The Wolf, page 21
As always, she had to do her best to balance getting information with getting herself hurt or killed, and the instability in this environment was obvious. Even though she wanted to fully explore, she was going to have to gather what she could on the way out. Ending up in a grave was not the way to bring Mozart and these suppliers to justice.
Glancing down at the bed, she remembered the kiss she had had with Luke.
No goodbye.
And the next time she saw him, it might well be after she got him arrested.
Why the hell, after all these years of not being particularly interested in sex, did she have to be so attracted to someone like him? She’d been doing just fine living like a monk.
At least she could go right back to the celibacy. Not a problem. Especially after what had happened on the floor of that apartment.
Rio started to move toward the door, tiptoeing in her boots, trying not to put her full weight into her feet—what, like she could command gravity or something?
No squeaking, she thought at the floor beneath her feet. No creaking—
Oh, it was concrete. Right.
As she went by the empty beds, she counted them down. And as she came up to the drapery—
There was a choked sound of pain from inside the sheets.
Rio stopped. The two men were still talking softly—there was another groan, now, as if someone who hurt all over was attempting to find a better position. And failing.
Go, she told herself. Get the fuck out. Right now.
When she realized that her feet had stopped, she looked to the door, as if she could refocus their effort. Or will the exit to come to her.
After a moment, they did start moving again.
Not toward the way out, though.
* * *
In front of the Executioner and his wall of Rorschach tests, Lucan dropped down onto his haunches. Around the throat of the dead wolf was a steel collar, but not the kind that came with the tracking or the explosion-upon-removal stuff. Releasing the buckle on the generic restraint, he took the thing off and eased back.
Was there enough life left in the still-warm body’s cells for the change? If Lucan had still been staying in the territories of the clans, he might have recognized the patterns of gray and white and brown in the fur. But it was a long time since he’d been near his bloodline—okay, half of his bloodline—and God knew his brain had jettisoned those memories for more useful ones tied to surviving in the prison camp—
There was a hissing sound, like air was escaping from the lungs due to rib compression. And then the transformation began, the fur that had been totally static moving in waves as each individual follicle retracted into its pore, sucking back into the wolven’s shifting corporeal form. While this was happening, the fore- and hind legs began to elongate and re-form, the front paws differentiating into hands with separated fingers, the back ones pushing out into bare feet. The torso also expanded, shoulders protruding on both sides of the narrow canine chest and causing the body to roll over so that it was faceup.
So that the gunshot wound in the center of the chest was visible.
Meanwhile, down below at the waistline, the pelvic girdle broke outward and flattened to accommodate the thickening thighs as well as organs consistent with the male sex.
The face was what he was waiting for.
Up at the head, the muzzle retracted and the short nap fur disappeared, the nose, chin, and cheeks emerging as the bone structure changed, above them the flat forehead and arching brows manifesting—
The eyes flipped open and focused on Lucan, as if his scent had registered. Then the mouth started to move, the words more breath than syllable, blood speckling the lips.
The attempt at communication didn’t last. A gasp cut it off, and then there was coughing, weak coughing… followed by the utter stillness of death.
“Jesus,” Lucan muttered as he stared into that face.
“So you do know him.”
Lucan looked at the Executioner, the other male a powerful figure in all that black, all those weapons. “I can’t believe you went all the way up that mountain to kill this sonofabitch. If you expect me to be pissed off or more motivated, you’re shit out of luck. I hate the fucker.”
The Executioner smiled, his glittering eyes that of a murderer who enjoyed killing as much as a normal person might be happy with a nice dinner or a good night’s sleep.
Like death was something so natural, so required to his well-being.
“Oh, you’re motivated enough, aren’t you,” the male murmured.
“So why’d you go to the clans and risk a problem? My kin are assholes who will eat their own—literally. You don’t want to get their attention, trust me.”
“I didn’t go to the mountain. He came here. Who is he?”
Lucan narrowed his eyes. “My cousin.”
“This is a family reunion, then. How sweet.”
Not even close, Lucan thought as he started to pace around in a circle, memories clawing into the center of his chest—
Before he could stop himself, or go through any of the many reasons he should keep his emotions in check, he took a running soccer kick and nailed the corpse in the gut. On impact, the dead arms and legs flopped, and the head kicked hard on the concrete floor.
He did it again. And again. And again. And—
Something warm splashed up on him. He looked down.
Blood was on his fresh sweatshirt and he brushed at it even though he wasn’t bothered by the stain. He just needed something to get himself off the soccer train.
Refocusing on the Executioner, Lucan demanded, “Did you think it was me when you snuck up on him? Is that why you shot him?”
“It’s daylight. I can assure you I was not the one who pulled the trigger.”
The guard, Lucan thought. Some of them were humans, or so he’d heard. But who knew whether the rumor was true.
Lucan shook his head. “No, they thought it was me—that’s why you went looking for me. They thought I’d gone AWOL, and when they brought this to you, you had to check on me to see if it was. What’s Mayhem’s reward going to be for delivering me to you?”
“He gets to live another night.”
“Lucky him, this place is an amusement park just full of fun and games.” Lucan crossed his arms over his chest. “Your guards thought they’d done you a favor, because they didn’t know our arrangement—which is what happens when you hire mercenaries. They only get part of the job right. And you thought you’d lost your connection with Mozart. You were pissed, and because this wolf didn’t have a collar, you weren’t sure whether it was me or not. Oops.”
“You make a lot of assumptions.”
Whatever, he thought.
“All I know for sure is that you don’t want this kind of trouble.” He nodded down at the body. “When he doesn’t come back, others will search for him.”
“And exactly what kind of trouble do you think I’ll be in?”
“If they get into this facility, it’ll turn into the biggest takeout restaurant you’ve ever seen—and you’re on the menu.”
The Executioner smiled again, flashing his fangs. “No one can get in or out of here without my knowledge.”
Oh, really, Lucan thought. “Aren’t you a clever little bitch.”
The Executioner stepped forward until they were nose to nose. “Watch yourself, wolf. You can easily be in your family member’s position.”
“He’s not my family, at least not in his opinion. That’s how I ended up here. And if you want to put a bullet in me, do it where it counts.” Lucan put his arms wide. “Right in the heart.”
As the Executioner’s face hardened, it was clear that the male didn’t like the shift.
And not in the wolven’s assumption of its human-like form.
The power dynamic was not what it had started out as, with Lucan the only one who had a weakness to exploit. Now… the Executioner wanted something only Lucan could provide.
Tricksy, tricksy.
“I’m waiting,” Lucan snapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Even as Rio was telling herself that she needed to get going, explore what she could, find a way out, get back to Caldwell… she parted the curtains that fell from the ceiling. Over on the bed, lying on his back… a burn patient was in a terrible state: His face was a raw wound, the features swollen and glistening, the eyes forced shut by the injuries. The rest of his torso and arms were just as bad, nothing but raw meat that was left unbandaged, likely because any kind of gauze would just stick and become entangled—
The man who had attacked her burst up from a chair that had been pulled in close to the bedside.
Before he could come at her, she put the gun up to his face. “Sit the fuck down, this isn’t about you.”
The chuckle from the patient cut through a subtle whirring sound. “Yes, Apex. Do sit down.”
There was a tension-filled moment. And then “Apex” lowered himself back into the chair.
Rio again turned her head toward the poor man in the bed. His only treatment, that she could see, was a small fan set on top of a cardboard box, the cooling air traveling across his ravaged skin.
“Are you okay,” she said roughly.
Stupid question.
“My dear,” came the response. “How kind of you to ask.”
Rio glanced at the Apex guy. He was watching her like in his mind he was ripping her arms off with his bare hands and beating her to death with the stumps. But he didn’t make another move toward her. It was as if he were a predator and his leash was in the patient’s hold.
Rio approached the other side of the bed. She kept the gun up, just in case.
“Can’t the nurse help you? Or can we get you to a doctor?”
The patient didn’t turn to her. His face stayed angled straight at the ceiling above him, not that he could see anything. She was willing to guess it was just too painful for him to move anything, even in the slightest way.
No doubt mere breath was a struggle.
“I am as well as I can be.” The patient’s rasp was softer now, as if he were running out of strength. And yet his tone and accent struck her as highbrow. “I am simply waiting out a process that began some weeks and weeks prior. And you, how fare you? Have you been aided?”
Looking around again—but like she’d missed anything?—Rio saw no monitoring of vitals, no IV, no medications.
“You need to go to a hospital.”
The other man answered. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Excuse me?” Rio lowered the gun. “Oh, so the condition he’s in is totally compatible with life. Right. Glad you pointed this out to me, because I was assuming he needed some medical help—”
“Just what we need, a human with a savior complex—”
“As opposed to you, who’re just sitting here as he—”
“This is not your business—”
“Enough,” the patient said with exhaustion.
Rio closed her eyes, and realized she was way out of line, speaking about how dire his circumstances were.
She cleared her throat. “Were you in a car accident?”
Again, the injuries appeared consistent with severe burns, and while she gathered her thoughts, she was trying to figure out what could have caused—
Okay, she was stupid. A meth lab. Of course. Unless she thought they were making cookies here?
“We need to get you help,” she heard herself say.
The patient inhaled slowly. Then he spoke through an agonizingly slow exhale. “You are kind, but you are in enough trouble yourself. Does Lucan have a plan for getting you back where you belong?”
“I’ll get myself back.”
The chuckle from the douchebag on the chair was no doubt a chauvinistic commentary on her abilities—except like she hadn’t heard that before? Also, she might have a head injury, but at least she could stand on her own two feet—and, bonus, she had this cute little nine millimeter accessory that didn’t make her ass look fat and brought out the fuck-off that was never far below the surface of her baby browns.
“I should not underestimate her, Apex.”
That’s right, she thought at the patient.
Then she calmed herself and stared down at the bed.
“We have to do something for you,” she murmured as she noticed his hands for the first time. One was missing all its fingers.
When there wasn’t a response, she glanced up at that face. The lips had parted so he could breathe, and the shallow inhales came at a panting speed. And then there was a groan—after which, a slightly calmer rhythm.
He’d passed out, she was willing to bet.
“You’re in pain,” she whispered to him anyway. “Dear God, are they not treating your pain?”
“No, we’re deliberately letting him stew in it,” the other man—what was his name? Apex?—muttered. “Because we get off on a male of worth suffering.”
Rio closed her eyes. “I can’t imagine how much it hurts.”
“He is stronger than all of us combined.”
She looked over at the chair. Apex was sitting forward, his hand on the bed right next to the patient’s ruined one—but not touching it. Because that would have been unbearable, no doubt.
“Is there nothing here that can help him?”
“We’re lucky we have a bed for him,” the man gritted out. “Most of the medication here expired two decades ago and is degraded. There’s nothing we can do.”
“How much longer do you think he has?”
Eyes that were dark as the corners of Hell lashed over to her. “Will you get the fuck out of here. I’d kill you right now, but he won’t let me. I promise, though, if you’re still here the second his heart stops, I’m coming at you.”
“Aren’t you scary,” she said in a bored tone.
Ignoring the guy, Rio paced up and down inside the drapery—which is to say, she took three steps up and three steps back.
Wasn’t that a line in a Bruce Springsteen song? she thought.
As an image of her brother came to mind, she stopped at the foot of the bed—and tried not to get confused between the past and the present. But the stillness of the patient… reminded her of what she had seen when she had broken down the door to Luis’s bedroom. She would never forget the way her brother had been lying there on his back, against a pillow stained with his own vomit, his blue-tinged face… angled directly up at the ceiling, as if he had been watching the hand of death as it had come for him.
Rubbing her eyes, she stared at the patient again. Even when unconscious, he had a frown on his face and a tension in his body.
There was no relief for him. Anywhere.
She thought of her brother. And felt sick.
“We have drugs here,” she said roughly.
“What?” Apex snapped.
“This is a fucking drug factory, right? There are drugs here.”
Apex opened his mouth as if he had a tic that involved telling her to go fuck herself and was giving in to it again.
She shook her head at him and spoke quickly, even as between each blink, she saw her brother’s dead face. “There’s heroin. Here on-site. I’ve seen it on the streets marked with your iron cross symbol. You don’t just sell cocaine, and opiates are opiates—they make pain go away. If we can get him a small dose of heroin, he’ll at least be comfortable.”
Blink. Her brother. Blink. Her brother—
“That shit kills people.”
No kidding, she thought.
“Only if you give him too much,” she said. “And I know… how to titrate it. I won’t let him have too much.” Rio went around the foot of the bed and stood in front of the man. “Take me to where it’s cut. I can test it. Then we come back here and help your friend. Partner. Husband, whoever he is to you.”
Apex slowly rose to his feet. God, he was huge, a living, breathing billboard for a beatdown.
He jabbed her in the shoulder. “I don’t need shit from you.”
Why am I doing this? Rio asked herself.
Well… because she could see more of the building. He would know how to get around, where the drugs were processed. Helping the patient would help her.
“You don’t need me?” she demanded. “Really? Well, for one, you’re sitting how many rooms away from the solution to his suffering and you clearly haven’t considered it. Two, do you know the dose? Enough to give him relief but not kill him? His respiration is already compromised, and I’m guessing his blood pressure is low. You don’t know where that line is, do you.”
“Are you a nurse?”
She thought back to all the conversations with ER docs immediately after, and since, her brother’s death. She’d had to know exactly what had happened, down to the molecular level, from his body weight to the cut of the drug, to what else had been in his system. She’d had to…
“No, but I know a lot about overdoses.”
The man stared down at the patient.
“He is never not in pain,” she said hoarsely, picturing her brother’s face whenever he’d thought no one was looking at him.
Apex passed a palm over his eyes. “Never. He suffers constantly.”
“Show me where the drugs are. I’ll take it from there.”
There was a long silence. Then Apex shook his head. “You don’t need to come with me. I’ll bring it back—what do you need?”
As he stared at her, there was a blank look in his eyes.
Rio frowned. “Do you know the difference between the heroin, any cocaine or meth, and the cutting product? And what about fentanyl?”
“Of course. So what do you need?”
He was lying, she thought.
“You know this with enough certainty you’re willing to risk killing him?”
“And how are you such an expert.”
“I’m betting my life on my knowledge, aren’t I,” she said. “If he dies, you’re offing me, right.”
As she just leveled a stare at him, he shrugged. “So tell me what you need.”
