by Jools Louise
Skull came into the room, cursing softly and fluidly. “I had to give the bastard another dose. He just won’t stay down.”
“Why don’t you kill him?” the terrified captive said in a hoarse whisper. “Just kill him. So he can’t hurt us anymore. Please don’t let Crash live. He’s a monster. How could he be allowed to do this to us? Who told him we were here?” The words rolled on and on, almost incomprehensible in places, as though he talked to himself.
Pace swore. “Kaden, you and Skull help with these guys. I’ll take Sherman and the others with me. It’ll take all of us to get Crash into custody. I think he’s going to need extra special care. Judging by his demeanor, he’s high on some kind of amphetamine…I can’t believe he’s this amped normally.”
“I’ll stay here,” Sketch offered. “I’m not a pussy, but Crash is seriously whacked out, and I’m human. I don’t think a psychotic lion shifter is really my thing.”
“Pussy!” Pace mocked, and then left, as the mates got Crash’s victims some clothing and called an ambulance for Mystery and Chill.
* * * *
Slade watched Crash rouse and braced for an outburst. The guy would not be happy with his current situation. Slade smirked. The bastard might just cry. On cue, Crash let out a feral snarl, struggling to free himself from his bonds.
“He’s a little upset,” he said to Pace, who was eyeing the big lion shifter warily.
“If he gets out of those restraints, I’ll shoot him. No ketamine this time, just bullets,” Pace retorted grimly. Crash shot them both a look vivid with rage.
“If only he could talk,” Slade mocked the psychopath. “Such a shame we had to put that ball gag in his mouth to stop him hurting himself, trying to chew through his restraints.”
Pace snorted. “Yeah, because that’s our first priority, making sure he doesn’t get hurt!” he shot back. They shared a grin.
“Trying to munch through the bars was always going to be an option for him,” Slade drawled, tilting his head and studying Crash carefully. “Tell me again why he’s still breathing? The little dude was right. This guy needs silencing for good. He’ll just keep on hurting innocents if he’s allowed to live.”
Pace grunted, shaking his head. He turned his head, leaning closer to Slade. “Ghost’s nowhere to be found. After the hotel was demolished, he disappeared. Kind of difficult to do as a paraplegic, which means he had help. I’ve been hearing more about those fight clubs, and intel suggests that Ghost is now running them, after Fielding was killed in England a few weeks ago. New intel also suggests that there’s a new player in town, someone neither of us knows. Crash here must have had help to escape, which could put Ghost, Morag, or the new Flashpoint moron in the frame. Morag, Ghost’s possible accomplice, went AWOL at the same time as he did, which is too much of a coincidence. I don’t believe there isn’t a connection. Now Crash shows up here, after managing to get out of prison, where he should have been serving a life term?”
“You’re thinking Crash, Ghost, and Flashpoint are connected.”
“Nothing so annoying as logic, is there?” Pace said dryly. “Flashpoint are real good at recruiting. Crash may have a screw or two loose, but right now, I’m not buying into the coincidental timing. Where our friend Ghost is concerned, shit starts to get real awful quick. Sage has had its fill of Ghost’s deadly little pranks. We’ve lost too many to not take him seriously. With his involvement with Flashpoint, and Crash’s escape, I can’t help but connect the dots.”
“Any word about when Ryder and his guys are back?” Slade asked, keeping his voice low.
Pace shot him a warning look, jerking his head slightly to the cell. “Loose lips…” he said. “Ryder will be back soon.”
They heard Crash give a low sigh, and then he slumped where he lay, with the ketamine finally appearing to kick in.
“Probably a trick,” Slade drawled, watching the prisoner. “He always was a lousy actor.”
Crash remained still.
“Are you sure?” Pace asked doubtfully. “He looks awfully pale.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t tan so easily, on account of his penchant for staying indoors, torturing innocents. Fucking moron doesn’t know how to woo a guy, just goes right in with the wham-bam-thank you-ma’am,” Slade said mockingly, seeing Crash’s lids flicker slightly. He grinned, knowing the bastard was listening to his every word. “Personally, I think the reason he has to tie his boyfriends up is because he’s such a fraidy-cat. Probably piss his pants if his victim got loose. What a loser.”
Crash erupted again, tugging at his bonds, which strained against his shifter strength.
“Oh, sorry, douche. You won’t be escaping anytime soon. For some reason, the good sheriff wants to keep you alive awhile longer. Not sure why. I think you’d look pretty fine with your head mounted on a two-by-four, but hey! What do I know?”
Pace snorted, and Slade chuckled at the fury in Crash’s eyes.
“Feels good, don’t it? All tied up and no place to go,” Slade added viciously. “A shame I don’t have my blowtorch handy. Then we could really show you a good time. I should have ended you a long time ago, douche.” Crash snarled again, unable to shift safely within his restraints, looking back at Slade with feral eyes. “You hurt my mates,” Slade continued, his tone deadly quiet now. “For that alone, I’ll be making sure to cause you a whole lot of pain, when we’re done talking to you.” He bared his fangs, patted his chest with his fist, and then pointed at the angry feline shifter with splayed fingers. Crash was his when it came to delivering final justice.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs down to the cells, and they both turned to see two of the big bear shifters, Louis and Doyle.
“Hey, sheriff. We got babysitting duties. Skull is coming by later,” Doyle said cheerfully.
“Thanks, Doyle, Louis,” Pace said gratefully. “I need to get the paperwork done on this guy and to check a few things, as well.” He glanced at Crash, then back to the bear shifters. “Be careful. He’s tricky. Don’t open the cell. If anything happens, call for me, okay?”
“Will do, boss,” Louis replied laconically. “We’ll holler if we get any trouble. I heard what he did to Mystery and Chill, and Shark, and Oliver. Bastard better not try anything funny. We’re partial to kicking ass.”
Crash snarled behind his ball gag, his eyes crazy with fury again.
“Damn, he’s like a rabid pig,” Doyle said in amazement, heavy on the sarcasm. “You sure you don’t want to just shoot him between the eyes? Would make things so much safer around here.”
Pace shook his head at the pair and nodded for Slade to join him upstairs.
As they reached his office, he shared a pained glance with the big bald shifter. “Those two…” he began, then laughed. “Crash may just have met his match. I don’t think they were particularly impressed with our crazed ex-biker.”
“Yeah, and from the size of them, three hundred pounds apiece, they’re more than capable of taking him down if he gets loose again,” Slade said, smirking, before he turned serious again. “Do you really think Ghost is still around?” Slade asked. He’d been traveling for a bit, after Kaden found his mates, and only returned recently. He knew about the paraplegic psychopath, though, who had done his best to level Sage to rubble. Thankfully the guy had failed, but he had some pretty effective accomplices. Anything could happen.
“Remember, Ghost and Morag have lain low for a while now. It’s been a few weeks since they took out the hotel and threatened Fly and Noah,” Pace replied seriously.
Slade cursed suddenly. “Crash could be the decoy,” he said. “What better way to deflect attention for his big plan than to send in a huge, out-of-control nutjob like Crash?”
“Fuck!” Pace cursed. They both turned as Sherman, Cracker, and Kaden entered the office, looking grim. “What? Don’t tell me there’s more bad news?”
“We just visited the clinic, where Baxter is still recovering. He just came out of his coma,” Kaden announced. The man w
as a hair stylist by trade, but acted as a part-time enforcer in town, as did his biker crew, most of whom had returned to help Sage fend off Flashpoint’s attacks. Baxter had returned to town after several months with no contact and had been severely injured, so badly that his body had shut down completely, and he’d been on life support since then, to give him time to heal. This was the first time he’d been conscious for long enough to talk.
“Has he spoken?” Pace asked, looking between the three African lion shifters.
“He’s calling for you,” Cracker told him. “Said he had information for you. Something about the fight rings that are popping up all over the west.”
“Fuck!” Pace raked a hand through his dark hair. “With Skull guarding the victims, and Crash downstairs, I can’t leave this place.”
“Skull took Mystery, Chill, and Bone to the guest house. The Spirit Ink guys are taking care of them, and Ronan and his mates are helping out, since they’re staying there while the hotel is being rebuilt. Skull’s interviewing Baxter now, along with Mabel. Doctor Lex and Nurse Leo are taking care of the wolverines’ medical needs. The clinic was too obvious a place to take them, given that we don’t know who else is helping Crash.”
“Any news on your missing crew?” Pace asked, rubbing his face tiredly.
Kaden shook his head. “Pip, Dale, Hugh, Morris, and Gage are still AWOL,” he replied worriedly. “Finn, Gideon, and River are over in England, assisting John and Ryder. They’re going to stay there, training new recruits for the Warriors Brigade UK Division.”
“Who do you have in town?” Sherman asked.
“Micah, Moe, Jericho, Tobias, and Brody,” Kaden replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Because this town needs more deputies,” Pace said, fixing Kaden with a steady stare.
Kaden began to laugh, clutching the back of a chair to keep his balance, with Slade joining in at the idea that their biker crew, a motley, unruly bunch at the best of times, were being eyed up as recruitment material…in law enforcement.
“Don’t they need to be lawful to apply?” Cracker asked dryly. “Those miscreants have colorful pasts.”
“Don’t we all,” Pace shot back, equally droll. “Sherman’s right, though. We need more law and order. Ryder and his Warrior’s Brigade are taking several guys and gals for training, but with Flashpoint at boiling point, I need more help than we have. Skull, Mabel, and I, even with the help of business owners and the mall security, are not enough. Especially if we have to send our Warriors out across the globe.”
“I’m not signing on,” Slade said, shaking his head. “I’m better staying at the mall. Especially after what’s already happened there. I have my business there, plus I want to help keep an eye on things, help the bears with security.”
Pace smirked and then his expression grew serious again. “If I were you, I’d go to check on things right now, even though Noah’s been keeping an eye on them,” he said. “If Ghost, and possibly Morag, are back in the area, your guys will need protecting. Ghost doesn’t like loose ends.”
Slade nodded. “I’ll go check on them,” he said, and turned to Sherman. “You said Mystery and his buddies were at the guest house? What about Shark and Oliver?”
“As far as I know they went home.” Sherman shrugged. “I’m not sure if they know that Crash is in custody.”
“I’ll head over there now. I don’t want to spook the others, but Shark and Oliver should be told what’s going on.”
He nodded at the others and then departed, hearing Pace laughing softly at his eagerness to see the two wolverines. What the hell. He was smitten. And, having taken notice of Shark’s apparent reluctance to be rushed into bed, Slade was going to woo them. No roses. He flinched at the reminder of that bunch of flowers, apparently delivered by Crash. He didn’t want them to be scared of him. He was big, and he knew, given their past, that the wolverine friends had been frightened enough. So, he would be taking his time, getting them used to him.
He considered his kinks, as well. He liked to dominate in the bedroom, but after seeing what Crash had done to his victims, he was going to have a long, hard self-evaluation. He wondered if his jokes about bondage in the past had made them wary of him. Well, duh! Of course that would scare them. Crash had used what could be a sexually exciting activity as a weapon. The bastard wasn’t a true Dom, but an insecure, pathetic excuse for a man, with no understanding of what BDSM was all about. A Dom took care of his pets, made sure they were okay at all times. There was a word for what Crash had done. Slade never wanted to have that word associated with him. That meant changing tactics…and habits. He wanted his little wolverines for life…not just as a quick sexual fix.
Chapter Three
“What the fuck is this?” Shark asked, horrified as he stared at the huge hamper sitting outside his and Oliver’s apartment.
Oliver giggled, peering over Shark’s shoulder. “I think Slade’s courting us,” he replied, kissing Shark’s cheek lightly.
“Yeah, I know that, but what the fuck is this?” Shark repeated, staring up and down the hall for clues. He sniffed a little, scenting Slade’s unique odor, but not seeing him.
“Why don’t we open it and find out?” Oliver suggested helpfully, grinning when Shark shot him a dark look.
“Does he really think this is going to get him any nearer to our pants?”
“It certainly has us talking about him,” Oliver retorted, giggling again. “As an attention-getter, he’s pretty slick.”
“Don’t mention slick in the same sentence as that man,” Shark shot back sourly. “We don’t need him, do we? Aren’t we okay on our own? Why do we need a third? He’ll be all dominant and bossy, wanting us to fit in with what he wants all the time. He’s already joked about his kinks. That’s not going to be part of our sex life ever again. Lion shifters are all the same! So bossy and domineering,” he repeated. He made sure to up the volume as he said the last bit, wanting to give Slade something to think about. Shark was more than a little nervous about being pursued by the sexy shifter, but would never admit he was secretly enjoying the chase. He had the sense that Slade was nothing like Crash. That still didn’t mean he or Oliver were just going to roll over for Slade.
Oliver protested when his lover shut the door on the massive gift, festooned with balloons and bows, the hamper filled with all sorts of cool gadgets from his store. Slade owned a local electrical supplies store and sold everything from televisions to computers to kitchen appliances. He had the latest in computer wizardry and sound systems, plus all kinds of weird and wonderful gadgets for the home.
“If we accept, he’ll think he’s won,” Shark told Oliver, kissing the pout off his roomie’s lips.
“Don’t we want him to win?” Oliver whined wistfully, eyeing the door as Shark dragged him through into the living room.
Shark grinned. “Do we want to have the lickable hunk of prime meat in our bed? Of course we do,” he retorted wickedly. “But we want him to prove himself to us. We’re not that easy anymore.”
There was a knock on the door, and they both flinched, cringing as they stared at each other.
“That could be Crash, escaped from jail,” Oliver whispered, looking terrified.
“Dude, Crash wouldn’t knock,” Shark said dryly, albeit with more than a hint of fear.
“Shark, Oliver, I know you’re there. I wanted to update you on what’s happened with your friends and give you your gifts. Can I come in?” Slade called through the door, sounding amused and sexy as hell.
“He’s not getting in our pants,” Shark said gruffly when Oliver’s eyes lit up.
“Sure he is,” Oliver hissed, rushing to open the door. Then he turned around, winking at his mate. “He’ll just have to work for it. Let him put on a show.”
He opened the front door. Shark shuddered as he watched Slade stalk inside, all big and muscly and delectable. His bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his big shoulders seemed to stretch forever. He wore a slee
veless T-shirt that showed off his tats to perfection. His chest wore an impressive array, too. Shark licked his lips, thinking about how he’d like to lick at the gorgeous display. Maybe Slade would let him slather him with chocolate and whipped cream, to add to the flavor. Slade winked at him seductively, his arms filled with the hamper.
“I hope you’ll accept this little token,” he drawled, his eyes glittering with all kinds of naughtiness. “I got you the latest X-Box system, just arrived in store, plus a bunch of games. No pressure. I just thought, since you’d had such a hard time of it lately, with all the hassle over your restaurant opening and the vandalism, that you might like something fun to play with.”
Shark shot him a look, searching for the double entendre, and received a far too innocent glance back. “You’re still not getting into our pants,” he repeated like a broken record.
Slade laughed huskily. “Maybe this is a peace offering. Maybe I’m concerned that you’re too eager to get into my pants,” he quipped mockingly. “It’s been a while since I had anyone approach me quite so boldly, with those extra touches added to my chicken burger. You just say the word, though, stud, and I’m all yours.”
Shark sputtered as Oliver giggled at the outrageous statement. “I mean it,” he said starkly, glaring, even as he repressed a smile. “We’re not pushovers.”
“I know,” Slade whispered, placing the large hamper beside the couch, and then making himself at home by wandering into the kitchen area, setting up the coffee maker. “Neither am I. If you want this bodacious bod, you’ll have to work for it.”
He winked and then turned his back, getting cups out of a cupboard, plus empty plates.
“What are you doing?” Oliver asked curiously, moving closer, only to be jerked back at a glare from Shark. He pouted, sulking.
