CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Stood in a crowded hallway of his old apartment complex, Isaiah couldn’t help but smile at the sight of three Russian male wolverines blustering and shouting in their usual melodramatic way. He couldn’t hear much of what was being said, thanks to the music blasting, but he suspected they were again complaining that their great-niece Aurora hadn’t been given a Russian name.

Balancing a paper plate on one hand, Isaiah bit into his chicken wing. Pride events, especially parties, usually took place at the Tavern—their main hangout. But Bree and Alex had decided to throw an apartment-block party in order to celebrate the birth of their daughter. Isaiah suspected it was because the very anti-people Alex could then close himself in his apartment once his social battery ran out.

People were everywhere—the hallways, the open apartments, the stairwells, even the elevator. In fact, one of his fellow enforcers was manning a makeshift bar in the latter.

Some danced. Some drank. Some talked. Some chomped on finger foods.

Laughter regularly floated throughout the space, a balm to the pride’s heart. It had recently suffered a few hits. One member had had to be executed, another was ostracized, and a third had temporarily gone to stay with family to heal from a breakup. As such, the birth of the baby wolverine had given some much needed light to the pride.

Unlike most breeds of shifter, pallas cats typically didn’t claim territories. They did, however, live close together. There was strength in numbers, after all.

The pride owned not only three apartment complexes—including this one—but a nearby cul-de-sac and every business on both sides of the closest street.

His Alpha, Tate Devereaux, had reserved one of the other apartment buildings for lone shifters only, hoping to help with the growing problem of homeless loners. Such people were regularly targeted due to being without protection. All Tate’s tenants had his protection.

Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Isaiah looked to see his fellow enforcer Deke approaching. Clinging to the tall male’s broad back was his mate, Bailey, her silver hair looking exceptionally striking while pressed against Deke’s short black strands.

Isaiah felt his brow crease, even as amusement pricked at him. “There a reason you’re all the way up there?”

“Of course,” she replied simply, but no explanation was given. Not a surprise. This particular black mamba did not live to please others. In fact, she set out to drive them insane … which made her an unlikely partner for someone as intolerant as Deke, but they fit in ways few people would have foreseen.

Isaiah’s cat tended to glower at the newly mated couple, envious at what they had. Tonight, though, the feline did nothing—he was busy brooding, having withdrawn to a corner of Isaiah’s mind.

Deke knocked back some of his beer. “Any progress with FindYourMatch.com?” he asked Isaiah.

Bailey’s dark deep-set eyes lit with interest. “Ooh, yeah, what’s going on with that?”

“I was sent the names of three possible matches,” Isaiah told them. “Each has what you’d call a basic profile and a photograph on the website, so I checked them out.”

“And?” pressed Bailey, impatient.

“One stood out for me.” Isaiah tore a strip of meat from his chicken wing and chewed it fast. “I had River do a little digging, but he couldn’t find more info on her than I already know.”

“What kind of shifter is she?” Deke asked.

Isaiah felt his mouth bow up. “A breed that will never fear pallas cats, so I knew I wouldn’t have to worry that she’d care what I am. I contacted her. We exchanged a few messages. She’s agreed to meet with me.”

Deke looked pleased. “When?”

“Soon.” Providing her Alphas weren’t difficult. “Tate will come along, as will her Alpha male. We’ll probably—”

“Dear God, will you never stop?” yelled another voice from down the hall.

Isaiah looked to see Tate’s youngest brother, Damian, scowling at his sister.

“Until the world accepts that I’m right about you and brands you the monster you are, no,” Elle bellowed back at him. “No, Beelzebub, I will never stop.”

Damian threw up his arms, his face red and splotchy. “I can’t with you.”

Her insistence on him being the antichrist had never shifted, and Isaiah doubted it ever would. All pallas cats generally struggled to get along with their siblings as children if they were close in age. It wasn’t even rare for them to attempt to kill one another. Tate and his other brother, Luke—who was also the pride’s Beta—were perfect examples of that. But such siblings didn’t always carry their grudges into adulthood. Elle was different in that respect.

His lips quirked, Deke looked up at Bailey, who’d quite clearly zoned out. “Are you in a mental world of your own again?”

She hummed as she snapped to the present. “I’m just wondering if colors look the same to everyone else as they do to me.”

Isaiah felt his mouth curve. The female often came out with the weirdest stuff, though some of it could be described as insightful.

Deke frowned at her. “What?”

“Well … we can’t know for sure that we all see the exact same thing when we look at a color, can we?” she asked. “My version of yellow could be different from yours, and we’d have no clue. And before you go thinking that our eyes can be trusted to see things exactly as they are, just note that leaves are not really green.”

Deke stared at her for a long moment. “I’d tell you to look it up, but you don’t like reading about anything that involves science.”

“Because scientists lie.” Bailey climbed down from her mate’s back and skirted around him. “They shape our view of the world with bullshit from when we’re young so we’ll miss the truth even when older.”

“I really don’t think that’s the case.”

“Because they’ve successfully brainwashed you.” She patted his cheek, all mock sympathy. “It’s so sad.”

Isaiah couldn’t help but chuckle.

Deke fisted her sweater. “No one has brainwashed me, least of all scientists. They deal in logic—something I’m aware you fail to grasp.”

“Preaching logic is another way to shape and control you. Do what’s rational, follow the rules, blend with the flock.” She cupped his chin. “Don’t let them trap and rule you.”

His brown eyes glinting with exasperation, Deke insisted,“There is no trap.”

“You have so much to learn, young grasshopper. Stick with me, kid. You’ll be fine. I’ll open your eyes to reality in time.”

“My eyes are wide open.”

“And seeing only what scientists tell you to see. Hello, brainwashed.”

Isaiah bit the last of his chicken from the bone to keep from laughing out loud.

Deke let go of her sweater and threw up a hand. “Okay, this conversation is just plain over.”

“It’s a good sign that my questions make you uncomfortable,” she told him. “It means you’re starting to believe I might be right but you’re not ready to face it yet. I can work with that.”

Done with his chicken wing, Isaiah walked over to the nearby portable trash can and dumped his rubbish into it. As he wiped his fingers with a napkin he’d earlier pocketed, he sensed someone approaching and looked up. His Alphas were on their way over—probably to check if Isaiah had heard from Quinley yet, since they’d said they would.

To be fair, she might have reached out again. It was so loud in here he wouldn’t have heard his phone beep.

Having tossed his balled-up napkin in the trash, Isaiah dug his cell out of his pocket and checked his notifications. She had actually sent him another message. Reading it, he felt an unexpected sizzle of anticipation enter his bloodstream.

Isaiah had no sooner finished rattling off a reply than his Alphas reached him. “Just heard from Quinley.” He closed the app and returned his cell to his pocket. “Her Alpha suggested we meet tomorrow morning at ten. I told her that’d be fine, since you said any day or time would be good for you.”

Tate nodded. “Still is.” The dark, well-built male cocked his head. “I wondered if you’d change your mind once it all became real. It’s one thing to answer a questionnaire and contact someone online, it’s another to take the next step. But you really are sure of your course of action, aren’t you?”

Isaiah gave a slow but decisive nod. “I thought hard and long about it. Then I thought hard and long about it some more. And some more. This is the right thing for me.”

“Then we’re fully behind you,” declared Havana, leaning into her mate as he stroked her long maple-brown hair. “Having a black-foot around could be interesting. I’ve met a few in the past. They seemed pleasant enough. They always seem pleasant enough”—mirth bled into her almond-shaped bluish-gray eyes—“but when riled … Well, ‘mean’ often goes along with ‘small’ in the shifter world.”

Very true. “Which is why she’ll fit right in.” Pallas cats could be mean as fuck, as could Havana’s kind for that matter.

“I’ll make an effort to befriend her so she doesn’t get lonely,” the Alpha female assured him.

“At no point does a black-foot ever feel lonely,” Isaiah told her. “They treasure their alone-time. But I do appreciate the sentiment.”

“Do you have a picture of her?” Havana joined her hands as if in prayer. “I want to see what she looks like.”

“You’ll have to wait.”

Havana all but pouted. “What? Why?”

“I can’t be bothered pulling my phone back out of my pocket.” Well … it was more that he didn’t really want to show Quinley’s profile to others. He felt protective of it. Didn’t want to share it.

“You suck,” groused Havana.

As tenacious as she was nosy, the devil shifter continued pestering him to show her Quinley’s picture. When he didn’t, she pulled both Bailey and Aspen—her best friends and bodyguards—into the matter.

Even as all three nagged him, he refused to share the profile. Mostly, at this point, to fuck with them. Their mates knew it, hence why Tate and Deke were biting back chuckles. Even Aspen’s mate Camden was struggling not to smile, and the male tiger shifter rarely smiled about anything.

It was a few hours later that the party died down and people began returning to their homes. As one of Tate’s bodyguards, Isaiah waited until the Alphas were ready to leave before making his way to the exit. Tate’s other bodyguard, Farrell, did the same with his family, as did Bailey and Aspen with their mates.

As the crowded elevator began its descent, Isaiah caught sight of their pride’s healer, Helena. Carefully skirting around one of the children, he sidled up to her. “Helena, you ever heard of healers who mostly specialize in numbing pain?”

She blinked. “I have, why?”

“The female I may take as my mate is that sort of healer,” he told her.

Her eyes widened in delight. “Awesome. She’d make a wonderful addition. I can heal physical wounds, and the omegas are great with emotional drama. But we can’t help the elderly with sore joints, or the migraine sufferers, or people who deal with constant pain from old injuries that didn’t heal well.”

Right then, the elevator stopped and its shiny doors parted.

As they stepped into the lobby, Isaiah scanned the parking lot via the large window and spotted no signs of anything untoward. Farrell did the same, his hand clasping that of his mate who carried their toddler. An enforcer always patrolled the lot, but it never paid to be too careful.

“You know,” began Helena, “if she can help Aurora with her colic, Bree and Alex will love the woman forever.”

Humming, Isaiah pushed open the main door. “Not sure Alex will allow a virtual stranger near the baby, even if it’s my mate.” The wolverine took hyper-protective to an entirely new level.

“He wouldn’t let Aurora suffer unnecessarily, paranoid or not.”

Isaiah held open the door for Helena and the others to file out. He then let it swing shut and moved to cover the rear of—

A series of loud sounds cracked the air in superfast succession.

Bullets.

Several people stumbled. One dropped like a stone. Voices cried out in alarm and pain. The heavy scent of blood peppered the air.

His cat lunging to the forefront of his mind with an enraged snarl, Isaiah grabbed Tate and ushered him back into the building as Bailey and Aspen did the same with Havana.

“Inside!” he yelled at the others, though it wasn’t necessary—they were all fleeing as fast as possible, either dragging or carrying the injured with them.

The whole time, bullets kept flying.

He flinched as a hot fist slammed into his thigh and exploded. “Fuck.” His cat roared its fury, raking at Isaiah’s insides; wanting freedom to hunt and kill.

No, teeth and claws weren’t a match for guns.

Isaiah was about to follow Farrell inside, but then he saw her—a small child crouched down, terrified, her hands plastered to her ears. Her mother was trying to get back outside to grab her.

His cat stilled, its heart stopping.

Isaiah made a move toward the little girl, but more bullets were fired near his feet, pinning him in place. Again, his cat roared—the sound so loud it seemed to bounce off the walls of Isaiah’s mind.

Deke, Farrell, and Camden attempted to rush out, presumably to scoop up Emeline, but bullets peppered the door—which was thankfully bulletproof.

Tires screeched as a black, mud-slicked car came zooming toward the building. It halted, a rear door swung open, a slim male slid out wearing a clown mask … and he then darted straight for Emeline.

Fuck, no.

Isaiah acted fast, lunging at him. He crashed into the male, sent him toppling to the ground, grabbed his neck and—

Snap.

He went limp beneath Isaiah.

A bellow of pained rage filtered out of the open front passenger window. A masked head poked out, and it looked as if they’d leap out of the car. But then the vehicle started reversing fast as shifters began to converge on it from all directions.

The front passenger pointed at Isaiah. “You motherfucker! You’re dead! You are dead!” Then the car was gone from the lot and speeding down the road. Several of his pride mates hopped into vehicles and zoomed off in pursuit.

Trying to ignore the hot throbbing pain in his thigh, Isaiah struggled to his feet just as people came tumbling out of the main door—some of who hurried over to little Emeline.

Tate came to him. “You all right?”

Isaiah gave a curt nod, unable to say the same for his cat—the feline was still raging. He looked down at the corpse at his feet and said, “He was going to take Emeline. He could have shot her. Didn’t. He meant to take her.”

As a bunch of others crowded them, Deke crouched beside the body and tore off the mask.

Gasps sounded. They knew that face. Knew the hazel eyes, dark scruff, scarred cheek, and deep brown hair. The shifter had recently made himself fairly infamous, along with his three brothers.

“Son of a bitch,” Tate muttered beneath his breath.

“Knowing all he’s done,” began Bailey, “I kind of wish his death hadn’t been so quick.”

That was a relatable statement for sure.

Once Helena was done healing any wounds, Farrell escorted her and several others home. At Tate’s insistence, the rest of them gathered at the house he shared with Havana in the cul-de-sac. His father Vinnie, who was also the pride’s previous Alpha, had joined them. Luke and his mate Blair had arrived soon after. And now they were all spread around the spacious living area, varying degrees of all-out pissed.

Sprawled in an armchair, Isaiah cricked his neck. Of the people there, three had been shot earlier. Havana had taken a bullet to the upper arm, Tate had been shot in the shoulder, and Camden’s calf was hit twice.

Isaiah suspected it was only Havana’s injury that had kept Tate from rushing out of the building earlier to help Emeline. The guy was a nightmare for any bodyguard, because he was the first to risk his neck in the defense of a pride mate.

“It’s definitely him,” said Tate, stood near the fireplace, his hard blue gaze on the screen of his cell. A gaze that then lifted to Isaiah. “It’s definitely Samuele Vercetti you killed.” He turned his phone, flashing Isaiah a look at the online alert poster. A past photo of their dead guy was plastered right there.

The sight of it made Isaiah’s cat snarl once more. He’d ceased raking at Isaiah’s insides in some bid to claw his way out, but he wasn’t yet calm.

The corpse had been taken away by Alex’s uncles. The three wolverines were always happy to help get rid of bodies. Usually by eating them, but Isaiah decided not to think about that.

On the sofa, Bailey wore a bloodthirsty smile. “So many shifters worldwide are going to celebrate on hearing that one of the Vercetti brothers are dead.”

More than likely.

Made up of several breeds, the Vercetti Pack had been pissing off shifters left, right, and center for years. They were so corrupt and conniving that not even jackals—a fairly cruel and shady species—would do business with them. Only humans, knowing no better, associated with them.

The pack didn’t respect shifter laws, didn’t take mates, didn’t acknowledge the authority of Alphas, and didn’t have any problem doing business with anti-shifter human extremists.

The pack didn’t even have an Alpha. Four wolf-shifter brothers—Sebastian, Tommaso, Davide, and Samuele Vercetti—ran the group, acting much like a council. The rest of the members allegedly followed them blindly.

The pack had mostly operated in the shadows—trafficking drugs, cashing on bounties, dabbling in cybercrime, even running a shifter prostitution ring for humans who quite simply wanted to fuck a shifter.

But the pack hadn’t made themselves true enemies of the shifter state until more recently. Their newest venture? Kidnapping shifter children—usually those of the Alphas—and either holding them for ransom or to force the aforementioned Alphas to commit acts they would never ordinarily do. Beat their mate, shoot their Beta, offer up another child in exchange for theirs, or even kill one of their parents.

It was totally fucked.

The ransomed children were usually returned uninjured. Usually being the key word. Sometimes they were missing a finger, ear, toe, or—in one case—a foot. Sometimes they didn’t return at all.

The Vercetti brothers weren’t really interested in money. They’d made enough cash over the years. What they liked was making Alphas submit to their whims.

There were bounties on their heads, and online alert posters had been sent around the shifter community complete with pictures of all four brothers. Hence why Isaiah and his pride mates had been able to so easily identify the now dead wolf shifter.

His expression grim, Tate looked at a silent but furious Havana, who sat on the other armchair. “If we’d had kids, the brothers would have taken ours. They won’t have known whose child Emeline was, wouldn’t have cared. It was about having me by the balls.” He clenched a fist. “God knows what they would have done to her.”

“It doesn’t bear thinking about,” Aspen murmured, snuggling into her mate on the sofa as he idly combed his fingers through her dark, choppy-layered bob. “What’s known about the brothers? Their background, I mean?”

Stood between his mate and older brother, Luke stirred. Though he carried less muscle than Tate, the Beta was still well-built and closely resembled the Alpha male. “They were part of a prominent wolf pack,” said Luke, sweeping his blue gaze over each person in the room. “Their mother died giving birth to Samuele, and their father passed on only days later. They were then raised by their maternal grandfather, who was Alpha.”

“Giuseppe Vercetti,” said Vinnie with a nod. “I met him once or twice. He had a cruel streak a mile wide. Seriously, he was one depraved son of a bitch. People who knew him well said that he treasured his mate and daughter but nonetheless beat them. Beat those boys, too. Often. Especially Samuele—Giuseppe blamed him for their mother’s death, apparently.”

Isaiah’s cat peeled back his upper lip in contempt at the deceased shifter. Mates and children should be protected, never mistreated.

“When Giuseppe stepped down, he didn’t choose any of his grandsons to take his place,” said Luke. “He instead gave the position to their cousin. The brothers killed Giuseppe, the cousin, and any who stood in their way as they then scampered.”

Camden grunted, his brows sliding together. “A bit of an overreaction to being passed up for Alpha. Unless there’s more to it?”

Vinnie explained, “It was said that Giuseppe had taken each of the brothers aside at one point or another when they were teens and—asking that they not share the news with their siblings—privately promised to give them the position. They did whatever he asked growing up, always thinking that their reward would be to lead the pack one day. Only he’d just been fucking with them.”

Blair hummed, braiding her pale-blonde hair. “Sounds like Giuseppe had a profound effect on what morals they did and didn’t establish. They’re no less cruel than he was. I’ve heard that the eldest brother Sebastian is the worst; that he’s committed every sex crime against women you can possibly imagine. Like he’s addicted to deviance, you know? He takes it a step further every time, intoxicated on whatever high he gets; always trying to top the last high.”

Isaiah splayed his hands on the chair’s armrests. “Speaking of Sebastian … I think he might have been the shifter in the front passenger seat. It’s said that Davide is their getaway driver, so it won’t have been him. Tommaso is the sniper, so he’ll have been the shooter perched on a roof.” Unfortunately, the enforcers hadn’t been able to catch him before he vanished—only traces of his presence had remained.

“It’ll have been Sebastian,” Tate agreed, grim. “And now he’s gunning for you.” His jaw tightened.

“These fuckers need taking down,” Havana declared, rage threaded through each word.

“Finding them will be the issue,” said Tate. “Many shifters have tried. They still try. But for some fucking reason, no one can locate the pack.”

Camden stretched out his legs. “It’s said they live in the sewers.”

“I heard they live in a campervan park,” said Aspen.

Bailey piped up, “My intel says they don’t have an address; they live on the streets.”

Aspen looked at the mamba. “By intel, you mean whispers you overheard.”

Bailey shrugged. “Same thing.”

“Nope, totally different.”

Blair folded her arms. “So, how do we go about locating them?”

“We may not need to hunt them down,” said Camden, his ice-blue eyes pensive. “You ask me, they’ll come back for Isaiah—he killed their brother.”

Havana dipped her chin. “They won’t see it as understandable that Isaiah defended and protected a child. In their mind, he’s the big bad guy.”

“Yes, they may come back,” Tate agreed. “I’d like them to be found before that happens.” He turned to his brother. “I want you, Farrell, and Camden on this. Ask Alex’s uncles to participate, too—they make good hunters. I’d send you, Isaiah, but you have a mating to secure.”

His cat’s chest rumbled with an angry hiss. The feline wanted to be part of the hunt. Hey, Isaiah got it—it would be somewhat satisfying to track and kill the motherfuckers that had brought so much misery to the shifter community. But it wasn’t more important than his plans to mate. And if he delayed things with Quinley, he risked her finding someone else. She was on a time crunch.

But, of course, his cat didn’t give one fuck about that. The feline wasn’t even acknowledging her existence.

Aspen bit the inside of her cheek. “Are you sure it’s wise to bring someone else into the pride now, given it won’t be a safe time for us?”

“Danger always shadows shifters,” Blair reminded her. “There’ll always be some threat out there. It makes no sense to wait until the coast is clear.”

“Especially when we don’t know how long it’ll take before the brothers are found,” Tate chipped in. “They’ve remained undiscovered for some time, so it seems pointless to delay Isaiah’s plans.” Tate raised a brow at him. “Unless you’d like to wait?”

Isaiah shook his head. “No, I’m not putting things on hold for the Vercetti Pack.”

“Then we won’t.” Tate looked from his brother to Camden. “Find them. Find them fast.”

“And when we do?” asked Luke.

“Don’t bother bringing them to me,” said Tate. “Just kill them outright. And make sure it hurts a hell of a fucking lot.”

Camden’s smirk was a little on the sadistic side. “Not a problem.”