What he saw was a tall, pale man with multiple piercings in his nose and ears, a long, ratty denim jacket, and a grunge shirt and pants under it. The whole look screamed punk star, and the bored expression on his face indicated he was a frequent spectator here. But his eyes were watchful, looking everywhere as if noting every detail.

  Leila only had eyes on him, which made it easier for Ovie to observe her. She was leaning close but not in a suffocating manner, and the way her fingers fluttered about indicated she was talking about something light, probably amusing.

  Something she said made the man laugh, the first loud reaction from him. A smirk played over her bold red lips, and she leaned closer to whisper in his ear. The man was more receptive this time, turning his body towards her and leaning as well.

  It should be regular flirting…except Ovie knew it wasn’t. Maybe it was because he’d seen Leila in action, and she was more upfront than this. If this was a mission…

  There was only one way to find out secretly, and he began texting the number of their human messenger, who often had an in on most of their missions. A few minutes later, Kit O’Hara’s reply was short and precise.

  No, nothing I know of at the moment. And she didn’t ask me for any backup assistance.

  Which meant this was either a date, or this was a personal mission. They all had those secrets, and even his venture into underground fighting wasn’t well known among the clan. In fact, he hadn’t told anyone at all.

  Her hair moved when she looked around, artful waves around her shoulders and head. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, a deliberate movement that had the man staring at them. Her hand reached out to touch his chest, caressing further inside his jacket…placing something there and securing it in the man’s inside jacket pocket.

  An envelope.

  The man turned his head, mouth cruising along her cheek. Annoyance blazed in her eyes, but a pleased smile quickly masked it when the man’s eyes met hers. He pulled her up to her feet, and she demurely nodded and followed as he led her to the back of the bleachers. Again, not her usual style. The Leila he knew would’ve swayed her hips like mad, her natural sensuality coming through. This was muted, somehow.

  Her shoulders were also tense.

  Definitely not a date, and not an errand for the clan. Instinct told Ovie this was something big, and it was something he needed to pay attention to. His feet were already taking him in that direction when the announcer abruptly jarred his thoughts, and he heard his new nickname being called. Then he heard the name of his opponent and inwardly groaned.

  Of course. Of course Junior would find one of the most violent, eager fighters for him in the ring today—and the one who loved the flair and would, therefore, extend the fight rather than end it quickly. They’d fought once, and that had lasted too long for his liking. He fought for sport, not for some extravagant drama.

  Damn it.

  Ovie reluctantly threw a look towards Leila’s direction, where she no longer was. The alarm in his head remained, and he knew it would bother him the whole night through if he didn’t follow her.

  But commitments were commitments.

  He turned towards the ring, took that commitment by the horns, and let the cheers drown out the rest of his thoughts.

  Chapter 5

  This was ridiculous.

  The dratted man was copping a feel, and that feel was right over her ass, which wanted to clench. Her hands were close to clenching, too, ready to pound into his face until all of his teeth were knocked out. Hell, she wanted to scratch his eyes out the moment he put his mouth on her, playful grazes that made her inwardly shudder.

  Pierce Long smelled of cheap cologne, and it matched the stench of hotdogs on his breath. He was the testament of money not being enough to buy class, and she’d have ditched him a long time ago.

  But Leila needed something from him, and the payment she slipped in his pocket left her no choice. He knew that, too, as he grazed her ass—again—before slipping his hand above her butt.

  Through gritted teeth, she managed a smile.

  “Pierce, there isn’t a place above my butt to insert whatever you need to insert. Come on, now.”

  His eyes gleamed at the word insert, and she almost shuddered in disgust. Instead, Leila stubbornly held still and fought the urge to start throwing him off. He kept touching for a few more seconds before reluctantly retreating his hand and slipping it inside his denim coat. She watched as he took out a parcel, thick enough to give her heart a jump of excitement.

  Containing that excitement, she merely tilted her head when he slipped the parcel inside her coat, where he went bold again and grazed fingers over her stomach. Focusing on his piercings gave her a semblance of calm, so she kept her eyes on the glinting objects until he finally retreated that hand.

  “Your tits look great in that dress.”

  Ugh. Kill her now.

  Or kill him now.

  She wished she could, but he was the only supplier she knew—at least, the supplier who liked to have people believe he only distributed drugs. That was what he was wanted for in the human world, keeping his other distribution a secret.

  If she killed him now, it would take her a long time to find another supplier. And she just didn’t have that time.

  “Thanks,” she said, confidently flipping her hair. She knew her chest looked great, and he could look all he wanted. But she’d had enough of him. “Until the next deal, then, Pierce Long.”

  “Unless you want to stay and see what else is long?”

  Double ugh, this man.

  Torn between viciously wishing him dead and praying for patience, she winked and strode out of the dark area, where she saw movement from the other end of the bleachers: a couple making out. Ignoring them, she went back to the crowd, which had gotten rowdier in the span of a few minutes. Her nose wrinkled when she remembered the announcer earlier, shouting out ridiculous names: Dan the Destroyer and Galaxy Ov, for goodness’ sake.

  Leila glanced at the ring, gaze immediately zoning in on the so-called destroyer: a wide-shouldered, red-haired man who was screaming obscenities in the air and egging his opponent on. She rolled her eyes, then turned to glance at the opponent, wondering if this one’s tactic was silence, since she hadn’t heard opposing shouts.

  Her body jarred, and shock pierced her system when the familiar form sank in and had her staring.

  What the hell was Ovie doing here?

  Her brain comprehended it seconds later, but it still took a while to digest. In doing so, the fight continued, and her dazed mind managed to pay enough attention as she kept staring at him. Ovie was in his training pants, and despite his broad form, he was noticeably smaller in build than his opponent. That didn’t make him small, however, muscles sleek from sweat and glistening everywhere. His rock-hard abs were on display, and his lightly tanned skin glowed under the dim lights. His dark hair, often combed, was now a mess on his head, but that was the only thing that was a mess here.

  Gray eyes, often light, were now dark and flat, void of all emotion. But there was a quiet watchfulness there that she’d seen plenty of times before, particularly when he was sparring with other clan members in the mansion’s backfield. He was sizing up the opponent, calculating the movements in his head instead of attacking head-on, which was Malcolm’s usual style.

  The reminder of Malcolm snapped in her head, telling her to get on with it and get the parcel where it was needed. But curiosity rooted her to the spot, and she found herself watching the fight instead.

  Dan the Destroyer’s words kept on, earning boos and cheers from the crowd. Obviously, he was popular. Finally, he shut up enough to charge, his head forward like a bull and his body braced into a deliberate hardness. When Ovie sidestepped, Dan didn’t just blindly keep on but swiftly changed direction to follow him. The fast shift had her reconsidering her earlier assessment of dumbness.

  Ovie let the man keep following him until he had leeway to jump. The jump was limited to human abilities, carefully controlled, but he did it with ease and landed behind Dan’s ass. The kick was almost too satisfying, a loud bang that had the cheers turning a deafening notch as they chanted his ring name. Galaxy Ov.

  They knew him. They loved him.

  Which meant this wasn’t the first time Ovie fought there.

  Dan stood back up and kept charging Ovie, while Ovie kept calculating movements and only putting out hits that he was sure about. His shoulders were bunched, the muscles exerting, and the sinewy movements reminded her of someone just biding his time. She was well aware this wasn’t the extent of his strength, just as she was well aware this was the first time she’d paid full attention to his fights without any prejudice. The sheer control over his strength was stupendous, turning every line of his body rigid until she was noticing those, too.

  Her belly jumped when a particular punch caught Dan on the chin and had him flying up before landing on the ground. There was a loud groan, followed by a curse, while Ovie looked on.

  “Give up yet?” he asked in a low, sinister tone.

  His first words since she’d caught during the fight, and it did something to the crowd as they gasped. A charge rose in the air, and that charge ran through her body, too, making her nerve points dance in anticipation.

  Silence followed the crowd’s gasp, everyone else waiting, too. Both fighting parties were breathing hard on opposite sides of the ring, suspended in their respective lying and standing position. Blood trickled from Dan’s chin, and she might’ve imagined it trembling before it firmed.

  With a grit of his teeth and a scoff, Dan slowly rose, hands waving at the crowd before he dramatically waved the blood off. The silence was broken as shouts erupted, half of the support turning to Dan now.

  Jesus.

  This time, Ovie and Dan moved at the same time, meeting in the center. The impact was loud and had the crowd on their feet as both bodies locked on each other, trying to throw the other to the ground. Dan had the upper hand as he bent Ovie backward, but Ovie held on, head locked on Dan’s stomach and arms wrapped around Dan’s torso.

  “Better give it up, boy,” Dan yelled, crowing now. “Your filthy Irish ass just isn’t cut out for this, you motherfucker, and you should go running and crying to your weak mama. I’ll fuck you up and twist you—”

  One second, Dan was speaking obnoxiously.

  The next, he was on his back as Ovie toppled him, then straddled him so fast, it was almost a blur. Those thick thighs strained visibly, locking Dan down before he tried to buck him off, and the raw strength in the movement had Leila’s heart jumping.

  Annoyed with herself and her insane weakness over muscles for purpose rather than show, she shook her head and backed away, careful not to pass the back where Pierce might still be lurking. Instead, she headed straight for one of the underground club’s exit points, which led her up the stairs and to a clothing boutique that housed several designer brands. This time of the night, it was quiet, but the side hallway was always open for this exact purpose. She nodded at the boutique owner and kept going, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

  The fresh air outside allowed her to breath easier, and she reveled in the sight of the twinkling stars up above. There was no full moon, which meant she was less likely to encounter a wild shifter tonight. Shifters, in general, had less control when the full moon was up, and only a select few managed to shift in and out with ease during those monthly periods. It had taken her years of practice to get to that easy stage, and she could still remember the cuts and broken bones she’d gotten in the process.

  A flash of Malcolm’s broken bones came into mind, and her chest tightened. She walked faster, already set on a destination and wondering if driving would get her there quicker. But Kit would have questions, and now that Kit had somewhat already mated with a cop shifter, those questions would be asked out loud.

  The subway would do then.

  Leila headed there, joining the crowd hurrying through the night trains. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, slowing her down as she answered the call.

  “Hey, Edmund. Hold on,” she greeted but did not hang up. She paid the fee and slipped inside one of the trains, then went to a corner and sat down. “Okay, I’m back.”

  There was a pause. “Are you on a train, Leila?”

  Accurate as he always was, and the disbelief in his voice almost had her grinning.

  “Is it that impossible?”

  “Not really, but I’m at a loss on why you didn’t take a limo. Where are you?”

  The urge to grin died instantly, a reminder of why she was there in the first place. That knowledge alone sent her nerves up, turning her jittery before she could stop herself.

  Because he could read her reactions well, she was really glad he wasn’t there to see it.

  “You already said where I am,” she pointed out. “Aren’t all train stations the same, if you think about it?”

  “Leila, I’ve watched you since birth and know you would never take the train even if your life depended on it. What is this? Last we talked, you were on the verge of asking me about Malcolm and what to do with him.”

  Oh, her brother did know her too well. Awareness simmered under her skin, vibrating madly, and she used that energy to scoff.

  “And you said not to worry over it. So this is me, not worrying. If you must know, I was buying clothes. Check my bank account if you wish. I bought the most fantastic wardrobe.”

  “Expensive,” he corrected. Her body lurched slightly when she realized he was already checking the account and had probably seen the amount deducted—mostly to pay for the parcel inside her coat.

  “I like expensive things,” she mused lightly. “Also, the train sucks, but I’m late for an appointment, and the train’s faster. I didn’t notice the time while I was trying on clothes.”

  “And what’s this appointment?”

  This time, she smirked, mostly to let it flow in her words, too.

  “A date with a wealthy Asian in Soho. Would you like to know the details of how I’ll get him to spend for me and seduce him after? I bought lingerie just for that.”

  The longer silence told her that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but her brother didn’t berate her. He never did when it came to men, understanding one thing: that she liked to keep things casual, much like he did. But these things, one never discussed with siblings.

  Finally, Edmund cleared his throat.

  “I prefer not to know the details,” he clipped out, tone instantly stern. She would’ve laughed, except the lie had her stomach in knots and her hands turning clammy.

  “Very well. Now can you leave me alone? Go deal with Mal. Is there improvement?”

  “Levi tried a few things I’ve gotten from an old acquaintance. Some ancient massage, but it only knocked Mal out.”

  “I told you those Chinese massages wouldn’t work.”

  “It was worth a try. I’m off on a trip and will check something else out.”

  “Fine. If there’s an improvement, that’s when I want in on the loop. I don’t care enough about his immature antics at this point.”

  It was the biggest lie of all, but it eased Edmund off her back as the call ended. She inhaled, then exhaled, getting rid of the lie in her head and trying to clear her mind. It needed to be clear for the next step, and she needed to be as focused as ever.

  The train ride was just the perfect place for that, as strangers left her alone. She tightened her coat around her, quietly meditating until the nerves were gone and she was back in her usual relaxed state. When she got off, anticipation replaced it, and her mind was no longer blank but thinking up combinations that would work and combinations that wouldn’t.

  There were enough sachets inside her parcel to create three potions: all healing ones of varying degrees and results, and all of which she would test on Malcolm when the time came. It wouldn’t be a fast creation, as most potions took time, but she sure as hell wouldn’t slack, either.

  Malcolm needed help. And while she was a bitch of the biggest proportion, Leila never turned her back on family.

  Ever.

  Soho was the first place everyone expected her to be in, so naturally, she rented a spot on the lower end of Manhattan—specifically, the one where cheap love motels and such were located. Seedy dealings were frequent there, so one more woman renting a warehouse in between clubs wasn’t questioned. It was her business, just as their business was theirs alone. The whole leave-me-alone vibe was perfect, really, especially if she didn’t…

  A shiver ran over her shoulders, and it was the only warning she got. Leila stopped in her tracks.

  She blinked when a familiar figure slipped out of a corner alley and stood in front of her, frowning.

  “What are you doing here, Leila?”

  Chapter 6

  The astonishment on Leila’s face told Ovie she hadn’t expected to see him, which said a lot about her presence of mind. Normally, her senses were razor-sharp, on point about every detail and catching on to anything that didn’t seem right. It was an instinct most shifters possessed, and their clan had honed it throughout the years to near perfection.

  She was distracted, and it was showing.

  It was also dangerous.

  Of course, Leila being Leila, she recovered from the astonishment quickly and lifted her chin, giving him her signature haughty look. It was one he’d seen throughout the years, too.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ah. Hello, defense mechanism.

  “I asked you first,” he pointed out.

  “Does it even matter who asked first? Anyway, I’m out on a date, and it’s none of your business.”

  “So your rich Asian is taking you on a date here? In this particular area instead of some five-star restaurant?”

  A muscle in her neck ticked, even while the rest of her face remained haughty. Speculation came next, her eyes narrowing.

  “You were following me?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t have, had you not dropped by my hangout spot.” When she didn’t say a word, he stepped forward. “Was that a date, too, Leila?”

 

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