Her mind was a chaotic jumble. She stared up at her boss as snatches of conversations with Owen flickered through her head. His refusal to do anything outside the office with other employees. His vagueness about what he did for Wilson, the way he shied away from sharing anything other than the basic of personal information.
“You’re making him do this. He… he’s your prisoner,” Emerson said as dismay and panic jostled for a place in her body.
“Prisoner is such an ugly word,” Wilson said.
“Why isn’t he using it on you?” Emerson said.
Wilson grinned at her. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
He settled back on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest again. “As a child, I was hard of hearing. Almost completely deaf, in fact. My parents had made,” he grimaced, “poor choices in their lives. Subsequently, we lived in near squalor with barely enough money for food, let alone the hearing aids to allow me to hear. I learned to read lips. I became incredibly adept at it. Years later, in my early twenties and having escaped my parents' loathsome lifestyle, I purchased my first set of hearing aids. They were ridiculously outdated and only worked half the time. But now?”
He turned his head so she could see into his ear. She caught only the tiniest flash of silver in his ear before he faced her again. “Now I have the best technology that my considerable wealth can buy. I hear perfectly with the help of my hearing aids. But I never lost my ability to read lips.”
He brushed at some lint on his dark pants. “When I’m around Owen, I simply turn off the hearing aids. If I cannot hear him, he cannot tell me what to do. So in some ways, my disability is also a gift. Wouldn’t you agree, Emerson?”
When she didn’t reply, he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “My associates all wear earplugs around Owen, just to be on the cautious side. Although, it probably isn’t necessary. Owen would do exactly what I tell him to do even if I could hear him. Do you know why?”
He stared at her, waiting for the answer. Like a flash in the dark, it came to her. “Jonathan.”
Wilson grinned the delighted grin of a teacher whose favourite student answered the question correctly. “Oh, you are clever, Emerson. Yes, Jonathan. I keep Jonathan in an undisclosed location as an incentive for Owen to continue to do his job. He does what I tell him to do, and his true love remains unharmed.”
He leaned forward until his face was only a few inches away from Emerson. “It is why love is more trouble than it’s worth. I know you agree with me, Emerson. Love destroys, doesn’t it? Love is what makes Owen do more harm and destroy more people’s lives than I could ever tell you.”
“You’re a monster,” Emerson whispered.
“I’m not,” Wilson said. “I am simply opportunistic. If I were a monster, would I let Owen video chat with his Jonathan once a week? He’s doing fine, is that not right, Owen?”
“Yes.” Owen’s voice was low and defeated sounding.
“You see?” Wilson patted her head like she was a small child. “I am not the monster you think I am, Emerson. After all, I’m not killing you today. Instead, I’ll have Owen push you into forgetting. You’ll return to working as my PA and be none the wiser about my less favourable business dealings.”
“Please don’t do this,” Emerson said.
Wilson shrugged. “The alternative is death, Emerson. Perhaps you should be thanking me. Owen pushing you is a gift.”
He moved away to stand near Dax before motioning to Owen. “Go on, Owen.”
“Don’t make me do this, Wilson,” Owen said.
“It’s either this or I kill her,” Wilson said. “Your choice, Owen.”
His face a mask of regret and sorrow, Owen stood in front of her. Randy stepped back, and Owen took her hands, pulling her into a standing position. “I’m so sorry, Emerson.”
“Owen, please don’t -”
There was a puff of cold wind in the room. It stirred Emerson’s hair and blew Owen’s hair back from his face.
“What the fuck?” Randy said in a low voice.
“Clay,” Owen breathed, his eyes widening in shock as he stared over her shoulder.
A gunshot rang out, and Randy grunted in surprise. Emerson turned, staring in numb shock at the blood seeping through the fabric of Randy’s shirt. He stared at his chest and touched the blood-soaked shirt before collapsing slowly to his knees. She skittered back when he fell forward onto his face.
“Clay!” Owen shouted.
She stared in mute surprise at Clay. What was he doing here? Why was he…
“Fuck,” Clay said.
She flinched and covered her ears when Clay turned and shot three of the six humans standing in frozen shock. Dax roared angrily, his big body swelling and orange fur sprouting from his body.
“Boss, move!” he shouted, grabbing Wilson by the arm and hustling him toward the door. Dax shielded Wilson’s body with his own, roaring again when Clay shot him in the back. He pushed Wilson from the office, following him out the door as the three remaining men drew their guns. Clay shot two of them, and they fell to the floor as the third one dove behind Wilson’s desk.
Her ears ringing, Emerson cried out when Clay reached for Owen, and Owen shoved her in front of Clay before dropping his hands from her arms.
“Move!” Clay snarled at her.
He tried to push past her. Owen gave her another hard shove that pushed her up against Clay. “Take her, Clay. Take her!”
“Owen!” Clay shouted when Owen backed away. “What the fuck are you doing? We have to go. Now!”
“I can’t! Take Emerson and go. Please!”
“No fucking way!” Clay said before shoving Emerson to the side. “Owen, what the fuck? We gotta go.”
“I can’t. Wilson will kill him.”
“Who?” Clay said.
The third human popped up from behind the desk, a gun in his hands and a desperate look of fear on his face. He pulled the trigger, and a sharp needle of pain burrowed into Emerson’s upper arm. She stared at the hole in her jacket in numb surprise as her jaguar roared in rage and rushed forward.
Clay shot the third man in the head. He dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. His eyes huge and his thin body shaking, Owen backed further away from his brother. “Help her, Clay. Please, she’s been shot.”
Frustration on his face, Clay said, “I’ll be right back for you, buddy.”
Emerson’s body swelled, and fur pushed through her skin as the shift started to happen. Clay yanked her into his arms just as Dax appeared in the doorway, holding the tranquilizer gun. He fired it at Clay. The dart hit him in the neck, and Emerson heard Clay mutter a curse before spinning darkness washed over her, and the world went black.
Chapter 5
Clay dumped Emerson on the floor of the cabin. Her body had returned to its normal human size, and no fur appeared on her pale skin. She stared at him with the glazed look of a shock victim. He yanked the dart from his neck and dropped it to the floor before closing his eyes.
Nothing happened. No hum. No spinning. No… nothing.
Panic already infusing his body, he tried to teleport again even though he couldn’t hear a single hum. He opened his eyes, staring at Emerson as she climbed to her feet, staggered to the kitchen, and threw up into the garbage bin next to the fridge.
What the fuck was happening? He stared at his hands before trying a third time to teleport.
“Owen,” he said. “Buddy…”
The wind howled and moaned outside the cabin as Emerson vomited again. She wiped her mouth and straightened, staring warily at him.
“I can’t teleport,” he said. “I can’t…why can’t I teleport?”
He followed her gaze to the dart lying on the floor. “What the fuck is that?” he said.
“A suppressant,” she said. “It stops your ability to…to teleport.”
He stared at her in wide-eyed shock before his hands clenched into fists, and he screamed in rage
and sorrow.
She flinched back, fur appearing on her cheeks and her fangs dropping as he screamed again.
He glared at her, pacing back and forth in the living room as she circled the granite topped island in the kitchen, putting it between him and her.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said. “I can’t teleport. That’s what you’re saying?”
“It’s not permanent,” she said. “It’ll only last a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks? Only a couple of fucking weeks?” he said.
“That’s what they said.”
“They? Who’s they?”
“This guy with HAPI.”
“What the fuck does HAPI have to do with anything?”
“Stop using that tone of voice with me,” she said.
“This is your fucking fault,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, Owen would be with me right now.”
She growled at him, her fangs flashing in the light before sliding around the island and heading for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.
“Don’t you fucking come near me.” Her fingernails turned to razor-sharp claws, and she bared her fangs at him as she opened the door. A blast of freezing air rushed into the cabin, and Emerson stared out the door at the howling, blowing blizzard as snow piled up at her feet.
It was the worst blizzard Clay had ever seen at the cabin. He snarled at her to shut the door before he stomped over to the dart and picked it up.
With a grunt of effort, Emerson closed the door against the howling wind using her uninjured arm. “Where are we?”
He ignored her, staring at the drops of purple liquid he could see in the syringe of the dart.
“Hey, asshole! Where the fuck did you take me? Are we in fucking Canada?”
He glared at her. “No.”
“Then where?” she said.
“My family’s cabin on the top of the goddamn mountain,” he snapped.
“What mountain?” she said.
“Mount Rayneau,” he said.
She studied the door again. “I… I grew up in Ashdale. It’s not far from Mount Rayneau.”
“Good for you.” He carried the dart to the kitchen and turned on the light above the sink to examine the dart more closely.
“I need to leave,” she said.
“Yeah, well, neither of us are going anywhere until this fucking blizzard ends. Thanks to you.”
“Me? How is this my fault?” Emerson said. “I didn’t teleport us to the top of a mountain during a blizzard.”
“It should have been Owen with me. Not you,” he said.
“Then why didn’t you teleport directly beside Owen and grab him?” she said.
That she would point out his error only made his anger grow. “Teleporting is not an exact fucking science, all right? I could only see part of the room thanks to you not fucking moving around like a goddamn normal person and -”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He ground his teeth together before repeating himself. “It shouldn’t have been you.”
Blood had seeped through her jacket, and she touched her arm gingerly before glaring at him. “I didn’t ask you to take me.”
“No, but my brother did. Why?” he said.
“Maybe because he’s not a huge dick like his brother is,” she said.
“Why did he sacrifice himself for you?” He looked her up and down. “Why are you so fucking special to him? Tell me right now.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she said.
Red hot anger washed over him. Before he could do something stupid like throttle her pretty little neck, he stalked to his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned against the door, panic and rage and sorrow combining in the pit of his stomach until he wanted to vomit.
His hands shook, and the fear that his teleporting ability was gone forever washed over him. Without his ability to teleport, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of rescuing his brother. Fuck, as it was, now that Granger knew that Clay knew he had Owen, he’d put his brother under an even tighter lock and key.
He had fucking blown it because he didn’t teleport into the exact spot he needed to in the room. He hated it, but Emerson was right. If he had teleported directly next to Owen, it would be him and his brother safe in the cabin right now, and Wilson fucking Granger would never find them.
He stiffened when he heard Emerson’s footsteps approaching, but they passed by his bedroom. He listened to the familiar squeak of the guest bathroom door. He stared at his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. His face was pale, and he looked as sick to his stomach as Emerson had.
He heard a low growl, then a soft curse, and then… he rubbed a hand over his face… a whine of pain. Emerson was injured, and despite his anger, the idea that she might be bleeding to death in his bathroom at this very moment brought sick worry into the emotional party currently happening in his body.
The type of worry that was reserved only for Owen.
Disturbed by that realization, he stayed where he was. But when Emerson whined again only a few minutes later, he left the bedroom. The bathroom door was half-open. As soon as she saw him in the hallway, she tried to slam it shut.
He stuck his foot in to stop the door from closing and then muscled his way into the small room, ignoring her warning growls.
“Get out of here,” she said.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
She had taken her jacket off and pushed up the sleeve of her pink shirt. He stared at the blood running down from the hole in her right arm to pool in the sink. She’d taken out the first aid kit from under the sink and had gauze and tape lined up on the counter. She held the surgical forceps awkwardly in her left hand. She was incredibly pale, and pain lines were etched around her dark eyes.
Ignoring him, she pushed the forceps into the hole in her arm, another one of those growly whines escaping her throat.
“Jesus,” he said, “you’re just making it worse.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
“Give me the forceps. I’ll do it,” he said.
“No thanks, asshole.” She dug into her arm again.
She went so pale he was surprised he couldn’t see right through her. She pulled the forceps out of her arm with a loud whine, and her body swayed alarmingly. Clay grabbed her uninjured arm. “Christ, sit down before you fucking faint on me.”
She growled at him but sat down on the toilet when he closed the lid and pushed her in its direction. Sweat slid down her temples, and the hand holding the forceps visibly shook.
“Let me do it,” he said.
She stared silently at him, and he put his hand over hers. “Let me do it, Emerson.”
She relented her grip on the forceps. He gripped her arm tight, widening the hole a little. His grudging respect for her grew when she hissed out a breath but didn’t make any other indication of pain.
“Ready?” he said.
She grabbed the towel from the hand rack and bit down on it before nodding. He eased the forceps into her arm, listening for the clink of the forceps touching the bullet. There! He could feel just the tip of it.
Emerson whined low in her throat, and when he gripped the bullet, she made a growling scream mostly muffled by the towel in her mouth. He pulled the bullet out of her arm, dropping it into the sink before he picked up the bottle of rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit.
“This will hurt like a bitch,” he said.
Her nostrils flaring, she sucked in a deep breath. He poured the alcohol over the hole in her arm. Emerson screamed again, her teeth clenching around the towel as sweat poured down her face and her slender body shook.
Feeling oddly guilty, he pressed some gauze to the wound as she dropped the towel from her teeth and gasped in oxygen.
“You okay?” he said.
“Oh, just fine fucking dandy,” she growled.
He pressed his lips toge
ther to stop his grin before adding more gauze on top of the first piece and taping it all into place. “How long will that take to heal?”
“Not long,” she said.
He cleaned up the bloody gauze and rinsed off the forceps. Emerson sat with her eyes closed and her body rocking lightly back and forth.
“Are you dating Owen? Is that why he sacrificed himself for you?” His stomach clenched. “And if you are dating him, why the fuck did you kiss me outside the pub? You cheating on my brother?”
Laughter bubbled out of her chest, and her eyelids fluttered open. Her dark eyes were full of contempt. “Are you serious right now? One, I’m not a fucking cheater, and two – Owen is gay.”
He stared at her in shock, both at the venomous response to his suggestion that she might be a cheater and the revelation that Owen was gay.
She gave him another contemptuous look before heaving herself into a standing position. “If you love your brother so fucking much, why don’t you know he’s gay?”
He had no response to that. Emerson pushed past him and out into the hallway. He stepped into the hallway but couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say as she peered into the guest bedroom before stepping inside and slamming the door shut.
Chapter 6
Emerson opened the bathroom door and peered into the hallway. The air was cold after the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Her nipples hardened against the thin towel she had wrapped around her body, and goosebumps popped up on her skin.
There was no sign of Clay. She sprinted for the bedroom she had holed up in, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. She felt stupid but also – she had no desire to see Clay when she was wearing nothing but a damn towel.
She dropped the wadded-up ball of clothes on the bed before opening the second drawer of the plain oak dresser in the room. She chose one of the t-shirts folded neatly inside and slipped it over her head. It was too big as were the athletic shorts she found in the third drawer, but she didn’t care. She tied the drawstring in the shorts as tight as she could before sitting on the side of the bed and finger combing her wet hair.
Rise of the Jaguar Page 6
