by P. Jameson
Fucking hell.
Gritting his teeth against all the things he wanted to say and do, he reached for the soft bathing puff he’d bought for her. Dipping it in the water, he began washing her, and somehow, it helped calm the fury inside.
Nyla’s eyes finally opened as he dragged the puff over her collarbone. He felt her looking at him, but couldn’t meet her gaze. Not yet.
Taking her hand in his, he stretched one arm and eased the puff from shoulder to fingertip before repeating the action with the other. Urging her to lean forward, he washed her back, carefully rubbing at muscles of her neck to help her relax. His mate had a beautiful back and a slender, graceful neck. He bit his cheek hard to keep from leaning forward to kiss it.
She had no tattoos in her skin and briefly, he wondered what she thought of his. She’d called him beautiful. That must mean she liked them.
Pressing her backward, he moved to washing her chest, soaping up her full breasts one at a time, taking in every curve and committing it to memory for later.
Nyla tensed as he moved lower, but he ignored it, bringing her foot to rest on the edge of the tub so he could bathe her leg. One, then the other.
Satisfaction wove its way to his bones, until he was nearly purring with it. Did he still want to claim her? Yes. But this was nearly as good, being her man in this way.
Yes, care for mate. It was what he needed most now. Just to see her safe and healthy and happy.
He wanted to make her happy. They weren’t there yet. But they would be. Eventually. They’d get there one day at a time. One touch at a time. One discovery at a time.
And as long as he held on to that thought, his beast would keep steady.
Because who knew what kind of animal he’d become if he ever lost her.
***
Nyla stood in the middle of the room while Skittles dried her with one of his fluffy towels, gently running it over every curve of her body.
She’d never felt more… cared for in her life. She should push him away, make him stop. But she couldn’t. The attention was too addicting. So nice, it made her throat ache with unshed tears.
Damn.
There was nothing to say. There was no reason to cover up.
He’d made her come. Hard.
Gave her the kind of orgasm she’d never had before. With just a touch.
And then he’d bathed her. So carefully. Like she was a precious gift.
What the hell was she supposed to do about that?
Keep it. Keep it forever. Never let it go.
No. She couldn’t do that. It wasn’t smart.
Love hurts. Caring can be used to hurt you.
But standing there next to him, while he tended to her, she couldn’t find a reason to mind.
Skittles pulled a new towel from the pile and wrapped it around her, carefully tucking the corner between her cleavage to keep it closed. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
She let him do it all. Let him lay her down. Let him crawl in beside her. Let him pull the covers over them, and turn off the lamp so only the dim light from the bathroom could be seen.
He pulled her close until there was no space between them, and buried his face in her hair before letting off a long sigh. Nyla closed her eyes. This was… this was nice. Same as the bath, that magical quiet. Peace. Maybe the feeling just followed him around all the time.
But then she remembered the version of him who’d smashed Bastian unconscious. The man who pried open an iron gate with his bare hands to get her free. The man who told her of a wicked shifter clan who hurt innocents.
No, whatever peace they experienced right now was new to him too. She’d bet on it.
“Tell me about you,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against her neck. It felt good. It was amazing and terrifying. He just… he just strummed on her frequency. So natural. Like he didn’t even have to try, she just felt him deep.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” He didn’t sound like he was joking. He wanted to know everything.
“Not sure where to start…”
“At the beginning, mate.”
“You asked about my Gran earlier…”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“Dead,” Nyla croaked. It was hard to believe. Hard to think about. Even though the woman who raised her had been gone for so many years. “She died before I got caught up with Bastian. She’d be so disappointed in me if she could see me now.”
The fairy princess who danced in a field of magical frost flowers had fallen hard. But she’d never really had a choice, had she? She was always going to end up right here, broken and full of hate. Because life was just a series of choices, and she’d made all the wrong ones.
“She raised me. Tried to anyway. I was wild from my youngest memory, always getting lost. Getting caught up in my imagination. Causing so much trouble for her. She used to say, ‘Ny, you’re too smart for all that dreaming, girl. Use that mind. Make something of yourself.’ And I was. And I did. But it really didn’t matter in the end, did it?”
“Don’t know. The end isn’t here yet,” Skittles rumbled. “Not even close.”
“No. Not yet.” He was right. There was still payback to deal Bastian. Then she’d be complete. “I learned computers first, to keep my mind from getting too crazy.”
“Crazy how?”
“I used to write songs. I’d look at the trees or the grass or sky, and lyrics would come to me. Anything could spark it. The way a cloud was shaped. The specific yellow of the sun. How the blue crashed into the world below.” She felt herself grin in the darkness. “Through my eyes everything turned into a song. And if not a song, then a drawing or a scene or a dream or… whatever.”
“My little dreamer,” he mused. “It’s why you chose the poems.”
“I guess so, yeah. But it caused Gran trouble so I had to cut it out. I just… didn’t think sometimes, you know. I would come up missing because I’d followed a goddamn floating dandelion seed five blocks down the road. Or catch cold from sneaking outside in the middle of the night to see the moon. Or…” She shook her head. “Just a lot of fuck-ups.”
The last time she’d fucked up, it nearly cost her life. And it had definitely cost her freedom for too many years.
“I know about fuck-ups,” Skittles said.
“Seems like we both do.”
“I’m learning to make up for them. Little by little. You can too.”
“Maybe.” But she didn’t believe it. There was no making up for what she’d lost. There was only vengeance.
“You learned to hack,” he said, urging her on.
“Yes. And how to code. Anything I could about computers and systems. I figured out early on, that was where the money was. And money was the way to help Gran. Or at least, it was where the important people were. People with money.”
“People like Bastian.”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them again. She wanted to continue, tell him everything, get it all off her chest. But she couldn’t make her voice work.
Not until he asked low, “What happened?”
Nyla turned to face him. In the dark, she could see the strange green flames of his eyes. It was comforting. It reminded her that even if it didn’t make sense, the beast that he was, thought she was worth something.
What would happen if he ever decided she wasn’t?
She pushed the thought out of her mind and told him the truth.
“I fucked up. My job was to manage the comings and goings of Bastian’s money. And I got paid good to do it with discretion. I did my job well. Kept him rich and made him richer. I would transfer his money to offshore accounts, not asking or caring where it came from. And then cover up the trail.”
Some of that money had come from Skye and Janet, and what he made them do. Nyla’s stomach twisted, not for the first time, thinking about her part in Bastian’s empire. She’d take it back if she could. But there were no do
-overs in life. Gran taught her that. Only guilt and regret.
“It was shitty of me and I broke the law so many times. Had I ever been caught, I would have wasted away in jail. Guilty. I’m just as guilty as anyone. But at least in jail, I would’ve been fed.”
“No one deserves what he did to you,” Skittles rasped.
Marlee told her the same thing. So did Skye and Janet. Vegas never had, because she carried the same kind of guilt Nyla did, playing a role in Bastian’s schemes.
“I was supposed to create fake money trails to keep the feds from finding the bulk of his holdings. I had worked out an intricate system to move his shit to safe accounts. Took me months, and on the day the money was supposed to transfer, I…” She swallowed hard, remembering the sick feeling of knowing her life was over. It had swallowed her whole that day. “I hit the button, made the call… and moved the money into the wrong account. That would’ve been enough to piss him off, sure. But it didn’t just land in the wrong place, see. It was… gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone. Probably in some other bastard billionaire’s secret offshore account. Or maybe the Bank of Shady Dealings decided to take a cut of the illegal money they hide. Who knows. But I looked and looked for it. I back-searched every step I’d taken, dug through systems. To this day, I don’t know what happened. And when you can’t explain to your crime lord boss where seventy million dollars went… well, he’s not going to just let that go.”
Skittles’s arm tightened where it curved around her back.
“His men took me from my apartment one night. Tossed me in the basement with the other Dolls. I don’t even know where my shit ended up. Bastian stripped me of my name and called me Seven. Said I was nobody now. Said I was to work for him until I paid off my mistake, and if I survived it, I might get to die in a hospital bed instead of his dirty floor.” She remembered every sickening detail of that day, that conversation. “I never expected to make it out,” she murmured.
But damn if she didn’t try. Over and over, again and again, each time putting her more in debt to him.
Well. Payment was fucking coming.
She was going to pay him back.
In full.
He wouldn’t even see her coming.
She only needed to get stronger first. And this was helping. Skittles was helping.
For that, she’d always be grateful.
In the silence, his emerald eyes burned as he stared at her, taking in her story. Eventually his thumb came to her cheek, sweeping a soothing trail under her eye.
“With me, you can always dream, mate,” he promised. “Sleep now. We’ve done enough tonight.”
Nyla closed her eyes, strange relief seeping into her until she drifted off.
Chapter Seventeen
Skittles awoke in the dark, startling at an unwelcome noise. The pa-pop pop pop sound so loud to his new animal ears that he came awake hissing. Nyla was still in his arms and he felt her flinch. But another round of popping had his instincts raging.
Gunshots.
Those were gunshots, and they were close. In fact, they were—
His thoughts cut off as the window nearby shattered, spraying glass everywhere. Skittles acted fast, going to his knees and covering Nyla’s body to shield her from the attack. She screamed as bullets pelted the wall beside the bed, and he prayed it wasn’t because any of them hit her.
Protect mate.
It felt like hours before the sounds of gunfire faded into silence. There was only Nyla’s harsh breathing and the snarl in his chest, warning that his beast wanted out. But first, he needed to know she wasn’t harmed.
He stared down at her through the darkness, his shifter sight seeing her clearly even without much light. She’d curled into a tight ball, hands covering her head, and she shook like the fucking San Andreas fault.
“You okay?”
She carefully shifted to stare at him, eyes huge. “I-I think so.”
“Are you hit anywhere? Hurt? Tell me,” he barked out.
“No, no. I’m not hit,” she shouted back.
Relief hit him like a wrecking ball. Mate was okay.
He scooped her up, crushing her to his chest for two breaths of gratitude before rolling with her off the bed. The floor was safer until he could figure out what the hell was going on.
“Stay low.”
“Okay.” Her nails dug into his chest where she held on to him, and if their situation hadn’t been so dire, he would have taken a second to enjoy the moment. “A-are you hurt?” she asked, worry making her voice crack.
Worry. He could feel it through the smallest hint of a bond they now shared.
“I’m fine, soñadora,” he rasped, wishing he could kiss how much she meant to him into her lips. But there wasn’t time.
Sounds from the hallway brought his attention back to the threat. He could hear Felix barking orders and females crying. Boots rattled the floor as men ran by. Someone banged on the door with a hard fist, yelling, “Get low!”
Downstairs. He needed to get Nyla downstairs to the center of the warehouse where she couldn’t be hit with any bullets.
“Crawl to the door,” he commanded. “We need to move.”
“Clothes,” she squeaked. “I don’t have clothes on.”
“Shit.” He’d forgotten she wore only the towel.
Sliding close to the wall, he reached the dresser and hurriedly pulled a t-shirt free, tossing it to Nyla before sliding back.
She was already tossing the towel away and yanking the shirt over her head.
He shoved his feet into boots and started to reach for the extra gun he kept taped to the bottom of his desk, but stopped. He didn’t need weapons anymore. And that’s when he saw the knife she swiped when he was getting her food. She’d hidden it in the crevice between the desk and the wall.
Good girl.
“Bottoms?” she asked. “What if we have to run? I’m not fleeing with my ass bare.”
“It’s good enough. You’re covered. I’ll make sure no one stares.” He’d kill them if they did. “Let’s go.”
Easing the door open, he pushed her through, and followed close behind. Getting to his feet, he took her hand, scanning the area for danger. The place was a cacophony of furious growls, vicious threats to kill the attackers, and so many female tears. Complete chaos, and he still didn’t know who’d shot them up.
Or maybe he did know.
Fuck.
He hurried downstairs, keeping Nyla close. Quickly, he scanned the place to account for all the females.
He saw Mama Kitty shivering in her robe near a stack of pallets. Marlee was there, surrounded by Ratchet, Monster, and Vegas, who formed a ring, protecting not only her but the young she carried inside. Janet crouched on the floor beside a shirtless Smokes. He leaned against the wall looking pale and tired. His wound was bandaged and on its way to healing, but the male didn’t look healthy. Or maybe he was just scared shitless like the rest of them.
Skittles swallowed down his own fear, squeezing Nyla’s hand and dragging his gaze across the room once more to make sure.
They were all accounted for. All except for…
“Skye.” Skittles raised his voice to be heard above the angry cats. “Where is Skye?”
“She’s safe,” Felix answered, offering no more explanation. Skittles could tell by the edge in his tone that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Shit. “What the hell happened, does anyone know?”
Fang was the first to say what everyone else was thinking. “Best I can tell, that was a warning from Bastian.”
The hissing and muttering started up again and Felix whistled to get everyone’s attention. “He wouldn’t dare. His men know about the Firecats. He’d be insane to come against us like this.”
Fang threw his arms wide. “You hear any sirens? Police, emergency? Where are they? Shots like that, in the middle of the night, and zero fucking response from the police. Who the fuck do you think did it?”
Fang was right. Only Bastian had that kind of power over law enforcement.
“Shooter, Raggs, and Ace,” Felix boomed. “Secure the perimeter. Fang, you take the roof and be their eyes. Monster, peel yourself away from the fucking females and go sniff down a trail. I want to know for sure this was Bastian before we retaliate. The rest of you…” He looked around, and Skittles noticed something new about their leader. He didn’t seem as bedraggled as he normally did. Not as vile, not as… sick. How could that be? “The rest of you, get this place cleaned up. And stay away from the walls and windows until I give the all-clear. Got it?”
The crowd dispersed, murmuring their unease, and Felix nodded Skittles and Ratchet over.
“Need to keep the females under watch,” he growled, seeming concerned, but not ready to admit it. “Think you two can handle that?”
Ratchet nodded. “Where is Skye?”
“I’ll watch her. You don’t worry yourself with that one.”
Ratchet raised a curious eyebrow. “Her friends aren’t going to like that much.”
Skittles glanced at Nyla where she stood close enough to hear the conversation and she frowned.
“Don’t give a flying fuck,” Felix spat, his tone daring either of them to argue. It’d been a long damn time since Skittles had heard the cat sound like that. “I’ll make sure nothing hurts her and that’s all anyone needs to know.”
Oh. Shit.
Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was Felix claiming her? He’d denied any of the Dolls were his before. But this… possessiveness, it was familiar to Skittles.
Fuck, Felix wasn’t fixable.
Was he?
Then again, look at where they were now. Who was to say what was possible anymore.
Felix stalked away, barking orders as he went. And Skittles wondered if the savage heart could truly be tamed.
Only time would tell.
***
Nyla leaned on the broom handle, pausing to catch her breath. Skittles’s room was shot to hell, but nothing a little work couldn’t patch up. One of the computer monitors was ruined. A couple of the pocket westerns now had holes in them. Fitting, because it felt a lot like the Wild Wild West around here. But everyone was alive and the ones who attacked them were gone.
