Chapter Ten

Brody

"I'm headed out, boss," Sammy told me, only his head and not the rest of him, sticking through my office door. "Glad to have you back."

I tossed him a quick grin. "Glad to be back. Thanks for covering for me."

"Anytime. By the way, love the new look."

Sammy, grinning, traced his finger across his cheek.

"Yeah, yeah. Buzz off before I give you one of your own."

He vanished like a shut in jack-in-the-box.

Outside, the crews had gone home. Quitting time had arrived even though the sun still shone down brightly. I sighed, tried to not scratch at my healing wounds, and returned my attention to my work. Sammy hadn't the authority to go through the work orders, the scheduling, the time sheets, the invoices.

They'd piled up fast while I was gone.

"Life's a bitch, then you die," I said to no one in particular, then got back at it.

Hours crawled by. Darkness fell outside my windows. My right hand cramped, making my injured arm ache in earnest as I scribbled on the papers. The deep healing itched so badly I yearned to rip my sutures out and indulge in an ultra-satisfying scratch.

I ignored the persistent itching as best I could.

My inbox grew smaller as my outbox enlarged exponentially. Hunger rumbled in my stomach, outpacing the itching as my first concern. I dropped my pen with gratitude and stretched my back. I thought of Lindsey and smiled to myself. I like that girl. Very much.

My office door swung open.

I glanced up and instantly scowled.

Austin grinned at me from the doorway. "Yo," he exclaimed. "Bro."

"Get the fuck out of here," I snapped, standing. "Find the idiot who took your shit, then leave me alone."

"Except you took it, my brother." He shut the door and leaned against it, smiling kindly. "Give it back. Please."

I rolled my eyes heavenward. "Gawd, you're so dense. I didn't take it. I'd no idea you're in that business. Had I known, I still wouldn't have stolen it. Dope isn't my style."

"Come on, man," he pleaded. "Don't make me get rough."

"Like burning my place, my truck, isn't rough?" I snarled. I gestured toward my face. "This isn't?"

"Nope." He smiled. "Rough is taking your girl."

I gaped, astounded, unable to comprehend what he's talking about. "My girl? I don't –"

Lindsey!

"You know," he drawled. "The hottie with the black hair and nice tits. She's in my custody, bro, and will remain in my custody until I get my shit." He examined his nails. "Of course, I can't promise she'll come back – intact."

I lunged for him.

I leaped over my desk in a single bound, seeing the panic cross his face in a brief flash.

Austin, the prick, saw me coming and jacked through the door faster than a hare dodging a cheetah. I missed his throat by a fraction of a second, charged down the steel steps in his wake, and shifted.

I hadn't planned to shift. It came from my rage, my need to rend and slay, to kill my enemy and burn him to ashes.

My wings shutting out the moonlight, the starlight, the streetlights, I soared low over the graveled parking lot, empty of all cars. Austin shot a glance over his shoulder as he ran for the street.

"Fuck," he screamed, catching sight of me, my jaws wide, ready to snap him up and spit him into a bloody mess on the asphalt street.

"I've got you," I bellowed, reaching for him. "You're so fucking dead."

Austin shifted.

He leaped skyward, his broad wings catching the light breeze. Instantly, he snapped right, and in banking in such a tight turn he caught me off guard. Even as I chomped at his spade tail, he whipped it from my reach and beat his wings hard, gaining altitude.

I chased him, not surprised he was of my kind. "Fucker," I roared, my flames teasing his ass. "I'll fucking kill you."

His bellowed laughter coasted back to me on the wind created by his wings. "Kill me and you'll never find her, asshole. Greg will make her suffer. She'll die screaming your name."

"So will you," I growled, working my wings, gaining on him, all but tasting his blood in my mouth. "You'll die screaming, my claws ripping your guts to shreds."

"Tell me where my dope is, and she'll be free tonight. Unharmed."

Austin dipped his left wing and dove, once again leaving me behind and working to catch up. Flattening my wings against my shoulders and back, I also dove, falling faster than he. Whether he expected such a move on my part or not, Austin spread his wings and soared.

I hit him like a four-ton boulder striking the road.

I sank my claws into his shoulders, bit deep into his neck. My long, jagged teeth ripped through his tough scales, seeking his jugular, seeking his life. Austin screamed like a little girl at finding a black hairy spider in her bathtub, twisting in my grip.

"Kill me and she dies," he yelled, bucking like a rodeo bronc. "I swear it, Brody. If I don't call, he'll fuck her. He'll rape her to death. He'll shove a knife up her twat."

I hesitated. I didn't sink my teeth in deeper. Nor did I scratch my rear claws into his hips, tearing his scales into so much shredded paper. He felt my hesitation. He ceased his struggles.

"I mean it," he snarled, turning his head on his long neck to meet my gaze. "I don't check in, she's dogmeat. Let me go. Bring me my shit and we're good. You have her back unharmed."

I spat his blood from my mouth. "I didn't take it," I howled. "You stupid mother fucker. Find the shit who did and let Lindsey go."

Austin ripped his body from my grip. He soared, his wings level, his brilliant eyes fastened on mine. "I want to believe you," he said. "I know what I saw. You on camera."

"My jacket was stolen, you jackass," I yelled, soaring beside him. "I lost it years ago. Right from my locker. If I'd taken your dope, I'd give it back to save Lindsey. I don't fucking have it."

"Then you find who did," Austin growled. "I'll keep Lindsey safe for two days. You find the thief, she goes free."

He started to bank away toward the city. "You don't, she's one messed up chick."

***

I flew home.

The nasty taste of Austin's blood in my mouth kept me company, as did the fear, the worry, that I'd caused Lindsey to lose her life. I believed him when he said his man would make her suffer. Austin wasn't just part reptile; his blood was as cold as the Arctic ice.

I shifted to my two-legged form in a darkened park a few blocks from mine and Lindsey's houses. Certain none saw me alight on the grass, my broad wings covering the park from end to end, I dropped to my four legs and furled my wings.

The walk home in the mild night didn't calm my ragged nerves by much. I passed lit houses, their occupants watching TV, reading stories to their kids. The scent of woodsmoke and the flickering light of a fire spoke of a backyard firepit. Voices lifted in laughter and camaraderie that I'd never share in.

I was different.

I wasn't human.

Lindsey's front door was shut but unlocked. Inside her house, I saw few signs of a struggle. Her work computer was on, but asleep from inactivity. She hadn't cooked a dinner if I was any guess. Her cell sat on her desk. I checked the last call – an area code I didn't recognize.

Pacing around her house, stepping around boxes, I fretted. I worried. Scared, I pictured what might be happening to her at that moment. Tears burned my eyes as I feared Austin wouldn't keep his word. That he'd call his pal and order Lindsey raped.

I yanked her computer from its snooze. The internet browser was opened to her last inspection, some shit about teenage pregnancies. My fingers shaking, I typed into the search bar the name of my old high school. From there, I researched my graduating class, viewing yearbook photos.

Scrolling through them, not quite knowing what I looked for, I studied face after face. Linda, the chick I'd lost my virginity to behind the stadium. Pete, my lab partner. He'd long been gone to MIT from what I'd heard. Smart son of a bitch. The faces of the football staff, the coach, the cheerleaders who'd screwed anything with a pulse.

"He's got to be here," I muttered, frantic, seeking a face, a name, that might save Lindsey's life.

Brian, Shelly, Larry, Mike, Heather, Stacy. None of them fit the image I had in my head. A guy who looked sort of like me but wasn't me. Whoever had stolen my letterman's jacket had to be a dude, dark blond hair and a big build.

I didn't see him.

My mouth dry, I went to Lindsey's kitchen for wine, something to calm my nerves. I have two days to find him. Lindsey won't be harmed. I'll find him, turn him over to Austin. We'll be safe from then on.

Returning to her computer, I scanned all the faces of my past classmates. Some were blond, sure. Those that were didn't have my build, my profile. Dudes that matched me in size weren't blond. I nearly screamed in my frustration. I couldn't see any of them breaking into my locker and stealing my jacket.

Leaning back in her chair, I thought back to my lost letterman's jacket. I shut my eyes to remember better.

I walked down the crowded hall after my chemistry final. I felt good that I passed with a better than ninety percent. If I did, I'd graduate with honors. My folks would be so pleased if I did. I thought of the colleges and universities who'd extend scholarships like candy.

My locker stood wide open. I swore under my breath, glancing around for the guilty party. Only my fellow students, happy the year was over, and spring had arrived, passed by without stopping. Inside, I discovered my prized jacket and a few books were gone. Who'd take my jacket with my football number on it? Who'd want my books on English literature, biology, and chemistry?

"Prick," I'd muttered, and slammed my locker closed. "I'll find you."

I never did.

Over that summer as I applied for scholarships and universities, I'd forgotten about the theft. Football and high school were so over with. I had a brilliant future ahead of me. I'd get a master's degree in chemical engineering, make big waves in the science industry, marry my sweetheart, and raise rug rats.

Except it didn't quite happen the way I'd anticipated.

A sharp noise like a door closing roused me from my memories. Something, or someone, had just entered Lindsey's house. Alert, on edge, I sought for a weapon, any weapon, at Lindsey's desk. I found nothing more lethal than a letter opener. Still, it was something. I grabbed it and tucked it against my wrist.

The person paced into the kitchen, a shadow against the lights from outside. I saw him illuminated against the streetlamps, a black silhouette in the dark kitchen. Gripping the letter opener, wishing for a better weapon, I wondered where Lindsey kept her Glock.

Creeping to the doorway, I peered around the edge. The dude wasn't big, that's for damn sure. Maybe Austin hired pussy wimps who couldn't fight their way from a wet paper bag. He didn't turn as I sneaked up behind him, lifting the only weapon I had.

The tiles creaked under my boot.

The dude turned, spinning.

"Fucker," I snarled, bringing the opener down in a vicious cutting arc.