The Billionaire Shifter's Second Chance (Billionaire Shifters Club Book 3)

by Diana Seere

  Because music was blasting over the speakers, he didn’t notice her come up behind him as he huddled over a laptop resting on the bar next to the beer taps. She paused, hovering behind him, gleefully anticipating the way he would jump when she tapped his shoulder. He’d crept up on her downstairs many, many times, laughing hysterically when she screamed.

  Her amusement faltered when she saw what he was staring at on the screen.

  Columns of words and numbers in a tiny font she couldn’t make out. It reminded her of the spreadsheets Eva had given her to study in Montana.

  Her gaze drifted down to the row of drink mixes behind the bar, saw the Tang, which reminded her of the only pitiful clue she’d found. A pang of guilt struck her. As a rule, she liked to finish what she started.

  “Did Eva tell you to help me with that?” she asked Carl.

  Carl jumped back with surprise, flinging up his hands with a shout. “Jesus! Molly!” he cried, slapping the laptop shut. But he didn’t laugh as she’d expected. Instead, he scowled and ran a hand through his hair, his face shining with sweat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “What are you working on?”

  His eyes widened. Carl wasn’t the type of guy to hide his feelings, and he was failing to hide them now. He was worried about something. “Nothing,” he said.

  Eva’s words came back to her. But surely she could trust Carl, right? They’d been friends for years. He made her margaritas. All the time.

  All right, maybe margaritas weren’t proof of anything other than he was a great bartender. But they were really, really good margaritas, with the salt clinging to the rim just the way she liked it, the best tequila, a glass as big as her head…

  “I’ve never seen you working on spreadsheets before,” she said, trying to sound casual, giving him an opening to explain.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Carl, I saw you.”

  “That? I was just checking my stock statements.”

  “I didn’t know you played the stock market.”

  He sighed. “Play? Oh no. It’s not fun at all. I was just… I got an email.” He reached under the bar and pulled out a can of coconut-flavored seltzer water, his favorite addiction. “Turns out I’m fully vested now. In my pension plan.”

  Carl was in his late thirties, tops. “You’re going to retire?” Molly asked.

  He glanced around and lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  “You’ve never mentioned it before. I thought you were happy here.”

  “I am. The Plat’s been good to me.” He poured the water into a glass and offered it to her, although he knew she hated the stuff. “Would you miss me, gorgeous?”

  “Of course I would.”

  His smile was fleeting. “Nothing lasts forever though, does it? Even the good things.” He gulped his coconut water. “Too often it turns out you only thought they were good.”

  “Has something happened? This isn’t like you. You seem—” Molly’s phone began vibrating in her trouser pocket. She took it out and saw a familiar face on her screen, although Sam had never called her before. “Excuse me, Carl. I have to take this.”

  “You should go, Mol,” Carl said. “I’m rotten company today. Save yourself.”

  Molly shot him a concerned glance as she hurried away from the bar and the loud music to a quiet corridor leading to the private rooms that guests used for all kinds of activities, G-rated and above.

  “Sam?” she asked into the phone. “I didn’t know you had my number.” But of course she had Molly’s number. The researcher had unlocked the secrets of her DNA. She probably had her tax returns, too.

  “I… need… here…” Bad cell coverage distorted Sam’s voice.

  “We have a bad connection,” Molly said. “Sam? Can you hear me?”

  “You… me… see… need…” Sam was saying much more, but Molly couldn’t make it out. And her voice was agitated, high-pitched. “Ur… urgent.”

  Molly’s stomach dropped. “Did you say urgent? Sam?”

  The noise over the line was too rough to make out. Sam said something over and over again that sounded like “now,” or was that “Mol”?

  “I’ll come now,” Molly said. “Can you hear me? I’ll come up and see you in person.”

  “Sixth fl… six,” Sam said. “On… below… down to… floor.”

  “You’re on the sixth floor?”

  “Yes,” Sam said, suddenly clear as a bell, sounding relieved.

  “I’ll come right now.”

  Sam’s next words were completely distorted, so Molly hung up, shoved her phone into her pocket, and strode to the central elevators. The club was mostly empty so early in the morning; the elevator car came quickly and was empty. She walked on and hit the button for the sixth floor, puzzled. LupiNex was supposed to be isolated to certain floors, and the sixth wasn’t one of them. It didn’t surprise Molly to learn, yet again, that there was much more about the biotech company than they shared with the public.

  The car stopped, the doors slid apart, she stepped out.

  And knew instantly she’d made a terrible mistake.

  At first Molly only saw the gun. The man holding it was disgusting in his own way—like every woman who worked there, she’d had the misfortune of being groped by Mason Webb once at the club—but the gun was worse. So small, so deadly. It would take nothing to kill her with that thing, just a squeeze, a tap, an impulse.

  Mason Webb. The Tang. She should’ve said something to Eva.

  Oh God.

  Not now. She couldn’t die now. How would Edward survive another violent death? He’d blame himself. He’d never recover. She’d be at peace, but he’d be in hell for the rest of his long life.

  Really long life.

  “Stop crying,” Webb said. “My God, women are so weak.”

  “I’m not crying,” she said, but she was about to. To control herself, she dug her nails into her palms, but the pressure on her scar sent sharp pain shooting up her arm, only increasing the tears pooling in her eyes.

  Webb made a disgusted sound and grabbed her arm, twisting her around and then marching her ahead of him to the stairwell. “Not a sound. You’re useful to me even if you’re dead, but I’d rather not have to carry you.” He scoffed again. “Not a small woman, are you?”

  Scream. I should scream. He’ll shoot me, but at least he’ll get caught trying to drag my body out of the building.

  But would anyone see him? He must have a secret method of coming and going if he hadn’t already been discovered. Screaming now would only ensure that she was killed—and Edward would grieve.

  She hated that she was trembling, that her breath was caught in her chest, that her voice had left her. This was what terror was. This monster wanted her blood and was going to kill her to get it.

  And then she saw Sam, on the floor, her arms pulled back so hard her jacket had split at the shoulder seams. She was on her side, kicking wildly, one shoe off. Her stockinged foot triggered more fear in Molly. So benign. So simple. Such a normal sight in a deadly situation. Tears sprang, unbidden and unexpected, and she hated herself for it.

  Sam rolled over, and Molly gasped at the oozing cut on her right cheek, the wild panic in her eyes, the gag over her mouth. She made muffled, urgent sounds, but Webb kicked her. Sam groaned, then gagged.

  “Sam!” Molly gasped, twisting to get away from Webb, helpless and unable to free Sam but instinctively trying to get to her.

  “Shut up,” he growled at Sam, then gave Molly a nasty look as he grabbed her around the waist and shoved the gun hard against her neck. “If either of you makes another sound, I’ll put a bullet through her throat.”

  Sam sniffed, then stopped breathing.

  “No!” Molly shrieked. Webb’s hand covered her mouth, his thumb digging into her jaw so hard she couldn’t bite, two salty fingers sliding between her teeth, pressing up against her palate as pain burst into fireworks at the edges of her vision.

  He pushed her into a sta
irwell. “Down. Don’t do anything funny. We don’t have to kill you if you behave yourself.”

  She didn’t believe him, but she clung to hope and did as he said. If he was kidnapping her for her blood, killing her was pointless. But the alternative could be even worse.

  Bravery was a lot harder to manage with a cold, hard gun pressed into your ribs. The last gun she’d touched had belonged to a foster brother, and she’d worried then about what he might do with it before she’d run away. He’d been younger than her, but he’d been angry and looked at her in a way that had made her blood run icy cold.

  Blood. Her blood. Still warm, and she was going to keep it that way.

  Without resisting in the slightest, she did as Mason Webb instructed, and they were soon walking into a dark parking garage. Please let Sam be OK, she thought, the sob in her throat filling it.

  A black town car waited for them.

  As she climbed into the back, shoved hard by a palm between the shoulder blades, she fell face first into a man’s lap. As Mason Webb nudged her hip and the car took off, the back door slamming shut en route, she looked up to find herself staring at an all-too-familiar face.

  Tomas Nagy.

  Edward jumped up out of his chair and slammed open the oak door like it was made of Styrofoam, the thick doorknob making a crunching sound as it smacked into a thick wall panel, shoving the doorstop through and splintering a hole.

  “Edward!” someone shouted, the sound like thunder in the distance, like nothing at all.

  He was in the foyer, madly jabbing the lift button, when Asher and Gavin joined him.

  “Where are you going?” Gavin demanded, as if Edward knew, as if he could speak, as if he could reply above the screaming in his head as every nerve sang a different note, all flats and sharps and cacophony.

  Asher, on the other hand, joined in the jabbing, as if that would make the lift appear faster.

  He knew. How?

  “I can feel it,” Asher said as they raced upward, his words rasped by danger, eyes dark and calculating, tinged with worry under a thick, drawn brow. “I can feel her. She’s—we need to—why am I—”

  “What are you talking about?” Gavin’s alarm-filled voice turned into tiny shards of dust, all clinging to Edward’s skin, pinpricks of anxious anger. “Why would you feel Molly?”

  “Not Molly, you fool,” Asher snapped. “Her! Samantha!” His eyes bulged with shock, body tensed for a fight.

  A subway car charged through the line, the sound like blood filling Edward’s heart to bursting, and sentient thought dissipated as he ran for the stairs, running up, up, up in a wordless spiral.

  Molly. Molly Molly Molly. He couldn’t shift—wouldn’t shift—because of the obvious fear that humans above would see him, but he teetered on the edge between feral madness and very human horror.

  Something was wrong.

  If her fear had a note on a musical scale, a vibration one could document, he felt it now, taking over every cell. They reached the first floor, his mind barely able to register each numbered floor until they reached the sixth, Edward in the lead, Asher behind, with Gavin at his heels.

  In the hallway, Gavin took the lead, huffing as he called back, “The only finished area is to the east.”

  But Edward veered off to the right, knowing. Knowing that it was too late.

  As he rushed into the office section that was being renovated, he found Dr. Sam on the floor, breathing heavily, her breath a loud gurgle. Before he could reach her, Asher whizzed past him, lifting her prone, bound body, gently placing her across a sheet-draped desk and undoing the zip ties that kept her wrists and ankles together.

  Ping ping. Asher ripped them off without effort as he slid his own fingers into the loops, careful not to harm Dr. Sam, then gently slid the gag from her throat. Long red hair, matted from being on the floor, spilled over her chest. Rash marks littered her exposed skin, and Edward saw an ugly, bleeding gash on her cheekbone.

  Dr. Sam coughed and retched as Gavin barked orders into his phone.

  “We have seconds,” Gavin urged. “We need to know now.” He gave Dr. Sam a compassionate look.

  “Molly. He took Molly,” she choked out. Edward spotted a watercooler behind him and quickly poured a cup, handing it to Asher, who held it to her lips.

  “Who? Who took her?” Edward thundered, visions of Vivien’s dead body turning him mad, her face morphing with Molly’s.

  Dr. Sam looked at Gavin, her eye already swelling, her jaw clenched with determination. “That work associate of yours from a few years ago,” she said, the effort to speak obvious. “The one who was working on website security for us. He joked that his name meant he was destined to be the king of the web.”

  “Webb? Mason Webb took her and did this to you?” Gavin’s outraged tone made Edward’s hair stand on end. This was no small feat, given the change that was coming over him, as skin pores opened and replicated, his shift in the prodromal stages, the room’s light acute and bright as his vision began to alter.

  “The man you attacked at the ranch?” Asher’s question bounced through the air between Gavin and Edward, like a beam of light against mirrors. His hands, however, were on Dr. Sam’s back, smoothing her hair gently over her shoulder and away from her wounded face.

  Dr. Sam gave Gavin an astonished look, wincing as her eyebrows rose. “Attacked? Nobody warned me not to work with a Mason Webb.”

  “Is that true?” Asher roared, turning on Gavin.

  “We tried to be discreet when we banned him,” Gavin said. “He saw me shift. We couldn’t risk questions and further exposure. Behind the scenes we implied he was vindictive for business reasons.”

  “Yet another misjudgment, obviously,” Asher spat.

  “We have to find her,” Edward growled, speech barely there. “We have to find Molly now.” His fingers began to ache, all his joints separating by millimeters, bones readying. The world shimmered between human and cat view, Asher’s worried face a grim afterthought.

  “I’ll stay with Sam,” Gavin urged. “Go! Go now, before security gets here.”

  Heavy footsteps and shouts came from across the floor.

  Asher looked at Dr. Sam, then Gavin, his pointed expression clear.

  Gavin waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. You need to find Webb now. You need your wolf nose, and Edward needs his cat paws and whiskers, full abilities at his disposal. For God’s sake, Asher, do it!”

  “Do what?” Dr. Sam asked, her voice weak, the words warbling into waves as Edward let go, giving in to impulse, driven by Molly’s name, the word turned into the pump of blood through his four legs, the drive to find her pushing the fur on his body out to flow in perfect synchronicity with his skin, stretched tight over long bones that settled in his animal body, jaw big, eyes bigger. He scarcely noticed his eldest brother’s synchronized shift.

  Edward’s fangs hung heavy in his mouth, breath pulling into his lungs as his body rested on all four paws, the room cold and shiny, the magnetic pull of Molly’s fear beginning to fade.

  No.

  No.

  He had to find her now.

  “Oh my God!” Dr. Sam gasped. “I knew it was true. I saw what happened to Zachary in the lab, but this—oh, it’s more beautiful than I ever—” Her words ended with a sob.

  Asher’s wolf eyes, wide and wise, met Edward’s feline gaze as they ran back to the stairs, racing in loops of legs and instinct until Asher rose up on hind paws, pushed open an emergency door—

  And they found her scent, mingled with gasoline and trash, soured alcohol and human piss.

  But worst of all, Edward thought, as he followed Asher, hiding behind parked cars, crushing his sleek body between metal and concrete to find their way into the allies that would protect them.

  Worst of all—he smelled Tomas Nagy.

  Who was about to become a very dead man.

  Chapter 26

  Although the car was already moving, Molly knew it was more dangerous to stay i
nside it than to fall out of it. She shoved her knee into Tomas Nagy’s crotch and lunged over him to reach the door handle.

  A muscular arm caught her by the throat. She clawed at it, gasping for air, but Webb pulled her back across Tomas’s body and held her between them. Pinned between the two men, Molly shot frantic looks at the driver, whose pale blue eyes she could see in the rearview mirror.

  “Fucking bitch,” Webb spat, punching her ribs with his free hand as his arm tightened around her throat.

  Her vision grew dark around the edges. When the car lurched to one side as it sped around the corner of the parking garage, the screeching tires sounded far away, muffled and fading. Her vision shrunk to a narrow tunnel. Then a pinprick. She tried to see, to breathe, but strong, icy hands were pulling her into darkness.

  But suddenly the pressure on her throat loosened. Sound came roaring back, then vision.

  “Hey, what was that for?” Webb shouted, rubbing his jaw.

  “You were going to kill her,” Tomas replied. He sounded calm, even bored.

  “So?”

  “So I want her alive. At least for a little while.” Hearing the predatory malice in Tomas’s voice, Molly panicked, dug her elbow into Webb’s chest, and reached for the door again. But she was dizzy and weak, and Webb’s fist to her temple was more than she could withstand. Drawing back, tears stinging from pain, she sank against the seat and hugged her arms around her chest. She tried not to touch either of them. Webb wanted to kill her, but Tomas wanted something else.

  He can’t have me, Molly thought. Neither of them can.

  Her throat hurt, the muscles around it throbbing in pain. She knew she’d have a nasty bruise on her neck if she survived.

  She would survive. She would.

  Molly, I’m coming. Molly. Molly…

  Hurry, she thought.

  She curled into herself and took a deep, calming breath. Edward knew where she was. Somehow he knew. He was her One, she was his. Fate wouldn’t separate them now.