by Elle Thorne
Carina pushed that ever-present desire she had for this man away and pulled him into a little room off the clinic’s main waiting area.
* * *
Bain kept his face stoic while her eyes scanned for an expression, for anything that would give it away. He wasn’t letting her into this. This was all him.
The best thing he could do was to be a dick to her, get her to hate him, that way…
Bain pushed that thought away. He wasn’t that guy.
Not a chance.
He glanced around. It appeared as though they were in the area where Doc kept his medicines. Locked cabinets, syringes, bottles, and boxes confirmed that.
“Seems the guys need help at that compound. Whoever owns it has sent in reinforces. Our guys have backed down. They need back up.”
He felt like shit for lying.
“And you think you should be the one that goes?” She grabbed his arm again. The jolt that ran through him when her skin touched his was electrifying. “This is not your battle.”
Anything that involves the Italian has become my battle.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
He wasn’t going to tell her that the right thing to do, as he saw it, was to take the Italian out of this formula completely. Once and for all. It was one thing to run an underground shifter fighting ring. It was another to run it unethically and force others to fight. But it was a whole new breed of creature when he held shifter children captive for some sort of black market collaborations.
“I don’t see how you putting your life on the line is going to do any good.”
He studied the boxes on the shelves to keep from answering. That’s when he saw a name he recognized. He didn’t know how to pronounce that scientific name, but by damn, he knew what it was.
Anti-Tranq.
Expensive and difficult to come by. And Doc had some.
“Bain.” Carina pulled his arm, taking his attention off the medicine. “I asked you a question.”
Bain studied her face, but found he could not pull his gaze from her full lips. “Carina.” Her name was ripped from his soul, his heart, and his bear. That was all he could say.
Her lips flattened into a line of disapproval, her eyes narrowed.
What happened next blew Bain away. She pushed him backward, until his back hit the wall. Carina grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled his face close to hers. “Answer me, dammit!”
Bain groaned, buried his hands in her hair and pulled her face close to his. Jackhammers erupted in his stomach as his bear expressed his yearning. He captured her mouth, holding her lips captive, his tongue slipping in, searching for hers.
What the hell? He shouldn’t be doing this.
But he didn't want to slow down. He couldn't stop. Their tongues danced that dance, their hearts racing, their pulses matching beat for beat.
He couldn't help what was happening to his body. His cock responded as eagerly as his bear, as eagerly as his heart.
He lowered his hands to the curb of her back and pulled her against his body. Her eyes grew wide as she felt the desire he was barely able to control.
Bain heard a roar and realized immediately it was not his bear. Her panther had decided to take control, and Carina's arms rose, her fingers sifting through his hair, her nails scoring his scalp as she latched on to his mouth. She pushed her body against his, soft curves melding into hard muscle.
The kiss lasted an eternity, and at the same time, it was too short. As she pulled back from him, her breathing came out in spurts.
“Does that convince you to stay?”
Forever. And then some.
Damn it. But he had a job to do first.
“It convinces me to come back.”
She shoved at his chest. “Damn you, you’ll risk your life for this, won’t you?”
“Carina. I have to do this.”
She wasn’t there to hear the last word. She’d stormed out of the room.
Though Bain knew he really had nothing to come back to. Not really, not anymore, because Carina needed to be there for Bree. She didn’t need to have him distracting her from raising that sweet little angel.
But one thing was for damned sure, no one needed the Italian screwing up their lives.
All his life, Bain felt as if he never measured up, never truly understood his purpose for being. He was certain now he had a purpose, and it was more than that. It was a calling. He had to protect the ones that couldn’t protect themselves.
His chest swelled with the realization that he could be proud of himself, this was one time when he would be able to look back on something he did and know it mattered, for more than just one person, and for more than just one day.
He exhaled a deep breath.
If I’m around to look back on it, that is.
The grim notion that he could die didn’t escape him. But the calling to do this mission outweighed it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mikhail’s plane landed, waking Bain.
Before he’d left, he’d kissed Bree on the forehead, and she’d nuzzled him. Her eyelids fluttered, but did not opened. He thought of how she’d called him daddy earlier.
Her actions, her innocence, had led to Bain’s decision. It had sealed the plan in his mind as permanently as hot iron branded cattle.
He hadn’t given Carina the details she wanted in the end, not even that kiss could convince him to do that. If anything, that kiss convinced him he had to persevere. If he died, at least he’d be doing something. Just one damned thing to make up for the shit the Kozlov family seemed to always get mixed up in. It seemed Vey’s legacy would keep the Kozlov family captive forever.
Unless I can do something about it. And he aimed to.
At the clinic, he’d called Braden and asked him to keep their conversation private and tell him one thing:
Where was the Italian at the moment?
And then he’d boarded Mikhail’s plane and headed east.
When the jet landed at LaGuardia and he’d flipped his phone off airplane mode, he found a text from Braden.
The text read: Here are places you’ll find the Italian. It listed three addresses in Jersey. His home, his office, and his private club.
Bain frowned. Private club? Realization dawned. It was his own club. And that’s where he’d been held captive underground, shackled to that wall.
Bain rubbed his wrists and neck where the shackles had been. His scars from that ordeal had healed, barely noticeable, but they still burned whenever he thought of that time.
He shook the pilot’s hand as he got off the plane. “Tell Mikhail I said thank you for everything.”
Then another thought occurred to him, he turned back to the pilot.
“One more thing.” Bain swallowed back the ashes that seemed to have sprouted in his mouth. “Tell him to take care of Carina and Bree for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bain had spent most of the day searching for the Italian. He wasn't at his office, or at his home, so finally, as it had begun to get dark outside, he made his way toward the Italian's private club. He parked the rental two blocks away and stayed in the shadows until he could see the Italian's main clubhouse building. Staking himself outside, he watched the perimeter. There was no activity. No one came, and no one went.
A scent assaulted his senses, one he recognized. One he never wanted to smell again.
The same scent he had smelled when he was kept captive. Deep within Bain, his polar bear roared with fury, sending adrenaline shooting through his veins.
Bain realized this was the Italian's secret lair.
I wonder what other secrets he has here. He glanced around looking for a security system, but found none.
How arrogant.
This was the place he was held captive, after all, and no one was the wiser for it. Bain was certain this location held many other secrets, and a drive to uncover them and bring them into the open added fuel to his cause.
The larg
e building was made of stone and had to be at least a hundred years old. He approached the immaculately manicured lawn, allowing hedges and topiaries to serve as cover.
One by one, he tried the windows, and he got lucky. He raised the frame with a stealth that would’ve made Carina's cat burglar sister proud, then hoisted his body inside.
His shifter vision made light unnecessary. He studied the room he'd entered. A library, mahogany shelves stacked with books and more books. The scent of stale cigar smoke from an age long past would have gone unnoticed to a human’s sense of smell, but sat heavy on the air for a shifter. A thick plush Oriental rug lay in the center of the room, flanked by a desk and two leather chairs a dark brown color.
He didn't think this room held any secrets, so he opened the door to the hallway. Room to room, he searched the entire floor, finding nothing, until he came upon a final locked door.
Bain was not going to let a lock deter him. Confident he was alone, and unconcerned if the Italian would ever find out, he popped the lock with a flick of his wrist.
He opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the scent.
This was the place. Hate burned within him. He held his breath and took a step down the stone stairway. Step after step, he held his breath until he could no more, and then breathed shallowly.
He smelled the blood. His blood. And others’. He smelled the stones, the same stones had rubbed against his body, leaving it raw.
And then he saw them. The shackles. The room was subdivided by walls and each wall had shackles. This place was a torture chamber. It was a shifter brig.
A door caught his attention at the far end, and then he heard a sound that pulled him closer to it.
“I didn't expect to see you down here so soon.”
Bain spun around.
The Italian. Surrounded by four shifters. One of them with a Tranq pistol. He raised the gun, and took aim for Bain’s shoulder then flicked the trigger and released the dart.
Bain collapsed seconds after the dart hit him.
* * *
Bain wasn’t knocked out. The Anti-Tranq he’d appropriated from Doc’s offices assured that the Tranq hadn’t affected him. And he’d be very able to shift.
He felt his bear’s presence, and wondered why they hadn’t performed any witchery to keep the bear at bay.
Or maybe they had and the Anti-Tranq was an antidote for that as well as the Tranq darts.
Bain heard footsteps and he closed his eyes. Whoever was approaching was being very quiet. He'd memorized the Italian's pattern of walking. A slight shuffle when he moved one of his feet, as if slightly limping, favoring an injury. Or maybe a bad knee. Yes, he'd learned the Italian's steps, and that was definitely the Italian.
What the Italian didn’t know, Bain was not knocked out. He was feigning the effects of the Tranq they’d shot him with. He’d done something he wasn’t proud of. He’d stolen one of Doc’s Anti-Tranq doses. He fully intended to pay him back for it.
If I survive this ordeal.
He could smell the Italian; he was that close. The smell of garlic and marinara strongly pervaded Bain’s senses.
The Italian’s voice was close, his breath warm when he whispered in Bain’s ear, “Foolish shifter. All you had to do was fight a few fights and mind your own business. Now you will be my collateral for Mikhail and his friend Mae to call off their forces in Oregon and not meddle in my business affairs. Perhaps you can even gain me the control of the New York territory. Between you and your uncle, I’ll have leverage.”
Uncle? What did the Italian mean by that? Braden? They had Braden? Where?
Bain fought to keep control of his emotions and his heartbeat so they wouldn’t sense he was affected and awake.
“Let me go.” Braden was angry, that was clear from his tone. “What the hell? Bain? He better be alive.”
Oh, yes, Braden was pissed.
Bain hoped his uncle would control his temper and not force them to kill him. He heard a pop. And just like that, Bain’s shifter senses picked up Braden’s pulse beginning its slide into unconsciousness.
Great.
Now it was just him. He could shift and that would break through the shackles holding him. Then, he could rain some hell down on these bastards. His senses told him there were half a dozen in the room. Perhaps, if he were lucky, a few would leave.
“We’ll wait for my pantywaist stepson Giorgio to get back, he needs to witness how we handle situations like this,” the Italian said. “How the hell I’m going to get that pansy to behave like an alpha when his mother mollycoddles him, I have no idea.”
A couple of the Italian’s men smirked. Then, they all left.
And it was just Bain and Braden.
Bain opened his eyes and looked at his uncle, able to see clear as day in the darkness of the basement thanks to his shifter vision.
Braden had not gone down easy. His face was a portrait of bruises, scrapes, and lacerations. Bloody nose, split lip, and blackened eyes.
They’d pay, Bain vowed. Somehow, he’d make them pay. Specifically, the Italian.
* * *
This time, the Italian came in alone. Again, Bain kept his eyes closed to let his nemesis think he was still knocked out from the Tranq.
“I'm going to kill you, slowly, you piece of shit polar bear trash. And then I'm going to kill your father. And after that, your piece of shit brother's little son.”
In Bain's head, his bear roared with such volume that Bain thought his eyes would bleed. His. The Italian's words had almost pushed him to the point of shifting and killing the bastard. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of another voice.
Bain paused. He harnessed his pulse, reined in his heartbeat, and listened for the voice again, for it was one he had not heard yet.
Instead, the Italian spoke, “Giorgio, get your ass in here.” The contempt was obvious in the Italian's words.
“What is going on here? What kind of set up is this?” That must be Giorgio, Bain surmised.
Giorgio continued, “You’re tormenting shifters? If the Shifter Council found out—”
“You worry too much. You’re here to learn.” The Italian’s voice seemed to be moving away from Bain.
“We’ll start with this one.”
Bain freaked on the inside. They were going to kill Braden first. Hell, no. He couldn’t have that.
He flexed his fists slowly feeling the sheer power of his polar bear as he began to gather himself, preparing for that moment when Bain would call on him.
Bain took a deep breath.
Now.
And now it was. The bear roared in Bain’s head, and with swiftness that came from practicing shifting on a regular basis, his bones crunched, sinews stretched, and muscles thickened.
Within seconds, his bear’s sheer size had stretched through the iron shackles.
Freed and in a furious state of mind, Bain’s bear reared up, head thrown back in a roar that reverberated in the stone walled rooms.
With a mighty roar, Bain launched himself at the Italian as he was shifting into his black bear.
Bain didn’t give a shit if it was more fair to wait until he’d fully shifted. This bastard didn’t care about fairness when he put little shifter kids on the black market.
That thought drove his bear’s fury to new height. His lungs burned from the breath he’d been holding as he rushed the Italian. He reached his nemesis just as the Italian had fully shifted and reared up to greet him with outstretched paws the size of dinner plates tipped with lethal claws.
Bain aimed for the Italian’s throat, wanting nothing more than to slice into his jugular and let his lifeblood ebb.
The Italian backed up, swiveled, and ducked under Bain’s reach, while at the same time raising his razor tipped claws, yielding a swipe that sliced into Bain’s thigh.
Nearby, Giorgio was yelling something Bain didn’t understand.
Bain’s bear roared as their blood flowed down their leg, the large v
ein barely missed.
The Italian snarled in response and leapt toward Bain with an adeptness that belied his age and girth. His claws sank into Bain’s thick fur, shredding the flesh on Bain’s back.
Bain shook him off and the other shifter landed on the ground with a thud, making the foundation shake from the impact.
The Italian’s black bear rose, a wicked glint in his yellow eyes, saliva dripping from his long canines.
Another snarl caused Bain to snap his head to the side. Giorgio had shifted into a leopard.
So he could talk with Giorgio’s leopard, Bain pushed for a sync, a communication link where shifters could converse silently in their minds while in animal form.
Giorgio accepted the sync.
“Stay out of this,” Bain warned Giorgio.
Giorgio’s leopard took two steps backward.
Bain advanced on the Italian.
“Listen.” It seemed Giorgio gained some of his courage as he stepped between Bain and the Italian. “Let the Shifter Council handle this maleficent individual.”
Bain felt the Italian enter their sync. Giorgio must have let him in.
The Italian’s black bear struck at Giorgio, slashing his throat. “Traitor.”
Bain stared at Giorgio’s leopard. Blood was gushing out of the slash at a rate that made Bain uncomfortable.
“You’ve killed your son,” he snarled at the Italian.
“That mewling pup is not my son.”
The Italian began his attack on Bain again.
Bain rushed forward, his bear colliding with the Italian’s, the force knocking the breath out of both of them.
They wrangled, claws slashing, teeth gnashing and biting.
“Your father and nephew are as good as dead,” the Italian said to Bain in the still-connected sync.
“Fuck you.”
With that, and two blows which severed the Italian’s jugular beyond repair, and almost decapitating his black bear, Bain put an end to it.
