Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “How old are you really?” the professor asked Troy, his bright eyes narrowing as though the towering man were quite a specimen.

  Troy frowned down at him and said, “This is Kaleb. He’s going to protect you.”

  “Marvelous,” said the professor, coming very close to Kaleb and studying him with the same sense of awe.

  “Is he always like this?” Kaleb asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Conor grumbled. “At least you’ll be within ear shot of their date,” he told his brother.

  “It shall take place in my cozy motel room,” the professor announced. “I shall need flowers, lots of flowers,” he told Kaleb as though the werewolf was some kind of butler. “Then we must stop at a wine store. Oh! And I’ll make arrangements with Angel’s Food for delivery.”

  “They don’t deliver,” Kaleb said dryly.

  “Then we’ll pick it up! I’ll have to get my suit pressed and perhaps a trim,” he went on, pacing and listing all the arrangements he would need to make in order to create a seductive evening with Sasha.

  “Come on, old man,” Kaleb said as he ushered the professor to his pickup truck. “Might as well get started.”

  “Splendid!”

  As they drove away, Troy glared down at Rachel, who responded by straightening her spine and holding her head high.

  “So now you know,” he stated, but to Conor’s ears it sounded like a warning.

  “She figured it out,” he told his brother. “I didn’t have to tell her a thing.”

  “That’s right,” she said proudly.

  Nikita approached her. “My dear, I hope you understand how important it is to keep our secret.”

  “I take it Reece, Lucy, and Whitney all know?” Rachel smartly asked.

  “The last thing we need is for this thing to spread like wildfire,” Troy told her.

  But she quickly corrected him, “No, the last thing you need, the last thing anyone needs is for Dante to get control of this town.”

  “The sheriff dropped all charges as well as the investigation,” Conor informed him. “Soon it’ll be our pack against Dante’s.”

  Rachel added, “And we have no way of knowing how big his pack has grown or who they are.” She must have caught the faint flicker of vulnerability behind Troy’s eyes, because she next assured him, “Your secret is safe with me. I’m only after Dante. No one else.”

  Troy shot Conor a warning glance, implying that she better be telling the truth, so Conor backed her up, declaring, “I trust her. You should, too.”

  ***

  At about the time Kaleb was juggling three giant bouquets of flowers in his arms, having followed the professor around the little flower shop, Flowers from the Fist, that sat one door down from Libations in the heart of the town, Conor and Rachel returned to his cabin on the northwestern side of town, having grabbed a quick bite at Angel’s Food.

  As soon as he’d shut and locked the door behind him, he took hold of Rachel’s hips from behind, drinking in the sight of her perfect shape beneath her jean shorts, and pulled her against his body.

  “You got me in serious trouble with my brother,” he growled into her ear, as he breathed in her feminine scent and nuzzled into her wavy brown hair.

  “You’re the one who invited him,” she reminded him.

  “That’s no excuse,” he maintained as he turned her and held her close.

  He searched her eyes, looking down at her pretty, determined face, and felt the strong will of her resolve that she held firmly in her tense body relax away. Soon she felt limp in his arms. She draped her slender arms over his muscular shoulders and smiled daringly up at him.

  “What are you going to do about it?” she challenged in a flirtatious whisper.

  He scooped her up swiftly into his arms and she let out a little yelp of excitement. As he carried her through the living room and into his bedroom, he informed her, “You’ll see.”

  “Is that so?”

  He lowered her to the bed and angled over her. Rachel spread her legs as he eased down, feeling her soft shape beneath his hard body. He teasingly brushed his lips across hers and smelled her skin. Sunlight and sweet sweat was how she smelled, womanly and heavenly. The feel of her body under his made him stiffen in his jeans. He pressed his hips into her and she let out a breathy moan that turned him on even more.

  “Your mother is very nice,” she told him as he nibbled her neck, tasting her salty sweetness. “And I really like your grandmother.”

  “I’m not going to be able to do what I think we both want if you keep talking about my mother and grandmother,” he warned playfully, and she giggled then stroked her thin fingers through his shaggy hair. “And I strongly advise against any conversation that has to do with Gaylord getting it on with Sasha.”

  “Hey, you said it not me,” she laughed. “But now you’ve got me thinking about it.”

  He cringed, groaning into her neck at the horrifying thought of it, and Rachel laughed even louder. She had the most melodic laugh and it was contagious.

  Conor lifted up and ran his hand down his face, “Oh God, what have we done?”

  “I think they really liked each other.”

  “Christ.”

  “Who knew?”

  “I certainly didn’t see it coming,” he laughed. “I’ve literally never seen Sasha so tickled.”

  “And I didn’t think the professor had it in him, crazy right?”

  “Okay,” he declared as he rolled with her, Rachel coming over him as he held her face, “no more talk of old people.”

  “Deal,” she said before bringing her lips to his in a soft, sensual kiss.

  He stroked her wavy, brown hair away from her face then kissed her more deeply. “I think this was right about where we were before we were interrupted last time.”

  “Hmm,” she said, considering whether or not he was right. “I think we had less clothes on.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he agreed as he began working her shirt up from under the hem.

  She sat up, straddling him, and removed her shirt. Conor drank in the sight of her supple chest and how her thin bra left little to the imagination. He traced his strong fingers down her taut stomach then up again and caressed her breasts.

  She reached back and unfastened her bra, and as it slipped off her shoulders and onto his stomach, he cupped her soft breasts. She was beautiful. Perfect. As he grazed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, he watched them harden. Rachel closed her eyes as if to enhance the feel of his stimulating touch and then pushed his tee-shirt up his sculpted abs.

  In one quick motion, he pulled his shirt up and over his head and tossed it to the floor. She planted her warm palms on the firm wall of his chest, smiling down at him as he continued to massage her supple breasts.

  He should’ve stolen Troy for a minute outside of his mother’s house. He’d been too angry to even think to ask his brother about the possibility that Rachel could be meant for him. He needed to know before he got in too deep with her. There was something building inside of him. It felt like attachment but it could very well be love, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if Troy told him Rachel wasn’t destined to become his one true mate.

  Conor tried to ignore the feeling that time was running out. Maybe his interest in Rachel had started from a fear that unless he united with his one true mate he would remain fatally vulnerable to Dante and his army of the damned. But that interest and attraction had blossomed into something that felt real. Could it be? Could this last? Could he have her for the rest of his life and all of eternity?

  What would he do if he couldn’t?

  Rachel leaned in again and kissed him. He took gentle hold of the nape of her soft neck, feeling her wavy hair that was silk to the touch, and deepened the kiss. She moaned into him, her entire body relaxing over his, and he rolled with her again, coming over her and pinning her under him.

  When he lifted up, she was smiling. He unbuttoned her jean shorts, taking his time
as he lowered the fly, then began slowly working them down her hips and studying her delicate, feminine shape where her lacy panties barely covered her sex.

  “These are new,” he groaned.

  “I picked them up when we went shopping the other day,” she said softly. “Do you like them?”

  He freed her of the jean shorts and gently grazed his finger along the lacy undergarment and told her, “Yeah, I like them.”

  He was throbbing for her beneath his jeans. The way she looked, soft and nearly nude, all spread out before him on the bed, her chocolate brown hair spilling over the pillow, was enough to make him want to tear his own jeans off and thrust in. But he also wanted to take his time. So that’s what he did.

  As he hooked his forearms under her hot thighs, wrapping his large hands around her hips and bringing his hungry mouth to her lace-covered mound, she breathed, “Is werewolf sex different than mortal sex?”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” he grinned.

  “Well, we’re not baking cookies,” she smiled in return.

  “It’s not different,” he answered. “I’m just a man as you can see.” He studied her expression and asked, “Does that disappoint you?”

  “No,” she allowed.

  He slipped his index finger under the lace between her legs. She felt warm and slippery wet to the touch and it made him stiffen even harder in his boxer-briefs.

  She reached to push her panties down, helping him to do what she definitely wanted, and he took over the task, peeling her panties down the length of her long, toned legs until they were on the floor with the rest of her clothes.

  When he brought his lips to the sweet apex between her legs, she let out a sighing moan that was music to his ears. He licked and she quivered. He kissed and she shuddered sensually. He sucked and slowly slipped his finger into the hot sheath of her sex and she trembled, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh and her thighs relaxing over his arms.

  He wanted to give her everything, but for now he would focus on making her feel as good as humanly possible. As he proceeded to lick and swirl his tongue around her sensitive core, his finger gently thrusting and probing the hot, slippery folds of her body, Rachel moaned, her breathing turning quick and shallow. He soon learned all of her spots, what she liked, how she responded when he caressed and massaged those areas that churned up sharp swells of arousal. As he continued honing in on those places that made her pleasure surge, she raked her fingers through his hair, helping him to hold and keep going whenever he found a place between her legs that felt especially amazing.

  Suddenly, she cried out and clamped her strong thighs around his ears, rocking her hips to feel more of him as she climaxed in response to his lips and tongue. If he could do this to her every night, he would be the happiest man in Devil’s Fist.

  Soon she calmed. Her body relaxed. And she sighed out a long moan that turned into satisfied-sounding laughter.

  He crawled up and pulled her into his arms, rolling onto his back with her, as she nuzzled his neck and kissed his cheek sleepily.

  Before long, they both drifted off, but as the dark cloak of sleep came over him, Conor’s dreams soon turned to nightmares.

  ***

  The moon hung low and large in the grand Wyoming sky that looked black as sin to Rick. It wasn’t full, but he could still feel its monstrous pull on the dark side of his damned soul as he walked cautiously through the ominous field. Even the air felt toxic and prickly against his skin. This was the last place he wanted to be at midnight, but he could see no way out of it.

  Dante Alighieri, the real devil of Devil’s Fist had claimed him and there were no options. He had to obey or else face consequences that he feared to imagine.

  As he came to the middle of the vast field, he spotted in the distance a sea of silhouettes.

  Good Lord have mercy, he thought, as he stared, white-faced and shaken at the sight. There were hundreds of residents gathered in the darkness where the field met the wooded wilderness.

  Hundreds.

  He sucked in a deep, fortifying breath, forcing air into his lungs even though it felt stained with the dark Lord’s energy. Then Rick pressed onward, marching towards Dante’s army of the damned.

  Eddie Friendly saw him coming and set his cold, black eyes on Rick. He could feel the detective’s piercing stare. It chilled him to the bone, but he kept one foot going in front of the other until he came to the devilish gathering.

  “I was almost worried about you,” Eddie stated.

  “It’s midnight,” he said, defending himself. “I’m right on time.”

  Rick hated that his subordinate, a man at least twenty years his junior, could intimidate him, but that’s how he felt. His soul might be damned, but he was still determined to save it, and his life, from the perils of a rogue werewolf gone mad.

  As he glanced worriedly around, he saw familiar faces and felt his heart sink. Dante had gotten to all of them. He’d robbed these people of the simple, peaceful lives they’d come to know in this town. Now they were at his mercy and Rick feared that many of them would end up giving their lives to a demonic werewolf who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice them to further his diabolical mission to overtake the town.

  Dante sprang up, levitating into the air at the front of the gathering, and the crowd collectively gasped in terror. He was glowing, but not with light. Dante’s glow was that of darkness that somehow illuminated the many faces that couldn’t bring themselves to look away. Everyone, including Rick Abernathy, was far too scared to dare.

  “You are the chosen damned,” Dante announced, lifting his arms to welcome those he had turned against their will. “My army of devils.”

  The crowd of residents cowered, looking up at their dark lord who was levitating in the night sky over their heads.

  “Our numbers are growing and we will soon be strong enough to take on the Quinn pack,” he told them, his deep voice booming out across the field. “The time is nearing. We will fight by the light of the full moon.”

  Eddie bravely asked, “The next full moon that will be upon us in a few weeks?”

  Dante grinned evilly down at his most loyal follower and declared, “Yes! And when we kill them off and finally own this town, it will truly be hell on Earth.”

  Chapter Twelve

  RACHEL

  “Got good news and great news,” Sheila told her as Rachel started through the station in her jean shorts and tee-shirt, hoping to avoid Detective Eddie Friendly, who she’d been lucky enough not to run into outside on the sidewalk.

  Sheila was a quick-witted, proud woman in her early forties who loved early 90s fashion so much that she had never given up the telltale look of that time. Her hair was tightly permed, her makeup bright and her eyebrows thick and bushy. She kept her fingernails manicured with tacky acrylic and tended to wear pastel sweaters and tailored pants. All of which endeared her to Rachel.

  “I’ll take the great news first,” she said, stopping by her desk.

  “The great news is that the APB on Harold Marple got a hit on it. He’s right here in the Fist. Got a call of someone disturbing the peace and a few officers found the guy harassing some insurance adjustor this morning at Angel’s Food.”

  “That is great news!” Rachel exclaimed but was halted from her glee when she looked down at her highly unprofessional attire.

  “The good news is that your uniforms came in,” Sheila added with a wink. “I hung ‘em in the locker room for you.”

  “Excellent!”

  Rachel wasted no time making a beeline for the women’s locker room that was immaculate and exceptionally private since she was the only female officer in the entire precinct.

  Just as Sheila had promised, Rachel found two starched policewoman’s uniforms hanging near her locker. She wasted no time getting suited up and once her newly issued police Glock was holstered at her side, she raced through the station, eager to get to Angel’s Food before Harry could slip away from the officers that were holding him
.

  “Lookin’ sharp, Clancy,” Eddie told her as she breezed out onto the sidewalk.

  She gave him a fast, sidelong glance, and returned, “You look like crap,” without slowing her step.

  “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled.

  She called out over her shoulder, “Try getting some sleep and laying off the smokes!”

  After looking both ways before jogging across the street—traffic had kicked up considerably thanks to it being tourist season—she found Harry Marple in the throes of a heated argument with the two cops that were holding him outside of the diner.

  Harry looked exactly like Rachel would’ve expected. A washed-up drunk. He had a wiry build, but was short in height. It was the beer gut that gave away his aptitude for favoring booze over making something of his life. It looked like he had at least tried, however. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and a pair of slacks that must have had him sweltering in this heat. Of course, his shirt was untucked and his tie was all loose and cockeyed, but she figured that could have happened in the tussle with the police.

  “I’m Officer Clancy,” she introduced.

  Red-faced and furious, he shoved the officers off of him and stated, “This is harassment! You have no right!”

  Rachel gave a nod to one of the officers and they released him. Harry shoved his shirt down and tucked it in, straightening up what the cops had done to his previous tidy appearance.

  “Why don’t we head on over to the station?” she suggested.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he protested.

  “Mr. Marple,” she began using a firm, authoritative tone, “you’re under suspicion for arson so you’re going to have to answer a few questions.

  “Arson?”

  To Rachel’s trained eye, Harry was trying very hard to seem astonished. She wasn’t buying it. “Come on,” she insisted.

  She escorted Harry across Main Street and into the police station where Eddie Friendly was sipping coffee with his fellow detectives as though he didn’t have two probably-connected investigations burning a hole through his desk.