Collateral Damage

by Susan Harris

  “You see, Christopher, I lied. I remember your father well—and your mother. Weak little submissive wolves who bowed and kissed the feet of Neville Morris. Your mom bedded whoever Morris wanted to watch her rut with. Your dad—if he even was your dad, since your mom got around—couldn’t stop him. They did that so when their son was born, Neville wouldn’t drown the pup for showing any sign of dominance. He needn’t have worried, right, mate? Submissive just like your parents. The runt of the litter. Some little bastard to be pissed on, made fun of, until some stronger wolf ends your miserable life.”

  “Shut up!” Christopher yelled. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

  Derek sneered. “Aww, is poor orphan Christopher gonna cry for Mommy and Daddy? Do you still piss the bed at night, Chris? Or do you sleep with a teddy bear to keep ya safe?”

  The extent of Christopher’s rage engulfed the room, and Derek had him right where he wanted—angry and distracted. Christopher pulled a gun from under his jacket and pointed it squarely between Derek’s eyes. Derek wondered if he were faster than a bullet.

  “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch. I’m going to shoot you dead right here and now. Not even you can survive a bullet to the head. I’m going leave you for your mate to find. And then, if I decide Arthur’s worth keeping alive, I might give Ever to him.”

  Christopher’s hand trembled, leaving Derek to wonder if he even knew how to shoot a gun.

  “You don’t even know how to shoot, do you, Chris? Or is it that you don’t have the stones, mate? It’s okay. You certainly don’t have the balls to fight me wolf to wolf, so why should you have the balls to shoot me? Am I worth a jail cell, Chris? Am I worth becoming someone’s bitch on the inside? But then again, like mother, like son.”

  The gun shook more in Christopher hand, while his face almost turned purple in rage. He steadied his hand again, but Derek noticed the slight tremor even as he refocused.

  “Do it,” Derek dared him. “It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it?”

  “I will… I’ll do it.”

  “So go on.” More taunting. “Pull the goddamn trigger, you fucking coward.”

  Derek watched as Christopher started to pull the trigger, heard the bullet as it left the chamber and the boom as it left the gun, heading straight for him. A second before that, Derek dropped the rope to the ground and lurched forward.

  Time to see if he were faster than a goddamn bullet.

  At the same time the bullet left the chamber, Derek surged forward in the chair, dropping to the ground. His right wrist throbbed even as it tried to heal itself. The chair smacked off the tarmac, almost drowning out the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the wall. Hands free, he reached down with his left and fumbled with the ropes around his legs. The ropes burned, but not as much as a bullet would.

  Crouching down, Derek lifted his head to meet Christopher’s gaze. The gun was still pointed at him. Derek never once shifted his gaze as he took his right hand in his left and twisted, popping the joint back into place. After a sharp punch of pain, it dulled to a slow throb that Derek knew he could cope with.

  “You didn’t think I’d go down that easy, did you, Christopher? Put down the gun, and I promise you’ll walk out of here.”

  Christopher tossed his head back and forth. “The minute I put down the gun, you’ll kill me… just like you killed them. Doyle, if I walk out of here and you’re still alive, then I’m coming after your girl, your big-mouth partner, and even your niece. I won’t stop unless you stop me.”

  The words rang true, yet Derek interpreted them as words of a desperate man, a man with nothing left to lose. A man whose rage and vengeance had eaten at him from the inside, leaving nothing left but a ferocious need to draw blood from the one he blamed for this feeling—Derek.

  Christopher wanted to kill him or die trying.

  Cautiously, Derek stood up and held out an open palm to Christopher. “Just gimmie the gun, mate. It’s over. Hand it over, and you get to live. I’ll do everything that I—”

  The gun barked in Christopher’s hand as he pulled the trigger. Derek had little time to react but managed to sidestep so the bullet lodged in his shoulder rather than dead centre in his chest. He felt the lead bullet go through and out the other side, smelt the blood as it seeped from the wound. He would heal, but he was taking more hits than he wanted. He needed to distract Christopher’s attention away from the gun.

  “You wanna know exactly what it was like under Neville Morris’s care, Christopher? When I was first turned, Morris used to send in his goons three times a day to beat me senseless. I was a new wolf, so it was like kicking a defenseless puppy.

  “As soon as he realized I wouldn’t react to that, he got his goons to pour salt in the wounds so they would scar. Of course, he made sure he didn’t scar any place the others would see. That would take away from his holier-than-thou saviour act.”

  Derek let a growl rip from his throat, the wolf wanting to be free, but he couldn’t change without being vulnerable. Wasn’t going to happen.

  “You know what he did then?” he continued. “After he realized that beating me into submission wasn’t going to work, Morris realized I had one major flaw—I cared. In a major fucking lightbulb moment, Morris deduced that having me kill innocent people might be the way to break me. So yeah, I killed your father—for Morris.”

  Christopher’s hand around the gun began to tremble again. His expression changed from enraged to confused, as if he were battling his own demons.

  “You want to know how many wolves I killed for Morris? One hundred and twenty-seven. In the ten years I remained captive at Morris’s compound, that’s how many mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters I killed. I remember every single one of them. I replay every single kill over and over in a never-ending loop. I memorized each and every name—Carlos, Miguel, Mansford, Jeremy, Danielle, Nathan, Natalie, Shanno—”

  “Stop!” Christopher interrupted him. “Just stop.” The words held no weight in them, and Derek began to think he was getting through to him.

  “Christopher,” Derek said softly, taking another step, closing the distance between them. His shoulder burned, and the ache in his wrist began to affect him. “You see, Morris liked to collect victims. He liked to create victims. You and me, we are just victims of Morris’s tyranny. I promise you, one day I will kill him. And I’ll bring you his head in a bag.”

  Something dark crossed over Christopher’s face, even as Derek stood mere inches from him. Derek tried to play every scenario out in his head. Go for the gun, it goes off, he gets shot. Struggle with Christopher, he frees himself and Derek ends up dead.

  “I’m sorry, Doyle. I’m nobody’s victim. I’ll be out of here before your body hits the tarmac. Or maybe I’ll take your head to Neville Morris and take my rightful place as his second. I will have slain the legendary Derek Doyle, the man who escaped from Morris’s clutches. I will be revered as a king.”

  Derek snorted. “If you think Morris will applaud you for killing me, then you’re sadly mistaken. Morris wants to come at me himself. It might not be next week; hell, I might not see him for another century. But me and Morris will have our day. You just need to decide, mate, if you want to be alive to see it.”

  Derek reacted before Christopher had a chance to see him move, his left hand snapping out and shoving the gun from Christopher’s hand, who staggered back a little, stunned. Anger flooded the air once more. Lunging at Derek with clenched fists, Christopher swung blindly, aiming but having no effect. Derek balled up his own fist, waited, and then struck, his punch landing square on Christopher’s jaw.

  Ignoring the blow that knocked him back a few steps, Christopher continued to come forward. He wasn’t trained, lacked discipline, but he had years of rage and vengeance to fuel him. Christopher let loose his claws, raking them down Derek’s injured shoulder.

  Derek howled, he couldn’t help it, then kicked out and hooked his foot around the back of Christopher’s knee. He
yanked his foot back, taking Christopher to his knees with the force. The pain was starting to get to him, the drugs in his system still making him weaker than usual.

  The man on the ground surged forward; Derek caught him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him aside. Derek heard a yelp of distress, and his eyes looked up for a second. Christopher’s henchmen had disappeared from his line of sight, and Derek grinned. Muffled sounds of bodies hitting the ground surrounded him.

  His team was here.

  Derek heard the click of the gun but had no time to react, so he let his lashes close.

  It was her he saw in his final moments—a beautiful smile that had lit up his life. His life with her, though brief, flashed before his eyes, and he wished he could hold her even just for a minute.

  But the bullet didn’t hit.

  He heard the bullet rip through skin, but he didn’t feel it.

  “Motherfucker!”

  Derek’s eyes sprang open as Ricky crumbled to the ground in front of him. Donnie had Christopher pinned to the ground, arms behind his back. Caitlyn directed the SWAT team as to where to go. Donnie glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow, asking him a silent question.

  Do you want him dead?

  Derek shook his head as he knelt down to see if his partner were okay.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing, Ricky?”

  “Stopping your fine ass from getting shot,” he groaned.

  “It wasn’t a silver bullet. How did you end up getting shot in the thigh when he was aiming for my head?” Derek put his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding.

  Ricky scowled up at him. “Why didn’t you say something before? I’d have let you get shot! Donnie bloody rugby-tackled him, and he dropped his hand as he shot at you. If I die tonight,” he grimaced, “donate my organs to science; they need to find out why I’m so awesome. Except for my middle finger. Give that to Donnie, for old time’s sake.”

  Derek chuckled. He’d be alright. Give him a day or two, and Ricky would be showing off his war wounds to the world.

  Caitlyn made her way over to them. “Place is secure. Can I let Arthur in to deal with his traitors?”

  Derek spared a glance at Christopher, who still wriggled in Donnie’s arms. Good luck with that, mate.

  “Let him in, but Christopher is mine.”

  “Understood.”

  Caitlyn radioed outside, and he heard an onslaught of heavy boots thunder throughout the corridors as Arthur and members of the pack strode in. His wolf bristled. The wolves who had helped kidnap Derek dropped their heads as Arthur strode in. Bypassing them, Arthur came over to where Derek stood, having moved away so Ricky could get medical attention.

  “Christopher Gomez is mine to discipline. Hand him over. His crimes fall under pack rule. He will face pack justice,” Arthur demanded.

  Derek folded his arms across his chest. “Not going to happen. Gomez set me up for murder, killed an innocent girl, and is accused of attempted murder of a P.I.T. agent. That means he falls under my jurisdiction. You have an issue? Take it up with Sarge.”

  “Derek…” Arthur started with a growl.

  But Derek walked away from him. He had one more thing he needed from Christopher. Donnie put a meaty hand under Christopher’s chin so his gaze held that of Derek’s wolf until Christopher yanked his gaze away first.

  “Where are Agent Gober’s eggs, Christopher? C’mon, you’re not Morris. You’re not a child killer.”

  “They’re in the basement. Back room, under the rug. I didn’t harm them.”

  Derek gave the signal for one of the SWAT team to go get them.

  “Donnie, get him out of my sight, please.”

  “With pleasure, bro.”

  Donnie shoved Christopher forward, reading him his rights as they moved.

  “Doyle!”

  Derek turned to face Christopher.

  “You’ll keep your promise, won’t you?”

  His own words sounded in his head. I promise you one day I will kill him. And I’ll bring you his head in a bag. He would do it for all those who Neville Morris had damaged. And for those who had died before he was strong enough to save them.

  “I will.”

  Turning his back as Donnie left with Christopher, Derek crossed to his partner. The warlock lay on the ground with a lovely brunette nurse wrapping a bandage around his thigh.

  “C’mon, love. Give it to me straight. Will I still be able to dance?”

  “Since you couldn’t before, I’m sorry to say no.”

  “Everybody’s a critic. Look at D next; I’m grand.”

  The nurse turned to Derek and motioned for him to sit in the chair. He did as he was instructed. She inspected his wrist first, and he only winced a little when she rotated it.

  Trained in supernatural medicine, the nurse was used to seeing injuries like this. “That should be mostly healed in twenty-four hours. Then, a shift will fix it right up.”

  Accelerated supernatural healing had its benefits.

  “Now, off with the tee so I can have a look at the bullet hole.”

  He slowly pulled off his tee with a little help from her. Blood still seeped from the wound. She leaned forward, and he almost lifted off the chair when she poked inside the wound with tweezers.

  “Through and through. You’ll live.”

  “Not the first time I’ve been shot. Probably won’t be the last.”

  The nurse shook her head as she bandaged up his shoulder. “Ice that wrist ASAP,” she ordered as she gathered up her stuff and walked away.

  Derek looked over at Arthur as the sound of a palm connecting with flesh reverberated around the room. The Munster alpha motioned for his entourage to take the offenders away. If those three survived till sundown, Derek would be amazed.

  Arthur walked over to him and held out his hand. “Thank you for finding the traitors in my pack, Agent Doyle. Should you ever need a favour from the pack, don’t hesitate to call.”

  Derek shook his hand. “Just stop asking me to join the pack. I won’t.”

  “Done.” With a brief nod of his head, Arthur spun on his heels and marched out the door.

  “A little help here, D.”

  Derek grabbed Ricky’s outstretched hand and pulled him up. The movement irked his shoulder, and he growled. Ricky hobbled on his injured knee. Caitlyn sighed, walked over, and supported Ricky’s weight with her own.

  “I should be old and grey, spending so much time with you all.”

  Ricky grinned. “D, Caitlyn made a funny? Do I have a concussion, or did Caitlyn make a funny?”

  “I could drop you from a great height,” Caitlyn muttered, but Ricky and Derek just laughed.

  “You gonna explain who the fruit loop was, D?”

  Derek nodded. “Wait ‘til everyone’s here. I only want to say it once.”

  The team slowly made their way out of the old go-cart centre and headed into the darkness. Blue and red sirens flashed, illuminating the night. Uniformed cops swarmed around, some nodding to Derek, some muttering under their breath. Derek wasn’t in the mood to deal with them right now; there was only one person he wanted to see.

  “Derek!”

  The shout came from his right, but Derek knew who it was. Her scent wrapped around him like a blanket, safe and sound and completely his. He waited as she snaked her way around the police cars. A few people had stopped to watch her cry, but she didn’t seem to care. She ignored everyone watching them and ran to him anyway.

  Ever smacked into Derek, flinging her arms around his waist. Her grip on him tightened, and for a minute he ignored the world around him, let go of the pain, both superficial and real, and just held her; his mate. The scent of sunshine and sand washed over him.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he told her, whispering in a low tone only for her.

  “I thought you were dead. Don’t ever do that to me again.” Her words held a bite of anger, but he understood. He’d frightened her.

  Slowly, he opene
d the bond between them, and she gasped.

  Better?

  Much.

  Ever traced her hands up his chest, her fingers brushing over the bandage. “My God, Derek. Are you really okay?”

  Sliding his hand up to cup her cheek, he tilted her face up and captured her mouth with his. It was a hungry kiss, a claiming kiss that he felt down to his toes. It was only when the catcalls started did he pull away, not much for an audience. But the wolf in him preened at her flushed cheeks.

  “Let’s go back to the station. I’ve a story to tell.”

  The journey to the station was a short one, and he dozed slightly in the back of Sarge’s car, Ever tucked against his side. Someone gave him a tee, and he dressed before walking into the squad room.

  His team sat around waiting for him. Part of him didn’t want to tell them who Christopher was, who he used to be, what he had become. That side of him, that coward who cared what these people thought of him, made him ashamed.

  “Is he secure?” Derek asked Donnie.

  “Already on his way to Spike,” Donnie said, referring to the old prison island that had reopened when the government decided they needed a separate holding area for supernatural offenders.

  “Make sure the officers keep an eye on him. I wouldn’t put it past Arthur, or even Morris, to strike out.”

  “So we were right?” Caitlyn queried, standing apart from the rest of the team.

  Derek eased himself down on his chair with a shake of his head. “Christopher Gomez was a member of Neville Morris’s pack, yes. But he came after me for personal reasons. I killed his parents.”

  Silence greeted him, so he continued. “My very first fight while held captive at the compound, Morris ordered me to fight a submissive wolf. I did and ripped his heart from his chest. I didn’t know the man had a mate, a family when I killed him. But that wouldn’t have stopped me. That was my first kill as a wolf, but it wasn’t my last.”