Big Bad Wolf

by Suleikha Snyder

  As if she could sense him thinking about her—he was always thinking about her—Yulia moaned softly. Then she began to stir, her shoulders and elbows nudging his. Within seconds, probably due to her supernatural metabolism, she came fully awake. “Danny?” Her voice was hoarse. She coughed once, twice to clear her throat. And then she said his name again. “Danny, are you okay?”

  She was the one who’d been down for the count, and here she was asking if he was okay. “Fine,” he assured her. “They just gave me a free tooth extraction. It was really kind, given the state of health insurance these days.”

  “So funny.” He could just imagine the weary scowl on her pretty face. “Anton should not have taken you. I don’t know what Aleksei is thinking. Why he has done this.”

  “Maybe he knew we needed some time alone?” Danny could almost pretend he was bantering with her over the bar at the Confessional. Imagining that was better than thinking about how they might die here. In this dark industrial space with beams crisscrossing the ceiling and strange, malevolent shapes under tarps. A few tables were scattered about, both wood and metal, and they looked to be for sorting goods but could just as easily hold corpses.

  He and Sarah weren’t just Star Wars fans. They’d watched dozens of action movies. Where the Rock or Jason Statham got out of their ropes and kicked a bunch of bad-guy ass. Idris Elba, too. That was how his little sister had developed her massive crush. Danny harbored no illusions that he was going to be able to unchain himself and take on a bunch of henchmen. His personal speed was more dreamy K-dramas than martial-arts films. He could handle his service weapon and wasn’t that bad in training sessions with Third Shift’s various bits of hush-hush hardware. But he was no hotshot hero. He’d only ever wanted to be Yulia’s hero, and he was failing miserably at that.

  She struggled against the chains that bound them, huffing with frustration. “This was not how I pictured us being alone. I thought perhaps a movie theater. A nice dinner in the city. The Met.”

  Danny tried wiggling around, too. To no avail. His wrists were raw from the zip ties and his torso painfully constrained by the links of the metal chains. “The opera or the art museum?”

  “Why not both?” Yulia suggested. “You could use some culture.”

  “Movies are culture,” he defended automatically.

  Her giggle echoing through the cavernous room was the best sound he’d heard in ages. The door swinging open was the worst. Because it heralded the arrival of Aleksei Vasiliev and his volcanic wrath.

  Chapter 31

  Joe had no idea where he was. He’d been circling the ass-end of Brooklyn for an hour, ducking drones and avoiding residential areas. Avoiding himself was a lot harder, that was for damn sure. Everything he’d done to that bear shifter and anybody who got in his way after. Everything he said to Neha in that park. “I don’t think you want to know what skin and bone feel like against your teeth. You saw me tear in. You saw me dig into the meat. It’s not steak tartare, babe.” It played on his eyelids in surround sound. No, IMAX.

  It didn’t help that he still had blood under his nails, and the dull coppery taste of it on his tongue. And he was wearing a dead man’s pants. Couldn’t forget that. Wait. Joe rifled through his memory banks for everything he knew about vampires—not all that much, Twilight movies and horror novels notwithstanding. ’Cause if vampires didn’t count as alive, then he was wearing a dead man’s leather jacket, too. Just fucking peachy.

  The vampire in question didn’t seem all that concerned with taking it back. He’d been following Joe this whole time. Not all that subtle about it either. Sometimes he was a block behind. Sometimes he dropped back a half mile. Sometimes he whistled. Joe had no idea a person could whistle “Achy Breaky Heart,” but it was a passive-aggressive dick move he’d admire if he wasn’t so angry about every damn thing.

  “Can you at least pick another song?” he asked, not bothering to raise his voice since it was quiet enough on this industrial block to hear a mouse fart.

  Just like he figured, America’s Top Bloodsucking Model popped up next to him in short order. “Are you about done having a sulk, then?” he asked.

  Joe glared. Threw in a snarl. “Bite me.”

  It didn’t faze his shadow one bit. He just waggled his eyebrows—that ridiculous move he probably practiced in the mirror if he could see his reflection in it. “I appreciate your enthusiastic consent, but I’ve already had my supper and I’ve no desire to taste a temper tantrum for dessert.”

  Was it too late to go back to the cage? Because Joe would’ve rather faced a dozen bear shifters than be here for this impromptu roast. “Are you trying to piss me off, or is this your natural personality?”

  “Bit of Column A, bit of Column B.” Finn laughed at him, looking entirely too damn pretty for his own good, and then went serious. “We can’t have you wandering around by yourself, Joe. Especially tonight. You must understand that.”

  Yeah, he did understand that. He was equally lost about his love life and his location, but he hadn’t misplaced all of his training, all that military protocol, everything they taught you in black ops. Leaving a volatile asset to their own devices was not an option. “I was stretching my legs.” He shrugged.

  “Stretching the truth, too.” The vampire chuckled. “And all that after breaking a lovely lady’s heart. I think that’s quite enough solo exercise for you for one evening.”

  Joe had no more energy for verbal sparring. And he was damn sure not discussing Neha with this wisecracking assclown. “So, what are we doing next?” he asked instead, slumping against the brick wall of the nearest building. “You locking me back up? Taking me from Vasiliev’s cage to one provided by the United States government?”

  Finn frowned and shook his head. “No. That’s not my call to make. What is my call is getting us to a safe house and meeting back up with the team—because we’re not quite done with Aleksei Vasiliev yet.”

  Christ. Yeah, it only figured they were not remotely finished with this goatfuck. There’d been no sign of the guy in the back hallways of the nightclub when they were fighting their way out. He’d probably slipped out using some secret tunnel or unmarked door. Right into a waiting getaway car. And Joe hadn’t thought about that until now. Because his brain had been too full of one person and one person only.

  “I ran off with you without a single thought to my job, my family, my whole life. And I risked all of that again tonight to get you away from that club. And this is how you respond?”

  He’d yelled at her. In front of strangers. And then walked away from her. Tossed her away like so much trash…when he was the one who was garbage. But even with all of that, the question he’d asked her remained valid. It was itching at him like the dried blood and gore. Why the hell wasn’t Neha afraid of him? She’d had a front-row seat for his ugly. She saw what he was really, actually capable of doing. And she still wanted his hands on her, still wanted him near her. It didn’t make any sense. Stockholm syndrome wasn’t a joke. Neither were the mind games they taught you in black ops. Apex’s commanders and scientists had relied mostly on their supernatural strength…but also taught them how to fuck with people’s heads. How to make people trust you. Had he done that to her? Made her dependent on him somehow?

  The second he considered it was the same second Joe dismissed the theory. No. Not his Doc. There was no way she trusted him right now. And she’d looked at him with one hundred percent clarity, even when he was stomping all over her feelings. Like seeing that monster go to town in the cage was one thing but seeing him standing there alive was a bigger thing. More important. No one had ever looked at him that way before. Completely fearless and completely happy at the same time.

  And he’d ruined it. Like he ruined all the good things in his life. He stripped that shine from her eyes and stole a dozen kisses off her lips. Because convincing her he was a piece of shit had been more vital to him t
han holding her tight and breathing her in and thanking god for this woman. Fuck, he was an ass. But this wasn’t news. He’d been a complete fuckhead about women for as long as he could remember. Probably why he’d learned to eat pussy so good…to make up for everything else. And he had no idea how he was going to make this up to Neha. No clue if he even could, or if he even should.

  Because she still deserved better than him. That was never gonna change, no matter how he felt about her. He could say he’d acted under orders, he could blame the animal he morphed into, but he’d made the conscious choice to follow orders instead of pushing back against them. He’d welcomed being turned into a wolf. As a result, he was always gonna be a killer, always gonna be a shape-shifter, always gonna have a target on his back. Thing was, Joe was pretty damn sure he was always gonna want Neha, too.

  Maybe it was already over before it barely got started. Maybe he’d blown his shot with her once and for all back at the playground. And maybe he deserved that in exchange for every despicable act he’d committed in his life, for all the blood he’d spilled over the past two decades. But he’d be damned if he let Aleksei Vasiliev be the last shifter standing. That was one outcome he could be sure of.

  “We getting outta here or what?” he asked the vampire, who’d been making a dramatic show of yawning and checking his fancy watch.

  “I don’t know. Do you reckon we commandeer another vehicle or use a ride-share app?” When he scowled, Finn nodded like it was an actual answer. “You’re absolutely right. Good point. Who can get a car out here this time of night? Stealing, it is!”

  Which was how Joe found himself, not ten minutes later, jimmying the lock on a Buick from the late 1980s. Then hotwiring the ignition. Misusing his vocational education while the vampire made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. He was an idea man, apparently. Not so much with the execution. And what was a little grand theft auto tacked onto Joe’s existing charges, right? Luckily, doing the work meant he also got to drive. “Where we going, Irish? Directions would be helpful.”

  Finn stretched his arms over his head, bouncing his fingers on the slightly loose ceiling. “Second star to the right, straight on ’til morning.”

  Joe snorted, mostly so he didn’t crack up and encourage the guy. “Thanks and fuck you, Peter Pan.”

  “Oh no, mate.” Finn clicked his tongue and did that suggestive eyebrow thing again. “It’s a pirate’s life for me. I’m Captain Hook all the way.”

  This time Joe did bark out a laugh. “More like Captain Hookup.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll be stealing that one for later use.” Finn got with the program, though, and actually rattled off a decent set of directions, guiding Joe the rest of the way through Canarsie and Bergen Beach. Until they were pulling up to a huge-ass park just off the Belt, near the Mill Basin. Joe had never been out here before. Never knew any of this was here. Acres and acres of trees and grass with the ocean right there.

  They pulled into the private drive of what looked like a ranch. A whole-ass ranch in South Brooklyn. With a fancy, old-timey, scrolled wooden sign that said ‘Bergen Beach Equestrian Academy.’ The gate was unlocked, rolled back for them, which couldn’t possibly be secure. “This is your safe house?”

  Finn looked up from his smartwatch, his megawatt smile dialed down to just a smug grin. “Never said it was an actual house, did I?”

  Joe grimaced as he eased the car over a small speed bump and onto a long, narrow road. There were no markers and the light posts were all dark. The only illumination came from the Buick’s headlights. “Let me guess… We’re also not actually safe.”

  And if Neha was here, then she wasn’t safe either. Not safe with him, not safe without him. So, what was even the damn point?

  * * *

  After a quick, scalding-hot shower and a change of clothes, Neha felt a lot more stable. And not just because she was technically in a stable. The riding academy also known as Safe House 13 had been a surprise to both her and Nate. Adjacent to protected parkland, it was a sprawling property with several resident horses, training fields, barns, the whole nine yards…and five hundred acres besides. Grace had refused to say how it was connected to Third Shift. It didn’t exactly scream “secret spy base.” Which made it the perfect secret spy base, she supposed. After tending to their immediate basic needs in the main facility, they all ended up gathering in a hidden room in the tack house—and it definitely didn’t look like an equestrian center. There was tech everywhere—monitors for surveillance, computers, phones, a wall of weapons behind a locked glass pane—along with a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a few pieces of furniture.

  “The couch folds out, if you’d like to sleep,” Grace said, sliding into a leather office chair.

  It was the first time Neha was seeing her dressed down. No dark suit. No cocktail wear and outrageous wig. Just the same sort of leggings and T-shirt that Neha wore and her curly black hair loose around her shoulders. But she still managed to look completely self-possessed. It was a posture Neha knew all too well. The armor you had to don when you were a woman of color in a white man’s world. Be it in medicine or covert ops, Grace had no doubt dealt with people suspecting she wasn’t qualified, people treating her as less than, people not respecting her authority. She couldn’t risk showing vulnerability, couldn’t ever let the mask slip.

  Neha did respect her authority, but only to a point. “So you can leave me here the minute I start snoring? I don’t think so.” She sidestepped the cozy sitting area and joined Grace and the others at the conference table. “I meant what I said in the car. Yulia needs us. I don’t abandon people in need.”

  That was the root of her whole predicament, wasn’t it? If she’d only abandoned Joe at Brooklyn Detention, recused herself from the case the minute he stole that first kiss, none of this would have happened. As much as she held him responsible for flirting, for seducing, for setting up that clandestine meeting in the courthouse…she’d been the one to keep coming back, to say yes, and to stay by his side. Sure, he’d made his own bed with his choices, but she’d stolen the covers for herself with hers.

  He’d tried to erase her culpability, her agency, by demanding Third Shift protect her and then storming away from her. And that had infuriated her. To make all that had transpired between them about fear and safety… That undercut and devalued every decision she’d made of her own free will. Being mad at Joe for that didn’t mean she couldn’t acknowledge one thing, though. She’d made some bad decisions. She couldn’t afford to make any more.

  She felt Nate’s gaze on her from across the table. Quiet, assessing. She’d never known him to be so circumspect, without a single thing to say. He’d probably never seen her like she was tonight…emotional, out of control. They’d just been DGS colleagues before—senior partner and junior associate. Her decisions had changed that, too.

  “I texted Dustin from a burner,” Nate murmured when she made eye contact. “No location. Just that we’re alright and our client is, too.”

  She winced. Dustin was the levelheaded one, the protective one, the partner at the firm who most of the associates went to with their problems. Now Nate and Neha were the problems. “He must be worried sick about you.”

  Nate shrugged, stretching the tight material of his borrowed black T-shirt. “He’s my best friend. I couldn’t not tell him.”

  Did Neha have anyone in her life she could call a best friend? No. She had Tejal and Toral. She had her college friends and some women from the DA’s office she still got drinks with sometimes in the Meatpacking. But there was no one to text from a burner phone when her life was potentially in danger. She’d isolated herself in the pursuit of her career, put on extra armor over the top of what she already had to wear…just not enough to keep Joe from getting past it.

  “Finn and Peluso just pulled up through the drive,” the agent named Mack announced from the corner where he was banging away on a laptop
. “ETA five minutes. I told them to swing by the main house first. Wash off. Get pretty.”

  She flattened her hands on the tabletop, barely hearing whatever Grace replied. Joe was still okay. Joe was here. All of the tears she’d washed away in the shower, let circle in the drain, threatened to flood her eyes. She had to fight them back, along with the twisting pain in her chest. Breathe. It hadn’t even been two hours since he’d diminished her and the tentative relationship they’d forged. Now they were going to be in the same tiny room with the same people who’d watched them reveal some of their deepest feelings—and deepest insecurities—to each other. It was only slightly less daunting than being in the Pit at Kamchatka. Neha had to get it together—quickly. Like she’d told Nate earlier, she couldn’t fall apart now.

  “Do we know where Yulia and your operative are being held yet?” she asked Grace and Mack.

  “We have the location and mission specs.” Grace nodded, her expression unreadable, a slight chill in her voice. “I’ll patch in 3S HQ once Finian and Peluso arrive.”

  Neha was struck by the urge to apologize to the other woman, to explain. It was an odd impulse, considering she prided herself on never being sorry for asserting herself. “Would you want to be left behind if you were me?” she wondered, quietly.

  A smile, or something like it, pulled at the edge of Grace’s full lips. And her deep-brown eyes glinted with understanding. Even a little of the humor she’d shown back at the Locker. “For years, I was the only woman affiliated with Third Shift. I was left behind. Frequently. I hated every minute of it,” she admitted.