Alpha (11 page)

“Nothing.” I inhaled deeply and noted that he smelled like pine and wood smoke, and suddenly I craved the outdoors, though I'd been there only an hour before. “Alex was just being an asshole, but I think the moment's passed. Right, Alex?”

He stood and marched past me to the door, hesitating as my father stepped aside to let him pass. “You get fifteen minutes alone with her, and there'll be a guard posted outside the window.”

“Wow. This place is a regular San Quentin,” I snapped, reveling in my own sarcasm.

Alex looked up at my father from inches away. “Your daughter has a real attitude problem.”

My father laughed, a hearty guffaw, if I ever heard one, and Alex was noticeably startled. “You should have seen her as a teenager.”

I couldn't resist a grin as he closed the door in Alex's face.

“How are they?” I scooted back on the mattress until my spine hit the headboard, and my father handed me the blue mug. I sipped from it, expecting coffee, but found rich, sweet hot chocolate instead. Comfort food. The scent of coffee from the other mug had disguised it. “Thanks.” I raised my mug and he nodded, then I turned my thoughts back to the issue at hand.

“They're cold, but surviving.” He settled onto the edge of the extra twin bed, cradling his own mug. “Marc has a split lip and Jace has a lump on the back of his head. Seems they both balked at the idea of being caged, until they found out it was either them or you. Malone's completely unwilling to house the three of you together, or you with either of them. Not that I blame him.”

“I'm surprised he'd let them stay together. Maybe he thinks they'll kill each other.”

My father sipped from his mug, and I almost missed the tiny tremor in his hand. He was very, very upset. “They're in separate pens. Cat transport cages, like a zoo might use. Steel frame with steel-mesh sides. They can't stick more than a finger out through the sides, and they can't break out.”

Suddenly I felt like I'd lose my lunch all over the bed. “Can they stand up?”

He set his mug on the bedside table. “Not in human form.” My father's frown spoke almost as clearly as the hands he clasped in his lap. He was more worried than angry, and that was not good. He needed to get mad. We'd all have to be thoroughly pissed to get through this.

“We have to…”

“I know.” He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper and crossed the rug to sit on the edge of my bed. We were alone, but I had no doubt several sets of ears were listening from the too-quiet main room. “The pens are chained closed, but only secured with a standard padlock. Once we get rid of the guard, we can get them out, given a household hammer and a few uninterrupted minutes.”

My brain raced. “Any chance one of Di Carlo's men can get to them?” I was already tired of whispering.

“Possibly. But we have to do it sometime tonight, because they're going to try you in the morning. And we have to free all three of you at about the same time, because once they discover any of you missing, we're either going to have to run or fight. And, kitten, I've never run from anything in my life, and I don't plan to start now.”

A tingle of anticipation raced through me at his words. I was ready. I'd
been
ready. And there was something oddly heartwarming about planning a war over cocoa with my father. But…

“Not that I disagree, but what about the rest of our men?” My next words hardly carried any sound. “And our new recruits.” The thunderbirds, of course.

My dad shrugged, his brow drawn into a tense frown. “There's no time. Even if we called now, they'd never make it in the next few hours. And we have no way to get in touch with the birds quickly.”

Damn.
I stood and started to pace. I felt like I was about to crawl out of my skin, though I'd only been locked up for an hour, and the thought of the impending fight didn't help. “Dad, we need air support, now more than ever. Malone called in reinforcements.”

“I know.” He stood and crossed the room to lean against the dresser beside me. “Officially, they're all either witnesses against you—” Jess and Gary, clearly “—or enforcers to replace the men he reassigned as the inter-Pride task force. But what that really means is that Malone now has more than twice the number of toms at his back that any of the rest of us have, and when
you factor in his allies and their men, we're decidedly outnumbered.”

A grim prospect at best.

“But we don't have any choice, do we?” I looked up at my father, childishly hoping—just for a moment—that he'd call me silly and promise that everything would be okay. But the time for such promises was long gone, and my father had never been one to sugarcoat the truth, a fact I grew more thankful for with each passing day.

He shook his head and put one arm around me, in lieu of empty promises. “Not unless you want to go to trial. Again.”

“Not an option.” I didn't stand a chance of an acquittal this time, because I'd actually done everything I was accused of—albeit to save Kaci's life—and even if I was willing to lie about it, no one would believe me. And even if I was willing to go down for playing the part Malone had forced upon me, I would never put Marc and Jace through the same thing.

They wouldn't be declawed. They'd be executed. Especially once everyone found out that Marc was the one who actually killed Lance Pierce. Something told me that the mercy-killing aspect wouldn't draw much mercy for him.

I sighed and leaned into my father, laying my head on his shoulder. “Alex says they're going to take my claws.”

“I know.” His arm tightened around me, and I wanted to tuck his suit jacket around me, too. When I was a kid, I'd been pretty sure it was better than Kevlar at deflecting bullets—both lead-based and verbal. “Paul Blackwell says Malone's been lobbying for his support all afternoon.”

“Did he get it?”

“No.” My father sighed and dropped his voice even lower for the rest of his reply. “But we won't get it either when we attack. He'll stand apart and hold his men back.”

I sat up to look at him, and the dresser creaked beneath me. “He said that?”

“I didn't ask. If he finds out what we're planning, he'll feel honor-bound to tell Malone, to try to avert war.”

My hands clenched around the edge of the dresser. I could barely contain my frustration. “So…what's the plan?” I whispered.

He stood, and I followed him away from the door. “There's only one guard at the shed, and one outside your window. Brian will take care of the one at the shed, and once he has Marc and Jace out, they'll take out your guard and get you out through the window.”

“Then we go for the guns, right?”

My father smiled, proud. “Exactly. Only the toms working as guards are carrying, and it'll be hard to get rid of those, but we can even the playing field a bit by disposing of the stockpile.”

My stomach churned again. “We're sure there's a stockpile?”

“Virtually certain. And that's your job. Get Alex to talk. Find out where the guns are and how many they have, then knock him out and disarm him when Marc and Jace come for you.”

“Get Alex to talk…” I frowned. “That might have been easier before I told him where he could shove his own pistol.”

My dad chuckled and I was relieved that he could see
the humor in the situation. “You could talk the green off grass, Faythe. And this time, we're counting on that.”

Wonderful. But at least that was an assignment I was well trained for.

My father glanced at his watch, and I knew our mostly private visit was about up. But before he left—or Alex returned… “Hey, Dad, we should probably call Dr. Carver. No matter how this thing ends, we're gonna need him.”

He smiled and slid both hands into his slacks pockets. “He'll be here first thing in the morning, I just hope that's soon enough.”

But it wouldn't be, for some people. You can't have a war without casualties, and my heart ached just thinking about who we might lose on our side. Malone might hire cannon fodder to stand between him and danger, but we didn't. Every member of our Pride was valued, every enforcer hand-selected and loved like a son or a brother. We were family in the truest sense of the word, if not in the literal sense, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing anyone. Not with Ethan's death still fresh in my memory.

My dad's arm slid around me again, before I even realized he'd been watching me. “What are you thinking?”

My sigh that time was half sob, in spite of my best effort to keep my emotions at bay. “If I could, I'd take the guys out of this whole thing—no one else should have to die because of Malone's megalomania. But they're just as willing to fight for this as I am, and I have no right to tell them they can't. Or shouldn't. Even if it means we lose someone else.”

My father's sigh was heavy and long, and when he
finally spoke, his voice was thick, like he was holding back more than he was actually saying. “Spoken like a true leader.”

“N
o…” I started to argue that I wasn't a leader, but stopped when the bedroom door swung open. Alex stood in the doorway, holding a bowl of stew and a thermos.

“I'll let you eat,” my dad said, already moving toward the hall. As the door closed, he shot me a sympathetic, encouraging smile, and I swallowed my panic long enough to nod in return. Compared to Marc and Jace's lodgings, I was practically being pampered, and I could and would carry out my assignment, even if my skin crawled just from the knowledge that I wasn't free to leave whenever I wanted.

“Here.” Alex set the bowl and thermos on the nightstand, but I waited until he retreated to his chair before I crossed the room toward my dinner.

I sank onto the bed and lifted the bowl, relieved to realize I could feel the warmth in my hands. Feeling had returned to my fingers. And the stew smelled pretty damn good.

Alex watched as I scooped up a spoonful of beef and carrots—hours before starting a war was not a good time to begin a hunger strike—and I briefly considered
trying to charm him into talking about the guns. He was barely out of high school—too young to have much real experience with women, and just arrogant enough to believe I might actually have a change of heart, once I'd spent a little time with the sex magnet he surely thought he was.

But then I realized that the thought of touching him made me sick to my stomach, and I wasn't that good an actress.

Okay
,
back to the old tried-and-true: piss him off until he says what I need to hear
.

When he noticed me looking, Alex put on his game face—an almost believable expression of regret. He was still trying to win me over. Idiot.

“You know, I get why you hate me, me being your jailer, and all.”

I shook my head. “You're just doing your job. I hate you because of Ethan.”

He frowned while I chewed. “I didn't kill your brother.”

I swallowed my first bite, another spoonful halfway to my mouth. “You were in charge of the group that came for Kaci—which just proves your dad's an idiot. A leader is responsible for his men's actions, and you let one of them kill Ethan. That makes it your fault.” As well as his father's.

Alex's pale brown eyebrows drew together. “How was I supposed to know Gibson was gonna pounce?”

I dropped my spoon back into the bowl, pissed now, even beyond the scope of my intended manipulation. “It's your duty to know how the men under you are going to react in any given situation. If you don't know them, how are you supposed to lead them? You should
never have taken…Gibson?” I asked, and he nodded, anger and shame clearly at war on his face. “You should never have taken Gibson on that assignment. Ethan was no threat to him—didn't even know he was there—and Gibson killed him, anyway. You were going after a thirteen-year-old girl! What if he'd attacked Kaci instead?”

Alex bristled, and I was almost surprised to see him show a little backbone. “Look, I didn't ask for that assignment, and I didn't pick the men. So you can't hate me for something I didn't even do.”

“Grow up, Alex.” I set down the bowl and grabbed the thermos. “A real leader wouldn't make excuses. He'd just make sure something like that never happens again.” I gulped from the thermos, but cold water couldn't put out the flames of rage burning deep within me. “But you're not a leader, and the men under you know it. And so does your dad. He's only trying to put you in my bed because he knows he can manipulate you, and that'll give him control of two territories.”

“He doesn't manipulate me. He's my dad.” Alex spoke through clenched teeth, and his growing anger fed my own.

I scooped another bite from the bowl, watching him over my spoon. “He was Brett's dad, too, right? Yet he manipulated you into killing your own brother.” His eyes widened and he glanced at the closed door, clearly thinking of all the ears listening in from the other room. “I'm not seeing a strong father-son relationship here, Alex. You two make Anakin and Luke look like Andy and Opie.”

He dropped his head again, staring at the carpet as he spoke. “Brett fell out of a tree.”

“Right. And you're the only one who saw it happen, right? Everyone knows what you did, and they know your dad made you do it because Brett had decided to come play for the good guys.”

“You think you're one of the good guys?” Alex stood, gesturing angrily now. “You handed Lance over to the thunderbirds. You chose another
species
over one of your own kind!”

“I did what I had to do to save Kaci. And we both know Lance was guilty. But I let you and Dean live, even after you tried to kill Jace and make a jack-o'-lantern out of my face. Would a bad guy do that?”

“Only a moron would do that,” Alex retorted, and before I could argue—which I was itching to do with my fists—he rushed on. “You're a hypocrite, Faythe. You talk about honor and mercy, yet you're willing to let your whole species die out just because you're a frigid bitch. That's not honor—it's extinction. It's slow-motion genocide.”

My hand went slack around my spoon. I couldn't get past his accusations. Was that what everyone thought of me? That I wanted to flush my entire species down the evolutionary toilet? No wonder so many of them hated me. But they were wrong. About everything.

I dropped my bowl on the nightstand, and broth splashed onto the wood. “You are so full of shit, you reek from a mile away. And so does your dad, if that's the kind of bull he's been feeding you. You can't blame an entire species' propagation problems on one woman wanting to have a life of her own before she's ready to create several more. And frankly, the longer I listen to your bullshit, the less I want to have children, for fear they'll turn out like you! Maybe our species wasn't
meant to survive. Did you ever think of that? Maybe there's a reason we have so few women, and maybe that reason is because assholes like you and your father, and his pathetic, ass-kiss followers, don't deserve to be here, much less to warp an entire new generation of toy soldiers and broken-spirited baby machines.”

I knew I'd said too much—knew everyone in the front room could hear me, and that I might have just made all new enemies. But I couldn't stop. The truth burned white-hot inside me, demanding to be spoken.

“You're not afraid the other tabbies will start thinking like me. You're afraid they'll start thinking, period! You wouldn't know what do to with a woman who has ideas of her own, and your vacant, slack-jawed stare right now proves it.” I paused for a deep breath and stood. “And by the way, refusing to sleep with you doesn't mean a girl's frigid. It means she has standards.”

I sank onto the bed again, floating with satisfaction and more nourished by the truth I'd spoken than by the soup he'd brought. I'd probably pay for everything I'd said later, but I didn't regret a word of it. Malone and his allies needed a dose of honesty, and they needed to know who they were really dealing with. And now they knew.

Alex fumed. His face flushed purple with anger and humiliation, and he kept glancing at the closed door, hyperaware that the living room had gone completely silent when I started my tirade. “You know, you're only making things harder for yourself, running your mouth off like that. Soon you're gonna be missing your claws and in serious need of a friend, and I'll look pretty damn good next to the alternative.”

“The alternative?” I asked, and a flash of genuine
irritation and jealousy passed over his face. Dread settled through me as his meaning sank in. “You mean Dean?”

“Yeah.” Alex sank onto the spare twin bed and met my gaze from three feet away, lowering his voice so he wouldn't be heard from the living room. “Marc and Jace aren't going to last long, now that things have changed. We both know that. And if I can't make you see reason by the time they're both gone, my dad's going to give Dean a shot with you. Would you really rather deal with him than with me?” His gaze strayed to the scar on my left cheek. “After what he did to your face? At least I'd never hurt you.”

It took every bit of self-control I had left to keep from shouting, and I made no effort to lower my voice. “And I'm supposed to believe that because I've magically forgotten how I got my pretty new scar? You told him to cut me, Alex. This was
your
bright idea, and that's not the kind of thing a girl can just forgive and forget.”

“It was just a threat!” His voice was a mere suggestion of sound now, and even I barely heard him. “How was I supposed to know you'd actually make him do it?”

“Alphas don't make empty threats, Alex. They say what they mean, and they follow through. Good Alphas, anyway. Your father obviously doesn't qualify, considering he's keeping you under his thumb with nothing more than a series of idle threats.”

“They're not idle,” he whispered. “He's very serious about getting rid of Marc and Jace.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that. But he'd no sooner try to put Dean in charge of the south-central territory than he'd let Marc run it. Your dad can't control Colin Dean, and
he knows it. But at least Dean has the balls to get the job done. You… I don't think you have it in you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your dad wants grandchildren, and I'm
never
going to willingly sleep with you.” I said it nice and loud, careful to enunciate, so everyone in the other room would hear. “Do the math. What's the only way you're ever going to get me pregnant?”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes wide, though he still whispered. “It won't be like that. You'll come around, once Marc and Jace are gone. You won't have claws, or anyone left to protect you. My dad says you'll need me, and need can make a woman see reason.”

And suddenly I was reminded of how very young and naive he was.

“Your dad's a raging idiot,” I spat, contempt dripping from my voice. “I will fight you. Every single time. You will not tame me. You will not break me. I will make your life a living hell, and if I get a chance to kill you, I'll take it. And frankly, I don't think you can beat me in a fair fight. But even if you can, are you really prepared to do what your dad wants? Over and over again?”

Alex looked sick, like he was about to puke all over the floor. I breathed a silent sigh of relief that I'd read him correctly. If he were more like Dean, that approach would have failed spectacularly.

“You may be young and stupid, but you're not a monster, Alex. And if your father had a single brain cell in that overinflated skull of his, he'd know that when the time comes, you'll be no use to him. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he cuts you loose altogether. Then where will you go?”

His Adam's apple bobbed like he was trying to
swallow rage that had no other outlet. And when he finally spoke, I could barely hear him. “I'm not Brett. You're not gonna talk me into defecting.”

I laughed out loud and was thrilled to see him flinch. “My father wouldn't take you. We have standards in the south-central Pride. Cowards need not apply.”

“I'm not a coward.” There was that anger again. It was a quiet fury this time, bubbling beneath the surface.

“Right. That's why you have a pistol tucked into the back of your pants. A gun can make even the most worthless coward feel powerful, can't it? But what that gun really means is that you don't fight well enough to go without it.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know this—you're not going to surprise us with those guns again. Hunting is big in Texas, Alex. Did you really think we'd be impressed by a couple of stupid pistols?”

I made myself inhale steadily, afraid that if I held my breath, he'd see how important his answer was. That the entire argument had been a lead-in to the gun issue.

Fortunately, Alex was too mad to question the hopefully subtle change in subject. “A
couple
of stupid pistols?” His face was turning red again. “It's not just a couple. It's twenty—more than enough to protect and defend. And they weren't easy to get ahold of, without all the background checks and paperwork.”

A sick feeling twisted in my gut and my smug satisfaction began to fade. Malone had twenty guns? Shit. How long had he been planning this? How on earth were we supposed to get rid of that many before the fight? And what the hell were we supposed to do with them?

“Twenty? Talk about overkill… Or does your dad
have twenty enforcers now? With that overinflated ego, he probably thinks he needs that kind of entourage.”

Alex frowned. He didn't like it when I insulted his father, which made that my new favorite hobby. “The guns are for the new task force.”

“And you're on this task force?”

“Handpicked a month ago.”

Before there even
was
a task force. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, noting that conversation had resumed in the living room. They were no longer listening. “Are there actually twenty members?” That feeling of dread grew darker. This task force was a very bad idea.

“Not yet, but there will be. My dad has his eye on several toms from other Prides, to keep things fair.”

Or at least to keep things
looking
fair.

“Are you telling me that your dad is passing out handguns to a bunch of power-hungry rookies who've never even held one before?”

Alex frowned. “That would be stupid. We've been training for weeks now, and most of us are pretty good shots.” He hesitated, then added, “I'm better than Dean.”

I couldn't decide whether I wanted to hit him or hold his hand and walk him back to preschool. Alex was just a kid. He was an impressionable teenager whose sense of right and wrong had been forever warped by a power-hungry father. Unfortunately, he was also an
armed
teenager who could throw a full-grown man into the next room.