Big Bad Wolf

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Big Bad Wolf Page 9

by Suleikha Snyder


  It was ridiculous to be this nervous. To feel this sweaty and out of control. And not over what was going to happen in the courtroom. He didn’t give a shit about his plea and the judge and whatever the hell Feinberg and Taylor wanted him to do. It was all about her. Neha. And that damn voice deep inside him that couldn’t seem to say anything but “mine.” He could hardly sleep for thinking about it. Fuck, his priorities really were for shit.

  Of course, he didn’t really think she’d show. Why would she? How could he ever be that lucky, right? So, when the anteroom door clicked shut behind her, he went a little light-headed. Like she was a hallucination. A beautiful fantasy in a fitted gray suit and beige heels, she looked so much better than he ever could. “We don’t have much time.” She stayed there, in the doorway, staring at him with those big doe eyes. “They’re going to call you in soon.”

  “I know.” He couldn’t stop drinking her in. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t matter because she was here. For him. For this. She was so damn hungry for it. Just as ravenous as he was. Maybe she hadn’t been kissed right in months. Probably hadn’t been fucked good in years…and, hell, neither had he. He felt the want rolling off her in waves, masquerading as caution. But she wasn’t afraid. Not of this. Not of him. Not of the creature beneath his skin. And she came closer when she should have backed up.

  “God, this is so unethical,” she said with a weary little laugh. He could see the faintest circles under her eyes. Like she hadn’t gotten much sleep either. Like maybe this had kept her up, too. “I’d throw a book against the wall for pulling this shit. Walk out of a movie theater.”

  “You can walk outta here, too, Doc.” It was the last thing he wanted. But he had enough kindness in him, just the tiniest bit, to make the offer. “You can leave. Pretend this never happened. You were never here.”

  She just shook her head, pink lips pressing tight before she spoke. “You know I can’t do that. You wouldn’t have asked what you asked if you thought that was an option.”

  Wouldn’t he have? Wasn’t he just enough of a mess to ask for things he couldn’t have? He was a guy used to hand-me-down shoes and dollar slices and military programs that would feed you and clothe you in exchange for playing Dr. Frankenstein. She could’ve said no. She could’ve blown him off today. He’d expected her to blow him off today.

  Instead, she made the first move. “Joe?” She wasn’t asking what he was going to do. She was telling him what she was about. And she did it better than he did back in the jail. She walked up to him nice and slow. She even fucking looked to him for consent. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

  Is that okay? Sexy, smart goddess in her short skirt and fuck-me shoes. He wasn’t going to tell her no. He wasn’t going to do anything but lift his cuffed hands so she could slip into the loop of his arms. It was like she belonged there. Fucking cliché, but true. Soft and slight, almost level with him thanks to her heels. Smelling like that flowery shampoo and something earthy and elemental that the wolf inside him recognized. Maybe all he needed was this. Maybe he didn’t need more. But she’d said she was going to kiss him, and she kept her word.

  She did it with her eyes open, still careful, still checking in, and it was so damn sweet he could have been at the prom instead of a holding room with a cop outside the door. Except he’d spent most of the prom going down on his date in the band room, hadn’t he? So Neha really didn’t have to go through all the formalities. She didn’t have to be sweet. He didn’t need wooing or courting. And if they only had minutes, he wanted to make the most of them. He kissed her back hard and fierce, until she quit looking and started feeling. Until he was losing himself in the heat of her pretty mouth and her eager tongue.

  Neha slipped her arms around him, getting in as close as she could with their clothes on. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. They were making out like dumb kids after sunset in the park—kids who’d said “fuck it” to prom and to each other—and he couldn’t get enough of it. Fuck. Yeah. He angled his head, tasted her jaw, and licked a trail down her throat, and she ground against his hip, rubbing all over him. He grabbed her ass, because he couldn’t hold on to much else with the damn cuffs on, and she moaned, telling him, “Yes, Joe. Yes.” Jesus fucking Christ. He could come in his pants just from this, but he wanted to get her off a dozen times first.

  This woman was something. Maybe she was everything. He wanted to find out.

  But all he did was slam her to the floor. Because a burst of gunfire blew through the door, the window, and the wall, sending shards of glass and drywall raining into the room.

  Neha curled into him, ducked her head, a scream dying in her throat. His fur rippled under his clothes, claws and teeth straining to pop. But he couldn’t change. He couldn’t. Fuck. They rolled together, still caught in the circle of each other’s arms. He bit back the pain of his interrupted shift, knocked the table over and forward so it shielded them. And the bullets kept coming…until they didn’t. Until everything went quiet except for the alarmed shouts outside. Shit. No wonder the uniform at the door was happy to take a couple of greenbacks to leave them alone. He’d already been on the payroll for a hit.

  “Let me… I…” Neha wriggled out from their enforced clinch, so they were each as free to move as they could be, given that someone had just been shooting at them. And even though that improved their chances of survival, he couldn’t help but miss how she’d felt plastered against him. Hell, if he was gonna die right now, why not die inside her?

  He entertained that thought for about a split second. Then he levered them both up. Told her to run. But there was something in their way. The guard, slumped over the threshold. Riddled with bullets. A victim of the assault he was probably in on. Joe didn’t waste any tears on him, instead quickly rifling through his pockets for the handcuff keys. Precious seconds. Anticipating more bullets. Shouting at Neha, “Go!”

  And then they were both out the door. Down the hall. Through the crowds of people already getting the hell gone. She tugged him to the fire stairs. Nothing fueling them but go and escape and now. They made it two blocks, maybe three, before she stumbled in those ridiculous high heels. Goddammit, Doc. He hauled her to her feet. His grip on her wrist was like a match on the side of its box. She cried out his name. Half in pain and half in relief. Maybe an extra half in lust. Need. Tension. Whatever this thing was between them.

  Before he knew it, they were ducking into the narrow space between two buildings. Hands roaming everywhere. Checking for wounds. He already felt like shit. Looked it, too. Wasn’t anything new to catalog. But she tried anyway, touching him with those clean little fingers. His touch wasn’t as innocent. He patted down her breasts and lingered. Grabbed on to her hips and her tight butt. He couldn’t hear much over the rush of blood in his ears. But he was still gonna wait for a yes. A sign. Another match to the flame.

  “Joe?” This time when she said his name, it was permission. And when she tilted her face up and kissed him, that was permission, too. Permission and a demand. Pushed by adrenaline and need and fear and things she would probably regret later.

  He wasn’t going to regret them at all.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said before he unbuckled his pants.

  It was hard and nasty and frantic. Getting into her clothes. Finding her wet. Still smelling gun oil and smoke as he pressed her thighs apart and sank into her. He licked the corner of her mouth. Tasted the blood on his own bitten lips instead of her beauty mark.

  It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t kind. It was rutting knowing you were inches from dying. The only thing he could offer a woman anymore. And she took it. All of it. Tugging at his hair. His ears. Going wild. Crying and cussing him out and sinking her teeth into his throat. Adding to the scars he would never count. They didn’t have time for this. They took it anyway. Stole it. Owned it. Rubbing all up on each other. Sticky and sweaty and dirty.

  He could feel her everywhere even thoug
h they were both still mostly dressed. Hear her breath and her heart and even the blood racing through her veins. In pace with his. This beautiful, sexy woman keeping up with the wolf’s hunger, the man’s appetite. Joe had never had a quick fuck like this…one that felt like hours packed into a few filthy minutes. When she went over, it was like her whole body caught fire. So hot. Melting. Burning his cock so hard that he barely remembered to pull out before he shot his load.

  Fuck, man. Fuck.

  He asked her for time while he was barely done spilling all over the bricks. Leaning his forehead against hers. Breathing her in. Ass bared to anybody who wanted to look into the alley, to any cops who might want to shoot him in it. “Just a little time. Let me figure this out. Let me figure out what I’m gonna do. And then I swear I’ll contact you. I’ll find a way.”

  Her eyes were huge. Glassy. Like a doll’s. She nodded. Clutched him. Let go. Clutched him again. Shock. Yeah, of course. She just got shot at and then fucked raw against a wall. Her skin was ice-cold. He had ideas about how to warm her up, but no time to put them into action. It was too dangerous. They’d risked too much already. And he couldn’t be weighed down. No ties. No baggage. No matter how prettily she came around his cock. They’d write this fuck off as a one-time thing. Adrenaline. Stress. A mistake. Something they had to get out of the way because it was too deep under the skin.

  “I’m sorry, Doc,” he whispered, rubbing her hands. Kissing them, too. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. Thank you for giving me one last good thing to remember.”

  * * *

  The bricks dug into her back. She was winded and dirty, and she’d just fucked a shape-shifter in an alley. A shifter. A criminal. A killer. Unprotected. Sure, he’d pulled out, but she was still wet from both of them. From insanity and adrenaline and the need that had been clawing in her since the day they met. Maybe it spoke to just how screwed up she was that, in that moment, she didn’t give a flying fuck. All she could register were Joe’s hands rubbing hers, trying to coax some warmth back into her numb fingers. His mouth, so mean a few minutes ago, was sweet and soft against her palms. And he told her he was sorry. So, so sorry. Not for the sex but for leaving her afterward.

  No. Awareness, reality flooded back to Neha in one sharp slap. She didn’t need a grounding trick this time. “No, you can’t go,” she gasped, lurching forward so fast that their foreheads knocked together. “Your case is shot if you leave.”

  Joe let go of her fingers, chuckling as he touched the spot where they’d bumped. “We ran, baby. My case is already shot because somebody shot at us. And my only chance is if I get to the motherfuckers that did it. If I hit them before they can hit at me again.”

  She knew with every fiber of her being that he was wrong…which was funny, considering her complete lack of moral fortitude five minutes ago, when she was scratching at him and biting and taking him so deep that she could still feel him inside her. But facts were facts. If he went off on his own right now, he’d really be screwed. No third chances. He’d be hunted by the motherfuckers and the law. Every cop in the New York metro area. State troopers. Feds. Sanctuary City rules would not keep him safe.

  She could already hear the sirens. Fire trucks, too. The courthouse was still in chaos, but that didn’t mean they had time to waste. Neha hurriedly tugged up her underwear, put herself to rights. It was a miracle her brain worked after having so much of it fucked out of her, but she heard herself spitting out words that made a lot of sense. At least to her. She couldn’t account for them making sense to anybody else. “I’m coming with you. I can help you, and I can hide you while we work through this together.”

  “Doc…”

  “No. You’re not going off on your own right now.” She didn’t give him time to disagree. She wrapped both arms around one of his and tugged. “Come on.”

  Joe could have easily shrugged off her grip, pushed her away with no effort at all. Instead, he let her hustle him toward Jay Street–MetroTech. She thanked their collective lucky stars for the lack of drones overhead and swiped them both down into the bowels of the New York City subway system, while the howls of the emergency crews got louder and uniforms started converging in doorways. With any luck, the cops would focus on Hoyt Street and the 2 train because it was closer to the courthouse, not realizing they’d wandered further—in more ways than one.

  Neha was wholly conscious of how undone she was, how completely obliterated. Luckily—though they both looked disheveled—in their court suits, they were just three-martini-lunch casualties instead of persons of interest. No one gave them a second glance as they caught the Downtown F. Especially when she draped herself across Joe’s lap, turning them into one of those obnoxious PDA pairs that was a bigger eyesore than the rats and graffiti. Neha’s hair spilled around them, hiding Joe’s face for the duration of the ride.

  It was only fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, but it felt interminable. His eyes locked on hers. The bulge of his erection under her thighs. How was he still hard? How was she still craving him despite finally giving in to her wildest impulse? It didn’t make any sense. But he was and she was. Damp for him, turned on, still slick from her last orgasm. She didn’t know if she’d have time to shower once they got to her place. Or time to fuck him again. But she desperately needed both.

  “Why?” His voice rasped along her ear like sandpaper. It was a lot of questions packed into one, but Joe plucked out the most interesting to him in this moment. “Why’d you let me do it?”

  There was no “letting.” Any more than you “let” a volcano erupt or a tornado wipe out your house. She said as much aloud. He made a sound low in his throat and threaded his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head. “Baby, you are so fucked,” he groaned before kissing her.

  She wanted to stay like that forever. Fused to his lips. Safe in his arms. But the automated announcement for their stop pulled her away. Another cold-slap reminder that this night was not over. That they’d made their bed but they didn’t have time to sleep in it.

  Neha’s place was five blocks from the subway station, on the ground floor of a two-story house, with her own entrance off the side. Even with the uptick in surveillance across all the boroughs, there was no one to see her tug Joe inside. No one to see him press her against the closed door and kiss her again.

  She clung to him then, climbing him like a vine. Because she was still afraid he’d let her go, shove her away, and ruin any chance they had of getting him out of this alive.

  He was right. She was so fucked.

  Chapter 11

  The courthouse was a fucking zoo for hours after the shooting. Nate had spent the initial moments afterward facedown on the courtroom floor, trapped beneath Dustin, who’d hit the deck with him on instinct. And he’d been thankful to feel that weight on top of him—terrified, unable to breathe, hearing the echoes of gunfire even after it stopped, but so thankful that Dustin was there, with him, and not somewhere in the line of fire. They said your life was supposed to flash before your eyes at times like that…but it wasn’t his life he’d seen. Just D’s. Please don’t be hurt, he’d begged. Please don’t be shot. Because they couldn’t be the Wonder Twins if one of them was dead.

  Three minutes after that, Nate had realized that Peluso was the target of the hit…and that Neha had been with him. And the shit had really hit the fan. The ADA on the case had cornered him, along with an NYPD detective and two uniforms. An agent from the Supernatural Regulation Bureau wasn’t far behind. The questions had rung in his ears just like the gunfire. “Did your client plan this?” “How much did you know?” “Can we assume your client took your associate against her will?”

  They couldn’t assume anything, despite the APB that had gone out within twenty minutes of Peluso’s vanishing act. Nate had a hard time believing that the moody loner they could barely convince to cooperate would be capable of arranging a breakout from the Kings County Criminal
Court—and he said as much while pinned under Detective Hudson’s shrewd gaze.

  “I’m inclined to see this as another instance of retaliation from the Russian mafia,” Dustin added. “Peluso incurred numerous injuries while in lockup, and while he didn’t say outright that they were courtesy of Vasiliev’s organization, our sources told us exactly who was walking around with bruised knuckles afterward.”

  Dustin had a way of putting people at ease. And it wasn’t a supernatural talent either. He claimed it came from being six foot four and built like a linebacker. He’d learned to balance his size with his honeyed voice and an even temper. “I’m a gentle giant,” he insisted, dark eyes always twinkling. Nate had no illusions that the act was easy. Growing up in Bed-Stuy, D had encountered his fair share of trouble with people who wanted to pick a fight with a warrior poet. And coming over the bridge to play with the straight WASPs of the Manhattan elite wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. Nor was dealing with law enforcement. They were both very, very aware of the uniforms. Two young white men barely out of diapers had their hands hovering over their holsters.

  Detective Hudson made a noise of disgust, shaking his head. “I’m going to want statements from both of you,” he barked. “And don’t leave town.”

  “But I had a pressing engagement in the Hamptons on Wednesday.” Nate couldn’t help himself. “Tennis with Alec Baldwin.”

  Hudson scowled. The ADA—a skinny Princeton grad who’d been on the floor with him just a short time before—looked disgusted. Nate wasn’t particularly concerned about making a good impression with Carter Beckinsale. The guy would never, ever relate to someone like Joe Peluso—and his goal would be making sure a jury had the same deficiency. See Peluso as less than. See him as an animal.

 

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