Chapter 16 #2
“Shut. Up.”
“So, what’s the plan? Take me to a second location and kill me? I mean, at this point you’re going to have to kill me. My security team is losing patience with your troublemaking ass, Buster.”
“My name is Brock Greer!”
“You picked a fight with Ronan-fucking-Pallás?” Helen snarled, quickly masking the sound with a cough. Funny how she was more concerned about letting her wolf shine through in public and not that she’d publicly kidnapped me.
“Why do you assume Buster—sorry, I meant Brock—picked the fight, Helen?” Stephen asked. “Could’ve been the third alpha’s fault.”
“Pallás doesn’t pick fights, you knob. Everyone knows that.” She paused, then asked, “Why aren’t you fighting us, witch?”
“That’s Alpha Witch to you, Helen. To answer your question, I don’t need to. My security team is watching.”
That might’ve been a lie. I hadn’t actually seen anyone guarding me, though Mason assured me he was “always watching” in an unsettling voice.
“Besides, I’m waiting to see what you decide to do.
Will you come to your senses or go full death-wish?
” I wriggled into a more comfortable position on Buster’s back.
“Also, please use Ronan’s preferred name, which is Ronan-fucking-Williams. He dropped the Pallás surname when his dad tried to murder his sister.
Perfectly understandable, isn’t it, Stephen? ”
“I think so,” he replied. “Truth be told, I’d be pretty pissed if my dad tried to—”
“Godsdamn it, Stephen, if you say one more word, I’m going to gut you myself,” Helen roared. “Just stand there and be quiet while we get her into the trunk.”
There was a jangle of keys and no audible beep—so likely not a new car, which could be either a good or a bad thing. I’d snuck into the Smokethorn Motor-Vu in the trunk of a 1987 Cadillac with a boyfriend once and it had been a very comfortable ride.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, bored.
“To the dunes, where your body will never be found.” Stephen tried his best to sound ominous, but it missed the mark. Helen was far scarier.
“Dummy,” I said. “We find people in the dunes all the time. Off roaders are pretty observant, and is there anything smoother than a freshly disturbed sand dune? Also, sand shifts frequently. Have you tried to dig a hole in dry sand?” I shook my head.
“Hope you brought snacks, because it’s going to take a while. ”
The pillowcase was whipped off my head. Buster-Brock stood there with his head down, hands shoved on his hips, pillowcase dangling from one finger.
Stephen, who was actually a lot bigger than I’d thought he would be based on his voice, was on my left.
Helen, who was smaller than I’d thought she’d be based on her voice, was on my right. The trunk was open behind me.
Not a Caddy, but a pretty nice Chrysler. Older model, so the trunk was big enough to lie in without bending my legs.
“At least it’s not a compact. Am I right, Stevie?” I climbed into the trunk and fluffed the blankets they’d so thoughtfully provided.
They were probably to roll my body up in after I was dead, but they were clean and soft, so I’d overlook the burial shroud part. Something told me this was Stephen’s doing. Helen didn’t strike me as particularly domestic, and Buster would’ve used a tarp.
“What are you doing?” Helen demanded.
I lay back in the trunk and placed my hands on my chest like Lily Munster going down for a nap. If only I’d had an actual lily to hold.
“Get out of there!” Buster yelled.
Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, and he was breathing hard. The man was really worked up.
Stephen reached out a hand to help me, but I batted it aside.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here where it’s quiet, safe, and remarkably roomy.
” I snuggled down into the blankets. It was boiling out, and I was sweating like a politician with his hand on a bible, but I was committed to the bit.
“Does anyone have a book? I prefer romance, but I’ll take a cozy mystery.
Ooo, what kind of softener do you use? These smell amazing. ”
A smile broke across Stephen’s face. “Suavemente. No static cling, and the scent is like springtime in a meadow.”
“‘Suavemente’ is a song by Elvis Crespo,” Helen said through gritted teeth. “You use Suavitel. Stop talking about laundry before I rip your—OOF.”
Helen hit the asphalt, face first. The crunch that accompanied her trip down was cringe-inducing. No way her nose was coming out of a fall like that unbroken.
Stephen was next, joining his wife on the so-hot-you-could-fry-an-egg-on-it pavement.
Buster backed up a few steps and spun around. “Esperanza?”
My new favorite wolf pointed a gun at his face. “Let Alpha go.”
“Calm down, girl.” He dropped his hands to his hips and tilted his head. Adopted a generic, sort of homespun tone. “Now, whatever you think is going on here—”
“Not a girl and not calming down. Release her now,” Esperanza said, “or take a bullet.”
I sat up in the trunk. I couldn’t see Buster’s expression, but I could damn sure see Esperanza’s. She meant every word.
“Down.” Buster packed his voice with power: “Put the gun down, girl.”
Maybe it was that final girl that did it. Maybe it was the audacity of him trying to give her an alpha command.
Or maybe it wasn’t so much what he’d said but how he’d said it that pissed her off.
BANG!
The gun fired, and Buster went down with a screech.
“My frigging knee!”
“Whoa. I can still hear,” I said. “Are you using a suppressor?”
“Yes.” She fired again.
Another screech, then: “Why’d you do that? Who shoots someone in the fucking elbow?”
“Oh, come on. It’s a .22, not a .357 Magnum. You can heal wounds this minor in minutes.” She rolled her eyes. “Be grateful I don’t have silver in here.”
BANG! BANG! She fired into his other elbow and knee.
“What the hell? I didn’t do anything!”
“That was for building the torture room under Floyd Pallás’s house. The one my friend Trey was murdered in.”
“B-Bitch,” he sputtered. “You’ll pay for this.”
“No. I’m finished paying you,” she said and looked up. “Is it still okay for me to move into the Siete Saguaros? I found a used trailer at Tex’s Trailer-O-Rama. Dylan and I are pooling our funds to buy it and have it towed there. You don’t mind kids, do you?”
“Kids are great. You don’t mind anarchist gnomes, do you?” I climbed out of the trunk and approached Helen. Flipped her onto her back. Did the same with Stephen. They were bleeding and burned, but they were shifters—they’d heal.
“I don’t know. Is it dangerous?”
“He, not it. And yes, Cecil is, but he’s also protective of the people he cares about. We’ll make sure you all meet.”
“Antonio can be dangerous, too,” she said sheepishly. “He was kicked out of his first playgroup for punting a kid across the playground. Just so you know, he didn’t do it unprovoked. The other kid had pushed a two-year-old off the slide.”
“It was too unprovoked,” Buster said. He was trying to sit up, but his arms hadn’t healed enough to support his weight. “Jensen didn’t push that kid. He knows better than to hit girls.”
“You’re a chauvinistic pig, and your wife is a terrified mouse. Jensen learned what he was taught,” Esperanza said. “That day he also learned that Antonio doesn’t tolerate bullies.”
“This conversation keeps getting better and better, but we should probably get these wolves in the car and on their way before an inquisitive human happens along,” I said.