The Deadwolves' Prisoner

by Hollie Hutchins

“Wh—”

  “First, do you want a smoothie? You need energy.”

  She paused. “Yeah, I do. That’d be great. Thanks.”

  He stayed in the considerable kitchen and worked while she sat on a spinning stool next to the island. Questions. She had so many that it was hard to start. She’d been tossed into a Theoretical Physics course that she knew nothing about and the professor had asked her what she wanted to know. She had a list ten miles long of things she wanted to know, but the first one that she asked was surprisingly easy.

  “What happens to my parents?”

  It was the oldest story in the book. Fang was basically a mobster, and she knew enough to understand that once she vanished, they’d go after those close to her. Husband/boyfriend? She didn’t have one. immediate family? Oh, yeah.

  Maurice dumped some frozen fruit into the Ninja. “If you accept our offer, we’ll protect them. If you choose to leave us, you take away that protection.”

  “Is that a threat?” A fire ignited in her stomach. Shitty parents or not, she remained fiercely protective of them.

  “Of course not.” He added some milk from the fridge. “We’re the good guys. We want to help you. If you won the lottery, you could say you don’t want the money and you wouldn’t get it.”

  She thought about it. It made sense, in a way. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You can’t.” He fired up the machine and leaned on the island apart from her. “Truth is, you should be suspicious of everyone. I can tell you the facts and if you chose to not listen, I can’t help you.” The machine stopped, and he snagged some cups from the freezer to pour the beverage into. “Of course, if we were going to make you do anything, we wouldn’t be standing here having a smoothie.”

  “Because I’d be dead. Yeah, I get it.”

  He slid a chilled glass filled to the brim with a fruity concoction across the island to her hand. Their fingers brushed against each other before he pulled back and sat down. “Not quite.” He handed her a stainless-steel straw. “Because if we were the monsters you might imagine us as, you’d be somewhere in a basement with a car battery hooked up.”

  Mila took a sip of the drink before he got to the last sentence and enjoyed one perfect mouthful before he finished his thought and it seemed much less appetizing. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “Without getting into the specifics, Fang represents a new wave of Khans. I’m sure you’ve seen him around and know his name, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “That’s because he’s breaking from tradition.”

  Mila took another sip now that the mental image of torture was fading from her mind’s eye. “But isn’t that a good thing? Showing himself more, being less secretive?”

  Maurice didn’t answer immediately, and when Mila looked up, she saw why. His jaw clenched, and a deep pain lurked within him, one that he was clearly attempting to hide without a lot of success. The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “That’s what he’d like you to think. There are rules. Codes of honour. He’s ignoring all that. He’s determined to make a new group and unless we stop him…he will.”

  Mila steered clear of asking about that again. That had struck a chord with him, a strong one. She moved and felt her sore butt complain. She wrinkled her nose. Ugh. She wasn’t injured, but it was determined to provide a dull throb every time she repositioned. “So let’s say I say no. I don’t want to help. I don’t want to provide my video evidence and I don’t want to get involved in any way. What happens?”

  He drank again. “Someone will give you a ride to the city and you’ll never hear from us again.”

  “And if I say yes?”

  “You will be assigned a bodyguard and you and your family will be protected until Fang is behind bars.”

  “Yeah, see, I don’t know about trusting—”

  “The bodyguard is me.”

  Something didn’t add up here. Maurice was clearly highly respected around the complex. Everyone she had seen deferred to him, so he must be some high ranking official. Why would he be spending so much time interacting with her? Weren’t there other werewolf problems to deal with? Not that she was complaining, and the notion of him protecting her made her feel much safer, but still.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she put her lips around the straw and swallowed some more delicious smoothie. With each gulp, she felt more alert. She thought she recognized the flavour under there: Nicowin, a rare drug people used sometimes at the Cheeky Sprite to perk up for long dancing sprees. As far as she knew, it was just a stimulant without any major side effects.

  Speaking of drugs, the Deadwoods had something of a relationship with the illegal underground like all the clans. Picking Maurice’s brain about that was a viable question line. She opened her mouth to ask about it but saw that strange sadness in his gaze again and she changed topics to something casual. “Some woman came into my room and scared the shit outta me,” she declared. “A succubus.”

  He smiled. “Shakkara?”

  “Yeah.”

  She told him the story of how it had gone down. She was pleased to see the fog lift from him and his smiles became more genuine. By the end, he seemed normal. The conversation shifted to more casual things. She asked him anything she could think of to keep him talking. Why had she worn a blindfold? Duh. She wore it so she couldn’t retrace her steps and show up again. She didn’t need him to explain it, but she asked him anyway.

  Maybe she laughed a little harder than necessary. Maybe she kept her eyes on him for longer than she would a normal guy. Maybe she played with her hair during the conversation. Maybe she didn’t care if he noticed.

  Guy troubles. Mila’s life. There was no discernible difference between the two. Unfortunately for Mila, she found herself drawn to danger and to power. With that came great things, but it also came with some hefty downsides: she got played. A lot. Especially when she was younger, she’d fall for a guy because of whatever reason and get her heart kicked in with a steel-toe boot when she found out she was a side-chick. Time had hardened her and given her a better idea of what to expect but going out with weak-willed nobodies didn’t work for her. She wanted someone to be able to protect her and care for her, but also to be sensitive. It was the classic needle in the haystack analogy.

  So, Mila wasn’t ready to be swept off her feet by anyone, much less some werewolf who had mostly kidnapped her, even if it was for a good reason. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t wonder, and wonder she did.

  When they got news that the Khan arrived, Mila was disappointed that their conversation ended. She’d expected someone to knock and tell them. Instead, a helicopter landed on a pad on the roof with whirling blades declaring to anyone in a five-mile radius that he had landed.

  Mila toyed with the now-empty drink by batting the straw around. “Anything you recommend I do?” She thought about it. “Or not do?”

  Maurice stood and brushed off the front of his silk robe. “Don’t look at his right ear.”

  She got up and followed him. “His ear? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  He opened the door and led the way out, making sure it was locked behind them. “And don’t say the word red. And make sure you bow with your right leg forward. And if he says good to meet you, you’re supposed to say you look delicious.”

  Mila stuffed all the knowledge down into her brain in the hope that she didn’t miss anything when she heard the last one and suspicion kicked in. “What?” Maurice’s impish grin gave the joke away. Mila crossed her arms. “God dammit, were any of those real?”

  “No. None whatsoever.”

  She punched him in the shoulder playfully. She immediately drew back, moderately concerned about punching a powerful werewolf like that. He laughed and went along with it.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He’s a welcoming individual. Don’t be worried about meeting him.”

  Sounded great, didn’t work in reality. Mila remained aware that Maur
ice, with whatever power he held, was subservient to a Khan. Maurice could have the best intentions in the world and if this Khan decided he wanted her dead, well, Mila was going to be going home in a body bag. It was like the mother of all job interviews, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted the job.

  They got in the elevator and went up. Mila twitched nervously, tapping on her thigh and running her tongue along her teeth. She was meeting the emperor of this massive organization and she felt about as confident as a mouse walking into the Annual Cat Meeting.

  Maurice squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine.”

  Tick. Tick. Tick. They clicked through each of the floors slowly and surely, probably going to the top. “Yeah, see, that’s easy for you to say.”

  “Mila.” She looked at him, and he smiled. “I’ll protect you. You won’t need any protection, but if it comes down to it, they’ll have to come through me first.”

  The Warm and Fuzzy Feelings Truck backed up and dumped a massive load of good vibes onto Mila’s heart. She swallowed and made sure that the robe wasn’t splitting somewhere it shouldn’t be as the elevator doors opened.

  Mila had no idea what to expect, but her irrational fear had decided to present her with several options. One, classic Scarface scene with a cocaine-ridden, marred man lounging on a chair and waiting for her with an Uzi at his side. Two, several werewolves all talking and stopping to turn and stare threateningly the moment they saw her. Three…the list went on, and all of them were bad. It was none of those.

  She doors parted to reveal a feast on a gorgeous carved and smooth tree laying in the center of a lounge with every kind of food she could imagine strewn across it from heaping meats to succulent fruits. Several waiters bustled around, attending to final details and making sure everything was perfect.

  On the far side stood the Khan.

  Chapter 10

  The Khan.

  Terrifying leader of the Deadwolves, the head of a gang so powerful they could rival armies. He stood on the balcony, but when he heard the doors open, he turned to look at them. Immediately, Mila’s confidence shrivelled up.

  He belonged in a James Bond movie as a villain: suave, handsome, and inherently, obviously dangerous. A stark white suit covered his body with a matching set of crimson dress shoes and a tie thrown in. Though physically smaller than Maurice, he sported an impressive physique and would not have been out of place at a weightlifting competition.

  Wild, passionate gold eyes lit up when he recognized them. Mila didn’t know what to expect, but based on the intimidating air he put off, she half assumed he was about to whip out some swords and start randomly swinging. There was something unpredictable about him, something untameable. He spread his arms and grinned from ear to ear warmly. The icy exterior melted, leaving behind only a bubbly, friendly man.

  “Maurice!” He strode to them, shoes making a clacking sound at every step. He clasped Maurice solidly and affectionately before directing his attention to Mila. She felt like she’d just experienced whiplash. A moment ago, he was intimidating. Now, he greeted her like she was dear family that he hadn’t seen in years.

  “And you must be Mila,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Gorgeous, just like Maurice said.”

  Before Mila could process that statement or do anything about it, the Khan jokingly face-palmed. “Where are my manners? I’m Reuben.” He gestured to the table. “Whatever you like, we’ve got you covered.”

  Mila feigned a smile. Was this really him? The Khan? This guy had killed thousands of people, right? Wasn’t that the whole thing about werewolves in general? Murder and killing and mauling?

  Mila hesitantly took a couple grapes off the table as the two men selected a few things and put them on magnificent plates. Reuben’s energy was contagious. She emerged from her shell tentatively, still not convinced this was happening. “Pleasure to meet you,” she managed.

  The Khan popped some baby carrots into his mouth. “I’m sure Maurice let you know why you’re here.”

  “Because you want me to squeal on Fang?” In hindsight, not the greatest words to pick. She thought she saw a flickering of anger in his eyes before it vanished.

  “More or less accurate.” He flashed that smile again. “I bet you are exhausted.”

  “You could say that.” She picked her words carefully. No way this was real. It was a front of some sort.

  Reuben picked up on her thoughts in a flash. “Mila, I’m sensing that you want to say something. What is it?”

  Mila formed the words and swallowed them. “Nope.”

  The way he looked at her made her want to smile. Charisma on top of charisma. “Let me see if I can guess. You think I’m a monster.”

  Yes. Accurate. Correct. They were all words Mila could say, but ones that might get her in trouble. She didn’t get the chance to refute the statement and lie or confirm it because the Khan kept rolling.

  “Do you know what the Council of Nine is?” He didn’t wait for an answer in that unusual fast-talking way. “Course not. It’s purely for werewolves. It’s something I drew up years ago, a peace treaty of sorts. Ever notice how rarely the clans get on the news? Maurice says you work at a bar. I’m sure you get lots of seedy customers in there. Who’s the biggest name in there?”

  “Fang.” She didn’t have to think about it. Fang, hands down.

  “That’s because Fang’s breaking the rules,” he said. “You think he’s making the news because he’s changing things in a good light? Oh, no. If you don’t agree with him, you’re dead. He can’t handle competition.” He paused for a swallow in the same way that a military man might have to stop and reload a machine gun. “You saw that yourself. That’s why we’re here.”

  Mila had never met someone like Reuben. He talked like most people thought: fast, with no obvious linking of ideas, but somehow it all made perfect sense when he said it. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to jump aboard his bandwagon and do whatever he said because of his immense energy. It fuelled her own passion and she wanted more of it. Although she hadn’t seen it at first, he was a natural-born leader. If he said she should go sprint into a wall, dammit, she’d be so excited she’d go do it.

  He took a break from talking and studied her to see how she was taking it. “I’m sure you have questions. Let’s hear ‘em!”

  She struggled to keep her mind on an even keel. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  He sobered up. “Justice,” he declared. “Plain and simple, Mila. Plain and simple. With your testimony, we can fix this mess and put it back to the way it was.” He sounded more like a Youtube life coach than a crime lord: passionate, excitable, and energizing.

  She sank her teeth into a grape slowly. This was a poor thing to choose to say, but it needed to be said and his engaging personality drew it out of her. “How do I know you don’t want to bring Fang down because he’s an adversary? And the way things were before had a lot of people dying.”

  He pulled out his phone from a jacket pocket and played around on the screen for a second. “I never lie, Mila. Check around! I never, ever lie. Give me one second and I’ll answer that for you.”

  Maurice stepped in while Reuben checked on something. “Mila asked me about what happens if she doesn’t want to help.”

  “Absolutely nothing bad,” came the immediate reply. “I’d be disappointed, but we’re businesspeople, not savages!” He gave up on whatever he was trying to find and put his phone away. “You want to know how this is legit, ask the DAE.”

  The DAE, the official military for making sure people didn’t screw up their VISA’s and played nice. Whenever they caught someone causing trouble, they were out. It was like the federal government of paranormals. They didn’t get called down for petty crimes. They got called when something serious was going down. Mila liked to hear their name in it, but it still didn’t fully add up. “What about them?”

  “They’ve been trying to bust Fang for about thirty years now. They need one
solid piece of evidence and he’s out. We’re working together to try and protect witnesses like you.”

  “So why am I not in a DAE base now?”

  He ate another baby carrot. “Because they’ve got moles. They tried. An old man saw something about ten years ago and reported it. They brought him in as a protected individual, but Fang got him from someone on the inside. Corruption, Mila. It’s a painful thing.”

  Mila liked the sound of all of it. She still tinkered on the edge of going all in and not believing it. “And you don’t have corruption here?”

  “Somewhere, we might.” He shrugged. “We’re always improving our security. But people don’t know about who you are. As far as everyone here is concerned, you’re nothing to worry about.”

  Maurice kicked in. “They think you’re my fiancée.”

  Bombshell. A bombshell sentence that destroyed the last remaining part of Mila’s mind. “Why?”

  Maurice took a drink. “I didn’t tell you. I’m the Baron.”

  It sounded impressive. To Mila, he might’ve been speaking another language. “I don’t…I don’t know what that means.”

  “I’m the second-in-command,” he explained. “Second only to the Khan. As my fiancée, you’ll be pampered and protected.”

  Double bombshell. “I don’t even…” Nothing made sense. She wanted to believe them, and she thought she did, but saying yes scared her. She needed time to think. “Can I think about it?”

  The Khan’s ringtone went off. He let out an annoyed sigh when he heard it. “I gotta take this. My apologies. Business, business, business! It never stops!” Before he answered, he moved into the privacy of another room nearby. He stopped before and made direct, comfortable eye contact with Mila. “And of course you can. The DAE wants to know soon, but we want you happy and protected. You say the word, and we’ll send some folks to make sure your parents have guards until this gets sorted out.” He closed the door, phone still ringing, before popping his head out to get in one last thought. “And trust me. Maurice there can handle anything you throw at him.”