“Listen—Bert, is it? I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m seriously worried that my lov—I mean, that the shifters will die if someone doesn’t come and help as quickly as possible.”
“Right. Of course. Just—let me talk to god. He’ll know what to do to fix this.”
“Excuse me—did you just say you were going to send God?” Oh, great. This woman was certifiable.
“It would take too long to explain. You’ll know him when you see him. Good-bye.” With that, the strange woman hung up.
Mir began pacing the room, her steps frantic as she chewed her nails. What the hell could she do? Barton’s bastards might be in the basement right now, torturing Cad and Phair. Or even worse, they might be…
No. Thinking about worst case scenarios was not helping one bit. Damn it, she was the mate of two powerful shifters. She wasn’t some helpless prisoner, not anymore. The Ritual had changed her, even if she wasn’t quite sure how.
Well, there was only one thing to do. She was going to have to go down there herself. Her sister was probably in the kitchen. At the very least, she needed to protect Bry from whatever madness was unfolding in the club’s depths.
She dashed towards the door and ran down the hall towards the stairwell.
If she died tonight, at least she’d do it saving the people she loved most.
Chapter 25
Phair awoke in a dingy room that looked like a large storage closet. Metal shelves lined the opposite wall, and one solitary lightbulb hung overhead, casting foreboding shadows in distant corners.
His vision was foggy, as though a cloud hung directly in front of his eyes, and to make matters worse, he felt like someone had stuffed a pound of wet cotton into his cheeks. For what felt like several minutes, he was hardly able to drag his head up to its natural position. When he’d finally summoned the strength, he tried to pull his hands to his face to wipe it free of whatever was keeping his mind from working properly.
It was only then that he discovered that his wrists had been tightly bound behind his back. Feeling around with his fingers, he realized for the first time that he was attached to a metal chair with what felt like a solid pair of metal cuffs.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, trying to engage his brain enough to remember how this had happened.
The last thing he could recall was Cad leaving the Red Room to go get some fresh air. Phair had smiled to himself, knowing his companion was off to work his way into Barton’s computer. They would finally be able to take Mir and her sister out of this place, to free everyone, to report Barton to the proper authorities for his crimes against humans and shifters alike.
Ivan had taken Cad’s place at the table. Barton and Evans had cracked a few lewd jokes about women, and then suddenly…
Suddenly Barton had turned his head to Ivan and said one word.
Now.
That was when Ivan had held up something that looked like a space-age silver gun and pointed it at Phair.
The Béorn shifter had seen it too late. He’d gotten complacent and foolish. He’d become cocky, told himself that he and Cad had this entire job wrapped up.
He’d failed himself, he’d failed Mir, he’d failed everyone.
The whole damned thing—locking Mir away for the evening, inviting the two shifters to play poker—it had all been orchestrated, like Barton was one step ahead of them the entire time.
But how? How could he have known? There was no way Mir had told him, or Bry for that matter. They hated the man.
Well, it didn’t matter, did it? They were screwed now.
Phair looked around the room, trying to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this predicament. As his eyes searched the shelves in front of him, a low moan sounded from somewhere to his right, and he managed to turn his face enough to see Cad’s limp form in the chair a few feet away.
“Oh, damn,” he said. He could see a small dot of blood on Cad’s neck where the dart must have hit him. Of course, that was it. Ivan had been holding a tranquilizer gun.
The vague recollection came to him of the menacing grin on the bastard’s face, just before he’d felt the blow of impact, just before the world had faded to black.
For some reason, Barton didn’t want them dead. Just incapacitated.
“Cad!” he hissed, trying in vain to kick a leg out towards his friend’s chair. Crap. His ankles were strapped to the chair, too. “Cad!”
Cad muttered something unintelligible, then drifted off again.
“Wake up, Brother,” Phair hissed. “I really need you to wake up.”
Cad groaned again as Phair tried to pull himself loose. But even his muscles weren’t sufficient to break him free of steel. Worse still, he couldn’t shift, couldn’t summon his Béorn to help, not without risking severe damage to his limbs. The metal could break them during the transformation, then he’d be no good to anyone. Not to Cad, not to…
All of a sudden, an image of Mir flashed through his mind. Where the hell was she? Was she safe? Did she even know what had happened? If Barton was onto him and Cad, he might well suspect that she’d helped them. He might have sent his men for her, too.
He sniffed the air, searching out her smell. But there was no evidence that she’d been here, or anywhere close. That was something, at least. If that bastard Barton did anything to her, anything at all…he’d…
A sound jarred him away from the beginnings of his homicidal fantasy. The door. It was the door creaking open. Someone was coming in.
He turned his head, pretending to be on the verge of unconsciousness as Gunner and Ivan wandered in They were followed by their gruesome overlord, who issued Phair a chilling smile as he came to a stop several feet away.
“Gunner, go find Miranda, would you?” the boss-man ordered, and his henchman nodded, turned on his heel and left. Ivan stood in the doorway, hands behind his back. A malicious smile twisted his lips. Not surprising that the fucker liked the fact that the shifters were finally at his mercy, instead of the other way around.
“So, it seems you two aren’t gentlemen after all,” said Barton, stepping over and kicking Phair’s foot. “It’s unfortunate, you know. I’d grown to like you. I thought perhaps you were two of the good ones—that is, if there’s such a thing as a good shifter. I suppose I’ve always known that it’s an unlikely scenario.”
“As if you have any idea what good is,” said Phair, lifting his head. “You’re a corrupt, abusive bastard who should die in jail.”
“Yes, I should, shouldn’t I?” Barton replied, stepping forward. He reached out and took Phair’s chin in his hand, pulling his head up further. “Good God, you’re a big fucker,” he said. “Why, I wonder, are you so much bigger than most shifters?”
“It’s funny, you know—Mir said the same thing,” Phair replied, a devilish grin slipping over his lips. He knew full well that Barton wouldn’t take well to the reminder that Mir had seen him naked.
Sure enough, Barton drew his arm back and struck him hard across the face. “I know what you’ve done,” he said. “I know that you and your friend here think Miranda is somehow your destined mate.”
“Oh?” Phair asked. “How would you know that?”
Barton smiled. “I have friends in high—and very low—places,” he said. “You see, there are a few shifters willing to work with the likes of me.”
Oh, shite. Very low places. The bastard was talking about the Underground Club. Someone had seen them there—someone who was willing to betray their kind.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Barton said. “That you need to talk to the Dragon Alpha and that Roth creature. You need to warn them. Well, I can’t very well let you do that, can I? It would be utter stupidity on my part.”
“Which means you’re going to kill us,” Phair said. To his right, Cad muttered something too faintly to make any sense.
“Well, to be fair, I probably won’t do the killing,” Barton said, nodding over his shoulder towards Ivan. “There’s a bloke over there who’s just aching to
do it himself.”
“I’ll bet he is,” replied Phair.
“You do realize that Miranda isn’t yours, don’t you?” Barton asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m so I’m glad you enjoyed her for a few nights. But she’s not your mate. She never will be.” He let go and turned back to the Béorn shifter. “She never was, not really. You see, she’s learned to act in her time with me. She’s good at it, too. The clients love her because they always believe that she’s really, really into them.”
Something inside Phair tightened. “She doesn’t act with us,” he growled, anger rising like bile in his chest. “You know that perfectly well. You know it’s different with us.”
“You know what? I don’t think so. I’ve watched her with other men. I know how charming she can be.”
Phair wanted to unleash his beast, to let out a deafening roar. But his wrists, begging for release, throbbed hard against the steel that shackled them. Pain shot up his legs from the place where the bindings constricted him.
Hang on, he told himself. Wait for it. Torture him first.
A low, rumbling laugh began to build in his throat, not stopping until it echoed through the room.
“Something is amusing you, then?” asked Barton.
Phair nodded. “Absolutely,” he replied. “I suppose it’s the fact that you think for a second that Cad or I would bond with someone who was merely acting. That you think the animals who dwell inside our bodies and souls don’t know when a human is manipulating us.”
Barton looked taken aback. But better still, he looked frightened. Phair knew now that his eyes had begun to take on the golden light that warned others that his Béorn was close at hand. That the bastard would be feeling it in the marrow of his bones.
Death is coming for you.
“You have no clever retort for me, of course,” snarled Phair, “because you couldn’t possibly know what it is to be at one with your mate. No woman has ever loved you. And God knows, you’ll never be capable of love yourself. So yes, I am amused. Because you’re pathetic, Barton. You are a sad, lonely creature whose sole comfort comes from his abuse of others.”
When he saw his captor’s face redden, he knew he’d pressed exactly the right button.
“I’m pathetic?” Barton hissed. “It seems to me that you and your friend here are the ones chained to chairs. You’re the ones who will die tonight. Tell me again how I’m the pathetic one.”
“I think you have it backwards,” Phair growled low.
The other man leaned forward. “What’s that? How could you possibly be serious, shifter?”
“Because the only life that will end tonight, you absolute skin goblin, is yours.”
Chapter 26
The second Mir’s foot hit the floor of the basement she raced towards the kitchen, relieved beyond words to find Bry standing at the sink, a potato peeler in hand.
“Oh, thank God!” Mir gasped, sprinting to her sister to throw her arms around her neck.
Bry let out a hearty laugh, hugging her back. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Did you think I’d died or something?”
“Something like that.” Mir pulled away and looked her sister in the eye. “Just—look, something’s happened. I need to get you out of here right now.”
“Out of here?” Bry said. “You mean out of the club? But we can’t—you know what they’ll do.”
“I know, but it’s okay. It’s been looked after. Someone’s on their way to help our family members. They’ll be safe, Bry. The only thing I care about right now is making sure you’re safe, too.”
Bry opened her mouth to speak, but she shut it again and laid the peeler on the counter.
“Okay,” she said, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. “Tell me what to do.”
Mir reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’ll get you out,” she said, handing over a small purse. “There’s money in here, and a phone. When you get out, head to the Tube station. Find a hotel for the night, somewhere far from here. Call the last number on the phone and tell them you’re safe. I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait—you’re not coming with me?”
Mir shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “Not until I make sure the men—my mates, I mean—are safe.”
“Wait—your mates? What are you talking about?”
Just then, the kitchen door came flying open and Gunner charged in. The moment he set his eyes on Mir, a look of pure ire set itself on his features.
“There you are!” he shouted, running at her. Looking around quickly, Mir grabbed a butcher knife that sat on the counter behind her and held it up in front of her face, pushing her body in front of Bry’s. She lunged at Barton’s hired gun so fast that he fell backwards onto the floor, a look of sheer terror in his eyes.
“Fuck, woman, what’s happened to you?” he asked in a voice that said I may have just soiled myself.
“I could ask the same,” gasped Bry. “Mir? What’s going on? You just moved like a bullet.”
It was true, too. She’d crossed the room so fast she couldn’t even remember how she’d done it. It was as though she’d flown, rather than used her feet.
A smile ticked her lips upwards as a sensation of growing power flowed through her body and mind. So this was what it was like to have two male shifters for mates.
Not bad at all.
“My mates,” she replied, “are powerful. And so am I now.” She handed Bry the knife. “Watch that one,” she said, nodding down towards Gunner as she reached over and yanked a blender’s electrical cord out of the wall. In a swift series of motions she pulled the cord out of the blender itself.
“Turn around,” she snarled at Gunner, who obliged without hesitation, rolling onto his stomach. “Put your wrists together.”
In another rapid-fire series of motions, Mir bound his wrists.
“Bry, open the pantry door, would you?” she asked. Her sister walked over and pulled the broad door open. Mir reached down, grabbed Gunner by the back of the shirt and yanked him upwards.
“Cry out,” she said, “and I’ll cut your throat. Do you hear me?”
He nodded vigorously.
She shoved him into the pantry before reaching into his jacket pocket to grab his keys. She backed away and slammed the door, grabbing a chair and cramming it under the handle.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to Bry, taking her by the hand. “We’ll get you out the back way.”
Moments later they were dashing up the stairs towards freedom.
When they’d reached the back door of the club, Mir used Gunner’s key to unlock it, then pushed it open. A gust of cold air swept in, reminding her just how close Bry was to escape.
“Go!” Mir said. “Find somewhere warm to stay for the night. I’ll make sure no one follows you.”
“You’re really not coming with me?”
Mir shook her head. “Not without my mates,” she said. “Now go!”
Cad had finally begun to come to, though he was disoriented and confused. He lifted his head just enough to see his friend attached firmly to a chair somewhere to his left. “Phair,” he moaned, “what’s going on?”
“See for yourself,” Phair replied, nodding to something in front of him.
Cad raised his head to see Barton staring down at him, a look of pure malice in his eyes.
“Hello, oh lord of kindness,” Cad said, then he began laughing. He remembered now—Gunner, the tranquilizer that had made him crash to the floor. Whatever had been in that dart, the drugs had definitely had some kind of goofy effect on him. He felt awfully good for a man who was chained to a chair in a dank basement.
Phair shot Cad a look that said Well, I guess I’m on my own.
But Cad shook his head almost imperceptibly. Not on your own. I’m here. I just don’t want them knowing it.
“Which one of you wants to go first?” asked Barton, nodding to Ivan, who grabbed a black leather satchel off one of the shelves.
“What the hell is th
at?” asked Phair.
“My sack of tricks,” Barton replied. “Very handy for getting answers from people.”
Ivan lay the bag on the floor and pulled it open to reveal a harrowing assortment of shiny silver objects.
“Oh!” Said Cad. “You’re going to torture us!” He let out a high-pitched giggle. “You’re probably looking for answers, aren’t you? Well, I can give you all the answers you want.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” said Barton.
“No, no,” Cad interrupted. “You didn’t let me finish. I’ll give you the answer as long as the question is How tiny is Barton’s dick?” With that, he erupted in another bout of giggles.
Scowling, Barton said, “You know perfectly well what I want from you, shifter. I want to know where the Dragon Alpha is. Where the Dire Wolf Alpha is. I want addresses. Names of their subordinates. All of it.”
“Or what?”
Barton nodded again, and Ivan handed him something that looked an awful lot like a hand drill.
“You’re going to fill my cavities?” Cad said, staring up at the apparatus and chuckling. He turned to Phair, a goofy smile on his face. “Free dental surgery!” he shouted joyously.
“I’ll give you some new ones, how’s that?” asked Barton, the anger palpable in his voice. “How would you like a nice cavity in the side of your skull?” He took a long stride towards the Dire Wolf shifter.
Phair cried out “Wait, stop!”
Barton turned to him, an inquisitive look on his face. “What? You don’t want me hurting your mate here?”
“My mate there is a drooling mess,” said Phair. “Ask me questions. It’ll be fun.”
Cad tried signalling Phair. Shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he said. “Don’t do this. Let him have a go at me. I want him to. I want you to get angry.”
“I’m already angry, Phair growled.
“Not angry enough,” said Cad.
But the stubborn jackass ignored him. He was going to take all the pain for himself.
“Fine,” Barton sighed, moving over to stand directly in front of the Béorn shifter.
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