Page 6 of Understanding Fate

Bri was already waiting for her ride. He had time to properly hide or remove the chauffeur before introducinghimself. My guess is he didn’t want to mess up his five-thousand-dollar suit.

As he turns behind the vehicle headed to the driver’s side, I make my move. I silently close the distance before wrapping one arm around his throat while the other tucks under my forearm, effectively locking in a standing rear naked choke.

At the contact, Jett rears his body backward, slamming me into the door but not rattling my grip. He struggles for nearly a minute, even shifting his hand into a paw to slice the flesh on my arm, giving a commendable effort to escape.

Too bad I feel nothing.

Years of nerve torture left most of my skin numb or scarred. The heinous interrogation treatment actually helps me in my line of work. Though it definitely wasn’t his intention to harden my exterior, Saint pushed harder each time I didn’t die. Each time he pushed harder, I held onto more and more of the truth.

1,623 days.

Anger builds in me as I squeeze, barely noticing how weak Jett’s attempts become. I’d say he has about… three, two, one. At the end of my countdown, his body falls limp, but I hold a few moments longer, ensuring that he is out before laying him down out of the way of the wheels, slightly behind a berm of snow. I retrieve a small vial containing Propofol from the bottom compartment of my boot. I quickly attach the needle and find a vein in his arm before injecting it. Based on his size, his wolf, and the dose, it will only be about five minutes before he’s back up.

His hand, now shifted back to human, has my blood coating it. I use the snow to clean it and remove any trace of me being here, scuffing up the boot patterns and scattering the red-dotted snow. I use more snow to slow the bleeding of my arm before surveying the area to be sure I’m in the clear.

The entire takedown took under two minutes, and the only sound was me hitting the door, which didn’t attract any unwanted attention. I pull the key fob out of the snow where he dropped it and jump into the driver seat, turning to greet the female who held all of my proverbial cards—the female who, by the luck of The Fates, has a damn death wish.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, City,” I offer, purposely taking the bite out of my tone when I hear her sharp inhale.

The fear that flashes on her face a moment before she recognizes me tamps down my anger over her inability to stay out of trouble. Her expression broadcasts her shock, then her confusion, and lastly, her rage. She whips her head around, looking out the window and attempting to escape. My finger slides to the automatic lock before she can open the door, and I add the child lock for good measure.

Never can be too careful with this one.

“What did you do to Sebastian?” she shouts at me accusingly.

“No idea who that is,” I deflect before continuing. “You should really put your seatbelt on, seeing as you tend to bring trouble wherever you go.”

She huffs. Actually huffs like a pissed-off dragon releasing steam, and I can’t help but laugh at how adorable she looks: flushed, jaw set, eyes on fire.

“I am NOT going anywhere with you! The last time I saw you, you assisted my KIDNAPPER with a warm meal and a place to stay. ‘Put on your seatbelt,’ you’ve got to be kidding me. Let me out of here. I’m sure there's a poor chauffeur out there with an injury that needs attending to.” Her words come out clipped and accusatory, and for a moment, it gives me pause.

She’s not wrong about the Hudson thing.

She crosses her arms defiantly, and I assess her momentarily, knowing deep down she’s too stubborn to do this without a fight.

Okay. Plan B. It's time to give her the truth.

“Your ‘poor chauffeur’ is a pack enforcer tasked with kidnapping you on three-quarters of a million dollar bounty from none other than Deacon Marlo, so if you would like to live through this ‘fun job-hunting adventure,’ I would appreciate less sass, more gratitude, and your buckle clipped.” I finish with a smirk before turning around and pulling out of the space, heading toward my hotel.

I have no idea what Jett did with Dante’s enforcer, and I make a mental note to reach out to him once Bri’s secured. As we exit the airport parking lot, I look into the rearview mirror and see she has, in fact, buckled up, and now that face of hers is just a screen show of emotions. Her eyes catch the gashes still bleeding on my forearm, and I attempt to pull the torn sleeve down, using my gloved hand to wipe away some of my blood in the process.

It’s deeper than I realized.

Before checking in, I’ll need to replace both the shirt and the gloves. Fingerprints and DNA are too easily traced, and, as far as I know, mine don’t exist in any system.

Well, except Saint’s.

I’m never without a full change of clothes or extra gloves. Not only do they keep my identity secure, but they keep my visions away. Skin contact shows me everything I need to know about a person's future. The longer the contact, the more I see. So, I ensure everything I wear in public has me covered until or unless I need to use that particular ability.

Her silence as we drive has me flipping my eyes back on the mirror again. I notice the increased tempo of her heart rate fluttering on her neck and her shallow breathing. I worry she’s about to experience another panic attack, like the day inthe woods, so I try to distract her, speaking casually over my shoulder.

“And to clarify, I recall you also enjoyed a place to stay and a warm meal on the ‘kidnapping extravaganza,’ several in fact. If I remember correctly, I served your eggs ‘just the way you like ‘em in the mornin’.” I smile my Cheshire grin, enjoying being able to fluster her. I see the flush climb her neck and some of the fire lights back up in her eyes, which shows me she’s back in complete control.

Pushing her buttons is so easy, and I haven’t been able to push anyone's buttons in a long time—not since Mazie.

The thought of my baby sister is a punch to the gut. Instantly, it's like I’m doused with ice water, and the moment of joy is erased by immeasurable pain as flashes of her frail naked body lay beaten, broken, chained to that breeding table. I fight to hold onto the present, blinking several times and refocusing on the moment I get to light Connor Saint on fire and let him burn over and over for his sins.

That centers me, and when I regain my composure, I realize I have pulled off to the side of the road. Bri is speaking to me, but her words aren’t registering. I squeeze my eyes shut for three counts and then open them, allowing myself to process the sound coming in.

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