Dog Warrior (6 page)

“You come to our turf and set up a buy,” Daggit was
saying, and Atticus struggled to keep his attention on the leader of the Iron Horses. “You make it our business.”

Daggit got only “the look” as an answer from Ukiah.

The biker jerked his head in the direction of the mouse cage. “Show me that you're really Pack.”

“No,” Ukiah grunted around a mouthful of steak.

“Shit has gone down, and there are Iron Horses dead,” Daggit said. “I'm not going to jump through hoops until I know that I can trust the people I'm dealing with.”

“Fine. Don't deal,” Ukiah said.

Daggit pulled out his pistol and put it to Ukiah's head. “I said show me!”

Triggered by Daggit, the other six bikers pulled guns and leveled them at Atticus and Ru.

“Just take it easy.” Atticus kept his hands carefully clear from his gun but shifted sideways, screening Ru.

Ukiah stilled, eyeing Daggit, then glanced to Atticus protecting Ru. “Okay.” He broke the silence. “You, Rebar, Animal, Draconis, and Smithy—I know can be trusted. The other three—I've never heard of them; they don't get to see. Get them out.”

Daggit lowered his gun. “You heard him. Out.”

Licking his fingers, Ukiah stood up, shrugging off the blanket. Half-naked, his borrowed sweatpants threatening to slide down off his slim hips, his torso a patchwork of bruises and bandages, dwarfed by Daggit, Ukiah suddenly seemed battered and vulnerable. A fear for his brother took root in Atticus, yet there was nothing he could do but watch as Ukiah limped around the island to the desk, Daggit looming over him. The mice sensed Ukiah's intent and fought for his attention, all wanting back, to be a part of him again. He opened the lid and plucked one out. A second slipped out. “Nah, nah, back in,” Ukiah said gently. “I'll get you later.”

The unwanted mouse scurried back into the cage.

The mouse in Ukiah's hand shivered with anticipation, a tiny spark of joy.

Ukiah covered it lightly, screening the true process. The spark faded, lost in the larger presence of his brother. After a moment, Ukiah opened up his hands, showing they were empty. “There. I won't do any more tricks for you.”

“Looks like someone had you playing dead.” Animal smirked, indicating the bandages.

Ukiah snarled silently in response, like the defiance of a wounded dog.

“Are we still dealing here?” Ru struggled to pull the conversation back on track.

“We're dealing,” Daggit said. “How much do you want?”

“A hundred grand, to start,” Ru said.

With a large buy, they'd learn better how close the bikers were to the source of the drug; the rest of the quarter million would be held in reserve for follow-up buys.

“A nice even number,” Daggit said, without indication that it would be a problem to fill. Then what Lasker reported was true—the bikers had ties to the manufacturer.

“Do you have it?” Ru pressed for an answer.

“Not on us,” Daggit said.

Atticus and Ru glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement on how to proceed.

“What is this bullshit?” Ru said. “Time is money. Are we supposed to sit around with our thumbs up our butts without so much as a sample?”

“A sample we can provide.” Daggit reached into his back pocket and slipped out a thumb-sized self-sealing plastic bag. “This is a nickel bag.” He held it up to glitter in the weak sun.

“It's empty,” Ru said.

Atticus shook his head. “There's something in it.”

“It's invisible.” Daggit tented open the bag. “Well, except to Pack. It has no smell. No taste. You can barely feel it.”

Daggit stepped forward, offering to pour it out into Ru's palm. Ru raised his hand to accept it, but Ukiah moved—fluid motion at fast-forward speed—to suddenly be standing
beside them, Ru's hand trapped in his own. A growl so low it was nearly subsonic came from his brother.

“If you love Ru, don't let him touch it,”
Ukiah said, and it wasn't until Atticus started to ask why that he realized that Ukiah hadn't opened his mouth, moved his lips, or spoken aloud.
“If one of you must handle it, it should be you—and then don't touch him.”

“Hey, don't pull any freaky Pack shit,” Daggit snapped. “Talk with your mouths. You want a sample or not?”

“It's okay.” Animal seemed reluctant to annoy either Atticus or Ukiah. “This is good shit. It's not going to hurt him.”

“Don't be a wuss.” Rebar made a noise of disgust. “This is the safest shit to hit the street. It makes Ecstasy look like heroin.”

Intervening between Daggit and Ru seemed to have sucked the last of Ukiah's energy out of him—he started to sag. Ru moved to support Ukiah, either as an excuse to occupy his hands or simply to keep him from falling over—Atticus couldn't tell which.

Atticus put out his hand to receive the drug. Daggit shrugged and spilled out the contents into Atticus's palm. The bikers were right—except for an impression of being slightly greasy, even he could barely feel it. He expected something fairly simple like cocaine, but its molecular structure was vastly complex and strange. For a moment it lay on his skin, and then he felt it seep into his flesh and enter his bloodstream like liquid fire. A dozen heartbeats and the drug surged through his entire body, unfolding into a jangling erotic buzz. He became aroused, suddenly aware of the warmth of Ru's body beside him, his heated scent. The chiming went from nearly imperceptible to so loud it threatened to drown out the conversation around him.

Ukiah leaned against Ru, head against his shoulder, arm about his waist. Ru held his brother lightly in return. It was a disturbingly intimate pose.

“Well?” Ru eyed him worriedly. “Atty?”

“It's real.” Atticus gasped.

“So, you want to deal?” Daggit asked.

“Okay,” Ru said slowly, still watching Atticus. “Let's try this again, but with money and the real shit.”

“No go.” Daggit made a motion that took in the house and the ocean. “Not out here. Not after what happened in Buffalo. We pick the place.”

“Where?” Atticus snapped.

“There's a town closer to Boston, called Hull. We'll be at Hawg Heaven on Nantasket Avenue. Meet us there at seven.”

“Fine,” Atticus said, anxious to be done. His thoughts kept straying to Ru—and Ukiah was about to drop over completely.

Daggit followed his gaze and smirked. “Well, you three have fun. We'll see you tonight.”

Eternity passed before the Iron Horses roared off on their Harleys.

“Why shouldn't Ru handle it?” Atticus snapped as Ru muscled his brother to the couch.

“It's death.” Ukiah sagged back onto the cushions.

“They said that it's harmless,” Atticus said. “They all use it.”

“They're wrong.” Ukiah slid sideways so he half lay on the couch, eyes closed, his feet still on the ground as if he were too weary to move them. “They're all dead men.”

“How do you know?”

“It's Invisible Red. It's . . . it's . . .” Ukiah mumbled and then made a raspberry. “It's too hard to think. I just know.”

“Will it hurt Atty?” Ru swung Ukiah's feet up onto the couch so he was fully lying on it.

“No,” Ukiah said. “Not that little, no.”

“It has affected me,” Atticus said from across the room, keeping his distance from Ukiah and especially Ru.

Ukiah breathed deeply as if asleep for a minute, and then
mumbled. “You're a . . . a breeder . . . it will make you want to have sex . . . but it won't hurt you . . . you're a breeder . . . it was made to make you breed.”

And then he was truly sound asleep.

 

Atticus took a cold shower, scrubbing the last traces of the drug from his skin, but could do nothing to remove what raced through his blood, filling him with artificial desire.

Ru waited outside the shower, towel in hand and a worried look on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm just horny.” Atticus accepted the towel.

“When are you not?” Ru teased lightly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes; he was worried.

“I'm fine.”

“Lasker dropped dead after using it only a couple of times. The autopsy said he died of an aneurysm.”

“I come back from the dead.” Atticus scrubbed his short hair dry.

“We don't know if you come back if you're poisoned.” Ru picked up another towel and wrapped it around Atticus's waist.

It was the barest brush of Ru's fingertips over his hip, the warmth of his touch gliding across skin, that undid Atticus. It was like a large wild animal awoke in him and shoved him aside to use his body for its own pleasure. It pushed Ru roughly against the wall, bruising his mouth with Atticus's lips, tugging impatiently at his clothing with Atticus's hands. Tasting blood, he tried to stop, but his body continued, leaving him mentally crying
No, damn it, no
! Only after the first, frantic, rough union did he manage to wrestle control back.

“Oh, shit, Ru, I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't you dare think I'm not enjoying this.” Ru pulled him back, and he was lost again, but this time he didn't care.

 

Kyle returned with a generator and had it set up before the drug wore off. Atticus caught him up to speed, explaining the Iron Horses, the drug, Ukiah's identification and caution of it, and the buy scheduled later in the day.

Kyle had only one question. “What are we going to do with your brother
during
the buy?”

Atticus jerked to a full halt as every quick answer he thought of fell flat. Take Ukiah with them? They couldn't put him in with Kyle—they needed Kyle to act as backup, not babysitter. Nor could Atticus and Ru take Ukiah with them in the Jaguar—the last thing they needed in the middle of a buy was someone who could read Atticus's thoughts. Even if Ukiah's telepathic ability wasn't that profound, his presence would be like trying to do surgery while someone jiggled his elbow.

Yet leaving Ukiah locked in the basement seemed dangerous. There was a risk that he'd leave or call out or be found—none of which would be good.

Ru guessed the reason for his silence. “We could lock him back in the Jaguar's trunk.”

“Don't tempt me,” Atticus snapped. “But, he could easily wake up and cause a problem.”

“Well,” Kyle said, “we could kill him.”

“Kyle!”

“He'd get better.”

“No, Kyle.”

“Well, I could rig some remote alarms. We'd at least know if any of the doors were opened.”

“Even with the phones down?”

“Oh, yeah, I'd link them to a hub that could page my PDA if anything got triggered.”

“We're going to be over an hour away,” Ru said. “We might know something went down, but we're not going to be able to do anything about it.”

“We can't take him with us.” Atticus wasn't going to
endanger Ru and Kyle to keep Ukiah safe. “Can you search on ‘Cub'? That's his street name.”

Kyle shook his head after several minutes of searching. “No, nothing is coming up under that name. Did you get a last name out of him?”

“No, the Iron Horses showed up before we had a chance to ask. He did make a call on Ru's phone.”

“Ah, tricky.” Kyle typed on his keyboard to cue up the recorded conversation.

The number had a 412 area code. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It rang seven times before being picked up, and a sleepy male voice grunted into the phone. “Hmm?”

“It's me,” Ukiah said with all confidence his voice would be recognized. And it was.

“Ukiah! Oh, thank God.”

“I've got a broken arm, broken ribs. I've been shot about five times. I've got a dozen mice on my hands . . . and I'm at the ocean. What the hell happened?”

Who had Ukiah called? Rennie Shaw?

“The cult nailed you yesterday evening. The police called early this morning; they found your jacket on the Mass Pike but there was no sign of you. We've been worried sick that the cult torched your body. Are you still with them, or are you safe someplace?”

“I think I'm safe. I got yanked out of the trunk, dead, by . . .” There was some mysterious grunting on the other end of the line. “Max?”

No, not Shaw
. Atticus leaned over Kyle's shoulder, substituted “Max” for “Cub” and hit return.

“Oh, I'm just trying to get my PDA,” the mysterious Max said. “It's—damn it—I hate hospitals. There! Give me the number you're at.”

Ukiah read off Ru's number. “Is everyone else okay?”

A woman's voice, distant but growing closer said, “Hi, I'm Deb, your physical therapist. I need to clear you on crutches before you can be discharged.”