Big Bad Beast Page 8

  They were outside on the stoop when Smith hurtled around the side of the house toward their SUV. MacDermot stopped short. “What in—”

  “Let’s go.” Cella yanked the full-human off the property and to the car. Smith was already inside with the engine revving. Cella and MacDermot scrambled inside, but before they got their seatbelts on, Smith hit the gas.

  As they headed back to the City, Cella asked herself again, How did I get here?

  CHAPTER 7

  “Tell me you didn’t take him back,” Lock said while they sat on the bench, waiting for the second string to get through the next few seconds of the game.

  “I had to. He’s my cousin.”

  “He’s your thieving cousin with a gambling problem. And have you forgotten your father’s edict?”

  “Hardly.”

  Lock blew out a breath. “He’s going to blow an artery.”

  “Are you two focusing on the game?” Novikov demanded.

  The pair gazed at the hybrid for a moment until Ric turned back to Lock and said, “You didn’t see him, though, Lock. They’d already beaten the hell out of him. He hasn’t been eating. I couldn’t just leave him like that.”

  “But he’s out of the Pack, Ric, which means he’s out of the restaurant.”

  “I can hire who I like, and someone has to wash those dishes.”

  “What did Adelle say?”

  “We haven’t discussed it yet, but I’m sure she won’t be pleased.”

  “Don’t you have enough problems with your old man, now you’re going to piss off Adelle too?”

  “Stein needs help.”

  “Why? Who does he owe money to this time?”

  Ric grimaced; he’d hoped Lock wouldn’t ask that question. “Polars. Dave Smolinski and his brothers out of Atlantic City.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ric.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “Do you think you two girls could table this discussion until after our game?” Novikov snarled. “Maybe when you have a sleepover and you’re braiding each other’s hair.”

  Ric stared at his least favorite human being and replied, “I think you’d look pretty with ponytails.”

  “A single ponytail,” Lock insisted. “With front bangs.”

  “Awwww. Now that would be lovely.”

  Novikov stood. “I hate both of you.”

  They followed him out onto the ice, Ric taking his position in front of the goal. Cella skated behind the net and around it, passing Ric with a smile.

  “Everything go okay today?” he asked.

  When she only laughed, he didn’t know how to take it.

  Dee was sitting in the stands, watching the game. She didn’t want to, but she was too tired to get up and leave.

  “Dee-Ann?”

  She sighed, recognizing the wolfdog’s voice and praying the woman wouldn’t hug her. She couldn’t fight her off at the moment. “Yeah?”

  Blayne leaned in closer. “Hon, you’re leaking.”

  “Pardon?”

  Teacup pointed at Dee’s arm. “You’re leaking.”

  “Shit.” She’d thought she’d stopped the bleeding.

  “Come on.”

  Blayne grabbed her arm and helped her out of her seat.

  “You’ll miss the game,” Dee told her.

  “These days I live hockey. I can miss a game or two.”

  Unable to fight, Dee let the wolfdog lead her to the hockey team’s locker room and into the medical unit that was always on standby during their games.

  “Blayne!” the four technicians and three sports doctors called out.

  “Hi, guys. You don’t mind if we use your facilities for a bit, do you?”

  “Be our guest.”

  Blayne helped Dee up onto one of the tables and went off to get supplies. She returned a few minutes later and helped Dee take her jacket off. She pulled off the towels Dee had wrapped around her wounded arm and, after some tsking, went about cleaning off all the blood.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Hyena cut me.”

  “Oh, Dee . . .” Blayne said sadly. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  She almost smiled. “Not this time.”

  “Good. All this killing can’t be healthy for you.”

  Blayne leaned in and studied the wound. “This is going to need stitches.”

  Dee pointed at one of the doctors. “He can do it.”

  “You’re not on the team. He won’t touch you.”

  “Fine. I’ll go to the hospital then.”

  “I can do it.” Blayne reached for a small plastic package.

  “You must be joking.”

  “Nope. But you have nothing to worry about. I’ve been sewing up O’Neills since I was fourteen. You know, when they couldn’t go to the hospital because it would have to be reported to the cops or something.”

  “Watch me not even respond to that, but my answer is still no.”

  “Dee-Ann, I’m trying to be nice here. But you’re testing my patience.”

  “Sorry if I don’t trust you to start sticking needles into me considering our past.”

  “Are you still harping on that?” Blayne demanded. “So I broke your nose and shot you that day in Ursus County . . . I can’t believe you’re still holding that against me.”

  “I know. So irrational.” Especially when Dee had to let her hair grow out just to cover the damage to her dang ear from that gunshot.

  “It is. Especially when I’m trying so hard to be nice. The least you can do is appreciate the gesture for what it is and let me stick this curved needle into your flesh over and over again. Understand?”

  “Well—”

  “Good! Now, hold on!” Gripping the pre-packaged needle with surgical thread in one hand and Dee’s wounded arm in the other, Blayne cheerfully chirped, “This is gonna hurt!”

  “I know this was an exhibition game,” Novikov told them while the team tried to shower, change, and get out for the evening. “And I know that we won . . . but there are some things that you guys suck at. I have a list.”

  He pulled a list out of his hockey pants and Ric jumped in front of Lock before he could get his hands around Novikov’s throat. “Why don’t we discuss this at the next team practice?” Ric suggested to Novikov, barely able to hold the grizzly back.

  Novikov held up his sheet of paper. “But I have a list.”

  Lock snarled, trying to push Ric out of the way, but somehow Ric managed to hold him back. “I know. But I think that list will be much more effective when we’re all rested and relaxed before a practice.”

  Novikov took a moment to think about it, and finally agreed. “All right. But next practice—you’ll all get to hear how you suck and how to fix that suckiness.”

  Ric waited until Novikov walked off to the shower before he told his best friend, “Let it go.”

  “I should twist him into a pretzel.”

  “What’s the point of that? Especially when there’s a risk he might twist you back. Let’s just take a shower and get out of here.”

  Grabbing his towel, Lock stormed into the shower, Ric about to follow. But he took a moment to unlock Novikov’s locker, move his deodorant, hairbrush, and mouthwash around, and lock it all back up again.

  He was heading to the shower when Blayne walked into the locker room.

  “Blayne!” the entire team called out.

  “Hey, guys!” She leaned in and whispered into Ric’s ear, “Dee got hurt.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t panic. She’ll be fine. I think the bleeding’s stopped.”

  “Wait . . . what?”

  “You’re still panicking. Anyway, I can take her home, but then I realized that you should take her home. Or, if you’re worried about how she’ll heal . . . take her to your home.”

  Confused by all of this, Ric asked, “I don’t understand what you’re—”

  “You. Take poor, wounded Dee home.” She winked. “It’s all part of my ‘Project: Wolf-W
olf’ plan.”

  “I thought you were coming up with a less appalling name.”

  She shrugged. “Nothing worked. So Project: Wolf-Wolf it is! It’s cute!” When he continued to scowl, “Suck it up, Van Holtz, and take her home.”

  “Shouldn’t I take her to the hospital—”

  “So cute,” she snapped, cutting him off. “But sometimes so freakin’ dumb.”

  “Yes, but if she’s badly wounded—”

  “Ulrich. Did my Project: Code Name Bear-Cat not work for Lock and Gwenie?” Blayne’s ridiculous but fun-loving plan to get their two best friends together forever, although to anyone with eyes that pair had seemed destined to be together—with or without Blayne’s help.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then my Project: Wolf-Wolf will work for you. But you must listen to me and trust me implicitly.”

  “I understand that, but—”

  “Just take her home already! Geez!”

  “Okay, okay!” He grabbed a towel, preparing to shower first. “I’ll be right out.”

  “No problem. She’s hanging with the Babes.” Blayne’s derby team.

  Now Ric did panic. “What?”

  “She’ll be fine. They love the Dee-ster.”

  “Good God, woman. You don’t call her that, do you?”

  “Well . . .”

  Deciding the shower would have to wait, Ric threw his clothes on.

  “What are you doing, baby?” Blayne asked Novikov once he’d returned from his shower.

  “Someone keeps moving the stuff in my locker around. It’s driving me nuts!”

  Blayne rolled her eyes and circled her forefinger around her temple while mouthing, He’s so crazy, at Ric.

  Shrugging, Ric grabbed his bag, and rushed out of the locker room.

  When Ric got down the hall, he found Dee-Ann surrounded by the derby girls of Blayne’s team. Like Blayne they were a loud, fun-loving, chatty bunch . . . and Dee looked seconds from killing them all. Seeing the desperate rage in her eyes, Ric quickly walked over and caught her arm. “Hello, gorgeous ladies.”

  “Ulrich!” they all cheered and a few hugged him.

  “Did we tell you how much we love the jackets?” They all turned and showed off the light jackets he’d purchased for them that not only had the team name, their derby name and number, but also the Van Holtz name as he was one of their biggest sponsors. What could he say? The sponsorship drove his father crazy, but there was nothing the older wolf could do about it—not legally anyway.

  “I’m so glad you guys like them.”

  “You two should come out with us!” one of the girls begged. “We’ll get coffee or something.”

  “We’d love to,” he began, but before he could finish, Dee dug particularly sharp claws into his hand, “but we can’t.”

  “Oh.” The entire team eyed them then, together. “Ohhhhh.”

  “Got it,” another said. “You guys go. Have a great night.”

  Ric laughed, tugging a snarling Dee-Ann through the group.

  He led her down the hall until they reached the elevator. Once inside, he asked, “What’s going on?”

  With a sigh, Dee pulled back the sleeve of her denim jacket. He saw the stitches. “Malone?” he asked and Dee chuckled.

  “Nah. She’s not a fan of knives. It was a Hyena. It’s not that bad. And Teacup didn’t do a bad job.”

  “You let Blayne sew you up?”

  “It was either that or hear the sobbing.”

  “Excellent point. And you handled the derby girls very well, too.”

  “That took a lot out of me. They were watching the game, but when Blayne didn’t come back, they all went looking for her. Like she was some lost kitten. But when they all started talking at once . . . that’s when I thought, ‘Time to start the killin’.’ ”

  “Good thing I rescued you when I did then,” Ric teased.

  “Yep.”

  The doors opened and they walked out into the underground parking lot. “I’ll take you home,” he said, not bothering to frame it in the form of a question or an offer.

  “Don’t need you to take me home,” was Dee’s immediate response.

  He pressed his hand against her forehead, ignoring the way she slapped at him. “Until I’m sure you don’t have a fever, get used to having me around.”

  “Great. First Teacup, now you gettin’ all pushy.”

  “I’d like to think I rank a little higher than Teacup.” He stopped and glared at her. “And now you’ve got me calling her that!”

  CHAPTER 8

  D ee was busy trying to think of ways she could ditch Ric. Not that she didn’t appreciate his trying to help, but she didn’t need a babysitter and she wasn’t in the mood to share a cab to Rory’s hotel so that Ric could complain about her needing a place of her own. She had one, she just never went there. She always meant to but then something came up and by the time she got around to heading home, it was just easier to head to the hotel or Bobby Ray’s place.

  Thinking she had a good excuse, Dee began to lie but stopped when she saw it. It sat in its own little spot, all by itself, freshly washed and detailed by the staff kept down here, Dee was betting. But worth it, she had to admit. So worth it. Because if there was one thing Dee didn’t believe in scrimping on, it was an automobile. And good Lord, but Ulrich Van Holtz had the best automobiles.

  Now, it was true, she leaned toward American muscle. Cars from the sixties and seventies that, with the right engine, could hit speeds that would have troopers on her ass for days. But unlike her cousins, Dee had no problem with small foreign cars that just reeked of speed and sex. And that was the one thing she really liked about Van Holtz. The man knew how to pick his cars. Most of the time, they weren’t even on the market yet in the States. Instead, he had them shipped over from Italy, Germany, and Asia.

  Today he’d gone for a Mercedes-Benz so new that it wasn’t even on the market in Europe yet. She knew because she’d read the article about its upcoming European release in one of Sissy Mae’s magazines.

  While Ric tried to force his hockey bag into that tiny trunk, Dee dragged her fingers over the rear fender and moved around the vehicle to the passenger door.

  How Ric managed to get the American version of a German car not yet available in Germany, Dee didn’t know. She didn’t ask. To be honest, she didn’t care. Because the mystery made it even sexier.

  “You like?” he asked. “Just picked it up.”

  “Nice.”

  He grinned and unlocked the doors by remote. Dee slid into the leather seat and her entire body tingled from the contact. Now this was luxury. These Manhattan females with their obsession for shoes and bags and designer clothes that were out of style a nanosecond after they were sold could keep all their fancy crap. Instead, Dee would take this, thank you very much.

  Dee buckled her seatbelt and, without thinking, gave Ric the address of the apartment she never went to. In fact, she was so busy touching and admiring the man’s car that she didn’t even know they were moving until they stopped in front of her building.

  “This is where you live?”

  Busy opening and closing the glove box, Dee snapped her head up, quickly taking in her surroundings and the scum that were eyeing Ric’s car—and probably Ric—from the various alleys and dark corners of the neighborhood.

  What had she been thinking? Why didn’t she tell him to take her to the hotel? Especially since her apartment had no damn furniture in it! And to be honest, the whole street was nothing but a gangland horror show, filled with junkies, pimps, and murderers. A place where Dee-Ann could get information when she needed it without worrying about asking nicely or that the cops would show up should things get ugly. Although one could hear sirens going off all night long, cops and emergency personnel rarely came to this part of town until the sun came up and any bodies lying on the ground could be clearly seen.

  Scrambling to get Ric out of here, Dee said, “Well, thanks and—”

 
“I’ll walk up with you.”

  “No!” Dee cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is . . . not necessary. Besides, you can’t leave your car here anyway.”

  “I can’t leave my car here, but I’m supposed to leave you here? And that makes sense because . . .”

  Stubborn. As stubborn as a mule. Even worse, Ric’s technique was to keep questioning her until he either wore her down or the entire street descended on them in a mass attack.

  No, what Dee needed to do was get this over with quickly.

  “Come on then,” she snapped and got out of the car.

  She stood on the street and glared down one end of the block to the other. She saw bodies step back into the darkness, not wanting to be seen by her. No one wanted to be seen by Dee. She didn’t know why specifically, but she didn’t mind. Not around here.

  Together they quickly walked up the stairs of the building, Dee finding herself more and more embarrassed as they stepped over trash and filth and a couple of piles that were breathing and smelled like ninety-proof liquor. Trying to be rich or look like she was rich was not something Dee-Ann ever thought about. Normally, what people thought of her or how they saw her, didn’t matter much. But, for the first time that she could remember, Dee was embarrassed. Terribly embarrassed that Ulrich Van Holtz of the mighty Van Holtz Pack was seeing a Smith—any Smith—living like this.

  Lord, she hoped her momma never found out about this. That She-wolf would have a fit! Where Dee-Ann and her daddy usually couldn’t care less what people thought, they did care an awful lot what Darla Lewis thought.

  Finally at her door, Dee quickly unlocked it. “Thanks,” she said and stepped inside. She turned to close the door behind her but Van Holtz had already walked in. Normally as polite as any Southerner Dee had grown up with, Van Holtz would never do such a thing. But when it came to Dee-Ann, he seemed to be less about polite and more about getting his own damn way.