The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  We approach the facility, taking cover as a taxi pulls uncomfortably close to our location and a young man emerges. The taxi departs and a teenager knocks on the door of our intended target. He is greeted by the lawyer and they disappear inside.

  There is a fair amount of commotion out on the docks, and Quinn IDs the two men unloading cargo as the ones from the night before.

  “Lori, you, Trent and Quinn hold tight by the back door. Crina and I will take out the two on the dock. We’ll engage first. Create a distraction and draw them outside. Then you three can slip inside. Strike smooth and fast. Remember, we want the human civilians alive for questioning.”

  ***

  Several minutes later I’m sprawled on my back outside the warehouse. An enraged werewolf emerges from what used to be a doorway. I lost my gun somewhere inside but keep a backup inside my boot. I slide it free and fire away. He lets out a howl as four shots pepper his chest. His charge comes to an abrupt halt. I scramble to my feet, gun trained on his heart. Ready. After a few brief spasms, his body goes limp and reverts to human form.

  I prepare myself to go back inside. Trent and Quinn are still in there as far as I know. So are a couple of wolves. Gunfire explodes behind me. Catch. I turn and head down the dock.

  Suddenly an arrow whizzes past, strikes the gun from my hand, and spears the stack of crates to my left. I spin and spot its owner on the roof. Reflexively, I jump up onto the crates and lunge for the roof.

  The guy from the taxi, the teen, gets off another arrow as I fly up at him. The arrow plants itself in my shoulder, but doesn’t slow me down. He fumbles for another. Reloads as my feet strike the roof. In an instant, I’ve got him by the throat, holding him suspended off the edge by my pierced arm.

  This human is intrepid, I’ll give him that. No slouch with a crossbow either. He’s taken aim at my heart, but is struggling to breathe, grasping at my fingers with his free arm. His bow remains steady, finger on the trigger.

  “Don’t look down.”

  “Don’t think I can’t get this shot off before I fall,” he gasps and chokes.

  “I’ll break your neck before you do either. Drop the crossbow. This arm’s not gonna hold very long; someone’s put an arrow through it.”

  ***

  Trent watches anxiously from below. Quinn runs over, wiping blood off her arm.

  “I saw Crina pursue a werewolf onto that boat.” She points to the dark outline of a two-story cargo ship at the far end of the dock, but Trent does not avert his gaze from the standoff above.

  “She’s got the human.”

  Quinn follows his gaze. “So she does…”

  “You think we should help?”

  Quinn shakes her head. “Nah, she looks like she’s got the situation under control.”

  “Sure about that, babe?”

  Quinn takes off for the pier. “Come on; let’s see what trouble they’ve found.”

  ***

  The arrow presses into my skin. My shoulder is seething, but questions fight their way through the pain.

  “Why are you working for them? What’s in it for you?”

  His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the trigger. I can smell the fear.

  “Drop the crossbow and I’ll place you back on the roof.”

  No reaction.

  “It’s a one time offer.”

  Running out of oxygen, he makes the wise decision to consent, lowering but not dropping the crossbow. I bring him back over the roof, feet still raised inches above the surface. I rip away the bow with my good arm as I release him. He takes deep breaths, rubs his throat, and studies me. I sense through the fear.

  “You’re human.”

  “For the moment.”

  “Did they infect you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “No.”

  “Let me guess, you did some odd jobs for quick cash. Trust was gained, they brought you deeper into their organization, eventually turned you.”

  “Something like that.”

  Plays like a bad mob movie.

  “Then you have information I need.”

  “I’m not giving you anything.”

  I see dried blood and pull the shirt from his shoulder to reveal a bite mark. Fresh. Made today.

  “You haven’t turned yet, but with the full moon, the process—which normally takes days—will only take hours. After the transformation, you will carry the virus for the rest of your life. Which you will now count in dog years. Time is not your friend, but I can cure you.”

  “What possible cure can you offer? Death? Vampirism? No thanks.”

  I shake my head. “I have an antidote; you don’t have to share their fate.”

  “Why?”

  “You have information I want.”

  “Cure me first.”

  Crina keeps a kit on her bike. I think about what Catch told me, that the antidote is simply vampire blood. Vampires can’t be turned into wolves. A trace amount of blood injected into a human will wipe out the infection before it takes hold of its host. Fool it, so to speak. As long as he hasn’t been swapping blood with any vampires lately, he’ll be fine. A small amount of vampire blood won’t harm a human, not permanently. All the same, I don’t dare disclose what I’m about to administer.

  We reach the alley where our bikes are stashed. It’s my first time injecting anyone, but I try my damnedest to mask my trepidation. He winces as the needle breaks flesh. He makes a fist, unclenches, then repeats as the veins throb in his arm. If he only knew how thirsty I am…

  “How do I know it worked?”

  I don’t know how or even if. I’m rather skeptical of the whole process. But we desperately need answers.

  “When you don’t grow a snout and start pissing on fire hydrants. Now tell me who you’re working for.”

  “S&D Pharmaceuticals. Two men, brothers, have been paying off customs to smuggle in chemicals, lab equipment, weapons…I’m not sure of specifics. I can give you names of a few of the people—er, wolves—you killed tonight, but—”

  I remember the S&D emblem on Adrian’s papers.

  “Where are they operating out of? I assume there’s a base somewhere in the city.”

  He rolls down his sleeve, looks around.

  “Two places I know of besides here—a law firm on the Upper East Side and, just recently, a hotel downtown. I run packages; they tell me nothing. Cash does all the talking, ya know?”

  “But you knew you were working for wolves. And tonight wasn’t your first time holding a crossbow.”

  “Yes. They know you guys exist. They warned us of a group of undead assassins. They call you The Endangered. Everyone under S&D employ is advised to carry a stake.” He shrugs. “We keep a stash of crossbows in that warehouse. I’ve messed around with them before.”

  “Did they know we were coming tonight?”

  “No. Well maybe. We were on high alert. They suspected your arrival in town. Apparently one of their associates went missing.”

  I give a huff.

  “How did you get recruited?”

  “One of the guys, a wolf, was a friend of mine. Said I’d make some quick cash. Deceitful asshole. Hope your friends took him out after what he did to me. He and two others were running the show until recently when the bosses—the brothers—arrived. Suddenly the warehouse started seeing lots of activity; various people coming and going. Maybe a dozen new faces over the past couple weeks. And I have not met the brothers. Couldn’t give you a positive ID.”

  “So you’re telling me these brothers are leading the whole operation? That they are wolves? Running everything under a tidy corporate veil?”

  He nods. “Pretty absurd. But yes, that’s how I understand it. Dunno what they are planning. I moved envelopes. Cash. Paperwork…”

  “Right. Ok. So where is this hotel?”

  “The Hyatt. 47th and Madison.”

  “You’ve been very helpful. Doubt anyone will come looking for you after ton
ight, but just in case, you should leave the city till this blows over.”

  “No problem.”

  I mount the bike and race back toward the dockyard.

  ***

  My tires screech against the damp wooden planks of the pier. Crina and Trent are carrying a battered Quinn from the boat. She has one arm around each of their necks and is drifting in and out of consciousness. She seems unable to put weight on her left leg. I dismount and run up to meet them.

  “What happened?”

  Quinn groans.

  “Explosion. Fuel tank on the cargo ship caught a stray bullet.” Trent glances back at the ship. “I think it’s gonna blow.”

  Black smoke billows from all angles. His assessment seems accurate.

  “Where’s Catch?”

  “He was on the ship with me, but I lost him. Thought he returned to the warehouse,” Crina explains.

  There was no one in the warehouse. I take off down the pier and jump onto the deck of the ship. The heat instantly flushes my skin, smoke searing my eyes.

  “Catch!” I run in the first opening I can find. Flames greet me in bursts from the floorboards. I stumble, squint and fight my way inside, calling Catch’s name. The smoke is blinding, but it is hard to miss the “Hazardous Materials” and “Flammable” warning labels on the rows of containers lining the ship. Not needing to breathe comes in handy for situations like this.

  I trip over something solid. A body. A naked, badly burned body that used to belong to a werewolf.

  “Catch!” I try again.

  Flames illuminate the far end of the room and I spot a silhouette beside an overturned container. I run over and discover him trapped beneath a steal tank and some fallen beams. His right arm is crushed underneath the tank and a beam has impaled his left just below the shoulder.

  I fall to his side and shake him awake; he blinks up at me through the haze and smiles faintly.

  “Hey doll. They finally managed to crucify me after all.”

  I heave my body against the tank. Its metal surface burns my skin, but it gives and rolls slowly off Catch’s arm. It is burned black and remains immobile.

  The beam proves more of a challenge. Resolute in its position, it refuses to budge even an inch. Then an explosion above causes the roof to shift and cracks the beam just enough that I can leverage my shoulder under it and pry it loose. Catch crawls to his feet.

  “Thanks luv, I owe you one. Now how do we get out of here?”

  Good question.

  The boat rumbles, another explosion is imminent. We stumble to a doorway and kick our way through. Catch’s arms are limp at his side and he has extensive burns over most of his body, but he manages a shaky walk. I try to help, but his arms hurt to the touch.

  We emerge onto the deck. No sign of the pier. Wrong side of the ship.

  “Shit. We gotta go around.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  The rumbling increases. An explosion rings out from the bowels of the ship. Debris flies and we are sent airborne. Water strikes my body and pulls me downward. I never learned how to swim.

  ***

  When light returns, I feel a hard surface against my body. I blink the light into focus and puke up the water I’d swallowed. I am back on the dock by the warehouse. The others stand around me. Catch kneels beside me.

  “You all right?”

  “Apparently…What happened?”

  “Explosion tossed us overboard. Crina and Trent pulled us out.”

  I stand and wring dirty bay water from my hair.

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “Now I get what you see in her. She’s as crazy as you are.” Trent nudges Catch.

  “We have to keep moving. Cops will be all over this place.” Crina is dousing our surroundings in gasoline. She is fighting a limp herself.

  These wolves had done a number on us. They weren’t the newly turned beasts reacting out of terror and confusion that we were used to facing. These wolves are seasoned fighters and not new to their fury form. If this is a taste of what’s to come, we are in for a hell of a beating.

  “I know where they are operating from. A hotel. Downtown.” I shake water from my ears. “The buyer, that teenager. He’s brought packages there. The, uh, Hyatt on 47th.”

  “Good. We’re going.” Crina tosses the gas canister aside. “Trent, I need you to take Catch and Quinn back to base. Lori, brief me on the way there.”

  Trent helps Quinn, who had been sitting on a crate, to her feet. I kiss Catch.

  “Love you, babe.” He tries to embrace me, but his arms won’t obey. “Be careful.”

  “I’m driving,” Crina declares as we reach my bike.

  “Hell you are—you can barely walk,” I protest, holding up the keys.

  Crina squeezes my shoulder where the arrow pierced and I flinch. She snags the keys and mounts the bike. I sigh and swing around behind.

  “Call Xan; get directions.”

  I reach for my ear. No comm. Must have lost it in the blast. We start navigating away from the sirens. I fish a palm-sized GPS out of the bike’s pack.

  “On it. Head southwest.”

  We zip around the city while I call out left or right until we reach the hotel. Crina cruises into the parking garage below street level.

  “What’s your plan? Should we stake out the lobby? Back entrances?”

  Crina slows the bike, coasting around till we reach a pair of doors marked ‘Service Entrance.’

  “Uh—Crina.”

  She steers the bike through and down a long hallway.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “I sense something feral…Hang on.”

  She lurches the bike forward, nearly tossing me in the process. The hallway veers to the right. We turn and head straight for a second pair of doors, these ones are unmarked.

  We burst through, the doors fly open dramatically. Crina spins the bike sideways as she slams the brakes.

  Before us is a podium atop a makeshift stage. The man at the podium maintains a confident demeanor as he turns to see who has interrupted his speech. He wears an expensive suit and his eyes glimmer menacingly above a smug grin that broadens by the second. Beside him stands an equally tall but substantially bulkier man with similar features. His broad shoulders and bodyguard build look less comfortable in a suit—a volcano ready to blow at a moment’s notice. His hand goes reflexively to the massive chrome gun poking awkwardly from his shoulder holster, but he stops when the man at the podium places a hand on his shoulder.

  Before the stage a row of half a dozen men stand at attention. They wear plain tees and cargo pants, all very military-esque. Unflustered, they turn to face the party crashers.

  “So much for a subtlety,” I mutter.

  “Striden!” Crina exclaims. She looks like she’s just seen a ghost.

  If the man at the podium is as surprised to see us, he doesn’t show it.

  “Well hello, Crina. How nice of you to join us. It really took you longer than I expected to find me.”

  “You know him?” Clearly a rhetorical question, but I’m trying to break the mounting tension in the room.

  Striden addresses the men before him. “Boys, why don’t you welcome them to the neighborhood?”

  Already drooling at the sight of us, they don’t need any extra prompting. The group instantly begins to transform into wolves.

  This is escalating quickly.

  “Oh shit.” I slide the .22 from my ankle holster and risk a look at the clip, wishing I’d bothered to bring the P90. It is loaded, but after the dip in the Hudson I’m not sure it’ll still fire.

  Won’t have to wait long to find out.

  Crina revs the bike and steers us quickly out the way we’d came, wolves hot on our heels.

  The hallway hadn’t seemed this narrow a moment ago. Our pursuers use their claws to scale the concrete walls as they morph onto all fours. The first to reach our bike gets a face full of exhaust and a head full of silver. His comrades jump over him, annoyed
by the road block his body creates in the narrow corridor. I sit poised on the back of the bike, shifting my weight as I fire rounds of silver into the mess of fury bodies that fill the hallway.

  Crina concentrates on driving while I do the best I can to fend them off and balance atop the rear tire. They are fast—really fast. One pounces from his position along the wall slightly above us. I have one shot left and I make it count. He takes the bullet square in the chest and balks backward midair.

  The gun clicks. Empty. Damn.

  The doors open with a bang as Crina accelerates through the garage.

  “Take the gun off my ankle,” she instructs.

  The pack comes barreling out after us. Full speed ahead. They pour into the parking garage and spread out. I empty Crina’s 9mm, hitting mostly cars and only managing a few flesh wounds on our attackers.

  “Get us outta here; they’re trying to surround us.”

  “Hang on!”

  She maneuvers the bike around an oversized minivan and up the ramp. Within seconds we are out on the street and the wolves are forced to abandon their plan of attack. They regroup as they charge out of the garage. I’m sure it’s quite a sight for anyone walking down the street at that moment. Fortunately, given the hour, it’s pretty quiet. Or at least it was. My gun emits dull clicks.

  “I’m out of ammo.”

  “Side pocket.”

  I turn to the side and grab the bag with my free arm. This proves quite a challenge. Crina turns and fires a few shots over my shoulder. The bike begins to teeter and she is forced to turn back to the road. I dig out a cartridge and jam it into the gun. None too soon.

  Claws graze my leg. I steady myself on the bike and the creature throws its massive paw into the tire, ripping the wheel, rubber burning the flesh, tearing at his talons. He cries out and I manage to fire off two shots; one into his open mouth, the other directly into his snout.

  Down a wheel, the bike veers sharply to the left, ejecting me in the process. The windshield of a parked car breaks my fall.

  Covered in glass, my head throbbing, I sit up in the driver’s seat and look around. The wolves have not stopped to investigate my little accident. I find the gun in the footwell of the passenger side. Nice.