Shades of Hate (Jacky Leon Book 5)

by K. N. Banet

  “That’s a wide range of languages for someone your age. Let me guess, Arabic and Zulu are thanks to—”

  “Niko wanted me to make a good impression,” he said, cutting me off with an annoyed expression. “And I speak all of them as if I’m a native except for the last two. I’m more of a tourist with those, definitely not native, but…”

  “Passable,” I said, nodding. “That’s really interesting. Why didn’t you go to college? You’re obviously a lot smarter than I am, and I got into medical school.”

  “You had to have learned languages,” he said, staring at me as if I was pulling his leg.

  “I went through the courses and survived them,” I replied with a chuckle. “But they never stuck. Over the years, I’ve lost them. I’m teaching myself Spanish now. And don’t avoid the question. Why didn’t you go to college?”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He poured two beers and put them on the bar. One of the servers came by and picked them up while we sat in silence.

  “I can if you want me to,” I said softly. We stared at each other until he sighed.

  “When I was at the age to go, I was tired of trying to be perfect for him,” Dirk answered softly. “I got a job and just wanted to get out and be my own person. Never looked back. He’s never really forgiven me for it. He might not admit it, but he had a plan for me. He wanted…a son.”

  Ah, shit. Niko, you’ve loaded this man up with so many expectations, you chased him away.

  “Thanks for sharing that,” I said, swallowing. “Look, if you want to be a bartender for the rest of your life, I’m not going to stop you. I was just curious. No judgment from me. Be whatever you want, just come to work on time.”

  He nodded, giving me the strangest look. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I get it. I wanted to be a bartender for the rest of my life, too.” I smirked and finally got a chuckle out of him again.

  “That’s a very long time to be a bartender.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Well, it’s not the ‘go back to Germany conversation’ we need to have, but it’s something.

  Not long after Dirk and I entered in companionable silence, an interesting pair walked into the bar. Their navy blue suits stuck out. I knew that color, but the reason for seeing them here at Kick Shot eluded me. There was no reason for them to be here.

  I stood slowly as the pair looked around. Some people glanced their way, but most of the bar’s patrons continued on with what they were doing.

  Then they looked at me as I stood for their inspection, not trying to rush them. I met the dark brown eyes of a stern man matching Dirk’s description. He reached down and revealed his sidearm as he pulled out his badge and flashed it.

  “Jacky Leon, I’m Special Agent Collins with the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. This is my partner, Special Agent Miller.”

  You could hear a pin drop in the bar. In the corner of my eye, I saw how tense Dirk was, unable to stop staring at these agents.

  Every country had a department that handled supernaturals in some way or another. In the United States, a new department had been created, the BSA. A quiet organization, they really only dealt with the werewolves and the small occurrences of fae or witches being outed.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked, trying to be respectful. My last and only run-in with this organization hadn’t gone well.

  “We need to speak to you, preferably privately,” Special Agent Miller said, looking around the room again.

  “Oh, is the big bad BSA coming after our werewolf?” Joey laughed across the room. “I always knew you were one. Not sure why you denied it.” A few people laughed.

  “Yeah, you even hang out with that werewolf from Dallas. It’s fine, though. You know we don’t care,” John added, laughing with his buddy.

  I wanted, for a split second, to kill those idiots, a vicious instinct rooted in self-preservation. At that exact moment, my eyes probably flashed gold, but some things were truly uncontrollable. The rush of the feeling came so fast, I was hopeless to stop it from presenting itself for just a single second.

  “You can talk to me in my office upstairs. Please follow me,” I said softly, trying to reclaim my calm. “Dirk, do you need anything?”

  “No, boss, I’m good,” he said, visibly relaxing. “I’ve got things down here.”

  I patted the bar and started walking, letting the agents decide if they wanted to follow me. My gut told me this was bad. My instincts screamed for me to stop this meeting, but I had no reason to. There were rules against guns in Kick Shot and on the property, but that was because I served alcohol. I didn’t need some idiot getting drunk and deciding to shoot someone. I couldn’t throw out two government agents for having their required sidearms, no matter how much I wanted to.

  The walk was quiet, and since I was leading, I could barely catch their scents. I didn’t know yet how they were feeling through that needed sense. I didn’t know what they were thinking because they offered no other indicator. Up the backstairs, the only sound I could register was my own heartbeat, pounding like a drum leading up to some event. I knocked on Oliver’s office, then ducked my head in without waiting for a response.

  “I have a meeting. Dirk will explain,” I told my manager, then quickly shut the door before the agents drew close enough to look inside. I didn’t even give myself time to make sure Oliver registered what I had said. I just had to trust he had listened at that moment.

  When we made it to my office, I held the door open for them to enter with one hand while gesturing at the seats in front of my desk.

  “Have a seat,” I said softly, then closed the door as they sat down. I walked around my desk and sat down, putting my hands on the desk, and looked between them. Special Agent Collins had dark eyes that reminded me of Zuri and Jabari. Their eyes were also that dark brown, so close to black, especially when they were in a mood. For Jabari, that was common. Zuri’s eyes tended to lighten up more than they darkened.

  That’s it. He has Jabari’s eyes. He’s calculating, a warrior looking over an opponent. That’s why I’m getting this vibe.

  Special Agent Miller was physically tense but didn’t feel as threatening. His brown hair was boyish in cut and style, and he seemed fifteen or twenty years younger than his leading partner. It was a startling contrast to Special Agent Collins’ crisp, military fade.

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” I asked simply. I could smell them now, closed in my office. Their scents couldn’t escape, and the air wasn’t on. Everything they felt would expose them and give me an idea how to handle this.

  “That is a somewhat complicated question, Miss Leon,” Collins said, leaning back in his seat. “First, I need to explain some things. We’re Special Agents of the BSA, not the lower ranking agents you’ve met before. We handle…particular circumstances.”

  I didn’t say anything when he paused. I wanted him to keep talking because the more he had to talk, the less I needed to. I wanted to reduce the chance of giving away something about myself. It was the best I could hope for in this situation. I had done it before with the BSA’s visit about Carey last summer and was confident I could do it again.

  While the pause continued, I came to the decision this had to be about Heath and Carey. I didn’t know if they were trying to take her away or get Heath in trouble for something, but I was confident this was about my Everson family. I had to be careful if I wanted to fully protect them. Heath followed me to the other side of the world for my family. Dealing with these BSA visits was the least I could do for him and Carey.

  Finally, the special agents realized I wasn’t going to say anything.

  “We handle first contact,” Miller finally snapped, annoyance thick in his scent, probably impatient with my refusal to speak.

  The words snapped like a whip and sent me into panic mode.

  7

  Chapter Seven

  First contact.

  They know about me and
would never dare show up here unless they had proof.

  It shattered my plan into a million pieces. I lost the air in my lungs and my train of thought. A strange lightheaded feeling hit me, and I felt strangely bold for a moment.

  There’s no way. They didn’t catch me being supernatural. This…this can’t be happening.

  “First contact?” I asked, leaning forward and daring to laugh. “What? Am I a fucking alien? What are you talking about?”

  They looked between each other, and Collins was the one who reached into his pocket, pulling out a simple, harmless USB stick—it should have been harmless, but I knew what sort of damaging information could be kept on those little fucking things.

  “Reactions like yours are common,” he said, putting it down gently on the desk, moving slowly for me. He was smart enough to be cautious.

  Or he knows enough to be cautious.

  “I bet,” I said, letting the disbelief drip from my tongue like acid.

  “Now, first contact isn’t as bad as it sounds. We at the BSA don’t out people for their status as supernatural. Normally, we open a dialogue to work with the new supernatural. We just become…handlers, in a sense, until the negotiations are done. We just want to make sure human laws are being followed, and if you are edging around the laws, they’re for reasons we can allow. Financials are often something we turn a blind eye to unless there’s evidence of insider trading. Normally, supernaturals keep their money clean, though, even if it’s under fake names. Once we’re done, we switch with someone experienced to work with you in the long term.”

  Yes, we keep our money clean. We hire the best to do that. Hasan told me never to worry about that sort of thing.

  “I’m still wondering how you can possibly think I’m a supernatural,” I said, blinking, pretending to ignore what he was trying to explain. “Is this some way of pulling my leg for getting pissed at an agent you sent to Heath last year? He’s a friend. I’m protective of him, he’s a wonderful father, and she was a hateful bitch. She wanted there to be something wrong with me because it was pretty obvious she didn’t like how I was so trusting of the werewolf family. What was that woman’s name…”

  “Agent Robinson, who was promptly reassigned from interacting with supernaturals and has been reprimanded for her behavior,” Collins said, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you just…take a look?” He slowly pushed the USB closer to me.

  I finally grabbed it and plugged it into the USB slot at the back of my keyboard. While they watched, I turned on the monitor from my desk, punched in my password, and clicked to the new folder waiting on my desktop.

  It popped up and destroyed my life.

  I didn’t need to click the images. I could see the night vision images with clarity just from the surveillance. High quality, trail cam surveillance of me jogging past on a broken-in trail I used as a werecat. I could see the detail of my stripes in the strange green vision of the world. I could see my long fangs, just over four inches of bone ready to kill. A later picture showed matted fur, right after my kill.

  “Looks like I have a prehistoric beast in the area. Thanks for the—”

  “Click the video,” Collins said, no longer entertaining my denials. He wasn’t annoyed like his partner; he wasn’t angry. He was talking to me like he would talk to a child who didn’t want to admit she stole cookies from the kitchen. If anything, he was too patient.

  The video was the last file and filled the forty-two-inch screen. The sun was going down, and I could see my house through the trees. My heart pounding, I watched as I walked onto my front porch completely naked. My face wasn’t blurred, but someone had been nice enough to blur my private areas.

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  How kind of them. How so fucking kind of them.

  “When we opened the investigation on you, we were of the same mind as the gentleman downstairs. We believed you were a werewolf who lived off the radar. We tried to talk to you about it just over a week ago, but we couldn’t get your bartender to find you for us. It’s obvious he protects you. So, we decided we needed hard evidence and completed our official investigation by installing surveillance on your property. With the evidence, we were going to give you and Heath Everson a firm reminder that werewolves who operated businesses in the United States had to disclose that information. It’s the law. It’s one thing to take a background role in hopes people ignore it, but you flatly denied it.”

  “Because I’m not a werewolf,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes off the screen. It was a horror show of my own making. As the sun went down, the camera flipped into night vision, but even that couldn’t obscure what it was filming. There was no reason to deny it anymore—they knew I wasn’t a werewolf.

  I Changed, right there on my front porch, caught by a camera that had to be farther away than it appeared. It was zoomed way too close on me, catching the detail of my bones and muscle moving under my skin, my fur growing out, and the deadly long fangs extending from my own, very human canines.

  When it was done, I darted off-screen, far more agile than I should be as a nearly five-hundred-pound prehistoric cat.

  “You are most definitely not a werewolf. We’ve never seen anything like you before,” Collins said softly.

  I wasn’t paralyzed. In fact, I had never felt a more pressing need to get up and move around. I put my hands on the desk, trying to think. I wanted to pace. I pushed myself to a stand and saw how the agents reached for their sidearms.

  “Miss Leon—”

  “I just need to stand,” I whispered. I finished my movement and took a step back from my desk, turning to look out the window behind it that looked over my beautiful trees.

  The beautiful trees that were obviously no longer safe for me.

  Nowhere was safe for me anymore.

  Not even my own territory.

  I wanted to vomit. Something insidious crept through me, a feeling I had little experience with. I crushed it, needing to think. I didn’t have time to indulge it.

  “What are you planning?” I asked, refusing to look at them.

  “We’re not…planning anything,” Collins said, clearly choosing his words with care. “We’re here to open a dialogue with you and your kind. You’re the first thing we’ve ever seen like you, and we’re not in the business of outing the supernaturals we find. We know there are thousands out there, but there are many we can’t prove. The United States of America holds the position that we need to understand all the creatures that live within our borders. We need to be able to work with you. Since you’re the first of your kind ever found, you find yourself in the unique position of being someone who can help us.”

  “How?” I asked, not bothering to elaborate.

  This was never supposed to happen.

  “Well, you can tell us how your kind works—”

  “No,” I hissed softly. “How did you figure out I’m not human?”

  “You want to know about our investigation of you?” Miller huffed. “We don’t—”

  “It started a couple years ago, Miss Leon,” Collins said quickly. I didn’t turn around, but it was clear he was shutting Miller down before the younger one could say something stupid. “The coup in Dallas.”

  My blood ran cold. My hands were shaking, so I folded my arms and tucked my hands near my armpits to steady them. Looking into my woods, I tried to find solace in them that was continuing to escape me.

  “The coup,” I said as the memories came back to me—Carey’s amazing run to get me to protect her, her being taken, me stupidly and bravely going into the city to get her back to protect her again because I couldn’t bring myself to admit failure. She had been such a young girl. I couldn’t fail her. “I remember the coup.”

  “We had never heard of you before, but during the coup, there were whispers about a woman who helped Heath Everson defeat the uprising and save his children. We were all sad to hear Richard had been lost, but at least Heath got his two youngest back. We heard about a woman people d
idn’t really want to talk about to us, not in any fashion, official or unofficial.”

  I wanted to laugh, but the feeling was bitter. I hadn’t known they had given Richard a tragic death. He’d been the greatest betrayal of the night.

  They were sad to hear he died?

  I had killed him to protect his sister.

  “It’s illegal to out another supernatural,” I explained as if the words were coming out on autopilot. “If they had told you about me, they would have forfeited their lives.”

  “We’re the United States of America. We could have protected them.”

  “You keep believing that,” I said, hearing and regretting the deadpan way I spoke those words. It turned the words into a dangerous threat. I didn’t say them with a laugh but with the utmost confidence. The United States could never protect someone from the Tribunal. They would be crushed.

  “We’re not here to exchange threats,” Miller said, definitely playing the more aggressive of the partners.

  “If the coup didn’t give me away, what did?” I asked, ignoring his little outburst. I turned back to them but stayed where I was. I was concerned about the sidearms. If I took a step toward them, they could put me on the ground if they didn’t feel safe.

  “We heard several disturbing things, but mostly, we could track you through Heath Everson. He only recently stepped down from power, and while we didn’t have him watched, we heard his name come up enough to keep record of everything. Heath helped save a werewolf in Seattle from a trip gone wrong. Reports were, they were kayaking, and the other three drowned. And there was this woman with him who made everyone a little on edge and annoyed he was with her. Then there was the Russian pack incident last summer,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he waited for me to recognize that.

  “I helped him save the wolf,” I confirmed because they already knew that. “And I know all about Russia.”

  “Oh, Russia is the one we can definitely pin on you,” he said, leaning over. I had a feeling Collins was pleased with himself, even though his scent betrayed nothing but pure confidence in what he was presenting. “You helped bring down a pack run by a despot who abused so many. When new werewolves are brought into the country, we interview every one of them. It’s a deal we made with the North American Werewolf Council. Now, they’re all coached well before they ever talk to us. While we were managing all the new werewolves, someone slipped and mentioned Heath…and Jacky in our company. We made the connection with you from your incident with our agents last year.”