Pack Wars Complete Box Set: Paranormal Menage Werewolf Military Heroes

by Vella Day

  Cheryl sat up and looked around. “What’s going to happen to us?” Not only was her hair a mess, her clothes were dirty and torn.

  “I don’t know.”

  Cheryl leaned against the bars and closed her eyes. Poor thing. From the way she wound her fingers, she was working hard to keep it together.

  She dropped her head against the cage. “I never should have come down here. I knew the offer was too good to be true. Fifty-five thousand dollars to be a paralegal? Right.”

  Greed. It seemed to be all about greed.

  After an hour, Barbie still hadn’t returned, and Elena’s heart grew heavy. Her heart hitched. The girl was never coming back.

  The killing had begun.

  * * *

  General Armand handed Clay Demmers a suitcase full of cash. “There’s fifteen thousand in there. The going rate for one of Couch’s girls is eight thousand. When we spoke with Elena Sanchez’s mother in Costa Rica, she said her daughter had never been with a man.”

  Clay whistled. “That sucks.”

  His partner, Dirk Tilton, shot him a dirty glance.

  Clay shrugged. “What? Just saying, if we don’t buy her first, there’s no telling what will happen to her. A girl like Elena may be emotionally damaged for life if the wrong man gets a hold of her.” He turned back to the general. “Is Elena from Costa Rica?” Neither he nor Dirk spoke Spanish. Perhaps the general should put someone in charge who did.

  “No. She grew up in Florida. Her parents moved down there, recently.” The general gave them the details of the exchange. “I also included some names you can drop to prove you run a high end strip club in Miami. Our contacts will vouch for you.”

  In other words, they’d lie. He hoped he didn’t have to name drop too much. Neither had been in Miami in over a year. They’d done undercover work many times before and understood it was a slippery slope. Having their backgrounds hack proof would make for a smoother transition. One slip up and Elena Sanchez might be subjected to unthinkable acts.

  “Any other intel we should be aware of?”

  “If we go by past events, he usually sells ten girls at a time. But that was Couch. Now that he’s dead, it’s John Hood’s show.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “He’s new. Likes to dress the part of the man in charge. From what I’ve heard, he can be ruthless. He’s slick. So, watch out for him.”

  Clay nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The sale was being held in the backroom of a strip club in the less than desirable part of Gulfside, Florida. To look the part, they dressed in fifteen-hundred dollar suits and three-hundred dollar shoes. Clay didn’t mind looking upscale once in a while, but Dirk kept tugging on his suit as if he’d rather roll in shit than put on the expensive clothes.

  Dirk chose a black tie that Clay gave a thumbs-down to. “Dude,” Clay said searching for another tie. “We’re supposed to be flamboyant rich boys, not freaking lawyers. Here.” The red and yellow striped tie at least looked like it might have come from a Miami store.

  “I can’t do this right anyway.” Dirk ripped off his conservative tie. “I never learned to tie one.”

  That was because Dirk’s dad split when he was a kid, and he’d had to learn everything by himself. Dirk grabbed the tie and made a shitty looking Windsor knot.

  “You suck.” Clay stepped in front of his friend and straightened the mess. At least the guy had shaved. “Let’s get this over with and hope we’re not too late.”

  * * *

  The morning after Barbie disappeared, Elena awoke to the sound of the warehouse’s side door opening. She expected the guard, but when the sweet scent of lavender perfume reached her, her pulse raced at the change in routine.

  Dressed in a formfitting black dress with white trim, high heels, and a pearl necklace, a thin woman huddled next to a taller gentleman. He had neatly trimmed gray hair, and from the cut of his suit, was rich. Together, they reminded her of a couple from the nineteen fifties—her grandpa’s era. Sleep deprived, she couldn’t figure out what a classy looking couple would be doing in a dump like this.

  As she stared at them, blood whooshed through her veins. Had they come to rescue her? Or should she be afraid they’d kill her?

  The two newcomers stood ten feet away from the three cages as if getting any closer would sully them. They leaned near to each other and whispered. They glanced at her and tossed out words like heavy, greasy, needs work, but she couldn’t piece together what was going on. Then they looked over at Cheryl and bandied about the words high price and perfect.

  The powerful-looking man nodded, stepped over to Elena’s cage, and opened her door. He yanked her out by the arm, and the torsion wrenched her shoulder. She yelped.

  “Shut up.”

  Elena swallowed a whimper. She really needed to use the bathroom but didn’t dare ask. They seemed to have other plans.

  “Christ, you stink,” Mr. Suit said.

  Like that was her fault? He turned her around, and when he slapped cuffs on her wrists, her heart hammered at the restriction. His rough handling bruised her skin, but she held back her complaint.

  She pulled her hands apart to test them, and the cold metal dug into her skin. Her adrenaline spiked as she pictured being shoved and prodded toward some kind of electric chair or worse a guillotine.

  The man stepped behind her and dragged a blindfold over her eyes. Oh, no. Not being able to see was her biggest nightmare, and with her hands tied, she couldn’t rip off the cloth. To make it worse, he shoved a rag in her mouth. Panic ripped through her. Her stomach rolled and vomit shot up into her mouth.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded.

  If she ran, he’d probably shoot her.

  From the direction of his footsteps, he’d stepped over to Cheryl’s cage. Metal creaked and Cheryl whimpered. The slap that followed hurt Elena worse than if he’d struck her.

  “Let’s go, girls. Time to get you prettied up.”

  Prettied up? The idea of getting clean appealed to her, but why would they care? Something wasn’t right. People didn’t drug someone, keep her in a cage for weeks, and then suddenly want to take care of her. This was wrong. These people were definitely not her saviors.

  One of them pushed her forward and, with her hands tied behind her back, she stumbled and landed on her knee. “Ooogmsn.” Damned gag. Her breath caught in her throat as the pain raced up her leg.

  “Easy with the merchandise,” the woman said.

  The man’s meaty hand lifted her up again and, with a firm grip, he led her outside where the fresh air was a welcome contrast to the damp, stale air in the warehouse. She inhaled to fill her lungs with the goodness and caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled like some version of Old Spice, a scent her uncle always wore. The good memory surfaced and helped lessen the tension.

  The sound of tires whizzing on the pavement seemed far away, but at least they weren’t in the middle of nowhere. If her hands hadn’t been tied, she’d have waved hoping someone would notice them and come to their rescue.

  A well-oiled door opened.

  “Get in.” He turned her around and pressed on her shoulder, forcing her to sit on what she believed was the lip of a van.

  The man lifted her feet and slid her back a few feet on the metal floor. Her sore ass ached even though she had a lot of padding. Poor Cheryl was skinny and would be miserable during the ride. The tears leaked out of her blindfold but never reached her cheeks. The salty liquid dripped into her throat and nearly made her choke.

  The edge of the van dipped, and Cheryl’s shoes scraped across the metal. Once the back doors slammed shut, the engine sounded. Even though her new cage-mate was as helpless as she was, not being alone gave her some comfort.

  The vehicle pulled out. Elena tried to memorize how many times they stopped and turned, but after a while, she gave up. The cold metal pinched her wrists and pain sped up her spine with every turn. She worked hard to breathe through a stuffed up nose.r />
  In truth, every second seemed like a minute. Elena clung to the idea they were going to clean up. She tried to keep focused on the positive, all the while wondering if today would be the day she died.

  No more than fifteen minutes later, the vehicle stopped and the back door squeaked opened. Cool air rushed in and smelled sweeter than where they’d been.

  Feet shuffled on the metal, and a strong hand lifted her. He pulled her forward until she reached the edge of the van floor. He lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing and tossed her out of the back. Someone caught her, but for that one second in the air, her heart had jammed.

  Man number two set her down, clamped a hand on her arm, and half dragged her forward. She tried to keep up, but when she tripped on something and nearly fell, the guy had to haul her to her feet.

  “Clumsy bitch.”

  Anger ripped up her spine. They’d kept her locked in a cage for two weeks, and her legs had lost a lot of muscle tone. What had they expected would happen?

  The moment she stepped inside this new building, the temperate air cleansed her. The man took off her gag but not her blindfold, and she gulped in the needed oxygen.

  “You scream and you won’t talk again.”

  If he was trying to scare her, he succeeded. A door opened and he shoved her inside.

  “Stay there.”

  With her hands secured behind her back, and wearing a blindfold, it was hard to do anything other than obey. Her heart pounded. She listened for Cheryl’s breaths, but heard nothing above her own raspy pants.

  After several long minutes, the door opened and someone removed her blindfold. Elena looked around. She was in a bathroom that was a lot nicer than the one she had in her apartment. In fact, this one had a stone countertop, a picture-framed mirror, and a tiled walk-in shower.

  The idea of a shower seemed about as close to heaven as she could get—the woman in front of her did not.

  Elena judged this matronly guard with the stern expression to be in her fifties. She was maybe five-feet-three-inches tall and almost as wide. From the way she held her shoulders, she might have played professional football. A zillion questions raced through Elena’s mind, but since this woman was part of the group who’d taken her, Elena doubted she’d be forthcoming with information.

  “Turn around.” The woman waved a key.

  Elena obliged and soon the cuffs were gone. Thank you, God. She rubbed her sore wrists and rejoiced in the small amount of freedom.

  “Get out of those clothes.”

  Elena turned around. The woman planted her hands on her hips. Chills raced up her body at the hatred lacing the woman’s eyes. This person was female, but Elena was a private person. She wasn’t going to get naked in front of her even if she’d been told her clothes were full of bugs.

  “I will. May I have some privacy?”

  The woman’s lips firmed even more if that was possible. “Wash your hair and scrub clean. I will be back to check on you.”

  Elena was tempted to lock the door, but a second after the woman left, a key sounded from the other side. When she tested the knob, she was locked in. That didn’t bother her. It meant more privacy.

  She turned on the water and undressed. Though her clothes were disgusting, and she loathed wearing them again, they covered her. After folding and placing them on the counter, she stepped in the shower. The warm water was a balm to this nightmare, even though she didn’t believe freedom was any closer.

  She picked up the shampoo but didn’t recognize the brand. It looked expensive and smelled divine. She bought her toiletries at the discount store.

  Someone opened the door, and Elena immediately covered herself. The matron returned carrying clean clothes. “Put these on.” She picked up Elena’s neatly stacked ones and walked out.

  Relieved she wouldn’t have to dress in her dirty slacks, a stained white blouse, and soiled undergarments, she finished washing. After she towel dried, she looked at what the woman had brought.

  Horror raced through her. The panty was a thong, the bra wouldn’t even cover her nipples, and the skirt might not go over her rear. The shirt looked five sizes too small and was a low V-neck. If her mother saw her, she would die a hundred deaths.

  She closed her eyes for a second. This might turn out to be worse than her cage.

  Chapter Two

  Christ. “This is worse than a sleazy ‘B’ movie,” Dirk said.

  The sale was being held in a seedy strip club that had neon lights rimming the outside. Several of the letters remained unlit. He’d never been here before, which he considered a good thing on many levels. One, places like this disgusted him, and two, none of the employees could recognize him.

  For their own safety, he and Clay had opted out of wearing a wire. Hood’s men would identify them as werewolves. What they wouldn’t know was whether they were members of the Pack, if they belonged to a Colter organization like Hood’s, or if they were random shifters who were interested in beefing up their stock of women.

  When they stepped through the main entrance, the music blared, the smoke-filled room clogged his sinuses, and the stench of bodies became unbearable. To a human, the smell might have been passable, but not to him. It took most of his control not to cover his nose.

  Women gyrated around poles and a few men with drinks waved dollar bills at the scantily clad dancers. Dirk had met a few girls like these. Some were trying to pay off college loans, but many were into drugs or had given up on life. They’d turned to dancing at strip clubs as a way to keep food on the table. He wished he could help them, but a man could only do so much.

  Clay flashed their invitation, and the redhead smiled. “Right this way, gentlemen.” She led them past the customers down a long hallway. “It’s the last door on your right.”

  Showtime.

  Dirk was more angry than anxious. He wanted to shift and tear Hood’s throat out for what he was doing to helpless girls. But unless they stamped out the head honcho, along with the entire organization, the Colters would keep on coming. Too bad they had yet to identify the mastermind behind the group. The only name linked to this human trafficking scheme was Harvey Couch’s, who was dead, and now, John Hood’s.

  Killing Hood wouldn’t solve the human trafficking problem, either. Even reaching the head Colter would only interrupt things for a while. Leaders always had replacements nearby.

  Clay knocked on the door and entered. This hallway led to another room and then another. Talk about a maze. They finally reached a long corridor with rooms on both sides. The place smelled as if the girls were doused in cheap perfume. Two things struck him as odd. No privacy existed. Each door contained a window. Secondly, a guard stood in front of each one as if someone expected trouble.

  As soon as they walked by the first guard, the door at the end of the corridor opened. An older man dressed in a black pinstripe suit, polished loafers, and more rings than a five-time Super bowl winner stepped forward. He graced them with a wide smile. Hood.

  His stone cold eyes shot a shiver up Dirk’s spine. At the malevolent vibe radiating off the man, it took a lot of control not to do battle, but he and Clay wouldn’t get within ten feet of the guy if they attacked with all his men around.

  The werewolf moved forward with the grace of his kind and held out his hand. “Gentlemen. John Hood.”

  The man’s accent threw Dirk off balance. Russian, he’d guess. The general’s intel never uncovered this fact. The stakes just shot higher. Then Dirk’s body responded to something else nearby. He couldn’t figure out why the urge to shift enveloped him. Everyone in the hallway was a werewolf, so that didn’t explain it.

  I’m feeling odd. Maybe Clay had an explanation.

  Me, too, but keep cool.

  Not being in control bugged the shit out of him. Going undercover at the exact moment his body decided to go haywire wasn’t a good omen.

  “Gentlemen, tell me what you’re looking for in a woman. Perhaps I can guide you.”

&nb
sp; Just then, the door they’d entered through opened, and Dirk glanced behind him. Two more gentlemen he didn’t recognize walked in. Neither were shifters. Interesting. Hood nodded to them as if he knew them well. Both men acknowledged the guard stationed at the second door on the right and slipped into the room. Dirk hoped Elena wasn’t the one in there.

  Between the two of them, Clay was better thinking on his feet. You answer him.

  His partner glanced at him, but he hid his surprise well. “We need someone soft and nubile to fill out our line. Dargon and I want someone we can train.”

  Why the general chose the stupid name Dargon as an alias was beyond him. A spark of uncertainty flashed in Hood’s eye. Damn. Clay’s description shouldn’t have been so precise.

  The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I might be able to accommodate you. Would you like me to hold your money while you look?” He held out a hand.

  Since the case required an eye scan to open the lock, he figured Hood wouldn’t be able to steal the money. “Sure.” Dirk handed it to him. Immediately, Hood passed it off to one of his men.

  “As long as no one else is in the room with the lady, feel free to check out each one, but please don’t harm the merchandise. You break it, you pay for it.”

  The warning wasn’t necessary.

  Since they didn’t know which room contained Elena, they started as far away from the newcomers as possible. No potential buyer was inside the first room, but the captive wasn’t Elena. Her mother had provided a picture of her very beautiful daughter and this blonde didn’t look remotely like her. He wouldn’t put it past Hood to dye the woman’s hair to make identification more difficult, but even Hood couldn’t have made a girl grow four inches.

  A blonde, with very long legs, sat on a red sofa with her hands tightly laced on her lap, her crossed legs bouncing up and down. Dirk spotted the security camera in two corners. Most likely there would be audio, too.

  Talk to her, he telepathed to Clay. Christ this sucked. Pretending to buy a woman as their sexual slave made him sick.