Heart of Glass

by P. Jameson

  “I don’t want to disturb her.” And besides, he couldn’t quit staring at her face, memorizing every feature and comparing it to the picture he’d spent so much time studying.

  Her cheeks were hollower than they appeared in the photo. And her eyes were set wider, her brow more delicate. She was the picture come to life, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Skittles.”

  “Hm?”

  “The girls want to see her. They’re worried.”

  “I…” He swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away to look at Ratchet and his voice cracked out the rest. “I can’t let her go.” As if to prove his point, his arms tightened around her on their own accord.

  The male looked at him like he understood. Like he knew the feeling, and for a moment Skittles regretted blaming him for leaving her behind. He’d tried, hadn’t he? Put himself on the fence and gave her a chance. Skittles knew he wasn’t the one to hate. But his female still had an angry burn on her wrist and it was Ratchet’s fault.

  “She needs water,” Ratchet said carefully, as if he was trying to talk down a beast.

  And maybe he was.

  Skittles sure as hell felt feral. He wanted to hiss at the male for just standing too close.

  Fuck.

  “Food, and a soft place to sleep. She needs to see the girls as bad as they need her. You know it’s true.”

  Skittles went back to watching Nyla. “Five more minutes,” he gritted.

  Because who knew what would happen after this.

  Maybe she’d hate him for not coming for her the first time. Because hell, he wouldn’t have left her behind. He’d have stayed with her and been taken captive himself like a fucking idiot.

  “Bring her inside,” Ratchet said before walking away.

  Skittles gazed down at his mate. Ratchet was right. She needed food and water. Desperately. Cleaning, and her wounds tended to.

  He sighed. It was time.

  Reaching for the latch, he nudged the door open and eased out of the truck with Nyla still in his arms. She groaned, coming awake, but she didn’t have enough energy to fight him.

  Still, he didn’t want her fearful.

  “I got you, female. Taking you inside to see the others. But only for a few minutes. Then you have to eat. And we have to do something about those wounds,” he added darkly.

  “Marlee?” Her voice was a wisp, barely even catching enough wind to make sound. She was so weak. It wouldn’t do for the clan to see her like this. They’d spent too many years scenting out weaknesses and exploiting them. He had to make her strong.

  “She’s inside.”

  With that, Nyla’s head sagged against his shoulder and she was unconscious once again.

  Inside, the warehouse was a flurry of activity. Most of it just nervous flutter. The Dolls pacing as they waited for Nyla to come through the door. Felix barking orders at someone. Males wanting to scrap over who-the-hell-knows-what. But off in the corner, Ratchet and Smokes were dealing with something a little more serious.

  Smokes sat in a chair, blood streaming from his shoulder to run down his arm. His favorite leather jacket was hanging half off the other shoulder, red dripping to the cement floor beneath it.

  Shit.

  “Smokes was shot,” Fang muttered from nearby. “Now we’re trying to figure out who to call to fix it.”

  Skittles shifted Nyla and she still didn’t wake.

  “Seven!”

  Marlee, Vegas, Skye, and Janet came near but seemed to understand that they couldn’t crowd her. They just wanted to see for themselves that she was okay.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Just sleeping. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Marlee gave him a knowing nod.

  Fang stared at him expectantly. Who could help Smokes?

  “The Junkyard Dogs,” Skittles tried, grasping at ideas. “They have someone who knows medical shit.”

  But Fang shook his head. “Can’t do that. We set them up to take the fall for the rescue, remember?”

  Well, shit. It was true. They’d left evidence that the Dogs were responsible for breaking the Dolls free. No telling what kind of strain that had put on their relationship with Bastian. Except, he knew the truth now.

  Skittles pushed aside the idea that he’d be coming for them soon. He’d retaliate, and when he did, they’d have to be ready.

  “Besides,” Fang continued, “they don’t know he can’t heal. Don’t know we lost our animals.”

  Skittles figured they suspected something, but the Alley Cats had managed to avoid the werewolves finding out their secret.

  “Shit. Can we just sew him up. Is it through and through?”

  Fang shook his head. “Bullet’s still inside. Gotta dig it out first and he won’t let anyone touch him.”

  Skittles frowned, thinking. But really, his mind was fucked since he’d lost his shit earlier and turned into the Firecat. He’d lost the ability to solve everyone’s problems on the fly. His mind had a singular focus, and it was on the woman he carried in his arms.

  “I can do it.”

  Skittles looked at the female standing beside Vegas. Janet’s voice was rarely heard. The most they got from her was retching from the bathroom. The female couldn’t hold her stomach for nothing.

  “I have some experience,” she continued, and Skittles noticed how a hush fell over the room. As if a possible solution was enough to shut down some of the chaos. Either that, or they were all wondering the same thing he was: how could Janet help Smokes when she couldn’t even look at Monster without vomiting? “I… I know what I’m doing. I was studying to be a nurse before…”

  Felix nodded, snapping out a curt, “Good enough. Fix him.”

  The room was silent as she crossed it, each of them waiting for shit to hit the fan. Smokes never took his eyes off her, and Skittles couldn’t tell what he was thinking. When she stood over the bloody male, she asked, “Can I see?”

  After a moment, he nodded and she reached forward to pull away the gauze Mama Kitty had given him to stem the bleeding. Not that it was helping much. Shit, there was blood everywhere.

  Janet examined the wound and then pressed the gauze back carefully before calling over her shoulder, “I need water, towels, something to disinfect. Some… well, I don’t guess you have any forceps?”

  “Nothing like that,” Felix answered.

  “Then a pair of needle-nose pliers will work. Longest ones you’ve got. And…” She looked back at Smokes before naming her last item. “Something to bite down on.”

  A few snickers filled the room at the implication that Smokes would need something for the pain. And from his glare, it didn’t seem like he appreciated it much either.

  “I’ve been through worse pain than this, female,” he growled low. “Much worse.”

  She eyed him. “If you say so.”

  “Won’t this turn your stomach?”

  She shook her head as she took the supplies Ratchet handed her and began to clean the area. “Blood never did,” she murmured. “Other things, but not blood.”

  Nyla moaned and stirred in Skittles grasp.

  “She’s coming around,” Marlee murmured.

  Yeah, and that meant Skittles needed to get her out of here quick. It wouldn’t help for Nyla to awake in the middle of a rough group of males, not to mention the pool of blood circling Smokes. And it was only going to get nastier when Janet started digging in his shoulder for that bullet.

  He headed for the stairs, calling back to their queen, Marlee. The first. “Will you bring food and clothes? She’s going to need you.”

  Marlee nodded.

  His female was going to wake soon, and the real battle would begin.

  The fight for her heart. For healing. And for their future.

  He couldn’t fucking wait. He was going to war. And this time, the prize was freedom.

  Chapter Eight

  Nyla tried to hold onto the light. Hints of it filtered through her heavy, heavy e
yelids. And when those escaped her grasp, she tried to hold on to sounds. Marlee’s voice, the voice of men she didn’t recognize, echoing off the walls of a building much less sturdy than the brick mansion she’d been living in for so many years.

  But even those slipped away.

  The only thing that remained were the arms holding her. Strong, solid arms. The same arms that carried her to freedom.

  It doesn’t matter. Can’t care.

  She would never let herself have that sort of weakness again. Maybe she was free of Bastian for now, but there’d be another time, down the road, when her past would haunt her. And when it came for her again, she wouldn’t have anything for it to take away.

  No matter how grateful she was, she’d never let herself care about another person. The girls were in her heart, no way to excise them. She’d die for them. It was a bond no one could break. But there wasn’t room for anyone new.

  The next time the light pulled at her lids, it was easier to hold on to. Less bright, so she tried to open her eyes. It was a struggle but she managed a crack. And there, beyond lids that felt like sandpaper weighted down with gravel, she spotted a face she’d always hoped to see again… but never believed she really would.

  Number Thirteen. Also known as…

  “Mar… lee.” Was that her voice? God, she sounded like a fucking zombie. Like the dead coming back to life. Barely.

  “Yeah, hun. It’s me.” Marlee’s face was rounder and it glowed as she smiled through watery eyes. Then again, maybe Nyla wasn’t seeing things right. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open long enough to focus well. “I need you to drink some water. Will you try?”

  Nyla attempted to nod. And apparently the message was received because a straw was pressed between her lips and she drew up a tiny sip. The water was cool and delicious. And clean. Not like that shit she’d lapped up from the floor.

  Shame burned her inside and mixed with so much fury she felt feverish with it.

  That bastard. She’d get stronger and she’d bring him down.

  “That’s good,” Marlee said. “Take a little more if you can.”

  She sipped again, and the more she swallowed the more she became aware of her surroundings. Her eyes were still too heavy to keep open for long, but she could feel the softness of the bed she laid on and the warmth of the blankets she was wrapped in and…

  A clink of metal. Cool pressure on her wrist. The grinding scritch of a tool.

  She dragged her lids open again, this time turning to see what the sound was. She lay mostly on her side, arms pulled across the bed. The man who had freed her was bent over her shackled wrists, working a thin tool into the locking mechanism. He moved carefully, patiently. Methodically. As if he knew he could remove the steel bands, he only needed time.

  Nyla blinked, taking more of the water Marlee offered her, and when she forced her eyes open again, they were less heavy. She took the opportunity to watch him.

  He was handsome, she realized. Or maybe she had rose-colored glasses for him because he’d saved her. His hair was longer on the top and shaved short and clean on the sides. His forehead crinkled in concentration as he worked to free her binds. The glasses he wore were thick rimmed and she couldn’t remember him having them earlier.

  But the specs and trim hair didn’t take away from his roughness. There was something hard about him. Something dark. Something probably buried under layers and layers of calloused hurts.

  Her curiosity was sparked.

  What cruelties formed a man like him? One who could be deadly and gentle at the very same time.

  No. He’s not your business.

  Except he was, wasn’t he? Even if just a little. He had come for her when no one else had. That meant… well, it meant something.

  She rested her eyes, drinking more of Marlee’s water, before opening again to take in more of the mysterious man.

  He wore a black t-shirt that stretched tight over his chest and arms. Colorful tattoos took up all the skin from where the arms of his shirt ended to where his wrists worked on the cuffs. She could also see his ink peeking out the collar and winding up his neck in several places. It was high quality work, but with her blurry vision, she could only make out shapes and colors. So many colors, brilliant and bold and unafraid.

  Like… a rainbow. Like candy. Like…

  They called him…

  “Skittles.”

  He froze as soon as the word left her lips. His hands stopped working. His shoulders stopped their rise and fall.

  That was his name, right?

  Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her. And damn, was it intense. His eyes were the darkest green, with a navy blue ring around the outer iris. And it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her, but they seemed to move. To almost flicker.

  Like flames, if flames could be green.

  “I’ll have these off you soon, female.” His voice was measured. Steady. So why did he feel like a bomb ticking down to explosion?

  With a hard nod, he went back to picking at the locking mechanism.

  “Gonna try some broth now,” Marlee said. “Just relax, okay?”

  Nyla closed her eyes, accepting the new straw Marlee put to her lips, and drank what she could of the warm broth.

  “How long since he let you have solid food?” Marlee asked quietly.

  Nyla had tried to keep count of the days by scratching marks into the wall. Until she’d gotten too weak. But then again, it was only a guess, because she couldn’t see the rise and set of the sun in the hidden room. She had to go by how many times Bastian’s men came to question her.

  “Don’t know… maybe… a week?”

  The pressure on her wrist faltered for a breath of time, and she could feel Skittles staring at her.

  “We need to go very slow then. Bits of bread. Crackers.”

  Nyla groaned at the idea.

  “I know it’s not what you want,” Marlee murmured. “We can try the jello that Mama Kitty makes. It worked for Vegas.”

  Jello sounded like heaven compared to flavorless bread. Nyla didn’t know who the hell Mama Kitty was, but if Marlee trusted her, she was probably okay.

  Unless…

  Her lids came open easily this time, and she turned her panicked gaze to Marlee.

  “What? What is it?” her friend asked.

  How to ask. Were they really free, or had they just traded one prison for another?

  “Nyla, what?” Marlee asked again, gentling her voice.

  “Are we safe here?” The question left her lips in shattered pieces, but she had to know. Even aware of the man beside her, and the way he stiffened, she had to know the truth.

  Marlee’s shoulders relaxed and a soft smile curved her cheeks. “Yes, Nyla.” She nodded. “There is nowhere safer for us. Trust me. You have nothing to worry about.”

  She could be lying. To fool Skittles maybe. But she didn’t seem nervous or worried. She was relaxed. Nyla had never seen her at ease. Not ever.

  “Are we captive here?”

  “No.” But Marlee wasn’t the one who answered. Nyla looked to Skittles. “No,” he repeated. “You’re not a captive. But you also can’t leave. Not with Bastian’s men out there looking for you.”

  A realization came to her all at once. Bastian wouldn’t need to look for her. He’d know exactly where they were. She’d told him before Skittles bashed his head in. Alley Cat. It was such a shock to see the man, and the look in his eyes promised deliverance, that the words just tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. The memory ripped at her middle, causing tears to leak from her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” Marlee whispered. “Don’t worry.”

  Nyla shook her head, feeling hopeless all over again. “He knows. I told him. At the end, I told him.”

  Marlee finally looked worried, and shot a glance at Skittles.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have fire, and he knows it. Saw it, and what it can do. He won’t come here. And if he does…” Skittles let the rest of the sent
ence hang in the air for them to fill in with their imaginations. Nyla imagined Bastian going up in flames, screaming for mercy the entire time.

  Marlee put the straw back to Nyla’s lips, urging her to drink, and Skittles went back to picking the locks.

  Minutes passed, and finally Marlee pulled the cup away, asking carefully, “Where are you hurt the most?”

  “I… I don’t know.” She hurt everywhere. No single place stood out from among the others.

  Marlee nodded, seeming to understand as her gaze roved Nyla, searching for injuries. “As soon as Skittles gets those handcuffs off you, you can have a bath. You’re lucky,” she said, grinning. “This room is the only one with an actual bathtub. All the rest have showers. And I’ve seen Skittles’s tub. It could fit all five of us, I swear. You’ll be in heaven.”

  The mere idea of taking a bath made new tears form in her eyes. Goddamn it, she hated crying. Hated that it happened so easily these days.

  Squeezing them away with a hard blink, she murmured, “Tell me about you. How did you get here? How… how are we safe?”

  Again, Marlee seemed to relax. As if this was an easy story to relay. As if everything here was just… easy. But it was too much for Nyla to believe.

  “When I made it over the fence,” Marlee began, “I ran, not really knowing where I was going. I was trying to get out of the city but I ended up hiding in the storage shed out back. I needed to sleep. Couldn’t stay awake. Starving and detoxing from the sedatives. I was just going to rest for a little while, and then keep moving. I knew I had to keep moving or he would find me…”

  Marlee shivered, and a corresponding chill rolled down Nyla’s spine. The kind that felt like horror creeping up behind you. Made you want to look over your shoulder even when you were alone.

  “But Ratchet found me instead,” Marlee said, a small smile drawing her lips up as she wrapped her arms around her middle and seemed to hug herself.

  Ratchet. The man who turned into a Firecat, who saved the others. Who had tried to save Nyla too.

  “He hid me in his room so the other Alley Cats wouldn’t find me, and he took care of me. Fed me. Gave me a reason to hope the future could be better. And now… it already is, Nyla. It can be better for you too. For all of us.”