Wild (12 page)

“I am not after you, princess. I want your father. We both know what he did to me. Putting me behind bars like a fucking animal. Keeping me from the one I loved. Because of him, she died, a victim of a home invasion, because I wasn't there to protect her.”

A little girl at the time of the trial, she'd not heard of the details, just knew her father had caught the bad guy. “That wasn't his fault. Blame the people who killed her.”

“I did. It was the whole reason for my killing spree. See, I'm not talking about the second time he caught me, but the first. Your dad put me in jail for public intoxication and a bar fight. But see, he didn't put the ones I was fighting in there with me. Nope. He left them loose, and those mongrels decided to hurt me. Since I was out of reach, rotting in a cell, they went after Ariel.”

“So for revenge you stole me? I had nothing to do with it.”

“No, but you are one of the people he loves most. What better way to punish him? You see, once I knew you were joining me, I put a call in to your father telling him to come join the party. I can't wait to see his face when I toss you, hopefully begging and screaming for your life, from this building.”

A cold shiver worked its way down her spine. For a while there, when he'd told his story, she almost felt bad for him, and then he reminded her what a maniac he was. Throwing her from a building? The man belonged behind bars. “No, thanks. I don't like heights.” She really didn't. It's why she drove to places and never flew.

“Would you prefer I shoot you?” Peter, such an innocuous name for a killer, drew her attention to his gun.

Asking her how she'd like to die? How to handle it? She stuck to answering with the truth. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I'm not crazy about holes in my body, either. Heck, I don't even have my ears pierced. I don't believe in tattoos either, and yet I see you have a few.” Yeah, she blabbered, but she couldn't resist as the expression on his face went from murderous to baffled.

Keep the opponent off balance. A rule drummed into her at a young age by her dad.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are vastly annoying?”

Despite the situation, her lips twitched. “Often.”

“Your cutesy thing won't work on me, princess.”

Cute? How warped was this murderer's mind?

“Get your ass over here.” Peter waved the gun at a spot too close to the railing for her comfort.

Wild red strands flew as she shook her head. “I think I'll stick to where I am.”

“Move now or your father will arrive to find your corpse. You choose because I really don't care. You're starting to really irritate me. Dead. Alive. I don't think I really care how he sees you. Either way, your father hurts.”

“This grudge you have for my dad isn't healthy.” Neither was this conversation. However, the longer she stalled, the better. Not because she expected the cavalry to come to the rescue. Her dad had too much pride to call for help, and it would take him a few hours to get here. His determination to single-handedly save her himself meant she couldn't rely on his timely intervention.

Good, because it meant she still had time to extricate herself from the situation and prove to all her male relatives that a girl cop was just as good as a boy one—even if she couldn't write her name in the snow.

“Blame the grudge on the fact he jailed me for a second time before I was done with my vengeance. I had one more person left. The pack leader of the miscreants who attacked my woman.”

She didn't need his hissed “Fabian” to guess who he meant.

“I take it he's next.”

“My plan for him is multifaceted. It's not just enough to kill him. I want his position. I will be the new alpha, which means playing the power game with the pack.”

“So the whole audit thing and the murder of Ricky, even my attack, is part of a ploy to undermine him and take over his gang?”

“Precisely. Chip away at his empire so I can swoop in, vanquish the old wolf, and take over.”

“Why is it most wars happen because of power?” she muttered as she jabbed the chair at him, more to remind him she paid attention than anything.

“Power is everything. Jail taught me that.”

“Weren't you supposed to be in there for life?” she remarked, inching slowly backward in the direction of the rooftop door.

“There isn't a cage that can hold me, princess. I'm a beast.”

She snorted. “You say that like it's a good thing.”

“Because it is. In the animal world, the strongest prevail. And I am strong.” He practically snarled the word. “Enough talk. No more stalling. I am done toying with you.”

Peter lunged, darting so fast across the space separating them that it felt as if she had only a second to blink before he was almost upon her.

Move, you idiot!

Instinct took over, and she swung the chair. It connected with a satisfying thud that jolted her arms. A good solid hit, but it didn't stop his momentum. A foot kicked out and knocked the chair from her grip, sending it clattering.

Retaliate. Her fist shot out, fast enough that she managed to glance a blow off his chin—to no effect. His head didn't budge an inch.

He caught her second punch, encasing her fist and squeezing hard enough to have her gasp in pain. An iron band wrapped around the bicep of her other arm. No amount of tugging could set her free. She was getting mighty tired of being disarmed by brute strength and men with as much training as her father—in other words on par skill-wise with her.

Matched in skills, what did that leave her?

Use your head.
She could practically hear her father's chiding voice. What could she do to maybe extricate herself?

No weapon. No free hands. Flailing, useless feet. That left her only one thing in her arsenal.

“I can't believe you fucking bit me!” he yelled.

Neither could she. Even worse, it didn't set her free.

As Peter dragged her to the parapet, mumbling about gagging her vicious human mouth—because Mr. Sociopath seemed to think he was a whole other species—she truly began to wonder if she'd make it out of the situation alive. As a matter of fact, much as it galled her to admit it, she needed help.

If only someone would come to her rescue. Maybe like that tiger she'd hallucinated at the bar during the fire. She could use a furry champion.

Or how about a real hero? Nope. No such luck. She got a cute and courageous dumbass called Brody.

 

CHAPTER 15

What the hell does Brody think he's doing? Who comes to the rescue unarmed and without backup?

Indeed, Brody emerged onto the roof deck, hands spread and open, palms empty, his T-shirt snug enough to show he didn't have a holster, and nothing appeared tucked into his pants.

“Are you stupid?” she yelled. “Get out of here.” Before he got hurt.

“Is that any way to greet your rescuer?” he teased, his tone light, but his eyes, ooh those intent and dangerous-looking eyes of his, never left Peter. How at odds with his genial nature. But sexy.

“So the wolf sends his second. I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted,” Peter mocked.

“You'll be dead in a moment so it won't matter,” Brody growled. In that moment, he appeared so dangerous it sent a thrill through her, which was totally inappropriate to the situation. Apparently she was more of an adrenaline junkie than she knew.

Still, though, Brody threatened a man with a loaded revolver. Was he suicidal? “How do you expect to rescue me without a weapon?” she asked.

“It's not sporting to bring a gun to a shifter fight.”

Lost again in the weird gang terminology she'd encountered the last few days. She really needed to brush up on today's terms. When had city gangs turned to using animal terms to describe their turf and differences?

“Does the kitty want to fight? A fine idea. My bear could use a snack.”

Peter's grip on her arm loosened, and she wasted no time snatching her limb free and taking a few steps away. Only to freeze in utter disbelief.

There were times in a girl's life that proved momentous. The first time Daddy let her fire his Luger. Her first period arriving on the day she wore faded blue jeans and a short top. Losing her virginity in the front seat of a Mini Cooper—not easy, she might add. The newest life-changing moment? The what-the-hell-is-going-on morph of a man into a tiger.

A fucking tiger.

Holy shit, Brody is a tiger!

She didn't mean the small, cute, and cuddly kind either. There was nothing gentle about Brody, or did he have another name when he turned into a giant feline? Whatever the case, he stood on four paws with a massive frame that must have measured at least eight or more feet. His fur bore the classic stripes of his kind, an orange-blond sliced with distinctive slashes of black. Oddly enough, his golden fur matched that of his hair when he was a man.

Oh my god, when he was a man.
Now there was something a girl didn't say often.

Brody's change into a giant jungle predator was only the tip of the series of messed-up things happening. It seemed that vengeful, violent Peter wasn't human either. Hello, big black bear.

How the hell had she gone from a life dealing with criminals who wielded knives and guns to giant predators sporting claws and sharp teeth?

Numbly, she stared, not daring to jump into the fray to help. She wouldn't stand a chance. But standing by, doing nothing, galled as well. How her fingers itched for a weapon.

A pity she had nothing, but Peter did. Where did his gun go when he changed shapes?

She dove for his clothes, scrabbling at the pile as the snarling behind her continued.

When she finally found the gun, she pulled it free with an “Aha!” She whirled in time to see the bear and tiger wrestling by the rooftop ridge. She didn't think, nor did she hesitate. She raised the gun and aimed.

Fired.

The bear roared as her missile hit him in the shoulder. Pain and rage gave Peter the strength to fling Brody from him.

Lulu should have shot again, but she stayed her finger as the fur shrank, leaving behind bare skin, muscle, and a sluggishly bleeding hole in his shoulder.

“Give yourself up, Peter. Don't make me shoot.” Then again, maybe shooting would solve all their problems?
I am an officer of the law. It's my duty to arrest him.

Peter winced as he rolled his wounded shoulder. “That smarts.”

Recovered from his crash landing, Brody growled and took a step forward.

“You want me? Come and get me.” Peter hopped onto the edge of the parapet, wobbling a little. “I'm not afraid to die. Are you?” Peter crooked a finger at Brody just as a strong gust of wind caught him. His arms windmilled, and for a moment, concern stole his cold expression.

Then his features smoothed. “Fuck it. See you in the next life.” Peter took a step back into open space just as Brody lunged, his paws swinging and jaw snapping, trying to grab ahold. He managed it, gripping Peter's upper arm.

However, this unwieldy snare yanked Brody against the parapet with his upper body leaning over the retaining wall, a precarious perch. It didn't help that Peter twisted in his grip, trying to unbalance him.

Brody's rear paws scraped at the rooftop, the claws scrabbling for purchase. Gravity pulled. It dragged him, without mercy, forward.

“Let go,” she whispered, not wanting to shout out of fear of ruining his concentration.

The jaws released their grip, but Peter was ready for that. His free hand clung to Brody's foreleg. Brody tried to pull back but couldn't escape the pair of hands that wrapped around his paw. Peter chuckled as he held on. “If I'm going down, you're going with me.”

Are you just going to stand here and watch the man you love die? Move.

Dropping the gun, she ran the few yards separating them and dove forward as the rear haunches on the tiger coiled in a last-ditch effort to stay on the roof. Her fingers sought purchase. Any body part would do.

She grabbed ahold of his tail.

He roared and flung his head.

She yelled, “Sorry about this,” not really, as she sat down hard on the rooftop to brace herself, an anchor in the game of tug-of-war.

Rawr!

Brody flung his head again, and his teeth tore a line across Peter's arms.

With a loudly uttered “Fuck!” Peter let go, and all the weight dragging them disappeared. Lulu tumbled back as she lost her grip on the slack tail. She couldn't catch her balance, and her head smacked against the rooftop surface, leaving her stunned for a moment.

And not just stunned because of the blow.

A very naked, and human again, Brody stood over her. He didn't seem happy judging by his lips drawn into a frown.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“When?” A lot had happened. “Are you mad I shot him while you were wrestling? I assure you, I'm a good shot.”

“Not that. The whole grabbing-my-tail thing.”

“You know what they say, catch a tiger by the tail.”

“And if they holler let them go.”

“No, that's if you catch them by a toe.”

“Whatever,” he yelled. “You could have died.”

“Are you mad I saved you?”

“You did not save me. I rescued you.”

She snorted. “Whatever. Shouldn't you be doing something, like leaving right about now before the cops show up?” Wait, she was a cop and already here, although she really didn't know how she'd write this up in a report. They'd send her away for evaluation for sure if she talked about tigers and bears.

“The cops ain't coming. Why would they? There's nothing to see.”

“What do you mean, nothing to see? A man just jumped from the building.”

“Did he?” He arched a brow. “Let's just say he never made it to the sidewalk. And even if he had, it would have been taken care of.”