by Knight, Gwen
Holding Harley’s gaze, Pierce gestured toward the shiny, unmarked limo parked behind him before slipping inside.
Ooo-kay. What exactly did he expect? For Harley to just crawl in next to him like nothing had ever happened?
“Sir?” a deep voice rose next to him.
Harley turned and blinked at a suited man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. One of Pierce’s flunkies, no doubt. Being that it was a wedding, every nearby male was sporting a dark suit, but the senator’s goon here was sporting something different from everyone else—a nifty shoulder rig complete with two Glocks if Harley’s nose was correct. And it always was.
“If you’d follow me, Senator Pierce would like a word.”
Harley’s brow rose in a slow arch. “That so?”
“Harley?” Maddie murmured.
She laid a supportive hand against his arm, but he felt the distinct ripple of tension quickly flowing from her fingers. Miss Maddison White belonged to a well-established family of precocious mountain lion shifters. If there was one thing Harley had learned about them, it was that they could go from zero to sixty in no time flat. He’d once had the distinct pleasure of watching Maddie’s younger sister, Brooklyn, shift in under a minute at Axel and Maddie’s engagement party. Something about their genetics granted them an instant shift, as opposed to their werewolf brethren. It took the majority of them ten, sometimes fifteen minutes to accomplish the same task. These cat shifters were hell beasts—and Maddie would undoubtedly go to bat for him. As would Axel.
“I have nothing to say to the senator,” Harley commented. He’d never been one to hold grudges, but he’d long since made an exception for dear ol’ Pierce. An exception he had no intentions of ever overcoming.
The lackey lifted his hard gaze to Harley’s, the underside of his eye twitching ever so slightly. In that instant, Harley knew two things. One: this man was far more than a random goon, and two: going toe-to-toe with him would likely cost Harley more than he was willing to pay. Call it intuition, but he recognized that particular look in the asshat’s eyes. The one that promised silent retribution should someone ever cross him. Not that it concerned Harley. He’d been playing this game far too long to let some minion intimidate him.
“I won’t ask again, sir.” The jackass nudged aside his suit jacket, offering anyone standing nearby an eyeful of his precious hardware—and thereby solidifying his role as the stupidest SOB alive. “This would go a whole lot smoother if you simply cooperated.”
At the sight of his gun, Maddie unleashed a threatening growl, one that lifted the hairs on the back of Harley’s neck. Werewolves were frightening, no doubt. But cat shifters were aggressively terrifying. Were it not for Axel’s grip on her arm, things might have escalated right there on the church steps. After everything they’d recently been through, Axel’s beautiful fiancée had developed an all-encompassing hatred for guns. Harley couldn’t blame her. Axel had nearly died recently at the hands of a man armed with silver bullets.
Harley pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s your name, son?”
“Woods,” the asshat responded.
Nodding, Harley gave Woods a slow once-over, unimpressed with what he saw. “Well, kid, let me start off by saying you’ve made two colossal mistakes here. The first was marching up to me, jacket blowing in the breeze, with the scent of gun oil all over you. The second was threatening me. But see, here’s the thing—and feel free to take notes for later when you’re asking yourself just where the hell everything went wrong. You’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Take a look around and read the situation here. Because you just brought a gun to a shifter fight.”
Woods’s mouth parted with what Harley assumed was some asinine retort, but before the words could come tumbling out, the man actually took a beat and glanced around. He blinked at the sight of all the surrounding shifters, silently waiting for the other shoe to drop.
One simply didn’t walk up to a group of werewolves and brandish his hardware. Not if said person wanted to live to see the next morn.
“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Woods commented, the blood slowly draining from his face.
Harley smirked. “Ya think?”
“Listen…” Woods sighed, then slipped his hands into his pockets. Harley tracked the movement, his senses on high alert in case the idiot decided to pull a knife or something. He wanted to think better of Woods, but a man who flashed his guns at a group of shifters clearly wasn’t the brightest cookie in the world. “Senator Pierce sent me to collect you, and only you. I haven’t been authorized to divulge any other information beyond that, other than to relay to you how appreciative he would be of your cooperation.”
Harley snorted under his breath. The last time Pierce had deigned to speak to him, he’d been so appreciative as to offer him a smooth fifty thou’ to leave his daughter and never set eyes on her again. Harley had politely told him where he could shove his bribe before storming out of the house.
“Well?”
Glancing at the limo, Harley studied Pierce’s silhouette through the tinted glass window. He couldn’t imagine a single reason why the man would reach out to him now. Not after everything that had transpired between them. Something dire then?
The second that thought sprung up, Harley felt something strange in his chest. A weight almost. But darker and far more dangerous. Pierce hated Harley. Loathed him. All because he believed his precious daughter deserved far better than a shifter. When Pierce learned Jasmine and Harley had planned to elope, dear ol’ dad had slapped his offer down on the table. Fifty thousand dollars for Harley, and an all-expenses-paid trip around the world for Jasmine. Harley had all but shat on the senator’s offer. Jasmine, on the other hand… well, there was a reason she and Harley were no longer together. His darling beloved had apparently taken the deal and ran without so much as a goodbye.
The blow had devastated Harley. Wyatt was the only reason he still stood. His alpha had pieced together the broken shell of a man Harley had become and made something of him. Something useful to the pack.
For Pierce to show his face here, something had to be horribly wrong.
Forcing himself to swallow, Harley shot Woods a glare. “Is Jasmine all right?”
Woods’s lack of response told Harley everything he needed to know. As an ex-fed, he’d dealt with assholes like Woods all the time. He could read them like an open book—enough to spot Woods’s subtle tell. The slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A nervous tic, perhaps.
Shit.
Harley drew in a breath and dug deep for a sense of calm. Clearly, Jasmine was not all right. And while he shouldn’t care about her or her well-being, he obviously still did. Stupid emotions. Stupid wolf, refusing to forget about his mate. And stupid Senator Pierce for placing him in this situation.
“Who’s Jasmine?” Maddie murmured.
“No idea, chère,” Axel responded.
Ignoring his friends, Harley stepped into Woods’s personal space. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“Sir, if you’d just follow me, Senator Pierce will fill you in on everything.”
Well, how the hell could he say no to that now? It had to be about Jasmine. Her father never would have come to him otherwise. What the hell trouble had she gotten herself into? And why did this woman still have such a hold on his life? Just the idea that she might be in trouble sent his foolish heart into a tailspin and had his wolf scratching at the surface of his mind.
“Fine,” Harley snapped, a threatening growl slipping past his lips before he could tamp it back. Muscles tight, he glanced back at Axel and gave a terse nod. “Give Wyatt and Sky my best. Just explain that Pierce came knocking and that I’ll fill him in on the rest as soon as possible. He shouldn’t need to know anything more than that.”
“Of course, mon ami.” Axel clapped him on the shoulder. “You going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Have fun tonight.” Without another word, Harley followed Woods
to the limo. The scent of whiskey and desperation smacked Harley in the face the second the back door popped open.
Oh yeah. Something was definitely wrong.
Guess playtime was over.
2
Awareness slammed into Jasmine—something she hadn’t been privy to for who knew how long. Days, most likely, if the starvation gnawing away at her gut was any indication.
God, she felt like she’d been mowed down by a Mac truck, but for some reason, she couldn’t remember why. What she did know was that every bone in her body ached. Not just hurt. Ached. Like someone had strapped her to a medieval stretching rack and pulled until every last joint had popped out of place. Just the thought of opening her eyes made her want to curl in a ball and cry.
At least she was alone. The last few wake-up calls had come coupled with a hard slap or sharp kick. Not this time, though. In fact, the place seemed silent as the grave—which wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought.
Resigned to her miserable state, Jasmine blinked open her eyes. Darkness surrounded her, but through the inky blackness, she could see everything. Moonlight crept in through the broken window slats, casting a lambent glow across the rotted, termite-infested floorboards.
Nighttime then. Relief loosened her muscles, which eased the pounding in her head. It felt like she’d been smacked around by the world’s worst hangover. Likely a result of the sedatives they continuously pumped into her. She’d heard one of her kidnappers mention ketamine mixed with silver nitrate the last time they’d put her under.
“Careful not to kill her,” he’d said. Quickly followed by his chilling laughter when she’d starting hallucinating. Apparently, these people found her torment downright hilarious.
“Shouldn’t we be inside watching the girl?” a raspy voice cut through the surrounding silence.
Jasmine twitched at the sound.
“Nah, bitch is dead to the world. Unless you wanna go inside and have a little fun with her. Boss won’t be back for hours. I could take a little walk, give you some privacy till Luis returns.”
Wet heat sprang to Jasmine’s eyes. So casually spoken, as though raping a woman meant nothing to them.
“You kiddin’ me?” A deep laugh echoed through the shack. “I ain’t touching that thing in there. Might bite my dick off.”
“I know what you mean.” More laughter. “Don’t get me wrong. The tits on that bitch are enough to almost make me take another look. But she ain’t human no more. And I don’t fuck monsters.”
She startled against the restraints, the rise and fall of her chest quickening as panic set in. And not from fear of being raped, but from something far worse. Herself. “Monster” they’d called her. She didn’t need to ponder their words for long before her memories crashed into her, from the moment she’d first woken in this forsaken shack to now.
The second they’d dragged her inside, they’d stripped her bare and shackled her to the nearest support beam. Her body trembled with the memory, the sound of her knees knocking together reminiscent of those first moments. She recalled the second they’d opened the door, how the moonlight had lit up the shack’s interior, brandishing a monstrous wildcat, one larger than any she’d ever seen in real life. It’d stalked toward her like a predatory animal, but behind its bright eyes had lurked a human intelligence.
They’d unleashed a shifter on her, all sleek black muscles and glowing green eyes. When it’d finally come to a stop, it snarled. Jasmine hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away from its gleaming white fangs, and especially not when they’d nearly taken a chunk out of her thigh. Pain had ripped through her, much like its teeth, and she’d screamed her throat bloody.
Throughout it all, they’d laughed.
These people were the true animals. They’d dragged her across country lines, then unleashed an unstable shifter on her and turned her into one of them. A monster.
Anger sparked within her like an ember stoked into a wildfire. It heated her skin and set her stomach ablaze. A sudden desire to massacre every nearby living creature evoked within her such pain. Her flesh started to itch, her bones throbbed, and deep down, something animalistic woke. Something that yearned to unleash upon them a pain unlike anything they’d ever experienced.
With a sharp cry, Jasmine rolled onto her back and screamed. Raw and gritty, it ended more like a roar than a scream.
“Shit!” someone shouted. “Lopez, get your fuckin’ ass in here!”
Jasmine writhed against the filthy floor as agony wracked her body. Her wrists and ankles were bound, but somehow, she knew, one hard pull would set her free.
Then she’d rip out their throats.
They’d created a monster all right—and she had every intention of making them suffer.
“Fuck!” Lopez yelled. “Get the kit!”
Jasmine’s back arched, her spine snapping in half and realigning. Distantly, she knew what was happening—she was shifting. They’d been keeping her drugged to avoid this inevitable moment, but her body refused to wait another moment longer.
“Hurry the hell up, would ya?”
Choking back tears, Jasmine curled into a tight ball in an attempt to ease the pain ripping her apart from inside. Please, please, please, please let this end soon. She knew plenty of shifters and had heard them talk about the change. She’d even heard it said that those bitten later in life rarely survived their first change.
And right now, she wanted to die. Anything to end this misery—to be free of this nightmare and the thing she’d become.
The beast within hovered on the brink of her consciousness, awaiting the perfect moment to burst free. But that moment never came. Instead, something sharp jabbed the side of her neck, and the hot rush of drugs invaded her system until, finally, she succumbed to sweet oblivion.
* * *
Four hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty-two seconds. That was how long Harley had been pacing the length of this room, listening as Senator Pierce and his so-called team blathered on about the “facts.”
There were only three Harley cared about.
Fact numero uno: Jasmine had been kidnapped and was being held in southern Mexico.
Fact numero dos: Her kidnappers were demanding a hefty two-million-dollar ransom, which Harley greatly doubted the good senator possessed. Pierce’s pockets were certainly lined with silk, but they weren’t infinitely deep.
Fact numero tres: Pierce wanted Harley to accompany the extraction team.
All in all, the entire situation was—in the words of the team leader—FUBAR. And yeah, Harley agreed with that assessment. In all his years working as a fed, he could count on one hand the number of kidnappings at this level that ended well. Last he’d heard, there were over half a million missing person cases in America alone. And that didn’t take into consideration that Jasmine was a senator’s daughter.
Or his fucking mate—former mate, whatever.
Harley raked his hands down his face and sighed. These thoughts did nothing to keep him calm. Inside, his damn wolf raged, unforgiving and unrelenting. The feral beast wanted one thing and only one thing, and it was taking every bit of strength Harley possessed to contain his animal-half.
Jasmine. Kidnapped.
Time to think about something else. Anything else. So, instead, he started counting backward from a hundred. Not that it soothed his wolf.
“Look, we know where they’re holding her,” Pierce muttered for the umpteenth time, the frustration evident in the sharp bite of his words. “My men have already done all the hard work. You’re simply going to assist with the extraction. Jasmine doesn’t know my men, but she’ll trust you.”
Oh, no doubt about it. Harley would be a part of the team—and leading it, if he had his way. But he couldn’t muster the words right now. Hell, if he so much as glanced at Pierce right now, his wolf would tear out his fucking throat. As far as Harley was concerned, this was all Pierce’s fault. He was the jackass who had destroyed their relationship, the one who had sent Jasmine off
gallivanting around the globe. If Pierce hadn’t stuck his nose where it hadn’t belonged, dollars to donuts, Jasmine would have been at his side right now. Safe and sound. Not being held for ransom in some decrepit cabin out in the middle of the damn Chiapas.
Pierce started beaking off again—something about “having a plan”—but Harley turned, his hand held up. Every soul in the room fell silent.
“If I do this, I’m in charge,” Harley announced, his voice a deep growl, thanks to his wolf.
“Yeah, no,” the soon-to-be-former team leader said, laughing. “You don’t get to barge in here and make demands like that.”
Harley eyed the man. He didn’t know a damn thing about him, other than his name and position. Gregory Wells, ex-Navy SEAL and now a professional “contractor,” or mercenary as Harley called them. To be perfectly frank, Harley didn’t need to know anything more than that. He’d worked with this sort before. Hotheaded and arrogant as fuck, but usually competent enough to finish the job. Except, this was Jasmine they were talking about. No way in hell Harley would risk her life to some stranger. Someone who didn’t know her. Love her.
Not that he still did.
Still, Harley knew how these operations worked. The extraction team would analyze the situation upon arrival, and sometimes, that was as far as they went. They either demanded more money or they simply vanished. Cash only went so far when their lives were at stake. A mercenary looked out for one person and only one person.
Themselves.
Harley’s lip curled. “I’m in charge. No arguments. You damn well know I’ll get the job done.”
“So will I,” Wells snapped. “You’re not even remotely qualified for this job.”
Harley gave his wolf a bit of slack and slapped his hand down on the table, a grin tugging at his mouth when the wood splintered beneath his palm. “Not qualified? Tell me something, Greggy-boy. What can you hear right now?”
Wells frowned. “What?”
“What can you hear? Right this second. It’s a simple question.”
