by Jools Louise
“Each label, for every single product, has its own braille code,” Ryder said. “Once you get familiar with them all, it’ll be a cinch. The till is programmed for each code, and everything is scannable. You just swipe the barcode under the scanner, it tells you what you’ve scanned and how much, and presto.”
“Did you say that the till ‘tells me’?” Douglas asked, thinking he must have misheard.
“Sure, it’s a speaking till,” Cracker drawled, as though that should be obvious. “You didn’t think we’d let you be a slacker for the rest of your life, did you? You’re a bona fide member of management, now, so no more skiving off at the café. Time to get back to the grind.”
Douglas curled his lip at that, smirking. “Slacker?” he retorted drolly, then laughed. Cracker was right. He’d been avoiding going to work. It was past time he started pulling his weight. “Does this mean there’ll be no more breakfast in bed?” he asked wistfully. He did like his wake-up calls.
Ryder chuckled huskily, and Douglas was suddenly the center of a shifter sandwich. His mates’ hands glided over him, getting him hot and horny in seconds.
“We’ll make sure we don’t forget breakfast in bed,” Cracker said, his lips finding Douglas’s hungrily. Douglas moaned, his hand rising, and he cupped Cracker’s nape firmly, wanting more. Ryder joined in the smooch, and they spent several seconds savoring one another before easing back breathlessly.
“Let’s take a rain check, shall we?” Ryder said hoarsely, clearing his throat, the pungent stench of their arousal punching through the sweet aromas permeating the shop.
Douglas leaned into his mates, feeling light-headed. “I can’t wait,” he said.
Chapter Nine
Ryder hung up, scowling fiercely at his computer screen. The fucker in New York had gone AWOL. Simply disappeared off the face of the earth, apparently, and with a whole fucking security team at his disposal, as well as the FBI, Homeland Security, and ATF for assistance. Not one of them had seen a trace for three days. He now had to tell one of the loves of his life, plus a particularly unpredictable lion shifter named Sherman, that a man who had not left his home state for over nearly two decades was now on the run. How the fuck had he gotten wind of their operation?
“Ryder, call on line two for you,” his assistant, Madge, yelled from the neighboring office. He shared a part of Sheriff Pace’s offices, taking a room each for himself and Madge now that he’d moved permanently to Sage.
“Thanks, Madge,” he yelled back, picking up the receiver again.
“Ryder, he’s been spotted,” the caller said succinctly.
“Where?” he replied, knowing the identity of the speaker without needing clarification. It was one of his solo agents, Sketch, who’d been tracking down their renegade since they’d first found out the bastard had gone missing.
“He’s heading to Sage,” Sketch said grimly. “I had a hunch and played it. The idiot’s got a posse together, thinking he’s going to take down Sage and make it his own patch.”
“What!” Ryder shouted, utterly taken aback.
“You heard me,” Sketch said, and then chuckled loudly. “The idiot actually believes he’s invincible and has recruited a bunch of gnarly old ex-cons, mobsters, and other people who don’t realize he’s taking them on a suicide mission to hell. I have it on excellent authority that mafia is washing their hands of this and wants no part in starting a war of this kind. They all have various shifters working for them and are quite happy with the status quo. Having an idiot like Purdy muddy the waters is making them angry.”
“Take care, Sketch,” Ryder urged, not wanting his friend and long-time colleague to get in over his head.
Sketch laughed again, then rang off.
“What’s up?” Pace said from the doorway, obviously attracted by the noise.
“Purdy, our friend in New York, and Sherman and Cracker’s nemesis, is heading to Sage,” Ryder said grimly, still reeling. “He’s bringing a whole bunch of gangster wannabes, thinking he’s taking over our town O.K. Corral style.”
Pace’s eyes widened comically, before he burst out laughing at the news. “He wants a turf war?”
Ryder nodded slowly, not finding any amusement in the whole situation.
“Do we know how many?”
Ryder shrugged. “Sketch just said he’s been recruiting, so god knows,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m struggling to find anything funny about this.”
Pace grinned maniacally, his streak of kick-ass showing clearly. “He thinks he’s going to just waltz into town, run us all out of town, and put his ass in my chair, as the new sheriff?”
“He’ll have deputies for that,” Ryder said dryly.
“Why don’t we give Purdy what he wants, a nice little town, all gift-wrapped and cozy and ready to move into?” Pace suggested, still with that evil little smirk on his face.
Ryder arched one brow enquiringly.
“Purdy likes guns,” he said, and saw laughter in his friend’s eyes.
“Have you forgotten about John so quickly?” he said, which had Ryder snorting. The big Brit did like his explosives…a little too much.
“We want to stop Purdy, not destroy the town again.”
“Did you also happen to forget that our good friend has a bunch of ex-special forces soldiers staying out at the ranch? Kaden’s biker crew is also there, Sherman’s pride is here in Sage, and we have an entire community of athletic shifters who would love some payback against some of those bastards who’ve profited from their misery over the years. Purdy has hurt a lot of people, through extortion, blackmail, pedophile rings, drugs. You name it, if it’s illegal and can make money, Purdy’s been involved in it. The miserable asshole’s so fucking arrogant he thinks he’s made of Teflon.”
“Do you mean, we desert the town and have him walk right in?”
“Then close the trap right on his slimy head,” Pace said with relish, sounding far too much like John in that moment than Ryder was comfortable with. The two were a bad combination for Ryder’s peace of mind.
“Okay, call the guys in, and let’s get us a plan together,” Ryder sighed, deciding to let them have their fun. “But make sure the little ones are well out of the way. I do not want anyone hurt.”
Pace came over to pat him on the shoulder. “Dude, this will be a cinch,” he said, and palmed his cell phone, sending a Code Five text to their unofficial security crew. Sage was now protected by a fairly simple but effective network of shifters who could be alerted using a series of coded communications. A Code Five was to let them all know that this would be a full-on initiative, and for precautions to be taken to get the most vulnerable to safety as quickly as possible.
“Sketch is on line one,” Madge called through.
Ryder frowned. That was quick. It was unusual for Sketch to call again so soon.
“Hey,” he said into the receiver.
“Your snitch got cocky,” a low, arrogant voice said in reply. It was definitely not Sketch.
“Purdy,” Ryder said coolly, hearing a gut-wrenching scream of pain in the background. He tensed, not wanting to believe that Sketch had been compromised.
“That’s Mr. Purdy to you,” the voice said viciously. “I’m going to leave your snitch for you to come and collect. At the small truck stop, off the main highway north east of town. In four hours, I want Sherman, Kaden, Kathleen, and Cracker to come and meet me. They’d better be on their knees, handcuffed and ready to accept their punishment. I’ve been most inconvenienced by Daniel’s incarceration. I shall be making sure to get what I’m owed.” Purdy hung up.
“I heard,” Pace said grimly, having heard the scream, as well. “Time for plan B,” he gritted out, texting again. If Purdy was that close, they needed to get to him first. They’d need a distraction, though, to separate the bastard from his enforcers.
Ryder nodded, fearing the worst for Sketch. Purdy was known for dealing with those who grassed in a vicious manner. Ryder just hoped they’d be
able to save the man before the worst happened.
* * * *
Sketch gritted his teeth around the pain searing through him. He knew he had broken ribs, his left shoulder and elbow were in pieces, and his right kneecap had just been shattered. He’d heard Purdy’s side of the conversation through a haze of agony that overshadowed everything. He’d been an idiot, cocky to the point of stupidity, and had underestimated Purdy. He just hoped the mistake wouldn’t be fatal.
“Leave him here,” the mobster said indifferently to one of his minions, a young man with a sullen countenance who eyed Sketch with a menacing leer. The man was about five feet seven, with greasy brownish-red hair tied back into a thin ponytail. He wore dirty blue jeans, an equally filthy green T-shirt and biker boots that had seen better days. He was kind of stocky and nondescript in a way that suggested that most people overlooked him. The man’s eyes were the most startling thing about him, a bright turquoise that shone like jewels in his grimy face. He would have been handsome but for expression on his face.
“You got it, boss,” the man replied laconically, ignoring the fierce glare sent his way. Apparently he didn’t care much for Purdy, either, judging by his bored mien.
“Follow us, and make sure nobody’s taking any extra interest,” Purdy ordered, then wheeled about and headed to his large black limousine.
Sketch remained where he was, behind the truck stop’s main building in a stand of scrubby trees. He would be hard-pressed to walk anywhere, since he appeared to have lost the use of his leg.
“He’s gone,” the man said the minute Purdy departed with his entourage of twenty vehicles. The guy palmed his phone and texted someone, then grinned suddenly. “Come on, dude, let’s get you some medical assistance,” he said, and crouched down, before carefully lifting Sketch’s much bigger form into his arms. Sketch groaned in pain, his jaw aching from the pummeling it had just received. He figured that was broken, too. He tried to speak, but the agony continued, and he faded away into oblivion, wondering who the hell the man was that could pick him up as though he weighed nothing.
* * * *
Skull placed his charge gently inside the café, after placing a call to a secure number. He sliced a vein and dripped a little of his blood onto Sketch’s lower lip, hearing the man moan in pain, and then saw the tip of his pink tongue peep out, licking at the crimson fluid. Skull almost groaned himself, looking down into the man’s beautiful face. Sketch was a god. He had thick dark hair and was sinfully sexy, with the most sinful brown eyes, like melted chocolate mixed with a hint of spice. Skull inhaled and felt his cock twitch in reaction. The guy was sex on a stick.
Skull dripped a few more drops of blood, then licked his wound closed, trying to rein in his libido before he jumped the poor man. The shifter blood would help Sketch’s healing speed up. The agent’s injuries were severe but not life-threatening, although he’d be in a wheelchair for a while. He tilted his head and heard the sound of a vehicle, seeing a familiar figure step out.
“Hey, Kaden,” Skull called, smiling as the man entered the deserted cafe. The owners were safe and sound in the store room out back. Skull had told them it was better if they didn’t say a word until he came to collect them.
“Skull,” Kaden replied, and stepped forward, taking the smaller shifter into his arms and locking lips with him. They both moaned, kissing passionately. Skull tasted the gorgeous lion shifter’s ardor and felt his cock tighten in his jeans, pushing urgently toward the stud.
“Hmmm,” he sighed as they parted, his eyelids drooping as he tried to catch his breath. “I’ve missed you.”
Kaden hugged him. “I was worried,” he replied huskily.
“Did it go to plan?” Skull asked, meeting Kaden’s concerned look tenderly.
Kaden nodded. “Yeah, I took the long way around. The guys are in place.”
“Did Purdy see you?”
Kaden grinned suddenly, his white teeth flashing in his gorgeous face. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “The bastard almost had kittens. He’ll be here any second. With that convoy behind him, and the size of the stupid limo he’s riding, it took him a while, but he’s on his way. Sherman and Cracker have their guys ready for action.” Suddenly Kaden’s nostrils twitched, and he sent a startled look to the prone man on the bench seat. “Is that…?” he began, wide-eyed with surprise.
Skull gave him a slow, seductive smile. “Yeah, he’s ours I think,” he said lasciviously, licking his lips. “His name’s Sketch.”
“I have a surprise, too,” Kaden said, watching Skull’s face carefully.
“What is it?” Skull prodded, when Kaden hesitated.
“There’s a man, David Feenan, who I think may be ours, too,” Kaden said quietly.
Skull’s eyes widened at that. “A foursome?” he asked, groaning aloud. “Oh, boy,” he growled huskily, cupping Kaden’s succulent ass firmly and squeezing. “Is he pretty?”
Kaden laughed at that, sending him a wry look. “Looks aren’t everything,” he retorted. “But, yes, he’s sexy as fuck.”
“Guys…” Sketch suddenly sighed, slurring his words, his eyes dazed with pain.
“Hey,” Skull said gently, tugging Kaden closer. “I’m Skull, real name Sully. This is Kaden,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”
Sketch sent him a surprisingly droll look. “Skull, I just took a beating. How do you think I feel?”
Skull grinned back, stroking his cheek without thinking, seeing the spark of awareness in the man’s brown eyes.
“Kaden here is Sherman’s stepbrother,” Skull said. “He’s bait.”
“Bait?” Sketch asked, wincing as he breathed in too hard, clutching his ribs.
“A doctor’s on his way,” Kaden said, kneeling beside Sketch and taking hold of his hand. “We’ll take you to the clinic in town once we take down Purdy. Not long to go, now.”
“What did you mean, that I’m yours?” Sketch asked, his breathing a little ragged. Skull frowned, concerned. There might be more internal damage than he’d thought.
“We’re your mates,” Kaden replied as Skull palmed his phone again, and speed-dialed someone.
“Ryder, I need Lex here,” Skull said urgently.
“Sketch!” Kaden yelled, seeing Sketch’s eyes droop, his breathing harsh now, labored, as though he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.
“Punctured lung, I think,” Skull said grimly, into the phone. Then he looked a little sick. “He wants me to do what?” He kept the phone to his ear, nodding slowly. “Okay, I can do that.”
“Skull?” Kaden asked, sounding worried.
“Lex may take a while since they’re rounding up the minions right now, blocking the road into Sage,” Skull said slowly, swallowing hard. “He said that we need to feed a straw into Sketch’s ribcage, to release the fluid that’s building up.”
Kaden nodded without hesitation. “Okay, go and get me some straws and something to disinfect.”
Skull went to fetch the straws and a bottle of whisky he’d found under the counter. Apparently one of the owners liked a tipple. Between them, they sliced Sketch’s shirt open, doused his bare chest with the alcohol, then looked helplessly at one another.
“If this goes wrong…” Skull said worriedly, not wanting to do the deed.
Kaden sighed and produced a knife with a thin, razor-sharp blade. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll try not to kill him,” he added, as Skull blanched. “Which side is his heart?” he drawled.
Before Skull could say anything more, Kaden soaked the knife in the alcohol, then made a small incision between two of Sketch’s ribs, focusing intently as he inserted the blade carefully. Blood and fluid began to trickle out, and he removed the blade quickly, replacing it with a straw. “I need something to tape it down,” he said. Skull looked around urgently, belatedly spying a first aid kit near the counter.
“Here, there’s some surgical tape in here,” he said, after retrieving the kit. Between them, they secured the straw, li
stening carefully for signs of distress from their patient. “I think he’ll be okay,” Skull said, relieved that Sketch’s breathing had improved markedly.
“Not for long,” a familiar, snide voice said from behind. Purdy had returned.
The man fired two shots, hitting Skull right in the chest, and he fell backwards, clutching at the wounds.
Kaden snarled viciously, eyeing the mobster furiously. He waited for the bastard to shoot him, as well.
“Did you think I’d ignore the opportunity to take you down, runt?” Purdy said mockingly, not sparing a glance for Skull who lay unmoving on the floor beside Sketch.
“I figured you’d have a little more sense, actually,” Kaden retorted, wanting to rip the bastard’s throat out and stomp on his entrails. “You’ve never had the balls to do your own dirty work for years, so I don’t know why you think I’d be scared of you.”
“Ah, yes, but then I was just a young upstart back then,” Purdy replied with a sneer, his black eyes oozing with malice. “Now, I’m the head of an empire filled with loyal subjects and will be letting you enjoy the same death as that little freak, Stephanie.”
Kaden smiled suddenly, glancing out the window of the café. “What loyal subjects?” he asked curiously, and saw Purdy turn to look out at the empty lot.
“They’ll be here soon,” Purdy said confidently, looking bored but not afraid.