Page 75 of Redeemed
“Stop.” Cliffe’s cry drags me out of my own head. One zombie dude has her pinned and the other looks ready to tear out her throat with his teeth.
“Hey,” I holler, but the sound is weak. Abby shakes off an overweight bear shifter and launches herself in Cliffe’s direction. I manage to drag my way to my feet, despite the way my head is spinning. We’re surrounded, catching fists and claws faster than we can fight them off.
They’re going to tear us to pieces. I play the only card I have left.
“Jacques Betancourt, if you kill the children of the American Alpha and their packmate, your life will be forfeit.”
No way he could hear me over the noise. A couple dead guys are gripping my arms with slimy determination, ignoring my attempts to shake them off.
Some must have heard me, though, because there’s a break in the action. A quick glance tells me the wolves in the room have paused.
“Desist.” Jacques’ command carries a lot more weight, and even more of the supernatural hooligans subside. The three of us are pinned in place, but at least no one’s actively trying to kill us.
Jacques stands, but it’s a slow process. A woman slips out of the crowd and comes to his side. She’s pretty—if you like your sweeties surgically enhanced—and he drapes a possessive arm around her shoulders.
“You think your father would avenge a pervert like you?” He moves in my direction, his steps unsteady.
“He would,” Abby says, her voice clear and strong. One of the zombies shakes her as if that’ll shut her up. Her low and threatening growl shows how well that worked.
His leer is trying to undermine my confidence. That’s not working, either. The only way to deal with someone as powerful as Jacques Betancourt is to meet them with confidence. “I mean, are you really willing to take that chance? Dad’s not known for his patience with idiots.”
Jacques’ gaze narrows, the only thing giving his face life. “Maybe I am willing to take that chance.”
“And maybe I think we’re more use to you alive than dead.”
“How so?”
“Because there’s a piece you’re missing.” My grin is way cockier than I feel.
“Tell me.”
I shrug. “Let go of my sister and my packmate and maybe I will.”
Jacques waves a hand at Percy, who’s sidled away from the fighting so he won’t get his Salvador Ferragamos dirty. Percy’s eyes get real wide, as if Jacques just yelled in his head the way he’s been yelling in Trajan’s. Percy marches over to Cliffe, producing a nasty-looking blade from his jacket’s inner pocket.
“This one?” Percy lays the blade flat against Cliffe’s throat and Jacques laughs.
“It doesn’t matter. Now”—he turns to me—“are you persuaded to tell me this vital piece of information?”
I start laughing, becauseshit, man. I’m standing naked in front of a room full of wanna-bes and the only thing between the three of us and a gory death is my ability to entertain this twisted old demon. I reach for my wolf, tapping into the source of whatever power I’ve been granted, and raise one hand. “Wolves, down.”
Across the room, a dozen or so men and women drop to their knees. A quick scan shows me the only other wolves in the room are Abby and Cliffe. It also shows me that my innards are fixing to bust with the effort this is costing me. “Wolves, move.”
Okay, the last word is more of a gasp, but I fill the space with my intention. One by one, every wolf in the place turns toward Jacques. “If I tell them to kill,” I manage to grind out, “they’re coming for you.”
His eyes are flaming pits. “Take them to the waiting room.” He’s swaying on his feet, despite the help of his plastic girlfriend. “I must give this matter more thought.”
His tone says he’s not backing down, that this is a strategic retreat. I know better. I let go of my hold on the room, a little nervous the wolves will retaliate. Percy’s back before that can happen, directing our zombie friends—and us—down a hall and into what has to be the smallest room in the house.
The only piece of furniture is a bunk that looks older than anyone here except maybe Jacques, and for a small space, the stink of fear and desperation is impressive. Nothing good has ever happened here. Abby, Cliffe, and I are shoved through the door and a sharp click says it’s locked behind us.
Good. If we’re locked in, they’re locked out. “We’ve bought ourselves some time,” I say, flopping against a wall and sliding down to my butt. “Let’s see what we can come up with.”
Cliffe claims the bunk and Abby stakes out a section of the floor, but before they can answer me, a sharp scream tears through the air.
“You’ve lost her, you idiot.”
A stream of protest is cut off by a dense grunt, then silence.
