“I’ll let you eat,” my dad said, already moving toward the hall. As the door closed, he shot me a sympathetic, encouraging smile, and I swallowed my panic long enough to nod in return. Compared to Marc and Jace’s lodgings, I was practically being pampered, and I could and would carry out my assignment, even if my skin crawled just from the knowledge that I wasn’t free to leave whenever I wanted.
“Here.” Alex set the bowl and thermos on the nightstand, but I waited until he retreated to his chair before I crossed the room toward my dinner.
I sank onto the bed and lifted the bowl, relieved to realize I could feel the warmth in my hands. Feeling had returned to my fingers. And the stew smelled pretty damn good.
Alex watched as I scooped up a spoonful of beef and carrots—hours before starting a war was not a good time to begin a hunger strike—and I briefly considered trying to charm him into talking about the guns. He was barely out of high school—too young to have much real experience with women, and just arrogant enough to believe I might actually have a change of heart, once I’d spent a little time with the sex magnet he surely thought he was.
But then I realized that the thought of touching him made me sick to my stomach, and I wasn’t that good an actress.
Okay, back to the old tried-and-true: piss him off until he says what I need to hear.
When he noticed me looking, Alex put on his game face—an almost believable expression of regret. He was still trying to win me over. Idiot.
“You know, I get why you hate me, me being your jailer, and all.”
I shook my head. “You’re just doing your job. I hate you because of Ethan.”
He frowned while I chewed. “I didn’t kill your brother.”
I swallowed my first bite, another spoonful halfway to my mouth. “You were in charge of the group that came for Kaci—which just proves your dad’s an idiot. A leader is responsible for his men’s actions, and you let one of them kill Ethan. That makes it your fault.” As well as his father’s.
Alex’s pale brown eyebrows drew together. “How was I supposed to know Gibson was gonna pounce?”
I dropped my spoon back into the bowl, pissed now, even beyond the scope of my intended manipulation. “It’s your duty to know how the men under you are going to react in any given situation. If you don’t know them, how are you supposed to lead them? You should never have taken…Gibson?” I asked, and he nodded, anger and shame clearly at war on his face. “You should never have taken Gibson on that assignment. Ethan was no threat to him—didn’t even know he was there—and Gibson killed him, anyway. You were going after a thirteen-year-old girl! What if he’d attacked Kaci instead?”
Alex bristled, and I was almost surprised to see him show a little backbone. “Look, I didn’t ask for that assignment, and I didn’t pick the men. So you can’t hate me for something I didn’t even do.”
“Grow up, Alex.” I set down the bowl and grabbed the thermos. “A real leader wouldn’t make excuses. He’d just make sure something like that never happens again.” I gulped from the thermos, but cold water couldn’t put out the flames of rage burning deep within me. “But you’re not a leader, and the men under you know it. And so does your dad. He’s only trying to put you in my bed because he knows he can manipulate you, and that’ll give him control of two territories.”
“He doesn’t manipulate me. He’s my dad.” Alex spoke through clenched teeth, and his growing anger fed my own.
I scooped another bite from the bowl, watching him over my spoon. “He was Brett’s dad, too, right? Yet he manipulated you into killing your own brother.” His eyes widened and he glanced at the closed door, clearly thinking of all the ears listening in from the other room. “I’m not seeing a strong father-son relationship here, Alex. You two make Anakin and Luke look like Andy and Opie.”
He dropped his head again, staring at the carpet as he spoke. “Brett fell out of a tree.”
“Right. And you’re the only one who saw it happen, right? Everyone knows what you did, and they know your dad made you do it because Brett had decided to come play for the good guys.”
“You think you’re one of the good guys?” Alex stood, gesturing angrily now. “You handed Lance over to the thunderbirds. You chose another species over one of your own kind!”
“I did what I had to do to save Kaci. And we both know Lance was guilty. But I let you and Dean live, even after you tried to kill Jace and make a jack-o’-lantern out of my face. Would a bad guy do that?”
“Only a moron would do that,” Alex retorted, and before I could argue—which I was itching to do with my fists—he rushed on. “You’re a hypocrite, Faythe. You talk about honor and mercy, yet you’re willing to let your whole species die out just because you’re a frigid bitch. That’s not honor—it’s extinction. It’s slow-motion genocide.”
My hand went slack around my spoon. I couldn’t get past his accusations. Was that what everyone thought of me? That I wanted to flush my entire species down the evolutionary toilet? No wonder so many of them hated me. But they were wrong. About everything.
I dropped my bowl on the nightstand, and broth splashed onto the wood. “You are so full of shit, you reek from a mile away. And so does your dad, if that’s the kind of bull he’s been feeding you. You can’t blame an entire species’ propagation problems on one woman wanting to have a life of her own before she’s ready to create several more. And frankly, the longer I listen to your bullshit, the less I want to have children, for fear they’ll turn out like you! Maybe our species wasn’t meant to survive. Did you ever think of that? Maybe there’s a reason we have so few women, and maybe that reason is because assholes like you and your father, and his pathetic, ass-kiss followers, don’t deserve to be here, much less to warp an entire new generation of toy soldiers and broken-spirited baby machines.”
I knew I’d said too much—knew everyone in the front room could hear me, and that I might have just made all new enemies. But I couldn’t stop. The truth burned white-hot inside me, demanding to be spoken.
“You’re not afraid the other tabbies will start thinking like me. You’re afraid they’ll start thinking, period! You wouldn’t know what do to with a woman who has ideas of her own, and your vacant, slack-jawed stare right now proves it.” I paused for a deep breath and stood. “And by the way, refusing to sleep with you doesn’t mean a girl’s frigid. It means she has standards.”
I sank onto the bed again, floating with satisfaction and more nourished by the truth I’d spoken than by the soup he’d brought. I’d probably pay for everything I’d said later, but I didn’t regret a word of it. Malone and his allies needed a dose of honesty, and they needed to know who they were really dealing with. And now they knew.
Alex fumed. His face flushed purple with anger and humiliation, and he kept glancing at the closed door, hyperaware that the living room had gone completely silent when I started my tirade. “You know, you’re only making things harder for yourself, running your mouth off like that. Soon you’re gonna be missing your claws and in serious need of a friend, and I’ll look pretty damn good next to the alternative.”
“The alternative?” I asked, and a flash of genuine irritation and jealousy passed over his face. Dread settled through me as his meaning sank in. “You mean Dean?”
“Yeah.” Alex sank onto the spare twin bed and met my gaze from three feet away, lowering his voice so he wouldn’t be heard from the living room. “Marc and Jace aren’t going to last long, now that things have changed. We both know that. And if I can’t make you see reason by the time they’re both gone, my dad’s going to give Dean a shot with you. Would you really rather deal with him than with me?” His gaze strayed to the scar on my left cheek. “After what he did to your face? At least I’d never hurt you.”
It took every bit of self-control I had left to keep from shouting, and I made no effort to lower my voice. “And I’m supposed to believe that because I’ve magically forgotten how I got my pretty new scar? You told hi
m to cut me, Alex. This was your bright idea, and that’s not the kind of thing a girl can just forgive and forget.”
“It was just a threat!” His voice was a mere suggestion of sound now, and even I barely heard him. “How was I supposed to know you’d actually make him do it?”
“Alphas don’t make empty threats, Alex. They say what they mean, and they follow through. Good Alphas, anyway. Your father obviously doesn’t qualify, considering he’s keeping you under his thumb with nothing more than a series of idle threats.”
“They’re not idle,” he whispered. “He’s very serious about getting rid of Marc and Jace.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But he’d no sooner try to put Dean in charge of the south-central territory than he’d let Marc run it. Your dad can’t control Colin Dean, and he knows it. But at least Dean has the balls to get the job done. You… I don’t think you have it in you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your dad wants grandchildren, and I’m never going to willingly sleep with you.” I said it nice and loud, careful to enunciate, so everyone in the other room would hear. “Do the math. What’s the only way you’re ever going to get me pregnant?”
“No.” He shook his head, eyes wide, though he still whispered. “It won’t be like that. You’ll come around, once Marc and Jace are gone. You won’t have claws, or anyone left to protect you. My dad says you’ll need me, and need can make a woman see reason.”
And suddenly I was reminded of how very young and naive he was.
“Your dad’s a raging idiot,” I spat, contempt dripping from my voice. “I will fight you. Every single time. You will not tame me. You will not break me. I will make your life a living hell, and if I get a chance to kill you, I’ll take it. And frankly, I don’t think you can beat me in a fair fight. But even if you can, are you really prepared to do what your dad wants? Over and over again?”
Alex looked sick, like he was about to puke all over the floor. I breathed a silent sigh of relief that I’d read him correctly. If he were more like Dean, that approach would have failed spectacularly.
“You may be young and stupid, but you’re not a monster, Alex. And if your father had a single brain cell in that overinflated skull of his, he’d know that when the time comes, you’ll be no use to him. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cuts you loose altogether. Then where will you go?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed like he was trying to swallow rage that had no other outlet. And when he finally spoke, I could barely hear him. “I’m not Brett. You’re not gonna talk me into defecting.”
I laughed out loud and was thrilled to see him flinch. “My father wouldn’t take you. We have standards in the south-central Pride. Cowards need not apply.”
“I’m not a coward.” There was that anger again. It was a quiet fury this time, bubbling beneath the surface.
“Right. That’s why you have a pistol tucked into the back of your pants. A gun can make even the most worthless coward feel powerful, can’t it? But what that gun really means is that you don’t fight well enough to go without it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know this—you’re not going to surprise us with those guns again. Hunting is big in Texas, Alex. Did you really think we’d be impressed by a couple of stupid pistols?”
I made myself inhale steadily, afraid that if I held my breath, he’d see how important his answer was. That the entire argument had been a lead-in to the gun issue.
Fortunately, Alex was too mad to question the hopefully subtle change in subject. “A couple of stupid pistols?” His face was turning red again. “It’s not just a couple. It’s twenty—more than enough to protect and defend. And they weren’t easy to get ahold of, without all the background checks and paperwork.”
A sick feeling twisted in my gut and my smug satisfaction began to fade. Malone had twenty guns? Shit. How long had he been planning this? How on earth were we supposed to get rid of that many before the fight? And what the hell were we supposed to do with them?
“Twenty? Talk about overkill… Or does your dad have twenty enforcers now? With that overinflated ego, he probably thinks he needs that kind of entourage.”
Alex frowned. He didn’t like it when I insulted his father, which made that my new favorite hobby. “The guns are for the new task force.”
“And you’re on this task force?”
“Handpicked a month ago.”
Before there even was a task force. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, noting that conversation had resumed in the living room. They were no longer listening. “Are there actually twenty members?” That feeling of dread grew darker. This task force was a very bad idea.
“Not yet, but there will be. My dad has his eye on several toms from other Prides, to keep things fair.”
Or at least to keep things looking fair.
“Are you telling me that your dad is passing out handguns to a bunch of power-hungry rookies who’ve never even held one before?”
Alex frowned. “That would be stupid. We’ve been training for weeks now, and most of us are pretty good shots.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m better than Dean.”
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to hit him or hold his hand and walk him back to preschool. Alex was just a kid. He was an impressionable teenager whose sense of right and wrong had been forever warped by a power-hungry father. Unfortunately, he was also an armed teenager who could throw a full-grown man into the next room.
“You guys didn’t bring all those guns here, did you?” I said, when a more subtle way to ask the question didn’t present itself.
His eyes narrowed. “What, you thinkin’ of grabbing one, now that you know what you’re up against?” I started to deny it, then decided to let him think whatever he wanted. “Not gonna happen. We only brought half, and half of those are locked up safe and sound. You’ll never get your hands on any of them.”
I shrugged, trying to look casual. “I wouldn’t even try. I don’t even know how to hold one.”
“That’s just one more reason you should rethink this whole ‘ice bitch’ routine. Your mouth isn’t going to protect you from a 9 mm slug, and it won’t save your claws, either. The best thing you can do for yourself now is to shut up and start playing nice, because burning bridges is only going to leave you stranded all alone.”
Better alone than with Alex. Or Dean. And what kind of bullshit metaphor was that, anyway?
Alex mistook my silence for capitulation—or at least serious contemplation—and for several minutes, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, he sighed. “Are you gonna eat that?” He gestured toward the half-empty bowl of now-cold stew on the nightstand.
“No. Go for it.”
Instead of getting up and walking around the bed, he leaned over me with one hand on the mattress, careful to make sure his chest brushed mine as he reached for the bowl. The arrogant prick.
As he stretched, the tail of his shirt came up, exposing the butt of the gun sticking out of his waistband.
I hesitated less than a second. It wasn’t in the plan. I was supposed to wait for the jailbreak, not execute it myself. But life rarely dangles opportunity quite so close to my grasping hands, and I wasn’t going to pass this one up.
I snatched the gun. Alex sat up, grabbing for it. I clicked off the safety, as I’d seen him do earlier. Alex froze.
“Faythe…”
I swung the gun, hard. The grip slammed into his temple. Alex collapsed on top of me, out cold, a lump already forming on the side of his head.
“I only said you could try to stop me.”
Twelve
I rolled Alex off of me and onto the edge of the bed, then pulled his handcuffs from his pocket and secured his arms behind his back. The cuff key went into my front pocket, as I glanced around the room for something with which to tie his ankles. The dresser, chest of drawers, and the closet were all empty, except for
a few bent metal hangers on the floor of the closet. The only thing even remotely ropelike was the telephone wire.
Kneeling between the twin beds, I pulled the nightstand away from the wall and disconnected the wire from the jack, then from the phone, and used it to tie Alex’s ankles together.
With no duct tape and nothing to use as a gag, I tore the sleeve off his black winter T-shirt, then cursed myself for already having cuffed him. Marc made ripping material look easy, and I’d popped the shoulder stitches just fine, but it took me two tries to get the sleeve torn open along the length of his arm.
I wadded up the loose material and shoved it into his mouth, in lieu of a better gag, then pushed him beneath the bed. If someone looked for more than a second they’d find him—especially if he woke up and struggled—but at a glance, the room would look empty, once I was gone.
The plan had been for Marc and Jace to take care of the guard outside my window, but they obviously weren’t free yet, which was the biggest inconvenience in my impromptu prison break. Well, that, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a coat, which meant I was gonna freeze my ass off outside.
I knelt at the head of the left-hand bed to peer out the window, but saw no sign of my guard, or of anyone else. My room faced the side yard—on the first floor, thankfully—and it was cold enough that everyone with an ounce of sense had gone inside. In fact, I could hear the muted crackle-roar of a fire from the main room down the hall, along with the buzz of conversation that would hopefully disguise the few sounds of my escape.
The view from the second bed was the same, which meant my guard had either left his post or was standing right beside one of the windows where I couldn’t see him, waiting to bash me over the head and turn me in.
To test the theory, I took a deep, calming breath and unlocked the window, then pulled it open a couple of inches and gasped at the stinging cold. If the guard showed up, I’d say I wanted some fresh air.
But no one came, so I opened it a little more and stuck my head out. The yard was empty.