Big Bad Wolf

by Suleikha Snyder

  He’d broken so much more than his nondisclosure agreement for her. She couldn’t fathom it. And now? Now, he’d changed the game entirely. “They’ll have to know you took the chip out. Won’t they come after you?”

  “Add ’em to the list.” His eyes twinkled with dark humor. “The Russian mob, the cops, the feds… Might as well throw in Apex, too.”

  Neha shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could ward off shivers that had nothing to do with feeling cold. “You have a death wish or what?”

  “No.” Joe chuckled like he didn’t quite believe his negative reply. And then he looked up at her, his gaze searching and seeking and searing her to the bone. “All I’ve ever done is survive. And since I met you, the only wish I’ve got is to live.”

  She was no stranger to romantic declarations. Had heard plenty of platitudes from all kinds of men. Joe Peluso, with his gruff voice and blunt Queens accent, put them all to shame. She didn’t know what to say in response. So, she didn’t say anything. She just scrambled out of her chair and into his lap and pressed her lips to his.

  His mouth opened beneath hers, wet and hungry. She could taste the growl building at the back of his throat. His bare arms tightened under her grasping hands…and bristled. Stiff hairs brushed her palms. The musky scent of animal rose from his hot skin. Not unpleasant. Just…different. Like a wine description at an upscale bar. He was earthy, rich, smoky. Like the forest floor. She’d always wondered who went around licking the forest floor in order to make such a comparison…and, as her tongue tangled with his, she completely understood the compulsion.

  “Doc…” Breathing raggedly, he moaned the endearment—because that’s what it was; it had long since stopped being just her title. “It’s been too long. Too fucking long. You ready for a show?”

  Was she ready for the truth of him? For as much as he’d already shown her, and what she’d glimpsed while extracting the inhibitor, this was a different kind of intimacy. This was his choice. This was hers. Seeing the mouth that had been between her legs turn to muzzle. Watching the fingers that had stroked into her become claws. What if it was too much? What if it was terrible and horrible and gross?

  Neha didn’t hesitate a second longer. “Yes,” she said against his jaw, which was already shaded with several days’ growth of beard. “I’m ready. Show me who you are.”

  “Okay. Okay.” The repetition of the word, exhaled in a huff, was like permission granted. The last bit of tape ripping away from his control. He gently set her aside, letting her claim his spot on the mattress, and then stumbled backward into the studio’s open area, every inch of his body exposed to her gaze.

  She would never get tired of seeing him naked. His powerful, work-hewn form stole her breath. But watching it contort—watching him change—was something else entirely. A theft of not just her air but her reality, her perception, her understanding of the universe.

  His back bowed like it had while she was working on him. Then his bones cracked. Nails elongated. Hands became paws. Hair became fur. She tried to avert her eyes from his cock, but she was human and woman and curious. Fascinated by how his genitals drew up and morphed.

  Something like a laugh escaped Joe’s vocal cords. And what sounded like “You’re killin’ me, Doc.”

  “You’d look, too!” she pointed out as her cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  His reply was a defensive bark. Because, all of a sudden, what stood before her was a massive four-legged beast that could barely be called a wolf. Five feet at the shoulder. Sleek black coat and amber-gold eyes. It would’ve been strange to see Joe’s very human chocolate-brown eyes looking back at her out of this face, she realized. More disturbing than his overall transformation into this ginormous canine creature. He was likely triple human Joe’s fighting weight. One lash of his tail could probably take out an opponent.

  His tail. Neha giggled. She couldn’t help herself. Chalk it up to stress-induced hysteria. But the man she’d gotten to know over the past few weeks had a tail, and he was roughly the size of a pony, and what exactly was she supposed to do with that? “Nice doggy?” she offered, as the laughter drove her back against the bed.

  Joe woofed softly, showing his teeth in what would probably be an expression of aggression in a real wolf but was clearly just an exasperated smile from him. He stalked forward, the ripple and shift of his muscles mesmerizing, silencing the last of her mirth.

  She wasn’t afraid. She’d never been afraid of him.

  “Nicest doggy,” she said this time. “You are such a good boy.”

  Joe gave her a toothy grin—a very bad boy’s grin—and then his body began to bend and break with transformation once more.

  * * *

  He’d never shown anyone outside his unit the change before. Or the change back. When it was all said and done, he was standing there before her shivering and sweating like a motherfucker. He felt…small. Like being human again had diminished him somehow. And his brains were rattled. Half-wolf, half-human. The thoughts still coming in bursts. Mostly in English, partially in instinct. Instincts that told him it was all different now. That he was back at square one…that place where he was nothing and she was everything. She’s not for you, buddy. She’s never going to be for you.

  “Joe? Are you okay?” The smile she had on her face was gone. No more “nice doggy” for him. “Is everything alright?”

  No. No, it wasn’t alright. It wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. “Do you still want me? Knowing what I really am? Seeing it?”

  Neha looked at him with her heart in her eyes. Yeah. Fuck. Here he was, Joe Peluso, fearless special operative, shape-shifter, ruthless executioner of mafia thugs, terrified of rejection. After everything they’d already been through.

  “I kissed you in the courthouse knowing what you really are,” she reminded him. “I took you into my body knowing you took lives. Eyes wide open. What makes you think this is the deal breaker?”

  She moved toward him slowly, palms out, like he was still the wary wolf. “Your fur is beautiful, Joe. Seeing you shift into it doesn’t make it ugly. And I don’t want you any less than I did before.” She took one of his hands in both of hers, brought it to her face and nuzzled into his palm. “I still want you to touch me. I still want you to kiss me. And I still want you to fu—”

  He cut her off then. With a growl and the hot press of his mouth on hers. The kiss was fierce but gentle. Claiming but exploring. He brought her fully against him, cradling her cheek with one hand and her hip with the other, encircling her in the cage of his arms and the wall of his chest. A better prison cell than Kings County could ever offer.

  “Doc. Jesus, Doc, I don’t deserve you,” he whispered into her lips.

  “Then become the man who does.”

  Chapter 19

  Almost three days went by before Yulia and Danny could meet in person. Seventy-two of the longest hours of Yulia’s life. Seventy-two hours that she spent either hiding from Aleksei’s rages or bearing witness to them. Or tossing and turning with fantasies that she dared not make reality. Shifting to her purest form and tearing out her brother’s throat. Stripping to her skin and pressing her lips to Danny’s.

  And then she took the F train just long enough to shake one of her brother’s hired spies before transferring to the G all the way out to Williamsburg, to a hipster whiskey joint where they paired every shot with a kind of grilled cheese. Just another girl with dirty-blond hair, too much makeup, and her yoga mat hooked below the bar. Nothing to see here. Danny, however, stood out in any crowd, even though he wore the Brooklyn uniform of flannel shirt and beanie cap. He was clean-shaven, golden skinned, and stunningly handsome. “You should model,” she’d blurted out the first time he came into the Confessional. “NYPD Hunk of the Month calendar, Mr. October,” he’d said without skipping a beat.

  Her heart skipped at least two when he walked t
oward her. Because it felt like it’d been years, not months, that they’d been apart. And a very significant part of her just wanted to fall into his arms and sob. Silly. She’d never sobbed a day in her life. She could not start now. But she did lean in for the obligatory hug and air kiss, breathing him in as her lips barely brushed his cheek. This was what safety tasted and smelled like, she thought. Crisp, clean, and a hint of soap.

  “Yulia.” His hands came down on her shoulders, and his dark eyes were stern as he stopped her from pulling away. “Are you okay?”

  No. Yes. How to answer such a loaded question? Instead she turned and ordered a shot of Buffalo Trace, neat, from the harried man behind the bar. Danny followed her lead, even though he must have been on duty—there was the telltale lump of his badge on a chain beneath his shirt—and asked for an old-fashioned with Bulleit rye.

  It was like they were on a date. A very awkward first date. With the topics of murder and mafia and betrayal between them. It was never silk. It was never skin. She’d never fucked this man, only fucked him over by involving him in her problems. Yulia prayed she wouldn’t do the latter again. At least not until she had a chance to do the former. It was silly, now that she thought about it, for them to have waited. Played such tame and tender games of flirtation instead of taking what they wanted that first night, or the second, or the third. He could’ve gone home with her then. He could not go home with her now.

  They spent a half hour making idle chatter and finishing their drinks. Yulia perched on the edge of a stool. Danny stood angled toward her, one elbow resting on the wood grain of the bar. For a short time, the fiction of the date worked. His eyes twinkled. She joked about the classes she was no longer taking, the dog she left with a roommate in Windsor Terrace. He swept up her yoga mat on their way out, slinging it over his shoulder as though he did so every day. And she told him the truth like she did so every day.

  “Things are out of control, Danny. I need your help.”

  He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. “I’m listening.”

  As he walked her back toward the G train, she told him everything she knew. About Aleksei’s rage. About the man he’d hosted in the Pit. About the person he took orders from on the phone. They didn’t speak for long after her revelations, didn’t dare linger…but she didn’t want to let go of his hand, of the sense of being steadied and protected by the simple press of his fingers. How much safer would she feel under the press of his lips? It was reckless, utterly irrational, to wish for that, to lean in for that in public. Where anyone could see and report back to Aleksei. Yulia was so tired of being smart.

  She pulled him aside and in toward her, just a few steps from the subway. Under the shade of a bodega awning. Years of longing, of wondering, of denying…she molded them into one stolen moment. Licking the hints of whiskey and sugar from his full bottom lip.

  “Yulia…” He groaned her name quietly, as if chiding her for the epically bad idea. But he also pulled her closer, hand to hip, mouth to mouth, kissing her back with heat and tenderness. Yes. This would sustain her in the days ahead. It had to.

  It was over too quickly, practicality forcing them apart once more. Leaving her with a gossamer memory to stow in the vault, like all of the precious things in her life. “It’s okay,” he whispered once they reached the top of the station stairs. “You did the right thing. And I’ll keep you safe.”

  Oh, Danny, she thought, as she took one last look at him. His face, his hands, his silly hipster hat. It was not her own safety she worried over but the safety of everyone else. The men her brother hated. The girls who waited tables at Kamchatka and the boys who worked in the kitchens and tended bar. The city at large. Anyone who got in Aleksei’s way.

  Her phone rattled in her bag a mere three stops from Williamsburg. Just once. A text message, courtesy of the MTA’s unreliable Wi-Fi. She unearthed the mobile, balancing her yoga mat and trying not to hit the person in the seat next to her. And then she swiped to the message, and the bourbon she’d consumed with Danny sloshed sickly in her stomach. The smartphone felt cold and slippery in her palm. Come to work. Now. Aleksei. As if he’d sensed her fears, known she’d set out to thwart and betray him.

  No. No, she could not let him learn what she’d done. Or what else she might do.

  The club was practically dead when she stepped through its doors some thirty minutes later. She’d wanted nothing more than to go directly home to the one-bedroom she leased in her uncle Stanislav’s house. Go home, and then cradle Danny’s words close to her chest as she slept. But the sharp text from Aleksei had forced her to detour. There were only a few people on the main floor, picking at appetizers and drinking martinis. A handful more in the VIP area. It was after eight, prime drinking hour on a Thursday, and she’d specifically asked Ana to cover her shift because it would be too busy for one of the waitresses to balance hostessing along with her tables. But it wasn’t busy at all. Strange. Stranger still was the chill of the staff hallways, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled with awareness just as goose bumps broke out on her arms. Something was wrong.

  Admittedly, something was always wrong at her brother’s place of business, but this was different. Specific. Before Yulia could even process that it was specific to her, affirm that his text message had triggered the correct instincts, it was too late. She was in front of Aleksei’s open office door and facing the gleaming muzzle of his gun.

  “Did you enjoy your date, rybka?”

  How appropriate that he called her “little fish,” trapped as she was in his precious nightclub like it was a barrel. So easy to shoot. Had it only been an hour ago that she was safe by Danny’s side? It seemed like lifetimes now, as the man before her—the man she’d always known to be cruel and humorless—flipped his weapon around and around like it was nothing more than a quarter dancing on his knuckles.

  “Well?” he prodded. “Nothing to report, sister mine?”

  Yulia’s hands clenched and unclenched around the strap of her purse. Air trapped itself between her throat and her lungs. She couldn’t give up Danny so easily. All her risks would be in vain. She did the only thing she could in that moment. She donned a shaky smile and prepared to show her most important customer the best table in the house. Aleksei wanted the truth. What he’d get was a song and dance.

  “I did not think you’d find out,” she confessed, her Russian deliberately breathless and high-pitched with nerves. “I just had to see him, Aleksei. I could not take the distance anymore.”

  “I could put so much distance between you. Earth. Ocean. Fire. Whichever element I choose to use, I could.” He barked out a laugh, his eyes like chips of ice. Their entire lives, people had told them they looked alike, but she couldn’t see it. Yes, they were both fair-haired and pale-eyed, but violence had warped her brother’s features at an early age. There was a coldness to him. As if he generated a deep freeze like a superpowered villain. This was not like looking into a mirror. It was like gazing into a void.

  “Why? What does it matter to you? You have everything, Aleksei. Everyone at your service. You cleared the club on a Thursday, when we turn a good profit, and for what…? To wave your gun at me because you do not like the man I love?” She made a light noise of confusion, even though her heart thudded in her chest with perfect clarity. “I do not understand. Why must you keep us apart?”

  “As if you are Romeo and Yuliet?” he scoffed. “You do know how that story ends, yes?”

  Yes. She’d always known that. But there was one important thing her brother was forgetting. She inhaled. Exhaled. Said the words with as much sweetness as she could muster.

  “Tybalt dies, too.”

  * * *

  Third Shift was not a nine-to-five operation—not with most of its operatives pulling double duty as private citizens with regular day jobs. Team meetings could happen at six in the morning, two thirty in the afternoon or, like now, a little a
fter eleven. Danny had been at the office for hours, going straight from Williamsburg to Hell’s Kitchen and into the conference room, which was now in command-center mode with its windows opaque. His third can of Red Bull was parked next to his laptop, which was streaming both Yulia’s location and a live audio feed—courtesy of the spider he’d slipped into her purse.

  God, it had terrified him to hear Aleksei call her out. His first impulse had been to commandeer one of the motorcycles from storage downstairs and ride to her rescue. But then he’d kept listening. Kept breathing. She’d managed her psychotic brother nicely, putting him in his place without arousing suspicion of what she was really up to. Still, Danny hadn’t really been able to unclench until he heard the telltale sounds of her leaving Kamchatka and going home…and, by then, the spider had done its work.

  It was one of Joaquin’s most ingenious inventions—more than just a bug. It “crawled” across all available networks once activated, providing monitoring across all channels. And they could kill the original as needed. So, the inside of Yulia’s purse would offer up no more intel…while Aleksei’s phone, computer, and surveillance cameras were open to their hack. It was virtually untraceable and kept Yulia in the clear.

  “Report?” Elijah had been doing his homework on pretty celebutantes with shitty taste in men for weeks now, but that didn’t put a crimp in his full-on boss mode. When he looked around the conference table, everybody knew that single word meant business.

  Danny sat up a little straighter in his chair, closing the lid of his laptop. “Vasiliev knows that Yulia and I met. He had someone watching her. But per our surveillance feed, he hasn’t made me as an operative. He just thinks she and I are sneaking around. Brooklyn’s own Korean Romeo and Russian Juliet.”

  Finn made an “aww” noise, because the bastard just couldn’t help himself. Danny was relieved that he wasn’t the only one to respond with a scowl. He took a swig of Red Bull before continuing. “According to Yulia, Vasiliev’s a much happier camper than he was directly after the courthouse hit. He’s sitting pretty right now, slinging threats left and right. He’s smoothed things over with his higher-ups for the moment. Even gearing up for another trafficking run. And they’ve narrowed down Peluso and Ahluwalia’s location. They’re set to move on them before the week’s out.”