Primal Instinct

by Tara Wyatt

  “Hey,” Zack answered, studying her the way a veterinarian might study a wounded tiger, wary and cautious. “It’s good to see you. Sorry to hear about all the shit happening.”

  She shrugged. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll go grab those files,” said Colt. “Be right back.” He slipped an arm around Taylor’s waist as he passed and pulled her into him, planting a hot, hard kiss on her before releasing her and heading up the stairs.

  He’d staked his claim, and damn if she didn’t like it. More than like it.

  She felt the weight of Zack’s gaze on her, and after a deep breath, she met his eyes. She braced herself, but she was relieved when she found that her heart didn’t flutter, that her breath didn’t catch, that her skin didn’t hum and vibrate when she looked at him. It used to. Now, looking at him, gorgeous as always—ridiculously gorgeous, really—she only felt a dull, residual ache, like a bruise that was almost healed, but was still a little sore if you pressed on it. An ache coupled with the heaviness of shared memories, both good and bad.

  “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she’d intended.

  “I wanted to see you,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. “When I heard about what was happening, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She nodded, letting his words settle over her.

  “For what it’s worth,” he continued, “it was supposed to be Carter tonight, but he had something with his son, and I volunteered. Sean didn’t want me on the rotation.”

  “Thanks. That’s, uh, nice of you to care.”

  He rubbed a hand over his hair. “Taylor, I do care. I always have.” He shoved his hand back in his pocket. “I know I’ve said this before, but I need you to hear it. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never meant to. I wish things had gone down differently.” He sighed heavily. “I let things go too far, and I don’t expect forgiveness. I just want you to know that I didn’t want to hurt you. That I do care about you.”

  “You didn’t want to, but you did hurt me, Zack. You did. But I know you didn’t mean to. The whole situation got away from us, and for a while, I hated you for it. But as much as I wanted to hang on to that anger, to believe that all of this happened because you’re an asshole, I know that’s not true.” She felt lighter as the truth she hadn’t known was buried deep inside her flowed free.

  “Do you still hate me?”

  She swallowed, mentally poking around through her baggage for the answer, for the truth. She looked at him—really looked at him—and shook her head. “No, Zack. I don’t hate you.”

  He nodded, the lines of his face softening a little as some of the tension left him. “Maybe if the timing had worked out differently, or...fuck, I don’t know. I’m just sorry I couldn’t love you the way you deserve.” Tentatively, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Because you deserve it all, babe. You deserve someone who can love you so big and so hard that you don’t even know what to do with all of it. More than anything, I just want you to be happy.”

  Her throat thickened, and she swallowed, blinking away the tears stinging her eyes, threatening to fall. He’d never be able to undo the damage he’d caused, but hearing the words helped. Not just hearing them, but actually believing them, turning them over and examining them, and keeping them.

  Colt came back down the stairs, and their eyes met. Her heart didn’t flutter; it grew wings and tried to fly into his hands. Her breath didn’t catch in her chest; it couldn’t, because there was no oxygen in the room. Her skin didn’t hum and vibrate; it caught fire and burned, every single cell in her body blooming into flame for him.

  “Okay?” He mouthed the question as he walked toward her.

  Taylor smiled and nodded, but her smile dropped away when she noticed that every line of Colt’s body had gone hard and tense. Zack’s hand went to his hip and the gun holstered there. Three men in suits had emerged from what looked like an armored Lincoln Navigator that had pulled up, and they were now making their way up Colt’s driveway. Colt pulled his SIG free of his waistband and stepped in front of Taylor, shielding her with his body.

  “Give us the girl, and no one gets hurt,” said the biggest of the suited men, his deep voice booming. Colt and Zack looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Zack gave the tiniest nod and took Colt’s place in front of Taylor as Colt approached the trio. Taylor’s mouth went dry as she wrung her fingers together, trying to anchor herself against her furiously pounding heart.

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Colt studied the men, and Taylor had no idea how he could be so calm. Especially when the men advanced farther onto his property as though they hadn’t even heard him.

  “Your daddy owes us a lot of money, sweetheart,” said the tall one, his dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Money he doesn’t have. But you have it, don’t you? So you’re going to come with us and get us our money. Simple.”

  Well, shit. For once in his goddamn life, her father had been telling the truth. He owed these guys money, and he’d tried to warn her that they’d come after her.

  “How much does he owe you?” she asked from behind Zack.

  The big one shrugged casually. “Well, once you factor in the forty percent interest and the late payment fee, his tab’s up to $500,000. It was supposed to be more, but our boss likes round numbers.”

  Taylor’s stomach swirled uncomfortably, and she thought she might be sick. “I…I don’t have that kind of money,” she said. Her entire net worth was just over three million dollars, and a lot of that was tied up in her house and the few investments she had. It had been years since she’d last had a hit record, and although she’d seen success, success didn’t always mean crazy wealth. She didn’t have half a million dollars cash on hand, and even if she did, she sure as hell wasn’t going to use it to pay her father’s debts.

  “That’s why you’re gonna come with us, so we can work something out,” said Ponytail, and they started to advance. Colt aimed his gun at the closest man, who looked like a version of Homer Simpson come to life, bald and overweight.

  “Not another fucking step,” Colt ground out, his voice almost a growl. “De Luca, get her inside.”

  Zack’s hand closed around Taylor’s arm, and he tugged her quickly back into the hallway. He pulled her up the stairs and into the loft over the garage, with its front facing windows. His own weapon drawn, he peered out the window.

  “You can’t just leave him,” Taylor whispered, hot, itchy panic shooting through her.

  “No.” Zack handed his gun to Taylor. “You stay here, out of sight, and don’t hesitate to pull the trigger if one of them gets past us and tries to grab you. Call nine-one-one.” Leaving his weapon in her hands, he disappeared from the room, his footsteps thundering down the stairs. She sunk to the floor, the gun clutched in one hand as she fished her phone out of her back pocket and dialed. A trickle of cold sweat slid between her breasts, and she thought her heart might explode as she listened to the phone ring. She crawled toward the door, cracking it open the tiniest fraction of an inch. She could barely hear the 911 operator over the blood thundering through her ears.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  “Men are trying to kill us. They have guns,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

  “Miss, where are you?”

  She gave Colt’s address. “Please hurry. Please. They’re going to kill us.”

  “I’m sending someone now. Please stay on the line with me, okay?”

  Taylor knew she should hide, stay out of sight, but she needed to see what was going on. She crept to the top of the stairs just as the big man charged into the house. Colt fired, narrowly missing. The sound exploded through the house as the man took Colt down in the living room, knocking his gun from his hand, and Taylor’s heart vaulted into her throat.

  Colt rolled with him and pulled a knife from his boot, shooting quickly back to his feet. Zack t
ackled Ponytail, taking him down to the ground as another gunshot rang through the house. Taylor cowered behind the banister at the top of the stairs.

  Knife in hand, Colt ducked and then grabbed his opponent’s arm, twisting it behind him and causing him to drop his gun. The big man reared back and smashed his head into Colt’s face, and Colt let him go. Blood flowed from Colt’s nose as they circled each other, finally trading a flurry of punches before the big man grabbed Colt and threw him into the coffee table. Taylor cringed as glass shattered, but Colt rose quickly to his feet, seemingly unfazed by the blood trickling down his face from cuts near his hairline and across his cheekbone.

  From behind, Zack put the big man into a chokehold, wrestling him to the ground and holding him there as the man’s face turned red. Ponytail came at Colt and grabbed for his knife, but Colt took the man’s arm, spun him, and slammed his elbow into Ponytail’s temple. He fell into a limp heap on the floor, and Colt turned, wiping blood out of his eye as he turned to face the fat, bald one, whose attention was focused on Zack.

  The big man on the floor with Zack stopped struggling, and Zack quickly slipped a hand into his pocket, fished out some zip ties, and bound the man’s hands and feet. The bald man drew his gun and aimed it at Zack, his finger on the trigger. Before Taylor could call out, Colt closed the distance between them and took out the bald man’s knee with a vicious kick. He cried out and spun, and Colt’s fist connected with his face, sending him back a few inches. Colt landed a hard kick in the man’s flabby stomach, which caused him to drop his gun, but he absorbed the impact with a grunt and came back at Colt, fists swinging.

  Colt ducked and grabbed the man’s shoulders, bringing his knee up into the man’s face with a sickening crunch. The man straightened and Colt punched him again. The man staggered back a few steps and glanced at his two incapacitated companions, clearly weighing his options.

  Zack took advantage of the tiny pause and picked up a potted plant off the floor. He threw it hard and fast, and it shattered against the man’s shiny, bald head.

  “Fuck!” the man screamed, his legs wobbling. Colt grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, his heavy fist making contact over and over again. Ponytail began to stir, and Zack used more zip ties to bind his hands and feet.

  Colt wrestled the bald man to the floor and pressed the tip of his knife against the man’s throat, pinning him down with his knees on the man’s chest. “Who are you?” He ground the words out, his voice rough and dangerous, his chiseled features grim and dark. He added pressure to the knife, and the man squirmed, sweat streaking across his bald head in narrow rivulets. “Answer me!”

  The man mumbled something Taylor couldn’t hear. Colt and Zack exchanged a look across the living room just as the sound of sirens split the night open.

  Chapter 22

  Colt tightened his grip on the Charger’s steering wheel and checked the rearview mirror for what had to be the two hundredth time since they’d left Los Angeles, just after dark. They’d hidden out in a hotel after the attack last night and waited until nightfall tonight to head out, because they’d be a lot harder to follow under cover of darkness. He’d done a sweep of the Charger with his radio frequency signal detector, but the car was clean.

  He glanced over at Taylor in the passenger seat, her chin in her hand as she gazed out the window at the starless night. She must be tired. She hadn’t slept last night after the events at his house. He knew, because he hadn’t, either.

  Colt hadn’t believed it when he’d heard it from the guy’s mouth. His words, barely a whisper: “It’s the Brotherhood, man. And we’ll keep coming.”

  The cops had rushed in, and once the three attackers had been arrested, Zack, Colt, and Taylor had all gone down to the station for questioning. Taylor had told them everything about her dad, his harassment and his threats, and everything had clicked together.

  The Grim Weavers were rumored to be dealing drugs for the Golden Brotherhood, a powerful, underground, organized-crime ring so legendary in its activities it was almost mythical. Hell, before last night Colt had thought the Brotherhood was made up, or that if they were real, their reach, influence, and power were severely exaggerated.

  He’d been wrong.

  Now, with the mounting evidence and the arrest of three key Brotherhood enforcers, the LAPD were planning raids on both the Brotherhood and the Grim Weavers. And until everything settled down, Colt’s focus was getting Taylor somewhere safe and keeping her that way. Everything else was in the hands of the police now, but her safety was still his responsibility, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

  He clenched his jaw tightly as he thought of how close she’d come to getting injured or worse last night. So first thing this morning, he’d called his sister and asked if he could use the cabin she and Paul owned just outside of Big Bear Lake. While they laid low, Sean had assured Colt he’d stay in touch with the LAPD about the status of the investigation and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.

  As Colt drove, he didn’t give a shit about the pain from his face, his knuckles, and the various bruises and scrapes on his body. They were nothing, because she was here, beside him, safe and whole. Staring out at the night, he made a silent vow that he’d do everything in his power to protect Taylor, no matter the cost.

  * * *

  Ronnie hefted the cleaver in his hand and brought it down hard on the flesh in front of him, a slight shiver teasing through him as he worked the knife through skin, fat, muscle, and sinew, all of it parting under the steel in his hand. He glanced up at the clock on the wall in the walk-in refrigerator where he worked, and his stomach roiled, not because of the meat—no, the meat was beautiful, the only thing keeping him together right now—but because his visitor would be here any minute.

  He’d made up his mind several days ago and had reached out to his black market contact again, but he didn’t want more spy equipment this time. No, he needed something darker, something harder to come by. At the thought of the spy equipment, anger gripped him. The way the brute had taunted him, had practically flaunted the vulgar way he was treating Taylor—it made Ronnie want to scream. The brute had no claim to her. She belonged to Ronnie. And he was getting fucking sick of her pretending that she didn’t. That she wasn’t supposed to be at his side, bearing his children, giving him everything she had. Her body. Her mind. Her spirit. Everything.

  If she wasn’t his, why had she written all those songs about him? About them? If she wasn’t his, why did he hear her voice in his head, whispering promises? She was the Juliet to his Romeo, and the harder the world struggled to keep them apart, the more his love, his passion, and his need for her grew.

  And he’d show them all. He’d make them sorry they laughed. Sorry they doubted. Especially Frank. Ronnie had joined the Grim Weavers over a year ago now in an attempt to get closer to Taylor through her father, but he’d been dismayed to learn that they didn’t have a relationship. He’d tried on several occasions to broach the subject of Taylor with Frank, but Frank had always waved the topic aside, more concerned with bikes, women, and drugs than his daughter, and the man who loved her.

  A knock at the back door sent a quiver through his muscles, and he set the cleaver down, wiping his hands on his apron and walking across the space, nudging the door open with his shoulder.

  “You Baker?” asked the man, who Ronnie was both relieved and disappointed to find looked completely normal. He was of average height with a large build, probably in his early forties, and had thinning sandy hair and a neatly groomed goatee. He wore a red long-sleeved shirt and khakis with sneakers. He could’ve been anyone. A dentist. A teacher. The guy next door.

  He certainly didn’t look like a man who killed for money. But he’d come highly recommended and had fit Ronnie’s budget.

  “You have what I asked for?” the man asked as he stepped through the door.

  Ronnie nodded at him and pulled the envelope from his pocket that contained $10,000 cash—his entire savings, p
lus money he’d borrowed from the bank—and a photo of the brute. He held the envelope toward the man but pulled it back at the last second. “And my terms? That I come with you to get the woman while you take care of the target?”

  The man nodded, took the money, and pocketed it. “You know where they are?”

  “His sister has a cabin near Big Bear,” he said, immensely proud of himself for having the foresight to hire a private investigator to dig up as much information on the brute, his family, and his friends as possible. “I know they left town, and I think they went there. The address is in the envelope.”

  The man nodded and opened the door. “We’ll go up soon. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

  He stepped through the door into the bright sunshine and disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Soon, she would belong to Ronnie forever.

  * * *

  The cabin was glorious. Surrounded by towering pines and snow-capped mountains, it felt as though it were on the other side of the world from Los Angeles, despite the fact that the drive had only been about three hours. The night Taylor and Colt had arrived, they’d settled into the small cabin quickly, storing the groceries they’d stopped for along the way. Colt had gone through the cabin, checking the locks on all the doors and windows, making sure he had cell reception, and changing one of the outside lightbulbs that was burnt out. He’d also set up a basic alarm system. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

  The cabin itself was small but cozy. The exterior was a mix of logs and stones, and while it was older, some of the fixtures, like the windows and the kitchen appliances, were newer. The front door entered into the living room, furnished with beat-up leather couches covered in plaid blankets and throw pillows and facing a fireplace with a flat-screen TV mounted above it. The living room opened onto the small kitchen, and a door off of the kitchen led to the outdoor space at the back, which featured a deck with several Adirondack chairs, a fire pit, and a spectacular view of Big Bear Lake, the water a glimmering cobalt. A hallway ran along the back of the cabin, and it led to two bedrooms and a tiny but newly renovated bathroom, with a walk-in shower, toilet, and sink.