Forced To Kill The Prince

by Hollie Hutchins

  The scraping sound of someone cutting through the glass door on my balcony echoes loudly into my apartment. Numbnuts probably thinks I’m asleep, but at least I know he’s here for me. There’s no way anyone scales a building, fourteen stories in the air, for my inconspicuous apartment, without having a direct connection to me. So I wait. I wait patiently.

  I wait to hear the heavy footsteps of whoever just let themselves inside. The thud against my hardwood floors tells me he’s around 150 pounds. Easy, I think to myself. My breaths are calm. My movements are strategic. Him, on the other hand, a bit clumsy and blatantly unfamiliar with my dwelling … amateur. This is not how to perform a proper breaking and entering.

  Even the sound of the leather tightening around his knuckles, carries through the dark spaces of my living room. Then, his scent hits me, full of sweat and anger. I can’t stand it anymore.

  Rolling around the corner, I meet him as he enters the hallway leading to my bedroom. His arm is softer than I expect, “Are you? Are you wearing cashmere?”

  “Fuck you! Where’s Jimmy’s stash?” he maneuvers around me, locking my head in the crux of his elbow.

  If he thinks he can put me down on my home turf, he’s got another thing coming. Cracking him in the back of his knee, he lets me go. I swoop out from under his grasp, bend his arm behind his back, ignoring his screams of pain and agony… general discomfort.

  “Let me go you sick freak!” he screams.

  “Oh darling you’d rather me be a sick freak than what I’m about to do to you right now,” I tell him. Duct tape and zip ties is all I need to secure him, hog tie him and roll him in my rug. He’s obviously here about Jimmy, so that’s where I’ll send him.

  There are guys I hire when big merchandise needs to be moved. Guys I hire who don’t ask questions. They just pick up and drop off. For a fee, paid with Jimmy’s own money, they arrive to my apartment. Two juggernauts of men move around the sack of human, bound in a Persian roll up, lift him out of the room and carry him out.

  “You have the address right?” I ask one as they head to the elevator, counting off the hundred dollar bills I’d just given him.

  “Yeah, you got it Bentley. Good night,” he waves.

  I close the door behind me, turn the TV back on, and get into bed. Nothing like a little rough housing to settle the mind. The only thing I hear is the soft voice of the newscaster, “In other news, the city is on alert and police are on the lookout for the wolf vigilante. No person of interest has been apprehended but the police chief has issued a warning to any civilians masquerading as a hero: Stop immediately. You’re putting your own lives in danger and actually make the work of the police department and the District Attorney that much harder. No one can put a criminal in jail who hasn’t been read their rights by an officer of the law. Thank you for your cooperation on this matter. Well Jack, it appears we have our very own Wolf Ma-”

  Enough of that bullshit. Any grown man running around LARPing in a poorly made wolf costume deserves everything that’s coming to him, police conviction included. Turning the TV off is the only thing that will let me get to sleep at this point. Sleep so I can dream about the grown man jumping across rooftops wearing his favorite lycan costume. A part of me hopes, just a little bit, that he’s hot. Because if he’s hot, it makes the dream well worth it.

  The next day comes without anymore goons knocking at my window. So I take the opportunity to head out for some fresh air. There’s nothing better than a little window shopping to lift my spirits … or my spirits to enjoy a little shoplifting.

  By the end of my excursion, I have a beautiful new mink wrap, a diamond bezel watch and a pair of shoes to match. It feels so good to be myself again. And with the sensation of normalcy rushing through me, I am polite, hell downright sociable when I see Charlotte approaching me on the street.

  She runs her fingers over the mink, to which I pull away gently. She knows better than that.

  “Sorry I haven’t had it cleaned yet,” I tell her trying to smooth over my icy demeanor.

  “It’s fine,” she grins back to me, “As a matter of fact, it will look perfect for the gala tonight. You’re still coming right?”

  “I completely forgot!” gasping for additional drama, I place my hand over my mouth, “I’ve been so busy just working you know? It completely slipped my mind.”

  “Well slip it back in!” she demands with a chuckle. “I expect to see you tonight and I’ll even make sure you’re at my table with Daddy and the Mayor.”

  “Thanks, you don’t have to,” I insist, but it’s no use. We go back and forth for awhile before I give in and agree to keep my standing invitation.

  As the hours pass, I find myself in a dark green gown. It’s open in the back, plunging just beneath my waist, giving an eyeful to any who’d ever wondered what kind of figure I have. The green dress brought out my green and hazel eyes, even moreso with my dark black ringlets blown straight and slick back.

  There are several moments where I want to turn around and go back home as I walk to the museum where the event is taking place. But a promise is a promise. I never want to alienate any possibility to make money and Charlotte is a golden opportunity I don’t want to let out of my sight. So I park my car a few blocks away and listen to the sounds of my heels click clacking through the pretty quiet night.

  My heart is racing and I don’t know why. My skin is tingling as if there are eyes following me, but turning around, there’s no one there. I speed up trying to get out of the dark, closer to where the gala is happening, but the sound of claws scraping across stone is louder than my heels trotting across concrete.

  I haven’t done anything to warrant the Wolf man’s wrath. But I can hear him now too. Why is he following me? If he wants a fight than he’s surely in for one. I never go down easy. The pig I hogtied the other night is proof of that.

  The sudden swoosh of something big moving above me draws my attention upward. The only thing I see is a husky shadow, an arm grabbing the side of the building and when it let go some stones and chunks of brick and mortar fall. Crashing just behind me, I can’t help but pick up my pace to a light run but the gown I’m in doesn’t lend to my athleticism.

  When he, it, slams down in front of me, I can barely believe my eyes. He’s nearly a foot taller me and a wall of muscle. There are pieces of human flesh that show through. The most telling of his wolf persona is his jaw sloping forward to a sharp fanged muzzle and the fur ranging around his neck and shoulders down across his chest.

  “We need to talk,” his words come out a bit muddy, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

  His dominant persona is nothing sneeze at. His costume is official. It looks way better in person than it does on TV. He pulls me into an alleyway, where I’m not sure if I should be scared or fighting. It’s going to be alright. Regardless of what he has to say, I have my hand gripping the handle of my sharpest blade, which I always hide in the strap and handle of my purse. But first things first, I need to find out what he wants.

  “I don’t know what we need to talk about,” I tell him bluntly, “I don’t run around with kids in costumes and capes.”

  “This ain’t no costume, and I ain’t no kid,” he replies, “But I’m here to warn you. There’s a bounty on your head. The Rigsby’s are trying to have you killed.”

  Chapter 3

  Looking at our city vigilante, I change my mind about him in that moment. He’s much more than some grown man with a fetish for role playing. The teeth, the fur, it’s all convincing. Too convincing.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask him.

  His eyes scan the alley around us. His ears flex as if they hear something. I wish I can be inside his head right now.

  “What kind of socialite gets their sick shit kicks off of meddling with low life drug dealers and their friends?” he questions.

  “Well I ain’t no socialite, and I could ask you the same thing. I mean, why does a grown man dress up like a wolf to stop a pet
ty crime or two?” I shoot back at him.

  “Again, not a costume, but tell me why you ziptied Walter Rigsby?”

  Rubbing my forehead in frustration, I tell him, “I never messed with a Rigsby. The only person I’ve zip tied recently was some goon associated with Jimmy, that lowlife drug dealer. They broke into my apartment but I took care of them. They got exactly what they had coming.”

  “Wrong. That goon was Walter Rigsby. He’s the third youngest nephew to Lawson Rigsby.”

  The Rigsby’s are akin to the Kennedy’s. A crime family with generations of high stakes criminal behavior, and money to fund their enterprise. I’m an ant to them, or at least I was until now.

  “Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Why the hell was a Rigsby doing someone else’s hench work? Seems lowly for underground royalty. Did I say fuck? Shit,” I add, panic’s riding in my gut.

  “Shitfuck would have also been acceptable,” he laughs, “But the guy you put down in Club Haze a few weeks back; him and Walter are childhood friends. Walter decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  “Really? By himself? He really went through all the trouble of breaking into my apartment for his friend?”

  “Believe it or not, people actually care about other people in their lives. But the Rigsby’s also take advantage of any opportunity to get their hands bloody,” he tells me.

  “Sounds like somebody else we know?” my eyes can’t help but travel down his silhouette to the claws protruding from his hands.

  Flexing his fist, he says, “Listen, I’m doing you a favor here. I don’t have to tell you anything about these guys but I feel like if we put our heads together, we can help each other out and the city.”

  Just as I’m about to tell him I work alone, three guys come around the edge of the building. Maybe I can use a teeny bit of help.

  One is in a hood, the other two greasy looking, ragtag, dollar a day henchmen start cracking their knuckles. The one in the hood speaks, “You messed up bitch. Walter’s gonna filet you like a fish! Grab her!”

  My knife’s new target, how nice. I take a step back waiting for them to get to me, but Wolfie takes over. The first swipe of his hand wastes the guy cracking his knuckles while the other is a bit more combative. The one in the hood obviously has his eyes on me as he ducks under and around their battle, charging closer and closer.

  Unsheathing my blade from the handle in my purse, I fling it with accuracy hitting him in the thigh. It’s possible I hit an artery or something else important as the sound of blood and flesh sound awfully loud. Or that could be the sound of my new wolf friend tearing into the other two.

  By the time the three are out cold, he holds his hand out to me, “We can do this together, but while you make up your mind, I think we should get off the street.”

  “I think you’re right but first,” I pull away from his grasp snatching my blade out of the guy’s thigh, “You have to show me what’s under the fur.”

  There’s no way I’m going anywhere with some costume clad caped crusader.

  “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again,” he says extending his arms out to me, “This ain’t a costume.”

  Taking his gesture for what it is, I run my fingers over his forearms. His skin is warm, the fur is coarse, but it doesn’t budge like a sleeve or anything. His veins pulsate underneath, my heart skips a beat. My fingers trace his trail of hair up his body, from his shoulders to his face. I gaze into his icy blue eyes while my hands stroke the side of his cheek, moving down toward his muzzle. The fangs are sharp, the gums are solid, and he shakes his face away from my touch.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good dental exam as much as the next guy, but your hands are filthy,” he chuckles.

  “Sorry,” the joke doesn’t even register with me. I’m in awe. He’s real. He’s a real canine, wolf, man, thing! I don’t know what’s right in the world anymore if someone like him exists. This is too much. The sky seems to be tilting. The ground feels like it’s toppling. And I’m going down.

  Everything fades to black.

  The scent of cinnamon and fire jar me from my sleep. Opening my eyes, it takes a while for things to come into focus. Flames dance in front of me. A black marble fireplace with a charcoal mantle are the only things I can see. The room is dark, silent.

  I begin to feel around for my stuff. My purse is on the coffee table. Everything is still inside. I can see my phone, but I don’t have the urge to call anyone. It’s not like I’m close to somebody who’s deserving of this call, anyway.

  Pushing myself off the couch, my feet touch the marble floor but it’s warm, soothing, comforting. I don’t know what I’m expecting but I have to figure out where I am and how I got here.

  The place has tall ceilings with beautiful art hanging on the walls. There are a few pieces I’m familiar with and can fetch a pretty dime for but stealing from the wolf guy who saved me doesn’t seem like the brightest idea. So I silence my itch to clean the place out and continue to seek out my host.

  He’s sitting out on the balcony, perched on the ledge, looking out to the city.

  “So this is your place?” I ask stepping through the large double doors.

  “Yeah,” he mumbles, his gaze never wavering from the city around us.

  “Um, how long do I have to stay here?” I wonder, still a bit fearful of him.

  “I’m not keeping you here. You passed out. I couldn’t leave you on the street and being that you mentioned Walter came to your apartment, I figured that wouldn’t be a great place to try to even find. You still look tired and I have to get back out there. You should get some rest,” he tells me.

  I want to take it as a dig, but the weary look in my eyes are a dead giveaway. And sleep sounds amazing right now, “Okay I’ll stay the night, but only if you promise not to eat my face off.”

  “I don’t eat faces,” he winks at me as he leads me off the balcony and down a hallway. He shows me to a door that opens into a bedroom. It’s clean, obviously unlived in. “This is my guest room. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like while we’re working to take the Rigsby’s down.”

  “But I haven’t made up my mind yet. I like to work alone,” I tell him.

  Shrugging his shoulders, “Fine take your time. I’m not rushing you, but I’m not stopping my quest to take that family down.”

  “I wouldn’t dare ask you to. And you’re sure humans aren’t on the menu here?”

  “Humans are meant to be enjoyed, never digested,” he tells me with a gleam in his eyes.

  I half believe him.

  Chapter 4

  Sinking into the mattress, I open my eyes. The ceiling has some kind of inlay pattern. The place is beautiful and I bet he didn’t have to steal from anyone to get it. My naked body feels comfort under the blanket. It’s the first time I feel safe in a very long time.

  Being out on the streets, since the age of six, I can vaguely remember the last time I could sleep so peacefully. That feeling used to come to me at home, but with the Rigsby situation, I know it’s going to be a long time before it comes again. I'm going to have to find another place to live and it’s hard enough doing that with a history as checkered as mine. Perhaps one of my millionaire colleagues can do me a solid. Ugh, I don’t want to think about any of this.

  Luckily enough, the scent of coffee wafting through the door is enough to distract me from the looming problems waiting for me outside of this apartment. Tossing a towel from the bathroom around my body, I poke my head into the hallway. There’s another door, I assume is his room, toward my left. The kitchen and balcony are toward my right. My curiosity drags me from my room and toward the other bedroom.

  Opening the door, I hope I can snoop as silently as possible. His views are phenomenal. The floor to ceiling windows scale an entire wall. My heart races as if I’m standing out on the ledge myself so I back up. The walls are black. No surprise there. There’s gold trim and black marble floors. The same as the living room. He has expensive taste. There a
re two doors on either side of the fireplace along another wall. A closet and a bathroom.

  “Ahem,” he clears his voice from the doorway. Turning around I stop dead in my tracks. His bare chest is well defined with muscles rippling down to his waist. With a pair of linen pajama pants, he’s practically unrecognizable from his wolf form of last night.

  “Sorry, I was, um, looking for the bathroom,” I tell him. I’m not sure if he believes me, but I really don’t care.

  He raises an eyebrow, “I’m sure you know there’s a bathroom in your room since you’re wearing one of my towels.”

  Crap!

  “Okay fine, you got me. But you can’t blame me for wanting to look around. I mean, it’s kind of crazy what you do, what you are.”

  “Agreed, but would you like some clothes to put on? Unless you want to eat breakfast in the gown from last night?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes.

  Those icy blue eyes … if they weren’t the same from the night before, I’d think it’s a trick he’s playing. But the feeling is familiar. He has a trusting spirit and he didn’t eat my face off.

  “Sure. I would really appreciate it,” I tell him.

  He fishes through his closet, tossing a robe onto the bed along with a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. They look a bit frilly for him, but that’s none of my business.

  “My sister left them here, last time she was in town,” he tells me. It’s as if he can tell what I’m thinking. I put the clothes on and leave the towel on his bed. “I’m sure you can swipe something more to your liking later.”

  Leering at him, I follow him down the hall into the kitchen where a nice spread of food is waiting on the table. There’s a stack of pancakes, at least a pound of bacon and other breakfast meat, some fruit, and even a few danishes.