Bad Cat Baby Blues (Shifter Squad Six 3) (5 page)

Yet, here you are,
she thought with a fleeting sense of irony.

The sight before her wasn’t too happy, though. She recognized the guy on the cot immediately as the lucky motherfucker who hadn’t gotten a bullet to the forehead a few hours ago. His side and arm were ragged and torn, blood still seeping through as two men worked on him, one looking a lot tenser than the other.

“I brought a guest,” the guy behind her said stiffly, and his voice was like honey in her ears.

“Oh hey, look Grant, it’s your knight in shining armor,” one of the men said, glancing up and giving her a nod.

“Great. First she has to save me and then she has to witness my humiliation,” the man rasped, his body spasming.

Ari frowned, stepping closer. She could see the jagged edges of the wound, where the bullet had torn through his hand and through his side. It had gone clean through, it seemed, and at least that was good. His lung hadn’t collapsed, so even better, but the men working on him clearly were not medics. Being out in the field long enough, any soldier got passing training at what they were supposed to do in cases of extreme injuries, but that only took them so far.

“Don’t you guys have a medic?” she asked, spying the SEAL eagle, trident, gun and anchor tattooed on Grant’s ribs, slightly above the entrance wound.

“I
am
the medic,” he hissed, eyes flashing with pain.

“Ah,” she noted dully, trying to swallow the grin. “You planned this well, I see.”

“Oh fuck you. Could you just keep with the holier-than-thou attitude and leave your
wit
at the door? I’m in pain here and I can’t punch girls.”

“You couldn’t punch anyone, man. You jokers want to cut these ties around my wrists so I can help your friend here or are we going to stand by as he loses dexterity in his right hand?”

Ari cocked a brow, looking around at the four men, huddled close. There was doubt in their eyes, but as far as she was concerned, if that was all there was, she was in good standings.

“Cut them off,” a deep voice resounded from behind them.

Ari whipped around to see the guy who’d been in the passenger seat staring at her, his arms crossed over his chest. He had to be the squad leader. Ari nodded thankfully as the guy who looked like he was about to go on a fucking rampage got up, took a knife from his belt, and cut the binds around her wrists. She rubbed them quickly, before motioning for the tide of men to part so she could get a better look at the wounded man.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she kneeled down, pulling the medkit to her.

She wasn’t a certified medic either, but after seeing two of her squad mates bleed out in a situation where the medic hadn’t been available, she’d made a point of learning as much as she could. The guys had cleaned the side wound out well enough, but the hand was so delicate they hadn’t known what to do with it other than debriding it. Her nose scrunched as she saw the exposed tendons and bones, blood coagulating around it.

“Can you make a fist?” she asked quietly, seeing that Grant was in a hell of a lot of pain but controlling himself
damn well. 

She could sense they were all shifters here, which made things both easier and harder at the same time. But at least no one had a gun to her head and she still felt the very strong, looming presence of the guy with the gray-blue eyes. Somehow, it made her feel at ease and a lot calmer than she probably should have been.

“You worried I’m going to punch you?” Grant asked, a wry attempt at a joke.

She gave him a look and he rolled the hand into a fist anyway, hissing with pain. The tense-looking guy fidgeted obviously.

“Easy, Grim,” the guy in charge said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder and pulling him back. “You’re no help here. Take Tex and Thatch and go clean out the equipment, will you?”

Tex, the driver, and Thatch, the other guy who had been working on Grant, stood up with a solemn nod. They shared a look with Grant and he waved them off with his good hand, his expression pained but holding it together well enough. The trio stalked off, leaving the guy in charge, Ari, Grant, and her mystery favorite together in the bunker.

The upper hatch had closed with a resounding thud before any of them spoke.

“It’s good that you can move the hand. You’re a shifter, right? That your twin?” Ari asked, motioning with her chin in the general direction where the other guy had left.

“That cheery motherfucker? Sure is,” Grant agreed, chuckling. “Don’t mind him, he doesn’t like it when either of us attempts to die. I think he’s holding it against me.”

“That’ll help with the healing then,” she noted idly. Twins always had that going for them, bouncing back from any injury faster when their other half was around.

“Thank you, by the way. For what you did back there,” Grant said, all the joking out of his voice.

“No problem,” Ari said, shrugging it off.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as she worked on Grant’s hand and side, making sure the side wound hadn’t punctured anything important and patching it up. She had Grant keep his hand in a fist as she picked out shrapnel from the wound, knowing that a shifter’s heightened healing might do a lot of damage if there were still foreign objects in the site. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but apparently no one wanted to question her much when she had her hands in the flesh of one of their brothers-in-arms.

They’re SEALs… or at least they used to be. What the hell are they doing in the goddamn jungle?

A thought crossed her mind but she didn’t dare voice it, the realization shaking her too hard. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that these men were from The Firm and when she’d thought “losing patience” meant “getting fired,” it could have also meant “being collateral damage during a raid.” She finished up her work in silence and then picked up a syringe, holding up a bottle of mild sedative for Grant to see.

“I’ll give you two milligrams of this, okay? Because I bet you won’t sleep otherwise. Is that cool with you?”

She threw a glance behind her as well. The stony-faced leader and his morose friend were both leaning on the wall, arms crossed, expressions unreadable.

“That’s fine. Lieutenant, check that she’s giving me two-point-five.”

Ari drew the instructed amount into the syringe and held it up for lieutenant to check.

Lieutenant… definitely a shifter squad,
she thought.

Few shifters ever went through officer training, preferring to fight instead of sitting at a table to cram theory their animal sides could perform without thinking. That meant that they often got commanded by twerps far beneath them, though—a sad fact Ari had learned while in the service herself.

“It’s the right amount, Grant,” he said, nodding and stepping back.

Ari swabbed a spot on Grant’s arm and stuck the needle in, administering the drug quickly. Grant took a breath and pushed his head back, looking at the ceiling.

“I owe you a beer, Miss,” he said finally, sounding groggy.

“You owe me at least three,” she snorted.

To her surprise, the guy behind her chuckled. Looking back, it was the one that made her stomach jump in loops and her brain scramble. Fucking hell, he looked even cuter when he was grinning. This was so unfair. Dealing with a failed mission, facing her own mortality, patching up a soldier she didn’t know, and all while being held against her will was bad enough, but now she had to deal with getting
wet
because a hot man sounded sexy as fuck when he laughed?

Oh hell, that was too much.

“Miss, I think it’s time you and we have a talk now,” Connor said, standing up straight as soon as Grant was out like a light.

Ari took a deep breath, calming her thudding heart.

Get your head back in the game,
she told herself, desperate to convince her feeble body to stop being such a girl and think like the professional she was. It almost worked.

But when she stood up and walked out of the room in the direction she was pointed toward, her beautiful torturer right behind her, her knees were still a little bit weak. And that was unfair as hell.

CHAPTER SIX

Dutch

Dutch wanted to bite his knuckles. His hands kept wanting to move on their own volition and it was getting ridiculous controlling them.

She was so close, and she smelled
so
good. It wasn’t only the man who was turned on, but the jaguar was practically howling with lust, making him twitch a little every time he got too close to her. And he didn’t even know her name.

Dutch watched her step into one of the secondary rooms, the one he slept in, her gorgeous curls bouncing on her shoulders. She needed a shower, she must have been exhausted, and no one had taken care of her wound yet, but she was absolutely devastating throughout it.

Connor showed her to a chair and Dutch stopped at the door, closing it but leaning against the doorframe like an ominous ghost. Connor probably didn’t need him there and didn’t object on the basis of adding some intimidation to the scene, but Dutch wouldn’t have left if he’d been told to. Not that he was looking to disobey the lieutenant, but he couldn’t make his body move any farther from her than he had to.

She sat down heavily and exhaustion was evident in her body language. Dutch wanted to pick her up and lay her down on the bed, curl up around her, and keep her safe until she was rested and everything was okay. The thought made him visibly cringe.

What’s wrong with you, man? Snap out of it.

Easier said than done.

“You want to tell me why you chose to help Grant? You didn’t have any reason to,” Connor started.

The woman shrugged, putting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward a bit, a sly look in her eyes that could have almost doubled for amusement if she hadn’t looked so damn worn and ragged.

“I figured I could play both sides a little. You know, keep my life interesting,” she noted with a smirk, one that Dutch wanted badly to kiss off her lips.

“Hey, we can make this easy or we can make this hard. You can tell me who you are or I can bundle you up, throw you back in the jungle for your friends to find you and see what they make of you,” Connor said, flashing his teeth in a predatory snarl that Dutch knew all too well.

His threats were rarely empty. They’d done it before with hostages that they didn’t really need, and let their own people sort out what to do with them. Usually though, it meant freedom for the party at hand. This time, Dutch was sure that the first person from the camp to get their hands on her would make sure she never had another chance to help anyone ever again.

His hands rolled into tight fists at the mere thought of it.

“You could do that. But I bet you won’t,” she said idly, her expressive eyes sparkling with something other than exhaustion.

It was like she was almost playing with them, taunting them. It made her even sexier than before and Dutch was cursing the moment he’d ever laid eyes on her. He’d made a point of keeping his life rational, on track, and without distraction. This beautiful, impossible creature had the capability to ruin all of that. And Dutch hated it when something fucked with his system.

“How come?” Connor asked, cocking a brow and mirroring her faint amusement.

“Well, you guys don’t look like assholes. I mean, for a bunch who mowed down a camp full of thugs, that is, but my point remains.”

“You can’t build your expectations based on first impressions,” Connor warned with a chuckle.

“True,” she agreed, shrugging her shoulders a little. “But aren’t SEALs supposed to have a code of conduct of some sort? You know, serve with honor and integrity and what not.”

Dutch felt himself tense. She’d seen Grant’s tattoo, and almost every member of the squad had it tattooed on them at some point during their service. He flicked his gaze at Connor and the lieutenant remained unflappable, as he always was during missions. The way that man could keep a cool head was impressive to say the least.

“What we were in our past has little to do with what we are now,” he noted coolly.