Shift (27 page)

“Get off,” I whispered, with what little breath I’d regained. When Jess laughed again, I sucked in more air. “Get the
fuck
off me!”

“Nasty words from such a pretty mouth.” Jess ran one finger over my lower lip and I swung at him, left-handed. My fist slammed into his ribs, and he grunted again. His smile disappeared. He caught my fist in midair and yanked it over my head, while I pulled against him. My right fist followed, and the brace was little help. Pain shot through my arm when I tried to jerk it free. A second later, both my wrists were pinned to the ground in his left fist.

Marc’s growl grew louder, but Jess ignored him and glanced over his shoulder at his partner. “I must have done something right in another life—now the universe is throwin’ women at me.” His free hand trailed up my waist and over my left breast.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your fucking face,” I spat, adrenaline singeing every nerve ending in my body.

Pine needles rustled to my right, and Deep Throat groaned. “Shit, Jess, Calvin has plans for her, and they do
not
include your bastard kittens. Knock her out and give me a hand here.”

Jess frowned, and his thumb rubbed over my nipple.

“You fucking bastard,” I spat. Fury roared through me, and with my next blink, my vision Shifted. The forest faded into muted tones of green and brown, but Jess didn’t notice. He laughed again and leaned to the right, reaching for something. When he rose from my hips, I threw my right knee up as hard as I could. My kneecap slammed through soft tissue and into the bone beneath.

Jess howled and fell over sideways, clutching his ruined parts and shouting an inventive stream of profanity.

I rolled onto my knees, then leaped to my feet. I pulled my right leg back, then let it fly. My foot slammed into Jess’s temple. His eyes fluttered shut, and his head rolled to the side. His hands fell from his crotch to lie limp and half-curled on the ground.

I spared a moment to make sure he was still breathing, then turned toward Marc and the thick tom he had backed into the boughs of a broad pine tree. I stalked toward him, feeling more feline than human with my cat’s eyes. “What’s your name?” I asked, and was surprised to hear my voice come out as a half growl. Evidently more than my eyes had Shifted.

I ran my tongue over my front teeth and discovered they had Shifted, too.
Convenient
. And I’d barely felt it that time.

Marc’s prey remained silent.

I dropped into a nimble squat and picked up a large branch with my left hand. The ground was littered with them, probably casualties of the recent ice storm. When I rose, Deep Throat’s gaze followed me. “Last chance. Who the hell are you?”

His focus shifted from me to Marc—who growled—then back to me. But his mouth remained closed.

I shrugged. “Your choice.” I swung the branch at his shoulder with both hands, my left arm carrying most of the force. Deep Throat brought his arm up in self-defense. The thick end of the branch slammed into his forearm hard enough to smash the stick. And his ulna.

The tom screamed once, then cut the sound off with a display of willpower I couldn’t help but admire. His arm swelled almost instantly. I swallowed my horror and observed the damage with a buffer of detachment. His arm looked…bent. And not at the joint.

“Your name,” I said calmly, while he stared at me in growing fear and anger.

“Gary Rogers.”

Good boy
. He gave up both names at once.

“Gary, is Jace still alive?”

“I don’t know,” he said. I knelt to pick up another thick branch, and he rushed on. “Really. They’re waiting until his mom’s out of earshot. He may still be okay.”

“Where is he?”

Gary shrugged. “He could be anywhere.” I lifted the new branch. “But Cal won’t let him sleep in the main house. He’s probably in the back outbuilding.”

“Thank you, Gary.” I lifted the limb and swung before he could protest. The branch slammed into his head. Gary crumpled to the ground.

I glanced at Marc and dropped the branch. “Let me tape them up, then we’ll go.” We couldn’t afford for them to wake up and alert the rest of their Pride, and I wasn’t going to kill either of them now that they were no longer an immediate threat.

Marc’s backpack lay on the ground where I’d dropped it during my leap into the clearing, and I dug through it for the duct tape. Marc kept watch over Jess while I taped Gary’s mouth and bound his ankles, moving awkwardly to spare my right wrist. Then I rolled him over and taped his wrists behind his back, taking no particular care with his broken arm.

Jess got the same treatment, but when I stood to stuff the tape back into the bag, Marc nudged the unconscious tom with his nose and whined.

“He’s out cold,” I said, zipping the bag. “Let’s go.”

But Marc only sniffed Jess’s hands, then looked up and pointed his muzzle at my chest.

I rolled my eyes, finally understanding the question. “Yeah, the bastard groped me. But I broke his balls. I’d say we’re even.”

Marc shook his head and continued to sniff the tom’s hands, then whined at me some more.

I exhaled slowly, dread sinking through me at his insistence. He wouldn’t leave until I’d said it. “Right thumb to left nipple. But he’s paid for—”

Marc shook his head again, then bent with his mouth open. An instant later, something snapped, and the scent of fresh blood flooded the clearing. Jess’s body shuddered and his eyes flew open, then he began to thrash and moan behind the duct tape gag.

Marc backed away and something small and crimson fell from his mouth onto a bed of pine needles, now stained with blood. He ran his barbed tongue over first one side of his muzzle then the other to clean it, looking perversely satisfied. I glanced at Jess’s hands, and nausea rolled over me.

His right hand was pouring blood from the gory stump that had once been his thumb.

B
efore we left the clearing, I bandaged Jess’s thumb with a torn strip of his shirt and some duct tape and patted down both toms for anything useful. I took a folding knife from Gary, then pulled both toms’ cell phones from their respective pockets and checked their text messages. Gary had none. If he’d ever sent a text, I found no sign of it. I dropped his phone on the ground and stomped it to pieces, so it couldn’t be used against us when he woke up.

Jess, on the other hand, obviously had an unlimited texting plan. Kind of funny, considering he’d now be texting one-handed.

Marc whined in question as I typed, ignoring the residual pain in my right wrist. At least I still had both thumbs. “He has a bunch of texts from Lance. I’m asking if they’ve taken care of Jace yet.”

The reply came an instant later. Not yet. Soon.

I read it to Marc, then typed some more. Still digging. Wait for us.

Lance’s second response came just as quickly. No promises…

“He’s still alive, but not for long. Come on.” I slid Jess’s phone into my left hip pocket and started off through the woods with Marc at my back. We moved as quietly as possible, but neither heard nor smelled any other Appalachian Pride members. A mile and a half from Jace’s premature grave, the sound of a car engine warned us that we were getting close to the house.

We slowed and veered toward the growl of the engine as it first idled, then died. Minutes later, the evergreen foliage began to thin, and a simple, black-shingled roofline came into view.

“There it is,” I whispered, dropping into a crouch as Marc came to a silent stop beside me. A few shuffled steps later, the compound came into view. And
compound
was really the only word to describe Malone’s property.

I knew from what little Jace had said about his childhood that when his father was alive, his Pride’s enforcers had lived in a converted barn behind the main house. But after Malone’s ascension to Alpha status, the barn had fallen into shameless disrepair and had to be torn down eight years later. Since money was tight in the territory, to replace the barn Malone had brought in two used doublewide mobile homes and had them set permanently into the ground and bricked up to the bottom of the windows.

The result was definitely nontraditional, and I’d heard people openly question the longevity of the housing arrangement. But the advantage to us was obvious. The back outbuilding was almost completely shielded from the main house by the middle one. If Jace was in the last one, we might just be able to get to him without alerting the rest of the Pride.

From where we stood near the tree line, we could see all three buildings from the side. “We should approach from directly behind the back building,” I whispered, then glanced up to find that Marc was already on the move. I rushed after him, careful to avoid anything that could crunch beneath my boots, and we hiked a quarter of the way around the property.

The middle building had almost disappeared behind the rear trailer when hinges squealed suddenly, then a door slammed shut. I froze, Marc at my side.

“…just thought you might want to make something special tonight. You know, since Jace is home.”

“Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, but he always did like homemade stew. And maybe I could make some potato bread to go with it.”

My heart ached at the familiar voice. Patricia Malone. A moment later, she appeared between the last two buildings, heading toward the side yard of the main house. She was facing away from us, but even from behind I could see that she was thinner than I remembered, her brown hair now streaked with gray.

Alex Malone guided her gently but firmly by one arm, encouraging her and making suggestions for Jace’s homecoming dinner.

“Shit. They got rid of Patti,” I whispered, and Marc whined. We watched as the Malones circled the middle building and disappeared from sight, veering toward the back door of the main house. “Let’s go.”

From the edge of the woods at the back of the property, we could see through the windows of the last building. Unfortunately, two of them were covered by threadbare but mostly opaque curtains, and a third was a total blind spot, thanks to a set of plain white mini-blinds. But two others were uncovered, and by some stroke of luck, one looked into the kitchen, the other into the living room.

I was starting to wish we’d brought binoculars when a blur of movement drew my focus to the larger of the two windows, and I saw Jace sink onto the couch in the living room. He looked exhausted, and tense, and nervous.

I pulled my own phone from my right hip pocket and started typing again. Marc glanced over my shoulder, reading along.

They think U R a spy. We’re out back. Can C U thru window.

I sent the message, and an instant later, Jace sat straighter on the couch and leaned forward to pull his phone from his back pocket. He flipped it open and went stiff—which is exactly why I hadn’t texted Jace earlier. I didn’t want his reaction to give us away before we were close enough to help.

But then Jace’s posture relaxed, and he flipped his phone closed without glancing toward the window. Playing it cool. He said something to someone across the room, and though I couldn’t read his lips from that distance—probably couldn’t have, anyway—whatever he said evidently raised no suspicions in whoever else was in the room.

Jace leaned forward and drank from a can on the table, then said something else to someone we couldn’t see. And when no one attacked him in the next two minutes, my attention began to wander. “Look.” I pointed, and Marc’s gaze followed my finger toward the four cars lined up side by side next to the last building. Jace’s was third, but I didn’t recognize the others.

There were probably several more parked in front of the main building, but while there was nothing I could do about those without getting caught, I might be able to disable the other three with minimal risk.

Marc’s nose nudged my arm as I dug through the backpack for Gary’s folding knife. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered as my hand closed around the cold steel. I set the bag on the ground next to Marc and flipped open the blade as he began to growl softly, warning me not to do anything stupid.

“I’m just going to give us a head start,” I whispered. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Marc’s growl rose as I started forward, then transitioned to an angry whine when I broke through the tree line and ran hunched over toward the first car. But he didn’t follow. As worried as he was about me taking a risk, he knew that if I was caught, I wouldn’t be hurt, but I’d need him to help get me and Jace out. And that if Marc got caught, too, we’d all be screwed.

My pulse raced along with my legs as I crossed the thirty feet from the woods to the first car. Breathing heavily—more from nerves than from exertion—I slid to the ground with my back against the side of the first car and waited for several heartbeats to see if I’d been spotted. The gravel was sharp and frigid through my jeans, the breeze stinging cold on my cheeks. The engine clicked at my back as it cooled. This was the car that had led us to the property.

When no one shouted or came outside after twenty seconds, I rose onto my knees and shoved the blade of Gary’s knife into the wall of the front right tire. Then I pulled it out and made a second cut over the first, to form an X. Air hissed out of the rubber, and I flinched. My bright idea sounded very loud in the near silence.

Adrenaline pumping, I scrambled to the rear of the car and slashed another tire, then moved quickly toward the woods again and cut the front left tire on my way to the next in line. I skipped over Jace’s rental and went on to disable the other two cars as quickly and quietly as possible. When I finished, I sat less than two feet from the end of the last outbuilding. Twenty feet from the back steps.

I stared at the woods, heart thumping, my nose numb and dripping from the cold. Marc was nowhere in sight, but I knew he was watching me. Waiting. I glanced at the steps, then craned my neck to see the window overhead and five feet away. I could get inside if Jace needed me. Together we could take care of whoever else was with him and knock Lance out, then carry him right out the back door and into the forest.

But what if Lance wasn’t in there? Maybe that’s why Jace hadn’t made his move yet. If I went in and Lance wasn’t there, the whole thing would be ruined.

Marc would tell me to wait. To get back into the woods with him and watch and listen. My father would say the same thing.

So I would wait.

Half-frozen, I squatted in the gravel, then ran hunched over past the first two cars. I was about to break for the rental car when footsteps thumped rapidly behind me. Someone was running, coming around the first outbuilding from the direction of the main house.

I dropped onto my knees in the gravel and for one anxious moment was sure that the crunch of my landing had given me away. Then I realized rocks were
still
crunching. The footsteps were coming from the gravel drive now and had covered my own noise.

My pulse thudding in my ears, I rose carefully and peered around the front of the second car just in time to see Alex Malone pass behind the row of vehicles, headed for the front of the last outbuilding. His jaw was firmly set, his mouth a straight, grim line. He was a man on a mission.

He’d come to kill Jace.

Shit
. Hinges squealed, then the front door of the trailer thumped closed. I whirled on the gravel to face Marc, my back against the front bumper of the rental car. Glad none of the windows faced the row of cars, I waved one hand frantically. I couldn’t tell if Marc saw me, but I was sure he’d heard Alex approach; his cat ears were much better than my human ones.

Hoping he was still watching, I pointed toward the back door of the trailer in an exaggerated motion, then walked hunched over in front of the first two cars until I reached the corner of the building. Now out of sight from the rest of the compound, I stood against the wall, scanning for any sign of Marc in the woods as I listened to the muffled voices from the trailer at my back.

The windows were all closed against the winter chill, and while that had worked in my favor while I was crunching on gravel, closed windows were a definite inconvenience for eavesdropping. Desperate for information, I inched my way along the wall, the brick ledge catching on my jacket, and the indistinct voices inside grew clearer with each step. I stopped next to the first uncovered window, my heart beating a frantic, staccato rhythm against my breastbone.

“…how stupid do you think we are?” Alex demanded, and my racing pulse pumped blood through my body so quickly my cat vision started to go dark around the edges.

Jace’s response was too low and calm for me to make out, and I was suddenly glad I’d texted him. Otherwise, he would’ve been caught off guard by his half brother’s accusation.

“Mom may believe that, but I’m not quite so…gullible. You didn’t really think you could come spying for Sanders, then walk out of here with your face intact? Or, alive.”

“Alex…?” Jace sounded wary, then there was a solid thump behind my head as something crashed into the wall. Jace groaned.

“Pick him up,” Alex ordered.

Adrenaline spiked in my veins. That was my cue.

I glanced toward the tree line just as Marc stepped out of the woods, and I held out one palm, begging him silently to wait. If I could get Jace out without revealing Marc’s presence, I would. Besides, we stood a better chance with him as surprise backup—if they didn’t know he was there, they couldn’t defend themselves against him.

Marc shook his head, and though I couldn’t hear it, I was sure he was growling softly. Insistent, I waved him off again, and finally he nodded. But I knew that at the first sign—or sound—of trouble, he’d be at my back.

I was counting on it.

Still clutching the folding knife, I raced up the steps and threw open the back door, then stepped into a small kitchen walled with cabinets.

In the adjoining living room, Alex gaped at me in surprise, a hammer held high, ready to deliver a blow. Jace was on his knees on the worn carpet, his wrists bound at his back, the right side of his head swollen and turning purple. His eyes were unfocused, and he didn’t seem to know I was there. In the second Alex spent in shock, Jace began to tilt to the right like a felled tree. He would have fallen over if not for the grip Lance had on his arm from behind.

It took me half a second to absorb what I saw. Then I dropped the knife on the countertop and launched myself across the kitchen. I vaulted off the end of the short bar with both hands, but my left arm took the brunt of my weight, so I flew crooked. As I swung into the living room, my right foot slammed into the side of Lance’s head instead of his arm. He splayed across the couch, out cold.

Startled, Alex leaped back, and the hammer-wielding arm fell to his side.

“Jace?” I knelt by him, one eye on Alex, suddenly wishing I’d kept the knife. Jace’s head was swollen from his ear all the way into his hairline, and his skin was darkening by the second. I couldn’t tell if he had any cracked bones, but he’d been knocked silly. Almost unconscious.

He started to fall over again, and I lowered him onto his rump against an armchair—not an easy task with his ankles taped—hoping he’d come back to himself quickly. If he’d been hit with the hammer, his skull would have been caved in rather than merely bruised. So he must have been punched. Or kicked. Either way, he’d be fine.

He had to be.

I stood slowly, facing Alex and his hammer with nothing but my fists. Make that one fist—pain was shooting through my right wrist again, thanks to my vault off the countertop. “He’s not spying, Alex.” I tried to sound calm and confident, but I was unarmed and in enemy territory.

“Yeah, and you’re proof of that, right?” Alex sneered. “That he’s not spying for your dad?”

“I’m here for moral support.” I stepped to the side, drawing his focus from Jace as I edged my way closer to the knife I’d left on the countertop. “He didn’t want to come here alone. In case
this
happened.” I gestured to the entire room with my right arm, glad my jacket hid my wrist brace, concealing my weakness.