Bite Me

by Shelly Laurenston

  “Just tell us. Then we clean your house and we go. No money needed. Just information. Truthful information.”

  “Or,” the man behind him said, the younger man’s English perfect, if low-class, “the next batch of snakes will be poisonous . . . and in your bed.”

  Lyle looked at the men surrounding him. They all had dark, dark eyes. Eyes that watched him, waited for him to do something stupid.

  Protecting Frankie Whitlan wasn’t worth all this. It would never would be worth this.

  “I haven’t been in contact with Whitlan for years. Not directly. He doesn’t call me, and I don’t call him.” The men waited, so Lyle continued. “But I help with . . . managing his money in some foreign accounts.”

  “Who?” the older man pushed. “Who do you talk to about Whitlan’s money?”

  “Rob . . . Rob Yardley. That’s who I work with. Whoever his connections are, they talk right to Whitlan themselves.”

  “Good, rich man. Very good. Now . . . you go back to hotel and to your pretty wife and lovely children. You stay there for night. By tomorrow . . . everything will be done. Clean like whistle.” Several of the men walked into the house; Lyle had left the door open when he’d fled. “And,” the older man said, “you will keep mouth shut. You won’t warn Yardley or anyone else. And you say nothing to police, yes? Because that would make us very angry. Not something you want, rich man.”

  As if to punctuate that, one of the men walked out of the house, a snake wrapped around his fist. That was disturbing enough, but then Lyle realized that the head of the snake was gone, the body just limp, and there was blood covering the lower half of the man’s face. And the man was . . . chewing.

  Lyle felt bile working its way up the back of his throat, his hand slapping over his mouth.

  The older man laughed. “Go, rich man. Go to your nice family. You stay out of this, and we won’t be back, yes? And that make you happy. Never to see the likes of us again?” He laughed again, slapped Lyle on the back, which almost had Lyle vomiting right there. “Go, and be happy this will be worst of it for you.”

  Lyle did. He went back to his car, his wife and children at the hotel, and he tried—for the rest of his life—to forget the last thing he’d heard before he’d closed the car door and driven away from the house he was already planning to sell.

  The older man yelling out, “Come, all my beautiful sons! It is time for us to feed!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Vic had changed clothes. Not into anything too fancy. Just his black jeans, black boots, black sweater, and his knee-length black leather jacket. He figured that after the bout, he could take Livy out for dinner. Again, nothing too fancy, but nice.

  He walked down the stairs and Livy’s cousin Jake came in the front door. He caught sight of Vic and stopped. “Where you off to?”

  “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

  “You shaved.”

  “Really? I shave and that means I’m going out?”

  “Yes.”

  “God, you’re just like your cousin.”

  Jake smiled. “She is me. I am her. Are you taking her out tonight?”

  “She has a derby bout. If she’s up to it after, I thought—”

  “Derby?” Shen suddenly barreled out of the living room. “You’re going to a roller derby bout?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I come, or do I have to stay here and keep an eye on the Jean-Louis Parkers?”

  “Well, since you completely freaked them out the last time I asked you to do that—”

  “Why did I freak them out? I didn’t do anything.”

  “You stared at them for three hours straight until they were forced to go to bed.”

  “You said keep an eye on them . . . that’s what I did. It’s not my fault they’re sensitive jackals.”

  “I’m not going out tonight,” Jake said. “I’ll make sure they’re fine.”

  Vic, satisfied with that since he knew how much Livy trusted her cousin, asked, “Any word yet about Lyle Bennett?”

  “Yeah.” Jake yawned, scratched his neck. “We got a name from him. It sounded vaguely fancy British.”

  “Do you remember the name?”

  The badger thought a moment, then replied, “Yardley. Rob Yardley. Any guy named Rob Yardley shouldn’t be too hard to break.”

  “No,” Vic said quickly. “Don’t do anything yet.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him. He’s a gambler.”

  “That’s even better.”

  “No. It’s not. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me. Understand?”

  Jake studied Vic a moment, nodded. “Okay.”

  Vic pointed toward the living room. “And you’ll watch . . .”

  “It’s covered. Go. Have a good time.”

  Vic and Shen walked out of the house. Shen waited until they were halfway down the block before he asked, “Who the hell is Rob Yardley?”

  “A gambler who used to be under the protection of Grigori Volkov.”

  Shen stopped walking. “Grigori? He’s under the protection of Grigori?”

  “Calm down.”

  “Calm down? Didn’t you say that Livy’s family thinks a shifter must be involved?”

  “It can’t be Grigori.”

  “Why? Because you like him? Because you went to his daughter’s wedding in Moscow? Because your mother calls him her little konfetka?”

  “My mother calls everyone her little konfetka. It just means ‘sweetie.’ ”

  “All I’m saying is, I hope you’re being smart about this. I know you like Grigori, Vic, but he’s still a gangster.”

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you’re being smart.”

  “What do you want me to do? Let the Kowalskis meet with him? That can only end badly, and you know it. I’ll deal with it. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Shen agreed. “But I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Livy walked into the locker room to put on her gear and get ready for that evening’s bout. A few of her teammates called out greetings, some muttered condolences for her father. And Livy simply nodded to all of it and moved on until she reached her locker.

  Thankfully, no one on her team expected more from her. Olivia didn’t eat, sleep, and dream roller derby like most of these girls. For her, it was simply a great way to work off aggression legally. At least legally among shifters. She couldn’t get away with half the shit she’d done if she were on a full-human derby team.

  The love of the sport, though, was the same for both full-humans and shifters. These girls bought their own gear, did all their own team marketing, and paid for all travel out of their own pocket. They didn’t get even a tenth of the trappings that the bigger sports teams received, and yet they didn’t care. Livy liked that, too. It cut down on the egos considerably when no one was signing million-dollar contracts.

  Blayne and Gwen walked in and were greeted enthusiastically by the rest of the team. They’d both become team co-captains last year when Pop-A-Cherry, the old team captain, got pregnant. Once the liger’s child was older, she’d probably get right back out on the track, but for now, she was working from home. She did still manage the team’s website, T-shirt marketing, and fund-raising, though.

  Gwen, a tigon and Blayne’s best friend, stopped by Livy. “What are you doing here?”

  “Blayne wanted me at tonight’s bout.”

  “She did? Why?”

  “Because she invited Vic Barinov, whom she seems to have discovered I’ve been fucking, and wants to get us married and popping out babies as soon as possible.”

  “And she thinks all that will happen after he sees you playing derby?”

  Livy looked over at Gwen . . . smirked.

  Gwen’s eyes crossed. “I really hate when you two start doing this shit.” She walked to her locker. “I really, really hate it.”

  And yet Livy enjoyed it all so much.

/>   As promised, Blayne had a ticket waiting for Vic at the box office. And when he mentioned he needed to buy one for a friend, they gave him one more. For free.

  Confused, Vic asked, “Don’t I have to pay for this extra ticket?”

  The fox behind the window shook his head. “There are seats available in that section.”

  What did that have to do with anything? “Yeah, but . . . don’t I still have to pay for it?”

  The fox chuckled. “No one wants to sit in that section. Trust me.”

  Unsure what was going on, Vic walked back to a waiting Shen. He handed him his ticket.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. They didn’t charge me anything.”

  “That’s cool, huh?”

  “Yeah. I guess. Unless they’re really shitty seats.”

  “Jeez, Vic. You really need to learn to relax. Shitty seats. Great seats. Who cares?”

  Shen was right. Vic was overthinking things.

  They entered one of the smaller coliseums, which was packed with shifters of every breed and species, including hybrids.

  Considering they’d gotten free tickets, Vic expected their seats to be way up in the rafters. But those seats were already filled with people.

  “We’re down here,” Shen said, pointing.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so.”

  They walked down the stairs until they reached the row indicated on their ticket stubs. The seats were nice, plush, and they would be close to the action.

  Vic, focusing on the arms of the seats so that he could follow the numbers, went down the line, silently counting until he was forced to stop by very long legs that looked like someone had cut off a couple of tree stumps and covered them in denim.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m in that seat . . .”

  His words faded away when he saw who was sitting between him and his seat. Bo Novikov.

  Vic locked eyes with the polar bear–lion hybrid and his instincts took complete control. Especially when he saw Novikov’s eyes shift from blue to gold and his hair suddenly drop to his shoulders like a big mane of rage.

  They both roared at each other. Novikov leaped out of his seat, the pair of them ramming their foreheads together, fangs unleashing to warn of great bloodshed. It was all very primal and something Vic couldn’t control when he got around certain hybrids. Namely Bo Novikov.

  “That is enough!” a voice yelled over the roaring. Vic was pushed one way and Novikov the other.

  “I am not going to put up with this bullshit through the whole bout. Now get some control!” That from Lachlan “Lock” MacRyrie. Vic knew him through Dee-Ann. He was a friendly enough bear . . . until annoyed. And he was clearly annoyed because Vic could see the man’s grizzly hump starting to grow. “Barinov, you and your friend sit over here. Novikov . . . sit down. Now.”

  MacRyrie placed himself between Vic and Novikov.

  Once they were all seated, Shen whispered to Vic, “What is it about that guy that ticks you off so much?”

  “I have no idea,” Vic whispered back. “I don’t even know the man. But I get around him and all I want to do is tear his head off and wear it like a hat.”

  Shen laughed. “I love hybrids. You guys are always so fucked up. And it’s always so random!”

  Now that everything had calmed down, MacRyrie nodded at Vic. “Hey, Barinov.”

  “MacRyrie. This is Shen Li.”

  “Vic’s business partner,” Shen volunteered.

  Vic gritted his teeth.

  “This your first bout?” MacRyrie asked.

  “Yeah. Blayne invited me.”

  At the mention of Blayne’s name, Novikov looked around MacRyrie and snarled at Vic, baring extremely long fangs. Vic roared back.

  “I have no problem killing both of you,” MacRyrie snapped. “And keep in mind, I used to kill for a living.”

  Well aware that MacRyrie used to be in the same Marine unit as Dee-Ann, a unit that hunted the hunters, Vic decided not to push the issue. Thankfully, neither did Novikov.

  “So how does this work?” Vic asked MacRyrie.

  “The jammer has to pass as many of the opposing team as possible within two minutes. The problem is, the jammer has got to get past the blockers—and they don’t want to let her do that.”

  Vic stretched his neck, trying to loosen the tension there. “I’m going to be so bored.”

  “You might like it.”

  “Vic hates sports,” Shen explained.

  “I don’t hate sports. I just don’t understand its purpose in my universe.”

  MacRyrie grinned. “I get that, too. Not everyone enjoys sports of any kind. But if it helps, the players on this derby team all wear tiny shorts and tank tops.”

  Vic shrugged. “That actually does help.”

  Two lion males walked to the empty seats in front of Vic’s. At first, he was annoyed. Those manes would just disrupt his viewing pleasure. But then he saw the face of one of the lions.

  “Hey, Mitch!”

  Mitch Shaw turned and smiled. “Vic!” They shook hands. “How ya doin’, man?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “What are you doing back here? I thought you were still in Albania?”

  “Nah. Doing a local job. This is Shen Li,” Vic said, pointing at the panda. “Shen, this is Mitch Shaw. He works for Bobby Ray’s security company. I get a lot of work from them.”

  “This is my brother, Brendon Shaw.”

  “You’re not going to say hi to me?”

  The lions’ expressions turning to disgust, matching gold gazes moved from Vic and Shen to MacRyrie.

  “We are going to be family, after all,” MacRyrie added. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you two?”

  Vic watched the felines fight their desire to rip MacRyrie apart, finally settling on ignoring the man altogether.

  Mitch nodded at Vic. “We may have some work coming up for you soon. I’ll let you know.”

  “Great.”

  With one more glare at MacRyrie, the two cats sat down in their seats.

  “What was that about?” Vic asked the grizzly.

  “Nothing really.” MacRyrie grinned. “I’m just marrying their sister.”

  The main lights were turned off and AC/DC’s “Back in Black” was cranked up. Colored strobe lights moved across the track, and a female announcer who sounded like she needed to lay off the cigarettes said:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, cats and dogs, foxes and bears. It’s what you’ve been waiting for . . . what you’ve been needing . . . what you’ve been craving. Now is the time and this is the hour for you to finally get exactly what you deserve! And tonight it’s the ruling champions against the angriest bitches on the block. So welcome, one and all . . . to Buroughs Brawlers Banked Track Derby!

  “Let’s give a big hand to our first team, the toughest bitches on the East Coast . . . the Jamaica Me Howlers!”

  The first team came out on the track, fists pumping, screaming at the crowd, working to get everyone psyched up for the bout. When each team member was introduced, depending on the breed or species, different parts of the auditorium erupted in applause and cheers.

  Yet even with those cute, tight outfits on the players, Vic could already tell he was losing interest. He finally pulled out his cell phone and opened up a book on Stalin that his father had told him he might find interesting. “Although,” his father had added, “nothing about that fistfight he had with your grandfather over woman.”

  While Vic read, he stopped listening to the announcements and the music that was playing and the teams. What could he say? He really was not a sports fan. Not even when it involved hot girls. But then suddenly Vic heard booing and hissing. It came out of nowhere and seemed strange since he hadn’t heard any of that before. And when he looked up, he saw that Livy was moving across the track.

  “And it’s the woman you love to hate, the bitch you know to fear . . . it’s The Bringer of the Pain!”


  That was when the booing got even worse.

  Horrified, Vic watched Livy, wondering if this was why she didn’t play all the games. Because everyone was so mean to her.

  The Bringer of the Pain, aka Livy, stopped on the track, looked out over the booing, hissing, screaming crowd, and raised both her arms to about chest height, middle fingers extended from each fist. She stuck her tongue out and made some gestures with it that he was not entirely comfortable with her using outside the bedroom, and then turned on her skates and basically told them all to kiss her ass.

  But he knew Livy well enough now to know that she wasn’t upset. No. She was enjoying herself. She liked being the bad guy of the derby world. The one everyone hated. And without the usual confinements of a relatively polite society, she was able to express her own feelings right back.

  Of course, Vic figured out within the first ten minutes of the game why Livy was hated and why she had earned her particular derby name.

  Because Olivia Kowalski brought the pain to everyone.

  The whistle blew and Livy unwrapped herself from the She-lion’s head and landed on the track. She shook the blood off her hands.

  Livy glanced up in time to see the She-lion bring her head down. The woman’s forehead smashed into Livy’s face, and blood began to pour from her nose and mouth. The She-lion skated backward, a middle finger raised. If this had happened during the jam, Livy wouldn’t have had a problem. As far as she was concerned, anything that happened during the jam was just what happened. But this was done after the whistle, and that pissed Livy off.

  She shot after the cat, ready to tear her apart; Livy’s claws unleashed, her fangs out.

  The two teams charged out onto the track, Livy’s team blocking her from reaching the cat, Blayne and Gwen wrapping their arms around her and desperately holding Livy back. The other team simply stood in front of their teammate, ready to protect her from the honey badger that most teams in the league referred to as “that bitch.”

  The refs, a husband and wife bear team, ordered the track cleared, and a sixty-second break was taken.

  Livy was pushed back to the team’s infield and forced onto the bench.