprised look, he said, “I trust you. More or less. Well, mostly less, but put it this way, I don’t expect that you’ll steal from me. You have a good reputation among the Enforcers. Don’t go inviting your friend Pixie over, though.”

  “Are you crazy? She’d find a way to smuggle your furniture and TV out in her pocket.”

  “We should actually head over there now, so we can go over tonight’s plan,” Jax said.

  “Now?” To Bobbi’s mortification, it came out as a startled squeak. Her, Jax, under one roof, all alone…damn it, now she comp
letely understood the concept of blue balls. Blue clit, that was it. She was suffering from blue clit. And she had a whole new sympathy for what men went through.

  Jax held up his hands placatingly. “I will be a complete gentleman, unless you request that I do otherwise. That offer’s open any time, by the way.”

  “Wow. We went from you throwing out an invitation to a one night stand, to us living together and you offering sex on demand. I feel like we might be moving a little too fast.” She stood up and grabbed her purse.

  “What can I say. You’re irresistible.” Jax winked at her.

  She followed him out the door. Jax headed for the Harley Davidson that was parked out front, with two helmets dangling off the handlebars. A mangy looking hyena shifter was eyeing it, and Jax let out a snarl which sent the hyena scrambling and yelping for cover, and then Jax handed Bobbi her helmet. She buckled it on, her heart sinking in her chest.

  Whatever it takes, she reminded herself. Whatever it takes.

  Chapter Nine“Your safe word is onions.”

  “That’s a stupid safeword,” Bobbi grumbled.

  “Okay, pick your own safeword.”

  Bobbi sighed. “Onions is fine.”

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Jax and Bobbi stood outside the club in the parking lot next to the building. The BDSM club was housed in a large, two story brick structure on the outskirts of Playa Linda. It could have been an office building or an apartment building, from all outward appearances. There was no sign advertising what they’d find inside.

  Bobbi felt as if a thousand butterflies were swarming in her stomach, but she took a deep, steadying breath, closed her eyes, and summoned up a picture of Marco. Not the way he’d looked when he died, but the way she remembered him when she was in her teens.

  She opened her eyes and saw Jax staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t read. “I’m okay with it,” she said. “We’re doing what we have to do. For the investigation.”

  He nodded, his gaze sweeping from head to toe, seemingly transfixed. “For the investigation.”