Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Two.”

  “Hold up, Simon!” Frank called, then lowering his voice, “Ashley! Calm down!”

  “No!” I kicked again, breaking free.

  Then, the bullets came. Again. Just like the day before. Like a hundred firecrackers, but so much louder, going off at once. A sound like thousands of buzzing bees filled the living room as one of the security men who were after my father thudded to the floor. More bullets. I could just barely hear Simon curse as they all ducked for cover.

  Frank threw my father aside into the fridge, and fell on top of me.

  I kicked and fought, kneeing him right in the crotch.

  Although he grunted in pain, he tightened his grip around me and tried to keep me down. I heard more bullets and more shouts. More sounds of bullets hitting wood, what was left of our glasses and plates falling down around my head and onto Frank’s back. Gunfire erupted in the living room as the security men began to shoot back. Windows began to burst as the explosions of the guns seemed to fill my world, battering at my ears.

  My ears rang, my own hearing so gone that the only way I could tell I was screaming was that my throat hurt. I kneed Frank again, but harder this time. Again. How could he have betrayed me like this? I kneed him again until he let me go.

  He rolled over onto his side, red-faced. “Ashley!” I saw him mouth. “Wait!”

  I scrambled up as he rolled over on his side on reflex. I looked down at my father, who was now slowly crawling through the kitchen and towards the mudroom. Maybe he thought he could get to the garage through there, I don’t know. But he never looked back at me, not once, as he crawled lamely forward with one hand covering an ear.

  I got to my knees, tried to protect my head with my arms, and hobbled forward in a squat. I passed my father and beat him to the mudroom. It was just when I turned the corner, though, that I began to notice the smoke, and realized how badly my eyes and nose were watering. I glanced back.

  It was like a fire had spread throughout the room. White smoke billowed up from the living room and filled the air. I watched as one of the men was cut down by gunfire. Blood sprayed from his neck in an arc and he staggered to his knees.

  I screamed again, but only managed to cough and gag. I glanced back up, trying to see if anyone was after me as I tried to cover my mouth and nose with my hand, but only covered myself in blood from my cuts. I took a deep breath and tried to hold it in, but I just coughed again.

  A canister of some sort lobbed through the window, a trail of smoke streaming out behind it as it landed right in the middle of the kitchen. I ran to the garage, stumbling over something, which sent me splaying across the mudroom floor.

  Father! Our limbs entangled as we both gagged. He pushed and kicked aimlessly, hitting me in the shoulder. Finally, he looked back at me, and I saw recognition in his bloodshot eyes.

  God, even he was a sight for stinging eyes at this point. I suddenly didn’t care if he’d lied to me. If he’d tried to flee the country. If he’d been controlling my life since I was a little girl. Instead, my mind just echoed with my own screams. I needed to get somewhere safe. Anywhere safe. And it didn’t matter who I got there with. And, right now, that meant I needed to get away from Frank and his friend Simon.

  I’d been wrong about him. I’d been so wrong.

  Together, we helped each other up. My world still silent, we looked long and hard into each other’s bleary, red-rimmed eyes, tears streaming down our faces.

  Vaguely, I realized the last time I’d seen him cry was at my mother’s funeral.

  The moment of reflection passed as a bullet slammed into the wall between us.

  I screamed again.

  My father crouched and went for the garage door. He pulled it open as he grabbed my hand and yanked me through after him. The smoke hadn’t reached out here yet, and he slammed his hand on the button that controlled the garage door, sending it soundlessly up on its tracks. He jogged forward, then stopped in his tracks and looked back over to me, his eyes wide in shock.

  I stopped and looked behind me.

  Too late. A man’s body was pressed against my back, and a hairy arm across my throat began to press down.

  I struggled, kicked back with my heel, and tried to elbow them in the chest.

  It didn’t matter. The world began to fade to darkness as the arm tightened.

  Then, there was nothing. I was lost.

  Just sweet darkness joining the silence that already swaddled me in its cold embrace.

  Chapter Forty-eight – Frank

  The tear gas was unexpected. Suddenly my eyes burned like a son of a bitch. It didn’t do anything to even out the steady painful throbbing of my groin. Ashley had some powerful legs on her, that was for sure.

  If I’d had time to explain what I was doing, she might not have reacted the way she did. But, without my pack there, it had been the only way I saw forward. The only way I could get at least the two of us out of this alive and in one piece.

  Now she was gone and had disappeared in the tear gas filling the room.

  I’d been gassed during basic. That was one of the many fun things they don’t tell you about before you sign on. Tear gas works by inflaming and irritating all the mucus linings of your face and respiratory system. Your mouth, your eyes, your nose, your throat, your lungs. Milk over the eyes would get rid of most of the burning, but you’d still have a runny nose and an awful, wet cough for a while.

  But I didn’t have any milk. I coughed again, my eyes still burning as I fumbled for my pistol and tried to get to my feet.

  Someone ran into the kitchen, body checked me aside, slamming me into the cabinets. The cabinet door shuddered and caved inwards as my body hit it full force. Vodka fumes, potent and full, filled my nose, right alongside fireweed, one of the local wildflowers.

  I instinctively kicked out, trying to sweep the legs of whoever was attacking me.

  Air. Nothing but air. And tear gas.

  I crawled forward, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, and crawled forward.

  The gas layered more heavily and began to settle. One of the canisters had landed right next to me, the second one. I couldn’t hear any more gunshots, even with my acute senses.

  But where had Ashley gone? There was no more shooting. Did that mean Simon’s men were dead? Killed by the cartel? Or was the cartel dead, killed by Simon? If so, where were the Eagle Eye Security mercenaries? My chest burned and my head felt fuzzy as I crawled forward through the kitchen, the ceramics and glass cutting into my knees and hands.

  I had to. I had to shift. I wasn’t going to be able to get out of here otherwise. I knew it. I began to tear the clothes from my body. I tore off my shirt, sending buttons flying around the destroyed kitchen. I unbuckled my jeans and unzipped them, even as I forced the change through my body.

  If my burning tissue had been painful before, it was nothing now. I roared, my throat ragged, as my bones shifted painfully, as all my muscles grew in size, as my organs rearranged themselves. I’d never tried to move this quickly through the shift before.

  But I had to do this fast. I had to find Ashley. I had to make sure she was safe. I had to make sure my mate was safe.

  I roared again as my nails lengthened, as my jaws cracked and my fangs pierced my gums.

  Finally, only seconds later, I was a wolf.

  The air shifted behind me. Simon called out, surprised as he rounded the corner.

  I spun, saw his tear-streaked face, vomit covering the front of his tactical gear and his Kevlar vest. He stumbled back and raised his submachine gun. He opened fire, one of the bullets catching me in the side.

  I dodged to the side, leaping so that my paws landed right on the refrigerator door. I leaped forward, my jaws aimed right for his throat.

  He tried to bring his gun up to keep spraying into me, but my body blocked it.

  My jaws found his throat. My fangs bit through his throat, his jugular. The hot blood of a betrayer, of a Judas, filled my mouth. I shook
my head, rending his flesh as I rode his body to the ground.

  He gurgled, spraying blood from his wounds. He wouldn’t live. I knew it.

  I glanced around, saw no one else standing, and took off back into the kitchen. Even through the tear gas, even through the blood filling my nose, I could smell her. I could smell my mate. I grabbed my jeans in my teeth and took off, out into the garage.

  The garage door stood open. Two black Suburbans were parked out front beside my Mustang, and an old Bronco was parked further down the way. I raced out onto the drive, denim pants dangling from my snout.

  “Frank!” Richard shouted from my left. I turned, and he came running towards me, semi-automatic rifle slung at ease in front of him. “They’re all dead, Frank! Where’s Ashley?”

  I looked around, turned back to him, and whimpered low.

  “Fuck, Frank. Fuck!”

  Peter came running out of the garage behind me. “Frank! She’s gone!” He came to a stop and crouched down next to me. “Someone took her.”

  Chapter Forty-nine – Ashley

  “See, Martin?” a voice asked as I came back to the world of the living, my ears still slightly ringing. “She lives. I tell you not to worry, you never believe me.”

  My head throbbed like I’d gone on a week-long bender. I wiped a hand over my runny nose, wincing at the intense burning sensation. I drew in a labored, pained breath as I tried to open my bleary eyes. “What happened?” I rasped.

  “Who got you out of tight scrape?” the voice continued in a thick Russian accent. “Who got you from that house?”

  I was lying on a cot with a scratchy pillow keeping my head propped. “Father? Daddy?”

  A soft hand grabbed mine. “I’m here, dear.”

  “Why?” I asked, my eyesight still too blurry for me to see. “Why’d you do all this?”

  He stroked the hair from my face and shushed me. “Don’t talk, Ashley. Here, hang your face over the edge.” I heard a harsh sound, like a metal bucket or pail, scraping on wood. There was a moment of silence in blackness, then a cool, thick liquid began to pour over my eyes and nose. Reflexively, I tried to pull back, but my father held me in place as the burning began to recede. It still hurt, but not anywhere near as badly. “Just milk. That’s all. You’ll be better in a minute.”

  “Now, you have her, yes? Now we see how much she matters to you? Yes?”

  I opened my eyes slowly, blinking them to test it out. The world was still a little fuzzy, but I could see. I could definitely still see.

  “How much she matters to me?” my father asked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Yuri?”

  I pushed my father’s hand away while he was distracted, and sat up and looked around.

  I was in a one-room cabin. A window on the wall to my right stared meanly down at the little potbelly stove in the middle of the room. The unlit stove did nothing to fight back against the cold. Besides my little cot, there was one against the opposite wall, next to the door. And standing right next the stove was the Ukrainian from the hardware store—the one whose brother had done business with my father.

  “It mean, Martin, I came and got you from that cabin other night. I break in, I create mess–”

  “Create a mess to cover up for yourself, Yuri!”

  Yuri waved his hand and shrugged. “But, mess is all the same your fault. You are the one who began to move money when your bitch wife found out. You are the one who did not cover his tracks enough to keep my money safe.”

  “I believe it was your brother’s money, Yuri. Not yours.”

  “Da. Who cares, though?”

  “I suppose you want to rob me as well? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “No, no,” Yuri said. “I only want a large piece. For my expenses. I’ll still get you out of the country. I keep my word. It is my bond.”

  My father stepped away from the cot and shook his head. He glanced down at me, his jaw set.

  I looked back at him, brushed my hair from my face, and wiped the milk from my eyes. Here it was. The choice between making or losing money. His time-honored choice.

  He opened his mouth to speak. I knew what he was going to say before he even opened his damn mouth.

  Chapter Fifty - Frank

  “Who was it, Frank?” Peter asked as I pulled on my spare shirt I’d gotten from my trunk. A shifter always carried spare clothes. “Who took her?”

  I’d already shifted back into my human form and slipped back into my jeans. “Yuri Sokolov. I smelled him when he went by.”

  “The Russian took out the Cartel guys? Took out the Eagle Eye team?”

  “All except Simon. That was me.”

  He nodded without judgment or remorse.

  “You said we trailed him for a little while, but you lost his tail. Where did he shake it?”

  “Up in the mountains, off towards our safe house. But there are roads all over the place out there. Could be anywhere.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not anywhere. I smelled fireweed, Peter.”

  He gave me a perplexed look.

  “Fireweed. It’s a flower that only grows in recently burned areas.” Living with Matt, the ex-forest firefighter apparently had its advantages. Never thought I’d say that. Ever.

  “But there haven’t been any fires on the north side of town. Not that I know of at least.”

  “But,” I said as I finished buttoning up my shirt, “there was one just up the road from here.”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a nod. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Hop in, I’ll drive.”

  Together, Peter and I ran to his old Bronco and hopped in.

  “What the fuck?” Richard yelled as he came running after us, visible only in our rearview mirror as the old Bronco laid rubber all the way down to the first turn. I just stuck out my arm and gave him a wave.

  “Really think this is where he took her?”

  “I hope to fucking God it is. Because I’m all out of ideas if it ain’t.”

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t worry, Frank, we’ll get her. We’ll bring her home.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath through my stuffy nose, my chest still heavy.

  We turned onto the open highway and Peter kept his boot to the floor, the old engine heaving as we headed to the burn area.

  I just hoped that once I had her safe, she’d forgive me.

  Chapter Fifty-one - Ashley

  Father laughed. “Yuri, I’m not giving you any fucking money. Not one penny more than we agreed on. This has been a botched job from the start, and you know it.”

  Yuri didn’t flinch. His eyes didn’t flash with anger. He just glanced at me as he slipped his hand inside his jacket and he pulled out a big pistol.

  My father didn’t flinch either. But only because he didn’t have time to.

  The gun recoiled in Yuri’s hand, its boom resounding in my still-sensitive ears.

  I screamed as I jumped in shock.

  My father’s wails joined my own as he fell to the old, wooden floor, both hands gripping his knee. He screamed again as Yuri walked over and crouched down next to him.

  I scrambled back from him, pushed myself against the wall, and tried to make myself small and insignificant.

  Yuri dug the barrel of his pistol into my father’s knee and twisted cruelly. “Next, you get the other knee, Martin.” His voice didn’t change. No lilt. No inflection. No hesitation as my father screamed again in agony. “Then, if you still feel like not speaking, I start on sweet daughter dear here.”

  I began to gasp for breath. Again? I was being used as a tool again?

  The Russian looked back over his shoulder at me. “Or maybe we start sooner, eh? Save you your other knee?”

  I shook my head hysterically, my eyes burning again, but this time from tears of fear panic.

  Yuri slowly stood up.

  I needed to do something. I needed to get away. I needed to do anything I possibly could.

  My father looked up at the
Russian. “Fuck you, Yuri,” he sobbed, the pain putting an edge to his voice that I’d never heard before.

  This was it. This was my only chance. I jumped off the cot and went running for the door.

  Yuri was faster, though. He grabbed my hair as I passed, yanking me off my feet.

  I fell backwards, crying out.

  “Shut up, bitch,” Yuri said almost nonchalantly. “How about it, eh, Martin? You want see your daughter dearest bleeding? Eh? Hear screaming from her? I don’t care, as long as you give me numbers in end.”

  “Father,” I cried, tears streaming down my face as Yuri tightened his grip on my hair. “Please…”

  “Okay, okay!” Father said finally, unable to look at me shaking in fear next to Yuri. “Okay, Yuri. Get a pen.”

  Yuri released my hair, dropping me to the floor. He crossed over and picked up a legal pad and grabbed a cell phone.

  My father cried out again as he shifted and tried to sit up.

  “Don’t want to move that, Martin. Hurt worse, promise.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Yuri, and give me the fucking pad.” Yuri dug into pocket and pulled out a steel-colored pen. He pressed it into my father’s hand and gave him the notepad. My father looked back at me and sighed.

  I sat up, nodding at him. “Please, just do it. It’s the only way we’re going to get out of here.”

  My father licked his dry, cracked lips. He turned his attention to the pad and began to write down strings of numbers on it, along with a phone number. Father had always been good with numbers. That was probably his only real talent. When he was done, he handed the pad back to Yuri.

  The Russian kept one eye on us as he dialed the number and pressed the phone to his ear. After a moment, he took the phone away and began to key in numbers as he turned his attention back to the pad.