by Elle Thorne
The Italian was taking the blood debt, literally, it seemed.
* * *
“There you go,” Braden encouraged.
Lying on his back on the floor of the ring, Bain glanced his way as Braden popped his fist into his palm. “That's it.”
Bain shook his head to clear it. He got a lucky shot. Braden may have thought he was doing good but he wasn't. He had just recovered from a chokehold and was seeing stars.
I can't get my fucking head in the game.
Just as he was thinking that, just as he was trying to talk himself into getting it together, he never saw the train that hit him in the jaw, knocking him into the fencing that surrounded the cage they were in.
And it was a cage. This was not a ring. And there were no gloves.
He regained his footing, but staggered forward. He was taking a beating. And this was his third fight of the night.
Within Bain, his polar bear roared itching to be released, if only a little bit. His bear was straining to help Bain. With a slight light blue and gold flash in the depths of his eyes as the only sign he was releasing his bear just the tiniest bit to help him through this, because otherwise he was going to end up in a hospital, Bain snarled.
“Do it.” Bain heard the bear in Braden's voice. Braden obviously knew that Bain's bear was surfacing.
With a swiftness that betrayed his fatigue, Bain tore into his opponent. His bare fists a flurry windmill of stone hammers, he regained his control over the fight.
His opponent tapped three times, indicating his surrender.
“No tapping,” came from the Italian that held the blood debt, the same one who owned the warehouse and the fighting ring.
“No tapping,” said the ref, who was just a paid monkey of the Italian.
Bain calmed his bear, pulling him in and spit out his mouth guard out so he could speak.
His opponent spit his out, raised his arms to knock fists. “Where the hell did that come from?” A trickle of blood slid from his lips.
“I guess I got a second wind.”
Chapter Twelve
Carina watched the fight and she cringed at each and every hit Bain took. When his opponent kicked him in the face, the one in the final fight, she'd flinched at the sight of blood splattering across the ring.
Barbaric.
She couldn't believe he actually enjoyed this. Why was he doing it? There had to be a reason. She'd noticed the man in his corner of the ring. She'd never met any of Bain's friends. In truth, Bain was a mystery. She wondered who the man was. It was clear they had a closeness.
Just wait until next Sunday night, Mr. Bain Kozlov.
She had some questions for him.
Chapter Thirteen
Bain woke up on Braden's couch. He gave the idea of standing a brief thought, but the second he moved his legs, he was reminded of the torment he'd put his body through a few hours ago.
“You fell asleep.” Braden handed him a fresh icepack.
Bain groaned as he took the one off his shoulder to replace it with a new one. Every muscle hurt.
Every. Single. Damned. One.
“It feels like a fucking truck hit me.” He tried to breathe but found even breathing hurt. “Change that to three trucks.”
Braden laughed. “That would sum it up. You know you can stay the night, right?”
Bain had never taken up his uncle on that, but tonight he would. And then he remembered. “My phone.”
“Yeah, you have a text from Mikhail Romanoff.”
Odd, Mikhail never texted him. Must be important. He groaned as he shifted to reach for his bag.
Braden jumped up from the recliner, set his bottle of beer on the coffee table, unzipped Bain's bag, and handed him the phone.
He read the text: I need to see you.
Just like Mikhail, straight to the point.
“Why don't you hibernate to heal?”
“Nah. I can’t afford to go into too deep a sleep. Mikhail wants to see me.”
Hibernation healed the human wounds while the bear took over. The problem was that it made a shifter vulnerable, so it was rarely done unless it was dire or if the one hibernating trusted those around him (or her).
“I’m sure he can wait an extra day or two while you heal.”
“He never reaches out. For him to do that now, he needs something. I’ll be fine.” Bain adjusted the ice pack, leaned back and closed his eyes.
* * *
“You look like hell.” Mikhail surveyed Bain from head to toe then back up again. “The Italian?”
Bain scowled. Was there anything Mikhail Romanoff didn’t know? “Who told you?” Only Braden could have, but he didn’t think he would. In fact, Bain would stake his life on knowing Braden wouldn’t betray his secrets.
“I have an organization full of people who deal in the information business.”
“So you spied on me.” An anger began to course through Bain, but at the same time, a feeling of belonging to a family where someone cared.
This was new to Bain.
Mikhail raised a brow. “I call that looking out for my own. And let's don't forget this is my territory.” His tone was haughty, and Bain got the message.
“Yes, the Italian.”
“I need your help. I want you to accompany Carina on an errand.”
“What errand?”
Mikhail picked up a file, leafed through the papers. “I need your services for the week. I think that should be enough time.”
“What services?”
“The ones that get you all bruised up. You're doing security, right?”
Bain did not want to lie, so he said nothing.
“So you will help me for the next week?”
Bain tilted his head, considering the timeline. “That will prove difficult.”
“I will take care of the Italian.”
“This is my debt to pay,” Bain said. There was nothing he wanted more than to help Carina and spend time with her.
“This is my territory.” The way Mikhail rolled his Rs made Bain look up.
The older polar bear shifter's eyes gleamed with a silver fire in their depths. This was a sure sign his bear was surfacing. “I have not taken care of your debt. As much as I would like to, and as much as Miriam would like me to, because she is very disturbed by your bruises and contusions. I believe in each man's right to create his own destiny. I have merely asked for an extension.” A smile that belonged on a shark appeared on Mikhail’s face. “Don't worry, I asked nicely.”
Bain found himself happy that he would not ever be Mikhail's enemy.
“You know, you don't have to pay your brother's blood debt.”
Bain shrugged.
“You're too honorable.”
Another shrug.
Maybe I am.
Chapter Fourteen
“You're sure?” Mikhail Romanoff had a file in his hands.
How in the world did he have answers already? Mikhail had summoned her early that morning with a phone call, telling her he had heard back from his sources.
Carina fought to keep her fingers from shaking. She was standing in his study with Miriam next to her. Miriam had her arm around Carina's shoulders.
Carina had not slept well the last few nights--after the night she’d come over and told Miriam and Mikhail the whole story.
“You're sure you want answers?” Mikhail repeated his question.
“I'm sure. Good or bad, I need to know.”
Miriam's hand traveled down Carina's arm and clasped her hand tightly. “We're here for you. Whatever you need. You’re family. And not just honorary. Your sisters are mated to my nephews, who are practically my sons. That makes your sisters my daughters. And that makes you my daughter, as well.”
Carina's bottom lip trembled. She wanted to cry at the woman's generosity and kindness. She fought the tears.
“Do you want to read it? Or do you want me to read it to you?”
“You do it.” Carina held on to the bac
k of the chair.
Mikhail opened the file.
“Her name is Breanna. They call her Bree.”
Carina exhaled looking down, keeping her emotions hidden from view. “So she is alive. And she's with a family.” Joy that her daughter was alive coupled with disappointment that she would not get to be a part of her life. For what couple would let her be? Surely they'd want to keep Breanna to themselves. And she could not blame them.
“Not exactly,” Mikhail said.
Carina's head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
Mikhail sorted through the papers, pulled one out, held it up so she could see it. “No family.”
Carina took the page from him. She studied it.
Breanna's parents had been killed. She paused to absorb that. Carina was no stranger to shifters losing their parents when they were young. The world was dangerous for shifters. Rivalries were dangerous. Territorial disputes. So many perils.
She kept reading, then looked up at Mikhail. “My daughter is in an orphanage for shifters?”
“When orphaned shifters don't have family members, that is where they are taken,” Miriam’s tone was sad. “That’s where the boys would have been placed if we had not taken them in.”
“But…” Carina glanced at the paper again. “Four years? She’s been in an orphanage for four years? She’s been there since she was a toddler?”
“In California.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bain settled into a plush seat, but he couldn't get comfortable. Not with the punishment his body had taken the night before.
He and Carina were on Mikhail's private plane piloted by Mikhail's personal pilot. The pilot announced they were less than an hour from the airstrip near their destination.
Carina's eyes were closed, but he knew she was not sleeping. She had told him nothing about their mission. Neither had Mikhail.
“Hey,” he whispered. “We are almost there. Don't you think you should tell me what I'm walking into?”
Carina opened her eyes.
Her beautiful chocolate brown eyes were surrounded with bloodshot whites. And they were swimming in tears.
She looked away, her jaw clenched.
Bain looked away too. Now he felt like an asshole for making her cry. “I'm sorry.”
The sigh she heaved was ragged, and it tore deeply into his soul, attaching itself with fishhooks and tugging at his heartstrings.
He was very sorry.
“My daughter.”
His gaze snapped away from the window and onto Carina. “Your daughter.” Why didn't he know anything about a daughter?
She nodded. “It's a long story.” She clenched her hands into fists, then flexed them open, fisted, open, fisted. The last time she opened them she gripped the seat so hard her knuckles turned white and the tendons popped out. “No, it's not a long story. I had a daughter. I was told she died at birth. I recently found out she didn't.” She turned her head toward the window.
“So now you're going to visit her?” He was trying to figure out where he fit in this picture. Anyone could have accompanied her on a visit. Not that he didn't want to be the one because he wanted that more than anything, but he didn't think anybody else knew that.
“Not exactly.” Her voice choked on the words, a sob at the ready.
Okay, this was a bit confusing for him. He wanted to pounce in, get answers, solve problems, and make things better for her. But a part of him, maybe his bear, told him that was not the way to go.
And so he waited until she was ready to talk.
And he waited some more.
At almost the point where he was going to lose his patience, she began to make tiny circles on the arm rest.
“My daughter was adopted. Her parents were killed four years ago. She's been in an orphanage ever since.”
Bain's heart broke with that revelation. He could not even begin to imagine the pain she was going through.
He reached out, put his hand on hers, stilling the nervous patternmaking.
The chemistry between them sent a shock through his body. He ignored that chemistry. This was not the time, no matter how much he wanted her, no matter how much her scent was making his bear crazy. No matter how much his bear paced in his mind.
“I take it we’re going to this orphanage?”
She nodded.
This should be just a quick visit, a matter of picking her daughter up. So why was he here?
“You're probably wondering why you're here.”
“I'm glad to help, but I did wonder.”
“I did to, that's why I asked Mikhail.”
Bain hoped it had nothing to do with her not wanting him here. “And what did he say?”
“He said you had experience with the law.”
“I don't practice anymore. And that's New York law.”
“He said state laws wouldn't matter, shifter laws would, and that you could talk a good game.”
Bain wondered how Mikhail would have this kind of information, but he only wondered for a second. He was the Romanoff alpha, after all.
* * *
Bain shifted the leased Hummer. He glanced at the GPS; they were on track. “Be there in five.” He glanced at Carina.
She'd gone back to clenching and unclenching her hands, making fists over and over again. He reached across and put his hand over hers. “We got this,” he told her.
“I'm so scared. What if…”
“I deal with what is, not what if.” Bain realized how harsh his words sounded and gave her a smile of encouragement. He tapped the brake as he took a right turn down a road that warned this was private property and no trespassing was allowed.
Nice, friendly place, he thought.
A quarter-mile later, he nosed into a parking spot in front of a large building made of tan and brown stones. The building was old, at least a century. He wondered if it had been in the hands of shifters all this time.
Helping Carina out of the Hummer, he flicked the fob to lock the doors, and took her arm, then walked her up a set of a dozen stairs to thick wooden double doors.
Before he knocked, he looked at her, and said, “You good?”
Carina sucked in a deep breath, making her seem taller, then let it out. “I'm good. Let's find my daughter Bree. That’s short for Breanna.”
Bain gave her a smile of encouragement. “We will.” He knocked, not wanting to assume it was okay to simply enter.
The door opened and a woman stood before them, a stern expression on her face. “Yes?”
Bain heard Carina swallow hard.
“I'm looking for my daughter. Breanna Carlson.”
The woman's gaze traveled over them, barely contained distrust shown in her eyes. “We have no Breanna Carlson here.”
Carina paled.
Bain's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Are you sure? When my daughter's adoptive parents died, this is where she was sent.”
“As I said,” the woman crossed her arms over her chest, “there is no Bree Carlson here.”
“Then how do you know her nickname?” Carina stepped forward. “If she's not here, tell me how you know her nickname.”
Bain bit back the smile at the gumption Carina showed.
The woman glanced to her left and raised her arm, then she opened the door.
Behind her was a large room in muted grays and forbidding black. From a side door, eight large men stepped out. It was obvious they were shifters.
The man in the center, the largest one, taller than Bain but not quite as wide, stepped forward. “Is there a problem?” His hand was resting on his side, and from the lump that Bain could see, figured there was a weapon there.
“Trespassers.” The woman's lips formed a thin line.
“I'll have to ask you to leave,” the same man said.
He took another step closer to Bain and Carina and the other seven men lock into step with him.
“We're going,” Carina said. “But you will hear from me again.”
She took Bain's hand and tugged.
Bain found a rage he never felt before, certainly never this strong, building within him. He found himself wanting to kill these men for denying Carina access to her daughter.
In the Hummer, Bain managed to control his bear's and his own rage enough to pull out his cell phone. He wanted answers.
“What are you doing?” Carina asked.
“I'm calling Mae. She might know what the hell this orphanage is about.”
“I'm going to call Mikhail,” Carina said. “He never mentioned what this place was. Maybe he doesn't know.”
Bain touched the screen to end the call with Mae, and turned to Carina, who had just hung up with Mikhail.
“Mae's looking into it. She said she's going to call Mikhail.”
“Mikhail said give him twenty minutes, then knock on the door again.”
He studied the building before them. “I've never seen an orphanage look so damned unfriendly in my life.”
“You have a lot of experience with orphanages?”
Before he could answer, Carina's phone buzzed, indicating a text.
She picked it up, and flicked at the screen. “Mikhail said go in. They're expecting us.”
Before Bain and Carina could even knock, the woman opened the door and handed them a folded piece of paper.
“Tell him I cooperated.” She slammed the door shut before they could even tell her thank you or ask a single question.
“Oregon.” Carina wadded the paper after she put the address into the GPS. She threw it to the floorboard.
“We’ll be there in a few short hours.” Bain could only imagine what it must be like for her. Sitting on pins and needles unable to find her child.
Carina's phone buzzed another text. After looking at the screen, she said, “Mikhail said someone will be meeting us there.”
Chapter Sixteen
Carina stared at the scene before them. If she thought the orphanage was forbidding, it had nothing on this place. The deeply forested woods of Oregon, vividly green with promise, were marred with the presence of a razor wire fence that forbade visitors.
