Dragon Bitten (Shifter Paranormal Dragon Romance) (The Fire Dragon Series Book 2)

by Amy Faye

I know Ryan recognizes the big guy who walks in. Michael Carabello isn't a face you forget easily, but that goes double for people who got their faces smashed in by the guy for the better part of an afternoon.

  Logan's got his hand on my arm, and I might be able to yank it away. Might even be able to get the gun. But not in time.

  It would take precious seconds, and it wouldn't take half that time to turn that gun, point the dangerous end at my chest, and pull the trigger.

  So I move real slow and force myself to stay real still and try like the devil not to think any aggressive thoughts.

  "Hey, Beauchamp."

  "Sorry, you got the wrong guy. My name is Blake."

  "Oh, sorry. You're right. It's written right there by the door. 'Blake.' My mistake. I have trouble keeping up with all the name changes."

  He doesn't lower the gun. I let Logan guide my hand away from the butt of my pistol, let him put my hand on the arm of my chair. I don't like when he pops the pistol free of its holster, and I don't like it when he points the thing at me.

  But I don't have much choice.

  "What are you doing here, Carabello?"

  "You know, Maguire, Marissa likes you. You've got balls, yanno? Real cast-iron balls, to walk into our place and walk out with our hostage. All with big promises of bringing Beauchamp in and getting him out of our hair."

  Logan cuts into the silence. "Ryan, stay calm. Listen to them, alright? Just listen, it's all going to be fine."

  Carabello sits down on the foot of the bed, twisting to keep the gun pointed at Ryan.

  "It's all going to be fine, Beauchamp. Long as you don't do anything stupid, we won't have any trouble. None at all."

  "Good," Ryan growls. "Because I would hate to have trouble, you know. Trouble's the worst."

  "I know."

  Logan starts in again. "They just want you out of the picture, man. Nobody has to get hurt. We can all walk out of here. They'll even pay—"

  The look that Ryan shoots over at Logan shuts his mouth real fast. Shuts mine, too, though I think the gun in my ribs might have played into that as well.

  The big guy takes a deep breath and looks at Ryan. From the pictures, I expected something different from Carabello. Something rough. He seems tired. Like he's trying to make this go as smoothly as possible, not trying to be a real cunt about it. Better than I gave him credit for.

  "Is that true, Michael? You'll let us walk out of here, money in everyone's pockets?"

  "Your brother knows it is. Just ask him."

  Ryan lays back in bed. "Logan? You want to tell me what the fuck's going on?"

  The gun jabs into my ribs harder as he tenses up under his younger brother's scrutiny.

  "Hey, man, it's not what it sounds like. I didn't do anything. Nothing at all. I just, you know, they said… look—" He cuts himself off, and for a long time he doesn't say anything. "Look, I have to do what I can to keep myself alive, man."

  "I understand," Ryan says. He doesn't look like he's feeling very understanding, but he lays his head back and closes his eyes. "So, you're the man with the gun. What are my terms?"

  "You'll be escorted out of the hospital. By me, of course. Logan's going to see that miss Maguire gets on her way back to D.C. We'll give you five thousand to walk away from your house. You'll have four hours to pack up. You want to sell the place, you can sell it to us. We'll pay you a fair market rate for it. I've seen the place from the outside, and I'd guess we can do a hundred grand for it. You show your face back in Arizona again, and we come for you."

  "So where am I supposed to go?"

  "That's not my business, Beauchamp. I don't care where you go, and neither does Scheck. All we care is, you see a Crazy Horse, you see our colors, you see our badges, and you walk the other way."

  Ryan takes a deep breath. He should take the deal. I know he should, and more than that, I know he knows he should.

  That's what worries me, because he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who does what he's supposed to. Not ever. But hopefully, the pair of guns in the room will demonstrate well enough that we're not in any position to negotiate.

  "And what about Sara's deal?"

  "Don't call me that."

  His face tightens into a little grimace. I shouldn't have said it, but I wasn't thinking.

  "You're right. What about Maguire?"

  "For the girl? No deal. She gets to walk away. I think that's more than generous. It's downright giving away the farm."

  "What proof do you have that she won't come right after you?"

  Carabello looks at me for a long time. I don't like it. The way he looks at me like he sees right through me. He's got a flat expression, like a mechanic might look at a car he was checking out.

  "I think we've got that covered. Scheck's not worried about it. Neither am I."

  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

  "Don't worry your head about it, Beauchamp. Take the deal. I don't want to have to shoot you, man. This is a hospital. People get better here."

  Carabello lowers the gun a fraction. The rest of his body hasn't moved, though. All it would take to bring it back into line would be a little jerk in his elbow, and then blam.

  Ryan lays his head back. I keep underestimating how tired he is, but he looks tired. Like hell, in fact.

  "No deal," he says, finally. His voice is a little hoarse.

  Carabello's face twists up in frustration, but he doesn't bring the gun back up. Ryan hasn't moved, no reason to kill him if you can do it another second later.

  "Why not? What don't you like about it?"

  "The girl. Maguire's important to me. She doesn't come with, no deal."

  Carabello rolls his eyes. "You think she should have a say in this?"

  "Not really," he rumbles. "It's selfish, but if she wants to leave, she can do it after we're away."

  He looks at me. I'm still as I can be. I feel like even the tiniest movement will see Logan Beauchamp blowing the other side of my ribs out of my chest.

  "Fine. She's not arguing, whatever. But the money doesn't change. We square?"

  "Sure."

  Carabello flips the safety on his gun and tucks it into the small of his back, under his slacks. The belt, loose before, now strains just a little to stay closed, but it works great. You almost wouldn't know he had it.

  "I'm glad we could finally see eye-to-eye on this."

  He holds out his hand to Ryan. Ryan looks at it, considering. Weighing his options. Then he takes it, and they shake.

  "Logan, you can put that gun down now."

  "What should I do with it?"

  "I don't know. Keep it, if you want. Can't use it for anything. Maybe we could move it along the road, but she's always gonna know you have it."

  "Can't give it back to her, though."

  They're right. You can't afford to give it back to me, because I'll use the fucking thing. I don't like being put with my back up against a wall, and I like it least of all when it's some drug running piece of shit, and a guy who couldn't help cutting and running for the money.

  I don't need to look Ryan's way to figure out what his thoughts are. But I'm done fighting.

  "Keep it, give it back without any bullets, throw it in the garbage can, whatever. But could you take it out of my side?"

  He does. Logan flips the safety on, and slips the pistol into his pocket, where it remained for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  RYAN

  My head still hurts. I want to know how Brian's doing. That's what I really want. Instead, I'm pushing my too-heavy body out of bed, and I'm damn sure not certain what I'm supposed to do about getting home.

  Maybe they'll give me some kind of ride, I don't know. I don't much care, either. Long as I get home. How they think I'm going to ride a motorcycle out of the state is a better question.

  It won't happen, but maybe their plan is to put it in the back of a trailer. That would make some sense. It's too bad, for their sake, that I'm not plannin
g on doing it.

  A lot of this plan's going to rely on Maguire. More than I'd like. But you have to trust someone, and of the four, she's the only one I can. Possibly.

  She follows us out. She's close to me. I think she's still worried. My limbs are moving more and more the way I want them to. They still feel like they've got weights attached, and I'm still pretty exhausted.

  I don't think I'm supposed to be moving my arms much. Or using them at all. I'm sure, that shit-grinning doc had his way, he'd have me in a matching pair of slings, one for each arm.

  Maybe Maguire would take care of me. The thought almost brings a smile to my face. She wouldn't like to know what I was thinking of, because what makes me smile is how much I can't imagine her doing it.

  Yet, I can't imagine her fretting over me like I'm an old man about to fall down the stairs, neither. Yet, here she is, her hands constantly ready to catch me if I slip.

  I don't so much mind the escort out as I mind that the nurses are going to try like hell to stop me from getting out of here. Doctor's orders, they'll screech. Can't stand that, but I can't stop them, can I?

  Sitting down in the car is nice. Sure, I don't have my regular clothes. So I'm sitting bare-ass on the leather seats. Logan goes with Sara to get her car. It would be real suspicious-like if a government car just went missing, now, wouldn't it?

  The car pulls around in front of us, real slow-like. I'm sure that Logan's got her following real specific instructions, though I can't guess whether or not Carabello's giving them.

  The big Mexican pulls the car out of the spot and starts it moving along behind. The ride back isn't anything to worry about. Maguire's being real professional. No risks. No danger to herself, no danger to me.

  That's good for now. The only time to take a real risk for no tangible benefit is at the last minute, and we have plenty of minutes left. In fact, they've given me a whole lifetime of minutes, just in case.

  I'm not a smart guy, but I know when to wait for a golden opportunity. And thankfully, they've decided to take me back to my God damned house, a place full of opportunities just like that.

  The problem will be that their eyes will be all over me. No opportunity for anything if they just have to squeeze the trigger and my whole plan is ruined. I have maybe a second to turn things around, if that's the case.

  If I have ten seconds, twenty, thirty, then we have a game on our hands. Then I have a real shot. That's what I have to rely on Maguire for. I need a distraction, and I need it to be a damn good one.

  I take a deep breath and lay my head back. No use getting excited, though. Not yet, anyway. There's nothing for me to do, nothing for Maguire to do, until we step inside. Then we start the act, and she has to make herself real impressive, real fast.

  Once I finally get myself settled in, the time passes pretty quickly. Carabello has some Spanish music playing, I don't know it well. Don't recognize it. Don't know if I'm supposed to care, but it's good enough anyways.

  The house looks the same. My bike's been brought. I know I didn't damn-well leave it here, but sure enough, there it is. They didn't even scratch the paint job. What a thoughtful gang of murderous bastards.

  The front door's still locked, too. Very nice. Very comforting. It makes me feel like having nothing parked out front of the house might not have given someone permission to go right—

  "Mother fucker!"

  All of the 'keep my temper under control' flies right out the window. I just bought that god damned flat screen! Now there's a big old blank space where my TV used to be on the cabinet!

  I should be moving faster. Getting everything I need out of this place by tonight is going to be a hassle already, and that's assuming that I don't waste more time trying to fight a battle I can't win.

  Not that I can't win it, of course, with a little help from my Bureau friend, but if I'm going to have to get out of the state, I'd better be hurried. No time to waste getting mad about my flat screen, but it doesn't stop the frustration from boiling all the way to the surface and then some.

  "Did your people do this!"

  Carabello smiles at that, almost a chuckle. "No," he says.

  "Fuck!" I throw myself down on the couch. I shouldn't be that upset. I've got enough money to buy myself a new one. But I can't get over it. It's the invasion of my personal space that really gets me, more than any loss of my actual stuff.

  That's the real problem with all of this, really. That no matter how mad I get, I'm always going to have to deal with the fact that some son of a bitch thought he could break in here and steal my shit.

  They thought they could come into my house and take my gang, take my position, take my brother away from me. Well, I'm not going to allow that to happen. Not for a god damned second.

  I let out a breath. No, sir. No way is that going to happen.

  I push myself back out of the couch. It's comfortable.

  "You guys got a truck I can use? I got a lot of stuff, and I only have the bike."

  "Sure, whatever. We'll take the expense out of your cut. Where you want it?"

  "Why don't you go get it, and then I'll figure that out?"

  Carabello gives me a flat look. A look that says that he's not as stupid as I think he is. Well, it doesn't much matter. I wasn't expecting him to leave. Wasn't really expecting Logan to leave, either, but I take what I can get.

  Neither one does. Instead, he pulls out his phone and turns to lean against the wall. Opportunity was standing right outside the door, and all I had to do was get Maguire to let him in. I move over to the rear of the room.

  I hear Carabello's call connect. "Hey, it's Michael."

  I don't hear the other side of the conversation, but I'm not trying to listen, per se. My eyes meet with Maguire's for a moment. I slide them pointedly off to the side. I'm hoping to hell that she gets my meaning.

  Her face hardens up.

  "Wait a damn minute, you son of a bitch! You thought I was the leak? You, right there, as you sold your brother out to everyone who would listen?"

  I move out of her way. She would have shoved right past me if I hadn't. Logan's hands come up defensively.

  "Hey, I had to—"

  "Don't you 'had to' me!"

  She circles around him, like a lioness stalking her pray. He circles to face her. It's not thirty seconds, but it's time enough to get a drawer open.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  MAGUIRE

  I curl another tight circle around Logan. Never mind listening to his excuses, I'm barely listening to the words coming out of my own mouth. Ryan wants me over here, I'll do it, because I want the fuck out of this mess.

  The weapon fires, with a bang like someone dropped a big church bible flat on the floor. Carabello slumps to the floor, his phone still connected. I set my weight against Logan and hold him back as best I can. My barricade lasts a couple of seconds, but it's enough time for Ryan to pick up the phone and disconnect it.

  "What the fuck did you do?!"

  Logan's wild. I can see from the way that he shifts his eyes from the body on the floor to Ryan. I don't know how I wasn't aware of the suppressor on that pistol; I thought I'd seen it before, but apparently he's got several holdouts throughout the house.

  I don't know how we're going to get out of this, but now Ryan's committed. And, though I don't know why, I feel like I'm committed to it, too.

  I swallow hard.

  "Ryan."

  His head turns towards me just enough to let me know he's listening.

  "What do we do? They'll have heard that."

  "Good. I'm counting on it."

  He reaches down and pulls a set of keys out left-handed and tosses them to me.

  "There's a rifle cabinet on the second story. Go on, take your pick of the litter, and I need you posted upstairs. How good a shot are you?"

  "With a rifle?"

  "Naw, with a catapult, babe."

  "I can hit what I'm shooting at, up to say fifty yards."

  "It'll do."


  His eyes don't go off his brother. I don't know if I want to be there when they say whatever they've got to say, and then I decide that I sure as hell don't.

  The cabinet's pretty easy to find, and one of the keys—the one that obviously isn't for a door, or for his old Indian—fits. There's a surprising selection, even considering that he's a gun runner himself.

  Everything about the house seems to be hard to coincide with what I've known about him. It's small, it's unassuming. It gets broken into all the damn time, if he's to be believed, and I'm starting to see evidence of that already.

  Sure, there's apparently a dozen-odd hold-out pistols hidden in various parts of the house, but… other than that, and you don't even know that to look at it.

  The closest he comes to the guy I thought I knew before I met him is this gun rack. It would fit in better in Texas than Arizona, but even this isn't outside the realm of the ordinary for some folks.

  I take a convincing-looking weapon with a composite body. I test the weight in my hands. Heavy enough to have some heft, light enough that it doesn't look like it'll tire me out. I take a magazine, test the fit.

  I haven't counted, but I'm fairly certain that this magazine wouldn't be legal in the state of California. We're not in the state of California, though, so I don't have anything to say about it. I should be looking into all of this.

  As a Special Agent in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms… well, it's right there in the name. But I don't have any interest in poking into the legality of these weapons right now, not when it's my ass on the line. My phone rings a minute later, as I'm settling into a chair by a window.

  I pick it up.

  "Yeah?"

  "You ready up there?" Beauchamp's voice is cool and calm. I don't know how he does it, because even though I'm not the one they're coming after, my heart's beating a thousand miles a minute.

  "Sure."

  "I need you to keep an eye out. Keep this line open, and you see anyone, call them out to me."

  "And?"

  "And nothing. Call it out."

  "What's the rifle for?"

  "Just in case," he says. The line doesn't go dead, but he goes quiet. I set the phone on the windowsill and prop the rifle between my knees. A deep breath in, a deep breath out.