“It was either that or leave for the night,” Phair hissed out the side of his mouth. “If we leave, it’s another week before the next game. We need to break into the office while Barton’s occupied. There’s no way I’m letting Mir or Bry stay in this place another week, much less the other women the wanker holds captive.”
“I just don’t see how this will work. Even if we do stick around to play cards, we can’t exactly pop into his office, can we? So we’ll lose money and fail at our job.”
Phair smiled as he pulled up to the bar. “You said you need three minutes with Barton’s computer,” he said quietly. “Take a break in the middle of the game. You know, because you’re losing. Go for a little stroll. I’ll keep them occupied—it’ll be the perfect opportunity to get what we need.”
Cad threw himself onto a tall stool and stared ahead pensively. “Not the worst idea in the world, I suppose.” He signalled the bartender over. “Two beers, please,” he said, turning to Phair. “Something else doesn’t seem quite right. Do you think he was lying about Mir?”
“Absolutely.”
“So where is she?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that she has a mobile, and so do I.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a phone. After he’d unlocked it with his thumb print, Phair typed in a quick message.
“Clever fellow,” said Cad. “You know, you’re not nearly as stupid as you look.”
“And you are far more stupid than you look,” Phair said, laying the phone down.
A few seconds later a reply came in.
He’s told me I can’t see you tonight.
Said he wanted to get to know you two better.
I don’t feel good about this, but he hasn’t hurt me, at least.
“I don’t either,” said Cad. “Can you text her back and ask if she’s all right?”
Phair did as he asked, and another reply came in.
I’m better than all right.
I can’t describe how I feel.
Different. Amazing. Healed.
I feel alive.
Phair dictated his response to Cad as he typed it. “Good. Listen, we’ll have to go through with the plan tonight, but it will be slightly altered. Keep the phone close and don’t let anyone see it. Make sure to keep it in low battery mode in case you need it in a few hours.”
A few seconds later, Mir responded:
Will do.
At seven twenty-five, after each of the shifters had enjoyed a couple of drinks on the house, Ivan sidled up next to them, placing a hand on the bar.
“Mr. Barton asked me to escort you to the Red Room,” he said, his tone stoic.
“Of course he did,” Cad replied, rising to his feet to hulk over the much smaller man. “Please, by all means show us the way.”
Ivan winced, then seemed to relax a little. Apparently he’d decided the shifter wasn’t going to bite his face off just now. “Come with me,” he said, before leading them through a door concealed under a tapestry at the far side of the room, which led to a corridor that neither of them had seen before.
At the end of the hallway was a chamber that looked very much like the Blue Room, only, true to its name, its walls and furnishings were dark, rich red.
The colour of fresh blood.
“Interesting place you have here,” said Cad as they approached an antique table that was set up towards the back of the space. Barton was seated in an elegant chair of crimson velvet, as was the stranger to his right.
“Oh, you know. It’s home,” he replied, gesturing to the chains and other sexual paraphernalia on the walls. “I like to think of it as cozy.”
The man seated at the table looked about the same age as Barton, maybe fifty or so. He was balding, thin, unremarkable in every way, except that he exuded wealth and privilege from every pore. He eyed the shifters with fascination as they approached, no doubt lamenting the fact that wealth couldn’t buy genes like theirs.
“This is Mr. Evans,” Barton said. “Evans, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Cadman and Mr. Fairfax.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” the man said as he rose to his feet and extended a hand, “but it was I who asked Barton if you two could join us tonight. I’ve always wanted to meet a shifter, and given that we have two here at the club, I thought it might be interesting to spend some time with you.”
So that was why Barton had kept Mir away from them. He was sucking up to another wealthy client.
Somehow, it made Cad feel better to know the boss’s motives were relatively pure. At least he wasn’t being malicious.
Probably.
“Well, mate, we’re looking forward to getting to know you, too,” said Cad, smacking Evans on the back so hard that the man nearly dropped the glass he was holding in his right hand. “So, you really wanted to play poker with us. You should know that we’re not very good. Then again, you do know that many shifters have powers of Sight, don’t you? Some of us can read the future, not to mention minds.”
Evans let out a chuckle. “I didn’t know that, actually. It looks like I may lose a significant amount of money tonight. Ah, well. It’ll be worth it for the opportunity to hang about with such interesting…specimens.”
Specimens. He was talking about them like they both belonged in petri dishes. No doubt he was contemplating skinning them and turning them into rugs for his study.
Cad and Phair threw one another a quick look, but neither shifter bothered to mention that they didn’t actually have Sight. It would be far more fun to lead Evans to believe they could take his money from him at any given moment.
The men seated themselves at the table, and Ivan began to shuffle a deck of cards. He eyed the shifters nervously, as though he was half expecting a set of jaws to clamp down on his wrist. It seemed the security guard had never quite gotten over their first encounter.
“Texas Hold ‘Em?” said Barton as Ivan dealt each man a hand.
“Sounds good,” said Phair.
“Ten thousand all right to begin?” asked Barton.
“Pounds?” asked Phair, “or cents?”
Barton laughed. “Pounds, of course. Too rich for your shifter blood?”
“Not at all, my good man,” Cad said. “What’s the fun in a game if we don’t lose our shirts?”
“I hadn’t realized this was strip poker,” Phair replied. “That will make the evening far more interesting.”
When everyone had had a good laugh, each man was given a pile of chips to play with, valued anywhere from one hundred to five thousand pounds. Cad could tell by Barton’s happy demeanour that the man had no intention or expectation of losing.
They played a few hands, of which Barton cleaned up two, Phair one, Evans one. The liquor flowed freely, the shifters taking advantage of the fact that alcohol had little to no effect on their own bloodstreams.
Cad played poorly on purpose, handily losing each round until nine p.m., when he held his hands up. “Listen,” he said, “I’d like to sit out for a round. As you can tell by the fact that I’m depleting my wealth rapidly, I’m not so good at this. So with your permission,” he added, looking at Barton, “I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and getting a breath of fresh air. Ivan, why don’t you take over my seat for a few minutes?”
“Oh, no. I don’t play,” the guard replied.
“You do now,” said Cad, standing up. “Come on, you can’t be any worse than I am.”
“That’s for damned sure,” grumbled Phair. “You really do give our kind a bad name, Cadman.”
“Apologies,” said Cad, bowing to his companions.
Ivan looked at Barton and raised his eyebrows, looking for permission.
“Sure, why not?” said Barton. “I’ll be just as happy gaining your riches as Cad’s. I can win back all the money I’ve paid you over the last year.” He let out a chuckle and slapped Ivan on the shoulder.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want that, Ivan. You can use my chips,” Cad said. “Until I’m back, at least.” He threw
Phair a sly look. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” Barton said, shoving a cigar between his teeth. “Something tells me we’ll be enjoying ourselves quite a lot.”
Chapter 23
Cad wandered out to the hall, closing the door behind him, and padded along until he’d reached the door to the main room. When he’d slipped through the throngs of half-drunken men who ignored him completely, he ventured towards the hall that he knew led to Barton’s office.
The door, surprisingly, was ajar.
He rapped gently on its surface, half expecting to find one of the boss’s henchmen inside.
“Hello?” he said quietly. “Anyone in there?”
When no one replied, he pushed the door open only to find the room unoccupied. Barton’s computer sat on the desk at its far end, its screen reflecting in a mirror on the far wall.
Cad closed the door, holding his breath as he raced over to the desk. “Well, that was way too easy,” he muttered as he pulled up the office chair.
The computer screen, as though inviting him in, was prompting him to enter a Username.
Barton, he typed.
“Password…” he said. “Now, what’s the fucking password?”
He tried:
Shifters
KillAllShifters
Ihateshifters
But none of them worked.
Okay, so the bloody password wasn’t something Barton despised. Perhaps it was something he liked. Very much, in fact.
Slowly, he typed:
Miranda
Once again he was rejected.
“One more, then I start getting properly creative,” he said under his breath.
Miranda69.
“Bingo,” he murmured as the screen flashed to life. “And also, fuck you for that, Barton, you absolute cockwomble.”
As he worked his eyes over the desktop’s display, his Dire Wolf set itself on high alert inside him. This really had been too easy—the open door, the computer that was lit up and ready to go. It felt like a trap, somehow.
On a whim Cad looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to see that someone had set up a net that might come crashing down on top of him, ensnaring him where he sat. He chuckled to himself when the only thing that met his gaze was a plaster ceiling.
“Idiot,” he muttered, his eyes fixing on the screen in front of him. “Just find the damned files.”
A series of alphabetically-ordered folders greeted his eyes. Everything from Receipts to Office Décor. But he couldn’t see anything that looked like a list of possible criminals or their victims.
Well, the man wouldn’t have marked them anything so obvious as “list of people to kill.” Still, there had to be some clue, didn’t there?
After a few minutes of rifling around in Barton’s files, Cad clicked the Office Décor folder.
In a sub-folder he saw two letters:
B.H.
Bounty Hunters.
He clicked open the file only to see a list of more than fifty names, addresses, mobile numbers staring him in the face. Quickly he reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and snapped a series of photos encompassing the entire list, which he sent immediately to Bertie.
Then he clicked backwards until he found a folder titled “F&F.”
F for Family, he thought. Second F for friends.
As he scrolled through, he reminded himself that Mir’s last name was Williams, so if he had this right, her surname would be in the database. When he saw her parents listed, he knew he was in the right place.
So, this was a list of people Barton intended to hurt if one of his women tried to escape. The thought of it sent a jolt of pure rage shooting through Cad.
The moment he finished with this, the moment he stepped back into the Red Room, he’d unleash his Dire Wolf. He’d show Barton the firsthand consequences of angering a shifter of the Trekilling Pack.
But first, he told himself, he needed to finish the job. Again, he snapped a series of shots and attached them to a note addressed to Bert.
These are Barton’s human victims, he wrote. They need protection from the men on the first list, who are probably also the shifter hunters we’re looking for.
Tell Roth and Lumen to send out Dragons ASAP to protect these people.
Tell them …
He stopped himself and took a deep breath before finishing:
Tell them they’re worth saving.
The last sentence was directed at Roth. The Alpha might be pissed at humans at the moment, but he was no monster. He wouldn’t let Barton’s people hurt innocent civilians. After all, the Trekilling Pack had, for generations, protected the human inhabitants of Cornwall. There was no way they’d forsake defenceless humans now, simply because of a minor grudge.
Cad rose to his feet. His work here was done, and he needed to get back before anyone became suspicious. Then he and Phair would figure out how to deal with Barton, and how to get Mir and Bry out of this place. He waited a few seconds for the screen saver to come on, then circumvented the desk to walk towards the exit.
But before he could get there, the door flew open and Gunner came storming in, a look of determined rage in his eyes. In his hand he held something—a weapon of some sort, perhaps.
“Look, mate,” Cad said, issuing his most charming grin, “I know I’m not supposed to be in here. I got lost. Thought this was the loo.”
“Shut it,” Gunner growled.
“Phair’s going to beat the living hell out of you,” Cad said. “He’s going to be angry. You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. For that matter, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry, either. I sort of turn into a giant dog who rips people’s faces off.”
He could have—should have—shifted in that moment. Should have taken the bastard out.
But there was too much at risk just now. Phair was still stuck with Barton in the Red Room, and Mir and Bry were unaccounted for. If word got out that a Dire Wolf had torn one of Barton’s men to shreds, the consequences would probably be horrific. Best to lure Gunner away from the door and find a way to tie him up quietly, then make his way to the others.
But a slow, awful smile spread itself over the henchman’s lips, as though he knew something Cad didn’t. “You think your friend will save you, do you?” Gunner asked. “Your mate Phair’s in no shape to walk, much less hurt me, and by the way, I thought I told you to shut it.”
Wait—what? Cad had only been out of the Red Room for a few minutes. What the hell could have happened to Phair? He wasn’t exactly the vulnerable sort that Barton and his beyond-middle-aged friend could hurt easily. All Phair would have to do is unleash the massive bear inside him, and…
Gunner raised the weapon at his side and pointed it.
The last thing Cad remembered was his head hitting the hardwood floor.
Chapter 24
Something wasn’t right.
Mir could hear voices coming from downstairs. Orders being barked, men shouting at one another, the sound desperate, violent.
She wasn’t sure if it was that her ears had become so attuned to the smallest sound, or if the shouting was so loud that it carried through the entire club. Either way, it was a bad sign for her lovers.
Barton had told her to stay put. He’d said she was to take the night off, to remain confined to her room. But there was no way she was going to obey that command, not while Phair and Cad might be in danger.
Dressed casually in jeans and a sweater for the duration of her confinement, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, unlatched her door and tiptoed to the stairwell. She poked her head over the bannister at the top just in time to see Cad’s limp body being dragged towards the door that led to the basement.
Quickly, she raced back into her room, shut the door, locked it, and dashed over to the nightstand. She rifled through the drawer until she came upon the mobile phone that her lovers had given her, her hand shaking as she pressed her thumb to its fingerprint recognition button.
What the hell had happened down there? How the hell could anyone—even Barton’s wankers—incapacitate a shifter?
Cad didn’t look as though he was bleeding, so at least it seemed that no one had shot him. Had they drugged him? And what about Phair? Those two would protect each other to the death. It made no sense that only one of them would be wounded…which wasn’t good news for either of them.
None of it made sense.
All Mir could do was hope she wasn’t too late.
When the phone had finally unlocked, she hit the last number dialled and pressed it to her ear. When a woman’s voice replied on the other end, Mir’s words came tumbling out in a garbled mess of desperation.
“Hello?” she said. “Look, I don’t know who you are, and I’m sure you don’t know who I am, but Cad and Phair—they’re here at Club Bacchus—they’re in trouble. I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.”
“There there,” said the all too calm voice on the other end. Okay, who the hell was this mystery woman, and what was wrong with her? “It’s going to be all right. You’re at the club now, you say?”
“Yes!”
“It’s fine, love. We got the information from Cad. Dragons and Dire Wolves are being dispatched to all corners of England as we speak. Everything is fine.”
“Wait, what? No, you don’t understand! Men were dragging Cad down the hall! He was unconscious. I’m worried—they might kill him…”
Suddenly the woman on the other end seemed to perk up. “Oh, bloody hell! You didn’t say anything about Cad not being able to stand on his own two feet. Well, that’s a whole other problem. Right. Keep yourself safe. Help will be there soon. That silly-billy Roth is being a stubborn arse, I’ll tell you, but once Bert gives him a stern talking-to…”
Dire Wolves of London Box Set Page 45