Wolf's Heart: Bayou Wolves #3

by Anne Marsh

  “That’s right.” Big Red adjusts his grip on Keelie Sue, hauling her up against him and jerking her head up when she tries to duck her face into her arm. My girl needs to kick the man in the balls, because hiding won’t work. “You got to earn it, boy.”

  I’m no one’s boy. I might be part man, but I’m part wolf too, and the wolf part of me stands more than ready to claim its territory, starting with Keelie Sue. The calculation in Big Red’s eyes is plain to see. I don’t know what the bastard has planned or hopes for, but I’ll shoot him down and it will be a fucking pleasure. I definitely want to watch the guy bleed.

  “I should let someone have a taste of her tonight,” he announces, like he’s passing around a rack of ribs or a bottle of Gentleman Jack. Now I’m gonna make killing him slow. The wolves around me growl, the pheromones rolling off them. Oui. They want their taste, but it happens over my dead body.

  Keelie Sue is mine.

  She doesn’t know it, she doesn’t want it, but neither of those two conditions change a goddamned thing.

  “Or I could give my baby girl a fighting chance,” he drawls. Not sure who freezes faster, me or Keelie Sue. She wants an out, and I can practically feel her hoping Big Red isn’t just messing with her. “If she gets to the door, she’s off the hook tonight. Otherwise, whoever catches her can keep her—for tonight. I’m gonna give you all a chance to see what you’d be getting if you mated with my Keelie Sue. What do you say, honey?”

  He yanks Keelie Sue’s head up so she has to look him in the eye. Not like she can nod with the death grip he has on her hair, but she gives it a shot.

  Because he’s a troublemaking bastard, Big Red tosses her into the air—away from me. Everything goes slo-mo for a moment. She shrieks, not so quiet now, and flails her arms and legs like maybe she can fly. That little miniskirt of hers doesn’t come with a parachute though, and she’s about to ass-plant it on the floor. She has enough bruises. She doesn’t need more.

  Getting there in time to catch her isn’t an option even if I’d trade my left nut to make it. Instead, I concentrate on what I can do. Which is take down the eight wolves racing for her. Keelie Sue may be a Beta wolf, but she isn’t stupid. She’ll run as soon as she picks herself up off the floor. All I have to do is hurt the assholes chasing her, and then she’ll be all mine. No way she outruns me.

  I don’t even bother shifting, just lay into the wolves around me, and damned if my heart isn’t beating out some kind of primal rhythm while I snap bones and deal out a world of hurt. Mine.

  Kinda says it all.

  KEELIE SUE

  I take the running start my dad offers and tear for the door. My knees burn and my eyes water, but I have exactly one chance to make it outside. Outside, maybe I can lose myself in the streets, or find a safe place to shift. I’m faster on four legs, but the change hurts like hell and leaves me vulnerable. It certainly isn’t something I can do now.

  The door gets closer, and for a moment I think I might actually make it. Pulling on everything I have, I force my legs to move faster. Dad’s throwdown ended with my skirt rucked up around my waist, but I’m not stopping to fix that particular problem now. I sprint and weave around the partygoers. The smell of spilled beer and leather fills my nose; growls fill the air behind me. I know what’s happening. Turning to look will only slow me down, so I mentally fill in the details. The wolves are fighting over me, and the biggest, meanest SOB will beat down the others and then he’ll come for me.

  Unless I make it out the door first.

  That’s my dad’s deal. Honestly, I’m not sure he’ll honor it, but it’s the only shot I have right now. Reach my car, and I buy myself some time. Not enough, not forever, because those aren’t the rules of Big Red’s game, but maybe I can avoid being some wolf’s taster course tonight. Please.

  A hard arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back against a muscled body and killing my hopes of a getaway. Since I’m looking down to watch my feet, I get a good look at the Celtic-looking tattoo scrolled across the guy’s forearm. Could be Pict for asshole-of-the-century for all I know, but the bold, black lines suit Jace. Problem is, he doesn’t suit me.

  “Stop fighting me, sweetheart.” Jace’s voice makes my wolf quiver. If voices were flavors, his would be caramel and bourbon, and it makes me think about licking him from head to foot. My wolf whimpers again, not convinced that licking is our safest plan. The man radiates danger, and putting more space between us is even more attractive. When I try to pull away, however, Jace squeezes, and what air remains in my lungs promptly takes a vacation.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” he grunts, and then he lifts me over his shoulder like he’s a damned caveman. Funny how the position has always struck me as kind of sexy in books. In reality, his shoulder is hard and digs into my stomach in a way that’s both nauseating and uncomfortable at the same time. When I try to push up, he holds me in place with one big hand cupping my butt. If he slides his fingers a few inches lower, he’ll touch me. His big fingers on my bare skin… because he hasn’t even had the decency to tweak my skirt back into place, and I plan on holding that omission against him.

  I lift my head, and spot the pile of bodies. Shoot. Jace doesn’t mess around. I count at least five wolves sprawled on the floor. Big Red stands on top of the bar watching us leave. He looks mean as a snake, his arms folded across his chest.

  “When you take her, you think about taking your place as my second,” Big Red hollers. I’ve never heard the word please cross the man’s lips, and he clearly has no plans to acquire manners tonight.

  Jace doesn’t break step, just raises his hand and gives my father the middle-finger salute. Apparently there is something about the man that I like after all. I’d echo his gesture, but I’m not feeling that suicidal.

  Jace carries me out into the parking lot and makes for a row of bikes. He squeezes my butt, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I really don’t. “You gonna struggle?”

  Guess that depends. “You gonna hurt me?”

  JACE

  Keelie Sue’s conversational bombshell sums up our relationship. She expects the worst from me, but what she hasn’t figured out is that I have zero desire to go at her with my fists or any other weapon. My dick is another story, but that chapter can wait.

  I set her on her feet while I consider my answer. Must be taking too long, because she tries to back away from me. Since I have my hand around her wrist, she doesn’t get far.

  “Guess you’re stuck with me,” I point out finally. Probably should sell her on my good points—or hell, try for a kiss—but we both know I’m no fucking prize.

  “You could just take me home,” she points out hopefully. “And take a pass on the mating claim.”

  Her eagerness to be rid of me sucks. When I stopped by her office yesterday, I was thinking dinner and a movie. She’s cute, she’s single, so why not have a little fun? She, on the other hand, was industriously working through paperwork and apparently didn’t know shit about her dad’s mating intentions until he bellowed them to the entire clubhouse tonight. I can’t blame her for not being on board with his plan. If someone tried to pass me around like a party favor, I’d rip the guy’s goddamned head off.

  The way she stinks of fear right now goes in the negative column, however. I don’t want her scared of me. Not sure what I want, to be honest, but fear definitely isn’t on the mental list I’m keeping.

  “Look. We got a problem,” I snap. “I need you on this bike, and we need to get out of here.”

  “And I need to live my own life,” she spits right back. Then she ducks her head, her hair falling over her face, like her sass surprised her. She’s lost that pretty ponytail she sported earlier. I kinda liked the way the long tail flicked over her shoulders as she bounced through the crowd of wolves. Of course, I’ve also fantasized more than once about fisting her hair, dragging her head back for my kiss as I fuck inside her body. Once again? I’m not nice.

  Which in no way explains wha
t I do next. I let go of her. She can come with me—or not. Lady’s choice. I straddle the bike and turn it on. The engine’s roar echoes off the buildings, nothing subtle about the blast of sound.

  She hovers there on the sidewalk like she thinks maybe I’m playing games with her. Could have told her I’m no fucking cat to play with my prey, but I’m not in the mood to make things easier for her. I do give her the truth, though.

  “The other wolves are gonna come on out here. You can ride with me, or you can stay here and pick out a new mate.”

  Her eyes flick back to the clubhouse. “You didn’t kill them?”

  Can’t tell if I’ve disappointed her or not—I should probably get clear on that point soon, because I’m betting on similar opportunities arising in my future and it’s good to know her limits. I have zero problems killing asshole wolves, but females can be soft about those things.

  “Waste not, want not,” I say lightly and pat the seat behind me. I can force her, but it will be a pain in the ass, and it’s not how I want our relationship to go. And… rewind. Am I thinking about Keelie Sue in relationship terms? Because yesterday my feelings didn’t go beyond popcorn and a flick, or so I thought.

  “You don’t want to be my mate,” she announces, but she sounds more hopeful than certain. “I suck at sex, and there are prettier women inside.”

  “I’ll make do,” I promise her, although the hopeful note in her voice kinda makes me snort. She isn’t getting off that easy. Not tonight. Her body is a pretty package and her mouth plants dirty thoughts in my head about guiding her lips to my dick—and then giving her a few suggestions. Hell, I want to tongue her, lick everywhere she’s covered up. She’s my fucking Christmas present, gift wrapped by the pack, and I want to open her up. Honestly, I’d crawl inside her if I could, because she feels that right to me and I’ve survived this long by listening to my instincts. The only thing standing between her and getting spread on top of the nearest pool table is her daddy.

  And me.

  Clearly, she doesn’t want me either, but I’m not letting her get hurt. Have a few suspicions of my own that I’m too little, too late in that department, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.

  “Hop on,” I repeat.

  She doesn’t move from her post on the sidewalk. “I have a car.”

  I know what she drives. Her car is a POS import with more miles on it than one of the club’s pass-arounds. Outrunning it won’t be hard—and that’s if it even starts.

  “You’re asking for a spanking,” I growl. “Stop making shit so hard.”

  I don’t even mean my dick, but that particular part of me throbs in violent agreement and damned if Keelie Sue doesn’t get wet. I inhale sharply and her sweet scent wraps itself around me. Keelie Sue gets wet thinking about my spanking her. That’s fan-fucking-tastic because I’m absolutely in the mood to oblige her.

  “I’ll have someone bring your car by your place.” I pat the bike’s seat again, harder than is necessary. She jumps at the short, loud slap and I wonder if we’re both imagining that was my hand on her ass. “Now hop on unless you want that spanking right here in front of Fang.”

  That earns me another squeak and she bites her bottom lip, her teeth worrying the soft skin. I’m definitely a bastard, because I want to replace her teeth with mine. Want to kiss her, want to take her mouth. And that’s only the start. My shortcomings can be summed up in three words: I’m not enough. I know that. She has to know it too. In fact, we’re perfectly clear on that particular point but… Christ. What now? We’re not really gonna get it on in the parking lot with half the club gunning for her, so why isn’t she on my bike already?

  “I can’t ride a bike in this skirt,” she admits in a small voice.

  Naturally I look. She’s twitched the fabric down at some point, which isn’t an improvement to my mind, but even so there wasn’t much for her to work with. The skirt barely skims the tops of her thighs. The moment she straddles the bike, the tiny scrap of leather will make like a belt and hug her waist. It damned certain isn’t gonna give her any protection on our ride. A stray pebble, a little wind…

  Fuck.

  I don’t want her hurting. I rummage around in my saddlebags and slap a pair of sweatpants in her hands. Good thing I went to the gym earlier.

  “Ten seconds,” I warn her. After that, I don’t care what she wears. She gets on the bike, and we get out of here. I settle back on the bike to wait. And count.

  She gets the message, because she doesn’t argue. She steps into my sweats and shimmies them up. Even blushing like a virgin, she’s cute as hell. I also get another flash of her red thong, which is all the incentive I need to reach out and pull her onto my bike. Pass her a helmet too, because safety first. It doesn’t matter that the prospects watch us, that I’m playing into her old man’s hands, or that driving off with her is tantamount to breaking with my brother’s pack. Somehow I can’t bring myself to leave her stranded at the club knowing that Big Red’s lieutenants will fight for a piece of her ass and she’ll get hurt in the process.

  I gun the bike, feeling pissy. No one puts his hands on my Keelie Sue, but keeping her hasn’t been part of the plan either. But now I have her on my bike, and there isn’t a whole lot of space between us. Sharing a seat kinda forces her to slide forward, her pussy planting against my ass, and that move doesn’t make getting out of here any easier. My dick about punches through the front of my jeans; it’s that eager for me to turn around and drive myself into her.

  Gotta stop thinking like that.

  “You fall off, and I might not stop.” As if.

  She must believe me because she slides her hands beneath my jacket and around my waist. Her fingers are cold as shit, and she’s lost her shoes. Her torn-up nylons peek out of the cuffs of my sweatpants. Some protector I am. She doesn’t want anything to do with me, but I can’t overlook the obvious. Sliding my leather jacket off, I drop it into her lap with a shrug. Isn’t hard to do given our proximity.

  “Put it on.” Not much I can do about her feet right now. My boots would fall off her, and even I know dirty gym socks aren’t romantic. Although fuck romantic. I just need to get her out of here and somewhere safer. Then we’ll sort this mess out, figure out what she needs. If I’m lucky, it’s hot, dirty sex and a spanking game.

  She hesitates, then obeys. Makes me wonder what else she’ll do and how far she’ll let me push her. As soon as she has the jacket on and her arms back around my waist, I put the bike in neutral. I suspect it’s not, in fact, my lucky night, but my dick leaps like it really thinks we’re riding off for a night of rough sex.

  It’s gonna have to get used to the disappointment.

  “You ready?” Not like I’ll let her leave, but still. I really don’t want her face-planting on the gravel. She squeaks something I decide to take as agreement. Honestly? I’d like to interpret the sound as a fuck me, please, but that isn’t my big head talking. I hit the mental mute button.

  Fang, the prospect guarding the bikes, ambles over when we approach the exit, and I slow the bike. Not like we’re breaking speed records, but I’ve got an idea.

  “Keys,” I grunt to Keelie Sue.

  She fishes in a pocket, produces a set of car keys, and stretches out her hand toward Fang. Instead of just grabbing the keys from her, the bastard tightens his fingers on hers, and that has me growling again. Not my fault I don’t like the bastard horning in on my territory. Christ. I have to stop thinking like that. I’m not a dog pissing on what’s his, and Keelie Sue isn’t a goddamned tree. She’s a person.

  “He’s gonna bring your car by your place,” I say, because I figure she’ll want some kind of explanation, and Fang needs the instructions. Not that anyone in his right mind would steal her junker car, but she’s probably attached to it. Girls name crap and get sentimental.

  I feel her nod and watch her fingers tug free from Fang’s grasp. A second later, she slides her arms back around me and holds on like she kind of wants to b
urrow inside me. She doesn’t like Fang, and I have to agree with here there. If I take over the pack, he’s the first to go.

  I pull out of the parking lot and take us onto the street. There isn’t much to see in this part of Baton Rouge. The scenery is mostly warehouses, empty lots, and the occasional wino or druggie. A few semis park on the street while the drivers crash or unload, and grass grows through the sidewalk in spots. It isn’t the kind of place you vacation, and it damned sure isn’t the bayou.

  I’ve never been a city boy. I love the bayou, love running as a wolf through the swamp. No matter what happens, I won’t give that up.

  Keelie Sue doesn’t ask questions, but she does hold on. Living with Big Red has clearly done a number on her head because the women in my pack would kick me in the balls if I tried dragging them around like my own personal piece of meat. I suck in a breath of air as we pick up speed, and try to sort out my thoughts. Since when has Keelie Sue become family? I hardly know her, although I’ve seen her at more than one club function. Big Red likes his female accessories, and he often parks his daughter by his side. Usually she looks like she’s trying to fade into the woodwork, and I’ve been able to overlook her.

  Liar.

  Okay. So what if I know exactly where she is and what she’s doing? She’s pretty. I have eyes in my head and a working dick. Just makes me not dead.

  Breaking a few traffic laws, it takes less than ten minutes to get us to Belle Plantation, and then I kill the bike and coast to a stop. I kinda want to turn around, see what Keelie Sue thinks of my pack’s place, but that’s all kinds of wrong too. I shouldn’t have taken Big Red up on his dare, shouldn’t have brought her out here. Hell, Cruz is likely to take issue with my bringing her here.

  “Hold this.” I shove the key I fish out of my pocket into her hand, and she grasps it automatically. The driveway is gravel. Isn’t like she can walk over that barefoot, so I swing her up in my arms and head for the door. She squeaks and stiffens in my arms. I’m getting kind of tired of that, frankly.