by T. S. Joyce
“So we’ll pretend this can go on forever?”
“Yes. And now I have decided I will tell you, because you of all people should hear.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“I dance to pay off my dad’s medical bills. He was an older shifter when he had me. He got sick.”
“What kind of sick?” Shifters didn’t get sick often, but they also weren’t supposed to be born deaf, and Genevieve, his sister, had been.
“It was a degenerative disease. The doctors couldn’t figure it out. It took his muscles and bones over time and was very painful. He was eighty pounds soaking wet when he died last year. He was in hospice for seven months, and it was expensive. I took care of him with a nurse. We took shifts, and to pay her and the medical bills, I started dancing at nights because what else could I do here? What could I do with my skillset that would bring me cash everyday? When I needed to pay a bill fast, I just picked up double shifts at Jem’s. Before he got sick, I used to come here to spend the summers with him and then go back to my life in New York. I wanted to be a dancer. A real dancer. I auditioned for fancy schools, but even if I had gotten in, we couldn’t afford them. So I worked at this bar, doing these shows. Dancing with other girls. I choreographed everything for them, and when I had enough money saved up, I bought this little rundown studio, and I taught dance classes to kids. I was happy, except I missed my dad. And then he got sick, and I came home. Things got worse, and I sold the studio to pay some of his bills. You know from your sister shifters don’t get health insurance. And then he passed away, and I still had all these loans under my name, so I’m just trying to tread water until I can get everything paid.”
“So you’re stuck?”
Candace’s eyes held phantoms as she nodded once. “Stuck like I’ve been buried alive. Most days I feel buried. So, look at me now. A trained dancer who had achieved her dream, owned a studio, found happiness, and now I’m here, scooping dollar bills off the ground in a negligee and ‘stripper glitter.’”
“Fuck,” Torren murmured, feeling sick to his stomach. He wished with everything he had that he could yank her out of here and fix her life. Make it better. Make it happier. Make it brighter before she got crushed by the weight of the world. “Come here.” He held out his arm and waited while she sat up and snuggled against his ribs. God, she felt like she belonged there, like she’d been made to fit right against him. There was nothing he could say to make it better, so he propped his feet up on the small table in front of them and leaned back. With a sigh, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. And after a few minutes, he said, “I’m gonna take you somewhere tonight.”
“On a date?”
“No,” he murmured. “You won’t like this, but you’ll watch it and you’ll witness it, and you won’t feel so alone. Okay?”
She looked up with those pretty tiger eyes and clutched his T-shirt right over his pounding heart. “You gonna show me your demon’s now?”
He nodded. He’d never invited anyone to watch what he was about to do.
“Which demon?”
“I’m going to show you HavoK.” Torren pulled her tighter against him. “And then I’m going to ask you not to run.”
Chapter Eight
The old sawmill looked downright creepy at night.
Torren slid his hand over her thigh as he eased his black Camaro into a dirt parking lot. His headlights arced across the front of the old, dilapidated building. The rusted sign on the front read Foxburg Mill, but someone had marked that out with spray paint and written HavoK. A little skull was painted beside it, similar to the logo on the T-shirt he was wearing right now.
“Did you do that?” she asked, pointing to the sign as he pulled to a stop.
“Nope. Vyr did. And Nox drew the dick.”
She squinted and, yep, there was a little cherry-red penis spray-painted underneath the skull. She giggled. Of course, Nox did that. “Can I ask you something?”
Torren squeezed her leg comfortingly and rolled his head on the rest to look at her. His eyes glowed green, and he smelled only of silverback, nothing like a man. But he was still here in his human skin, and he didn’t look worried about Changing in his car. “Shoot.”
“I can’t get this out of my head. Nevada…when I saw her at Vyr’s mansion, she was so different from the mouse I talked to in the library. Why?”
“Because she’s ours, and we’re hers,” he answered simply.
It gave her chills. She would do just about anything to have something like that. To not feel like this iceberg out in the middle of a frigid sea, surviving on her own. “I like your crew.”
“They’re a disaster. Worst crew in the world. We’re all fuck-ups.”
“But for someone looking in from the outside? Whatever you doing? It works. Maybe you’re fuck-ups individually, but together? You’ve got the biggest, baddest alpha in the entire world. And there are only three of you propping him up—you, Nox, and Nevada. Vyr is dangerous, but you live with him like you aren’t afraid of his fire. You speak to him like you aren’t afraid of him being a man-eater. You went after him yesterday, for me, like you weren’t afraid of his wrath at all.” She intertwined her fingers with his. “I think the Red Dragon needs that. I think he needs you guys to keep him steady.”
Torren cut the engine. “When I was a kid, my dad took me to Damon Daye’s mansion. He’d summoned me. Vyr was lonely and acting out, and none of the other kids could handle his dragon. He couldn’t control his Changes, and he—burned—everything. And everyone. Anyone who got in the path of his fire got hurt, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He was seven when I was brought in. Damon had been watching me. He saw how dominant I was, saw me fighting my way through school, saw me loyal to no one, but yearning to be part of something. Beaston, this seer in the Gray Backs, told Damon to put me in the path of Vyr’s fire and watch what happened. We played for two days before I saw the Red dragon. He was much smaller. Baby dragon. I was an adolescent gorilla but big for my age. He burned me one time. Grazed my arm with his fire, and I charged. I was pissed, but more than that, I was worried because I’d seen his eyes when he blasted that stream of fire at me. He didn’t want to do it. I could see him trying to stop himself. I jumped into the air and, with my arms around his wings, slammed us both back down to earth. And while he struggled and clicked his firestarter like he would light me up again, I talked in my gorilla form for the first time. It was out of desperation. I was a kid, but I wanted to save us both. I screamed at him to, ‘Stop or you’ll hurt me! You’ll hurt me, and I’ll never be your friend again. I won’t be your friend, Vyr. I won’t!’ And he swallowed that fire. It hurt him, but he swallowed it and went still. And since then, he hasn’t ever burned me. Oh, he’ll light everyone else up, but not me. He’s dangerous and out of control, but I’m his keeper. He’s gonna mess up someday. He’s gonna mess up in a way he can’t come back from, and he’ll take me with him. I accepted that the day I stopped him from burning me. Age seven, and I pledged fealty to the Red Dragon. Dragons tend to get loyal to someone. Damon has Mason. They become loyal to a friend until they find a mate. Seven years old, and he picked me as his friend, and I picked him back. We’re both going to Hell, Candace. Don’t think we’re salvageable because we aren’t. Nox isn’t either. We’re all going to Hell, but we’re going together. You like the crew, but we’re on a fast train headed for fire. It scares me to reach out and pull you onto it. You would be better off picking anyone else to be around.”
“Who else would match me?” she asked quietly. “Who, Torren? I hopped that train way before I met you. Hell doesn’t scare me anymore.”
A green Mustang parked beside them, and Torren blew out a sharp breath. “We’ll see about that.”
“Who is that?” she asked, confused.
“That’s my fight. HavoK has to do this. If he fights regularly, he lets me keep a little bit of control. I’m light on cash, so lately I’ve been setting up fights for money. Wait there,” he murmured a
s he pushed open his door.
She thought he wanted to conduct the business part of this fight without her, but he shocked her when he ignored the two giants getting out of the Mustang and opened her door instead.
“You just opened my door for me,” she said low, shocked to her bones.
“You’re a queen, Candace. Never think you’re anything less.” Those words were beautiful coming from a man like Torren. He stood there, tall and strong, his calloused, tattooed hand held out for her, his blazing inhuman eyes the color of glowing moss, his jaw clenched, and his face stern as if he was already focused on this fight. He was about to get hurt, but he was making sure she didn’t slip on her way out of his car.
And for the first time in maybe ever, out in the dirty parking lot of a fight shack, she actually felt like a queen—because of Torren.
When she slipped her hand against his, there was that sharp pain in her chest again. The one that kept happening. The one that had happened when she told him about her dad earlier in the private room and he’d pulled her against him and made her feel instantly better. Sharp pain in her chest, then a numbing sensation. Torren was a drug, and she had a feeling this was the moment. She could quit this drug now, or give into the addiction and fall head first into the fire with Torren.
Quit or stay.
Quit or stay.
Quit and avoid the Hell he was headed for, or stay and dig her heels in and get loyal, have his back no matter what, watch him get hurt, watch him fight, watch him struggle with his animal, watch his brokenness, watch him be the keeper of the Red Dragon, watch the consequences of his fealty.
Chills rippling up her arm, she gripped his hand and allowed him to pull her out of his car.
She wasn’t some fair-weather friend, and she sure as hell wasn’t a runner.
Candace was staying.
She was in this, no matter what.
Torren pulled her against him and kissed her quick. It was two fast dips of his tongue into her mouth and a nip to her bottom lip that left her panting and needy. As he pulled away, he slid something into her hand, and when she looked down, it was a stack of twenty-dollar bills. He held her gaze for a moment more before he turned toward the two men standing in front of the Mustang.
“Which one of you?” Torren asked.
“Me,” the tank of a man in front said. “I’m Colt Caraway.” He waited a few seconds with his eyebrows lifted like Torren should know the name. He had burred hair and scars down one side of his face. Teeth marks from the looks of it. A lot of them. He reeked of dominance. His eyes were glowing blue as he dragged his attention down her body and back up. “Which one of you?” he asked with a smirk.
“She’s mine,” Torren said coolly. He stretched his neck, popping it, one way and then the other. “You’ll be mine, too.”
“We’ll see, HavoK. You can’t go undefeated forever, you know. You ain’t invincible. Someday, someone is gonna come along and knock you on your ass. Maybe today is that day. Maybe I’m supposed to be the new Kong.”
Torren was already walking toward the sawmill though, peeling off his shirt as he went. His giant birthmark was stark against his pale skin in the moonlight. That was the best “fuck you” he could’ve given Colt, and Candace pursed her lips against a smile.
A snarl rippled up the man’s throat, and he followed Torren across the parking lot and inside.
“I’m Dax. Are you HavoK’s manager?” the other man asked. He was shorter, but still built like a Mack truck. His eyes were softer, but he still smelled of fur.
“No. I’m just a witness,” she murmured.
He gestured to the money in her hand. “Not anymore, little girl.”
“Careful with that term,” she popped off, barely containing the hiss in her throat. She hated to be put beneath people. “Where’s his money?”
“You need to see it?” Dax asked, looking irritated.
“Did I stutter? I don’t know you, and I sure as fuck don’t know him. You want this fight? Show me his money, and we can let those boys loose. HavoK won’t start without me in there.” She hoped.
“Mmmm,” Dax rumbled. Definitely a silverback shifter. He waited a few too many seconds to be polite, looking down his nose at her, and then he pulled a wad of rolled cash out of his back pocket. “You want to count it, too?”
She could really use less of his sarcasm. Already she wanted to let her tiger have him.
“Ha, I think if you shorted us, the real Kong would rip your throat out. I don’t trust you, but I think you like survival. Let’s go.”
“What are you?” he asked from behind her as she led him to the sawmill.
She turned to face him but didn’t stop walking. He was holding up his phone like he was taking video. Hands out, she said, “I’m just a little girl.” Fucker.
“I think you’re his manager. You just don’t know it yet. What’s your name?”
She was smart enough not to give away anything on video. Candace turned back around and reached for the splintered door handle. “Maybe I’m the real HavoK.” He was only getting the dead voice from her because he was a part of what was about to get Torren hurt.
Inside, a trio of hanging lightbulbs lit up the sawmill with a dim glow. It was an enormous room with stairs against the back wall leading to an office on the second floor with a massive, broken picture window that separated it from the rest of the mill. The walls were made of old logs, gone gray and warped with age. The floor was covered in piles of saw dust. Old machines with rusted blades and saws lined the perimeter of the room. There were deep divots in the floors as though the saws had been shoved to their resting places by force. It smelled of oil and sawdust, dominance, fur…blood. Lots of blood.
The clearing in the center of the room was stained dark. She had to force the snarl in her throat to stay quiet. Her big cat was getting riled up…bloodlust maybe…or maybe she was feeling protective. How much of this was Torren’s blood? God, he had to do this, right? To keep steady? To keep his animal from going insane, he had to bleed? She wanted to retch.
Candace paused at the edge of the makeshift ring where Dax took a stand beside her. Annoying. She wished he would go over there, on the other side, with his fighter.
Across the room, Colt was stripping down, attention on Torren, who was sitting on a rickety old bench against the wall, elbows resting on his knees, hands clenched, teeth gritted. He lifted his roiling gaze to her. Everything okay? his eyes seemed to ask. She nodded once.
“Colt needs this win,” Dax said. “He needs a family group. Do you know what Torren has done to the gorillas?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want him to know how little she knew about Torren’s culture.
“He probably wouldn’t have told you how he betrayed our people, huh? No one wants to admit when they’re the downfall of an entire shifter race. His betrayal started with his father and continued with him.”
“There are two sides to every story,” she gritted out, eyes on Torren as he shucked his pants, eyes on the bloody floor. He was masculinity and power in just his briefs, every muscle flexed.
“True. So listen to the other side. The Kong should run our people. He should be making the next generation. He should be heading up the biggest family group of females. It’s an easy life. Be born with the mark, grow dominant, have all the sex you want. Be. King. His father shunned his duty, and Torren did, too. At eighteen, he was offered the throne, and what did he do? Denied it, threw our people into chaos looking for a new Kong. There isn’t one, though. The tradition of the Kong was wrecked by Torren’s father and destroyed completely by Torren. And then he did something unforgiveable. When our people wanted vengeance against Red Havoc, he went to war against us—his own people.”
“You went after the crew with his sister in it. What did you expect to happen?”
“He betrayed all of his people for one female.”
Dax’s voice was appalled, and Candace slid him a dirty glare. “Your people are not his people
. He didn’t betray his people. You went after his people and you got burned. Literally. Your bad. Also, this makes me think gorillas are super-messed up. The fact that you can’t see a reason for him protecting his own sister? I don’t blame Torren for not wanting to breed a bunch of females. I don’t blame him for giving two middle fingers to that poisoned throne either.” She gave her attention back to Torren just as his monster silverback ripped out of him and landed with his giant fists on the floorboard, cracking the wooden planks underneath. “He wasn’t ever meant to be king of a fucked-up people. He was meant to be this. He was meant to be HavoK.” He was meant to keep the world safe from Vyr. He was meant to live his life on his terms. Nothing this gorilla said was going to change what she saw—the real Torren.
Torren and Colt stood on their hind legs and beat their chests. The loud drum of it filled the room, and Candace covered her sensitive ears. The silverbacks charged and hit each other with the force of a head-on collision.
As they slammed their fists against each other in a flurry of violence, Dax began to pace and yell at his fighter. Colt spun out of Torren’s grip and scrambled for the wall, Torren right on his heels. The two scaled the wall like it was nothing. Candace couldn’t even tell where they’d found purchase before they were up in the rafters.
Torren was so much bigger than he’d looked in the video she’d watched, the one where he’d gone to battle and Vyr had burned Covington. Seeing him in real life was eye-opening. He was bigger than wild gorillas. He was eight hundred pounds, at least, of pure muscle and power. Massive front arms and a sloping back. She followed the chase as the man next to her yelled for Colt to, “Stop playing defense and fight!” He was agitated, passing tighter now, growling. Shit.
“Settle,” she warned him.
“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.”
Oh, she wanted to rip his throat out, but Torren didn’t need the distraction. Candace clenched her hands against the urge to Change. Come on, Torren. End this quick.
