by Gale Stanley
Slade stepped between them and shook the reporter’s hand. “I’m sure you can understand our reluctance. Weres don’t normally get a fair shake in the media.”
“I do understand, but I’m only interested in the facts and my article will be an unbiased account of them. Have you ever been interviewed before?”
Both Slade and Jax shook their heads.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I have a lot of questions, and I assure you I’ll report exactly what you tell me without changing or embellishing a thing.”
“Why?” Slade asked.
Jordan gave him a blank look. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re putting your life in danger. Why are you doing this?”
“My grandfather was an old-school reporter. He taught me that a good story is powerful enough to overcome adversity. This is a good story, and I’m a good journalist. I’m not afraid to challenge authority. I can help you, and your story will help me. Newspapers are in a death spiral. Readers are migrating to the Internet, and there’s a lot of competition online. This story will have them buying my paper and logging in to our website.”
“Okay. Let’s get started then.”
Jordan gestured toward a spiral notebook and a pen on the desk. “I take good notes, but I don’t know shorthand. I’d like your permission to record this interview as well, so I can keep all the facts straight.”
Slade and Jax looked at each other and nodded. “Turn on your recorder,” Slade told Jordan.
“Good. Anybody want coffee?” Jordan pointed to a Box O’Joe from Dunkin’ Donuts sitting on the dresser.
“Thanks.” Jax walked over to fix a cup while Slade chatted with Jordan.
Mike approached Jax with a lot of apprehension. “Jax…”
“I’m not angry.” He turned to face Mike. “I’ve done a lot of thinking on the way over here, and I understand why you didn’t tell me. But it still hurts. I need a little time.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” He put a hand on Jaxon’s arm. Jax looked down at it, and Mike pulled back. “I’m going to get you out of this, get all of us out of it.” His voice broke. “That’s why I took the assignment in the first—”
“Fuck.” Jax pulled Mike against him. Jaxon’s mouth covered Mike’s, swallowing a moan. When they broke for air, Jax shook his head. “This is crazy. The only reason you’re in trouble is because of me. You should run as far and as fast as you can.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Behind them, Jordan was clearing his throat. “We really should get started.”
Mike looked at Jax. “Are we okay?”
“We’re good.”
* * * *
“If the public doesn’t know about the corruption behind closed doors, how can we fix it?” Jordan was sitting on the desk chair talking to Slade, who was pacing the small room like a caged tiger. “Tell me about your childhood.”
“I just don’t understand why you need all the personal stuff.” They’d been at it for a brain-wrenching hour and a half. The others seemed to be holding up better than him. Slade felt as empty as an exhausted oil well. He needed to pack it in, but Jordan wouldn’t let up.
“Putting a real face with the story will get readers sympathy. Isn’t that what you want? To win more supporters to your side?”
Of course it’s what Slade wanted, but he never talked about his roots, not to anyone. He didn’t have much of a childhood. He’d grown up in a hostile environment. A kid grew up fast when he had to take care of himself. His education consisted of learning how to fuck people over when he had to protect himself, and he’d grown into a distrustful loner. Strange that he ended up in law enforcement, but he always had this need to make things better and take care of the underdog. Somehow it all made sense.
“I don’t like talking about my feelings.”
Jax got up off the lounge chair and came over to rub his cheek. “Why is that?”
“I’ve always been a lone wolf. When I was a kid we were put into an internment camp, rounded up like cattle. I buried it all a long time ago.”
“Dig it up,” Jordan said, his voice high with excitement. “This is exactly what we need to tell the world.”
Jax had a sad look on his face. So did Mike, sitting on the bed, propped up on two flat pillows. He didn’t want them feeling sorry for him, but if his story got them out of this jam, so be it. “It was the seventies. Weres had been migrating from overseas for years but in small numbers, and they were scattered around the country.”
“When did you come here, Slade?” The recorder was on, but Jordan still wrote furiously.
“I was born here. My parents came in 1970 and settled in Wyoming—” He put his hands up. “Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.”
Jordan nodded and he went on. “I was born in 1976. That’s when the trouble started. Persecution and economics abroad got worse, and shifters came here in greater numbers. Suddenly the Feds took notice. Quotas were imposed, but more and more illegals still managed to get over here. God knows why they came. They didn’t fare much better here than in their homelands. Hope springs eternal, I guess.” A sudden wave of sadness flowed through his body, and he had to stop.
“Do you want to take a break?” Jordan asked him.
“No. Let’s get this over with.” If he didn’t keep going, he wouldn’t get it out. “The humans were scared. The politicians were more scared. We were poor, but physically stronger and healed faster. Those of us who were legal could vote. That was first thing they took from us. The young people were incensed. They held protest demonstrations around the country. There were riots and arrests. State politicians lobbied for internment, and everyone jumped on the bandwagon. They were forced to move into camps.”
“I wasn’t born then,” Jordan said, almost apologetically. “There’re all kinds of stories on the Internet, but the history books say the shifters were living in districts.”
“Districts?” Slade laughed. “That’s what the Feds called them. Abandoned military bases that were turned into prisons. Civilian contractors made a fortune building camps based on designs for military barracks. They were essentially concentration camps.”
“Christ. How did they get your people to move into these places?”
“Shifters were rounded up by marines with stun guns, the same kind used to stun cattle in slaughterhouses before they’re processed. These marines had been taught to never question their orders and their commanding officers told them if anyone resisted, kill them. Sometimes they made examples out of innocent people. Sometimes they killed for the hell of it. Many shifters never reached the camps alive.”
“This is good stuff.”
Good stuff? This is my fucking life. Slade bit his tongue. Jax, sprawled on the lounge chair, watched him intently. The other wolf was nodding. No doubt Jax had some stories of his own. Slade took a swallow of cold coffee and went on. “We were placed in a relocation center in a remote area far from any human population. Our camp was surrounded by barbed wire. We lived in tar-paper-covered barracks with inadequate plumbing and cooking facilities. We slept on cots and ate food rations. Armed guards were posted all over to keep us in line.
“Buildings were cramped and poorly equipped for family living, so families were split up. I was a baby. My parents tried to hide me, but eventually I was put in a building with other kids and a few human caretakers with assault rifles. My parents died shortly after. I found out later that my mother had been raped and sodomized by security guards. My father had been shot when he shifted and went after her attackers. Slade lapsed into silence. He might appear calm on the outside, but inside his guts were in turmoil. Talking about his family was akin to driving a knife into his heart.
“I think you have enough.” Jax told the reporter harshly.
“No. I’m okay.” Slade raised a hand in a gesture of reassurance. If telling his story helped someone else, it would make this worthwhile. “I was a kid, but there are documented instances of guards shooting Weres who
reportedly violated the rules or tried to leave. Medical facilities were poor, and a lot of shifters died in the camps. We lost a lot of our people.”
“But what about your constitutional rights?” Mike asked.
Slade snorted. “The constitution is for the people. We’re not people, not according to your government. The fact is we were incarcerated for five years, for no good reason and without due process. The military created fear in the shifters so that they hesitated to rebel.”
Jax sighed. “At least my family was able to stay together. When the new president came into office and closed down the camps we left Texas and headed east for Pennsylvania. My parents were killed in a house fire. It was arson. Somebody didn’t like shifters. They never caught the bastard. I was eighteen and out carousing somewhere. I moved to New York, never forgave myself for not being there.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Slade said. “Times were bad for all of us. I ended up in a state-run orphanage. As soon as I turned eighteen I headed west.”
No one said a word, and the silence spoke volumes. They all stared into space, lost in their own private hells.
Slade had seen urban warfare at its worst, and he knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. More conflict was coming. He hoped it wouldn’t be soon. His tension, and a desire to leave this place, had been growing steadily as the minutes ticked by. He had a gut feeling that something was wrong and impending doom waited just around the corner, or on the other side of the door. Paranoia was a way of life in his business, but through the years he’d learned to trust his gut instincts.
Right now, he tried to chalk his anxiety up to interview fatigue, and he glanced over towards the coffee. He’d already had four cups, black, the way he always drank it. No wonder I’m wired. The coffee had to be ice cold by now. He decided to give it a pass. He was about to ask Jordan if they were done when his gut feeling turned into reality. He smelled them an instant before all hell broke loose.
Three men with assault rifles kicked in the door. “Freeze.”
Chapter Ten
The intruders were dressed in solid black jumpsuits with zippered pockets. They wore black caps and flak vests, and they carried big guns. They stood in a silent row, three against four, each man measuring the other.
The predator was now the prey. But the prey would not make it easy for them. Slade shook with repressed rage and blood lust. His wolfish eyes saw red as if he were looking through a camera lens with a red filter. The beast clawed at his gut, wild to get out, ready to fight, to kill. What are you waiting for? Attack! Slade put all his energy into subduing his wolf. If he wanted to live he had to keep the animal under control. Maybe he could buy a little time by talking. “What’s this all about?”
But there was no answer, no movement at all from the enemy. The men simply watched and waited with weapons raised. Richard Graham appeared between two of the men, smiling, a smug look on his aristocratic face. “This is very accommodating of you gentlemen. Getting everyone together like this makes my job so much easier.” He smoothed back his silver hair and looked at Mike. “Tsk tsk. But I am disappointed in you, Michael. I had high hopes for you once you got all this bad business out of the way. One should never allow their personal life to interfere with their duty.” He walked over to the desk, picked up Jordan’s notes, and glanced through them. “Lies, all of it. I can’t allow you to print this.”
The reporter’s expression clouded in anger. “Ever hear of the First Amendment to the US Constitution? You know the one that says we can gather, publish, and distribute information and ideas without government restriction. I want a lawyer.”
“You won’t be needing one. Unfortunately, you and these three domestic terrorists died while we were trying to resolve a hostage situation. But don’t worry. You’ll die a hero. You were following a lead and gave a heads-up on this location. We’re very grateful.”
Graham walked away and spoke to one of the armed men. “I have a prior engagement, but I’m sure you men can take it from here.” He disappeared through the door.
“He can’t do this,” Jordan spurted, his pale cheeks so suffused with blood his face appeared nearly purple.
“I think he just did,” Mike responded impatiently, without turning to look at him.
Slade said nothing, but merely looked at an equally silent Jaxon. Understanding passed between them.
One of the men in black pointed his rifle first at Slade, then Mike, and then Jordan. “On your knees. Hands behind your heads.” He barked. “You.” He pointed his weapon at Jaxon. “Face down on the floor.” He motioned to one of the other men. “Tie him up.”
So Slade, along with Mike and Jordan, was about to be executed. And Jaxon would be arrested for their murders. His pulse elevated. His wolf wanted out, ready to rip these guys apart. Slade saw himself crushing the man’s throat. Rage is a powerful emotion. It made him stronger. He vowed he wouldn’t die. Not tonight. Not this way, in a seedy motel room in New Jersey.
Mike and Jordan looked terrified. Slade knew he couldn’t expect much help from them. It was really four against two. Slade smiled inwardly. An unfair fight. These SWAT guys should have brought more men. From the corner of his eye Slade caught Jaxon’s eye. He gave the tiniest of nods.
Slade’s senses magnified. The slightest scent and the smallest sound took hold and kept him alert to everything happening around him. Adrenaline pumped through his body and his wolf sat waiting for the battle to begin.
The big beefy human came up behind him and Slade felt a cold gun muzzle press against the back of his head. His focus centered on the click of the hammer. Jaxon growled. A man screamed. Slade made his move.
Slade could shift in an instant when his wolf smelled blood. He crouched and went for the man by the door. Two huge black paws landed solidly on the human’s chest. Slade pinned him to the floor, enjoying the terrified look in his prey’s eyes. Slade bared his canines, dripping saliva on the human’s face. He wished he could make the kill last, but there was no time. Behind him gunshots sounded. Quickly, he sank his fangs into the man’s throat and crushed his windpipe between powerful jaws. Gurgling noises came from the man’s throat and then stopped in a few seconds. Slade watched the last breath leave his lungs. Satisfied, he sat back, licked the blood from his muzzle, and looked for his mates.
Jax made a magnificent wolf, massive and gray. He stood over his prey, panting and staring back at Slade from intense amber eyes.
Mike had an assault rifle in his hands. He’d taken it from Jaxon’s kill and managed to get off a few shots. The last bullet went through the man’s skull, killing him instantly. Slade’s wolf made a mental note to thank Mike. He had taken down the third man and saved Slade’s life.
Jordan, shaking badly, muttered, “Dear God” and backed into a corner. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. The reporter had bitten off more than he could chew for sure.
A feeling of pins and needles prickled Slade’s skin. His body contorted and bones realigned. Animal and human merged. One last low growl escaped before his muzzle shrunk, and suddenly his human form was sitting on the floor, his clothes bloody and torn.
Slade looked at the man next to him. Half of the human’s face was gone, and the throat torn out. His wolf had done this. Bile rose in his throat. For many years he’d been killing with human weapons. It had been a long time since he had used fangs and claws.
There was no way this man could be alive, but he made himself check anyway. No breath sounds, and the pupils were blown. He was most definitely dead. Slade moved away, not wanting to be near him.
Jax had shifted, and he was checking his victim. He looked up at Slade and shook his head. Slade leaned back against the wall and sighed heavily, tried to relax and allow the sensation of being alive wash over him. It was usually a good feeling. Not tonight. The inside of the motel room looked and smelled like a slaughterhouse. And they weren’t home free. Not by a long shot.
He wanted to be back in LA. Hell, he wanted to be a
nywhere but in this seedy motel room with the coppery smell permeating everything. For years he had hoarded the money he made, stashed it away, striving for the day he would have resources to quit DSA. He should have done it sooner. Gotten out when he had the chance. He wasn’t sure they could escape this. There was no flying under the radar now. They hadn’t made waves, they’d made a tsunami.
Lost in his own thoughts, Slade didn’t notice Jax approach until a hand came down on his shoulder. The other shifter crouched down next to him. Slade stared into eyes as amber as his own and just as confused. He didn’t know what to say. Thanks seemed inadequate, but it always worked. “You saved my life.”
“Just returning the favor.” Jaxon’s eyes glittered with lust, and he ran his fingers through Slade’s thick, black hair with a low growl of appreciation. “We make a pretty good team.”
Slade felt heat slowly creep up his cheekbones. Nothing like a kill to heighten a wolf’s sex drive. If they were alone, he’d throw Jax on the bed and fuck him senseless. A dark brow rose, and one corner of Jaxon’s lips lifted in a faint smile, as if he knew exactly what Slade was thinking. Of course he did. They were the same. Him and Jax. Enough time together and they’d be finishing each other’s sentences. He pulled away with an effort. “We need to get out of here.”
Jax stood and gave him a hand to help him up. “You’re right. There could be others.” He walked over to Mike and hugged him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ve had SWAT training. Jordan’s a little freaked.”
“I’m okay,” the reporter blurted out. I’ve been in war zones covering worse. But I have to admit I panicked when I saw you two shift. That was a first for me.”
“Still want to do our story?” Slade asked him.
Jordan nodded and tightened his mouth grimly. “More than ever.” He turned off the recorder and collected his notes. “Mike, you know where the Bulletin Building is. Meet me in the back.” He pulled a small digital camera from the briefcase he’d brought with him and started taking pictures.
