Ah shit. “Don’t you worry, Peanut. I’ll get you out of this safe.”
“Drop Jarl,” the woman demanded in a strong accent.
Now it should be noted Lawrence could technically kill everyone in this alley. A snap of a few necks, even a quick shift into his liger, a few swipes of his claws, and he’d emerge victorious. But Charlotte would probably end up dead.
Some of his friends would say, so what? She didn’t belong to the Pride. She wasn’t anyone really, and yet he wasn’t the kind of guy to let an innocent be killed, not on his account. Besides, he was curious. Who had sent a team of humans to find him?
He’d heard them asking Charlotte where he was. Why her of all people? He’d just met her.
The thugs had probably spotted them together on the street. Meaning the attack was kind of his fault. But who were they?
To find out, he’d have to go with the thugs somewhere a little more private. Getting answers might involve screaming.
“You win.” He flung red-eyed Jarl from him and held out his hands. “I’ll come nicely, just don’t hurt the girl. She has nothing to do with this.”
Apparently, he should have included himself in that deal. Jarl had some anger issues and took it out on Lawrence as he tugged a burlap bag over his head—handy how they kept a stash in the trunk—and zip tied his hands behind his back.
Laughable really. He could have snapped those without even trying.
Then they thought to humiliate him by shoving him in the direction of the car, waiting to laugh as he fell. Please. A cat always remained on his feet.
His captors had a conversation in Russian, the only word he recognized being “large.” Probably talking about him. Two Russian girls he’d dated had said it often enough.
He heard doors unlock; however, Lawrence was less than impressed when they stuffed him into the trunk while the waitress with the lovely smell got to ride in the back seat!
Chapter Four
Charlotte sat squished against the door as far as she could get from the not-so-nice guy she’d sprayed in the eyes. Jarl didn’t seem too happy with her and now was taking her somewhere with him.
She tried not to panic. Tell that to her racing heart and clammy hands. Not to mention the guilt she felt that the guy who’d come to her rescue got caught in her mess.
This had to be about her brother. What kind of trouble had Peter gotten into this time? Drugs? She’d thought he’d finally gotten clear of them after spending those six months in jail.
Was it stealing? Had he been so stupid again? He’d only gotten off the last time because he’d negotiated a plea deal by giving them a bigger fish.
Whatever the reason, she’d give him an earful when he surfaced. Because Peter would return. Anything else wasn’t acceptable.
Although perhaps it was time to worry for herself. What did they want with her? And why had they taken that other guy? What had he said his name was?
It took her only a moment to remember his purred, Lawrence.
He’d come to her rescue and gotten stuffed into a trunk for the effort. A heroic if foolish gesture. Or not so foolish since technically he’d been winning the fight in the alley until she got caught by Mrs. Mean Lady, who really needed to do something about that funky smell.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Quiet,” Mrs. Mean Lady snapped from her spot in the front seat.
“You can’t just kidnap me,” she said, only to have the woman whirl and glare.
“I said quiet.”
“Or else,” added a much-too-gleeful voice from her left side.
Jarl, with his very red eyes, dropped a heavy hand on her thigh. She pushed it off and huddled against the door, trying to not hyperventilate.
Would they hurt her? Because they certainly appeared determined to terrify her. Technically, they’d not hurt her yet, if she ignored the spot of blood on her neck. But just because they wanted her alive for something didn’t make that reason any good.
Their intent became more ominous with every mile that took them out of the city. From bright lights to sketchy dark roads, they drove long enough she managed a fitful nap and woke drooling on the window. As she shifted her body, she realized Jarl had his hand high on her thigh. She flung it off with disgust.
He leered and licked his lips.
She shuddered.
“We’re here,” Mean Lady said. “Do not try to escape. There is nowhere to go.”
For some reason, Charlotte knew this to be the truth. They’d stopped at a decrepit house well outside the city limits. In the dawning light she saw the cleared fields covered in a light layer of snow, the pickets of a fence still standing in some spots. At one time it might have been a farm, but the weathered barn had caved in, and the house with its lopsided appearance and sagging roof looked close to following.
A rough grip around her upper arm dragged her from the car, and Mean Lady marched her up the steps.
She couldn’t help gasping, “What do you want from me? Is this about my brother? What’s going to happen?”
“Shut up.” The heavily accented demand came with a rough shake.
Charlotte cried out in pain then wondered at the creaking that erupted from the trunk. Wait, was the car bouncing?
Mean Lady barked something at the bearded guy, who thumped the trunk with his fist and yelled something in Russian. Probably along the lines of calm down.
How could anyone calm down? This was an epic disaster.
The car stopped shaking, and only then did the bearded guy pop the trunk. Lawrence sat up, looking only slightly disheveled, and drawled, “Thanks for the lovely nap.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Jarl’s eyes were still blood red and weeping constantly, and this despite the bottle of water he’d poured over them. He looked exhausted and sickly with a huge hint of angry. He shoved past Charlotte in the direction of the house, dug a key out from his pocket, and slotted it into the lock. Because they totally needed to lock the door on a house in the middle of nowhere.
Mean Lady shoved Charlotte in the direction of the open door. If she went inside, that was it. She knew how this ended in the books. They’d probably kill her. Hurt her badly at the very least.
She panicked, and her feet tangled. In moments, her clumsy body pitched.
No one saved her that time, but she did get her hands out quickly enough so only the palms truly felt the pain. Her face had been saved this time. Her glasses, too. She’d been lucky not to lose them. She was pretty nearsighted without. One day, when she could afford it, she’d get that laser surgery and discover what it was like to wake up in the morning and not have to squint at her clock.
Today was not that day.
She was yanked to her feet roughly and shoved in the direction of the door again. She stumbled and did her best not to faceplant a second time. Through her own terror, she heard a rumbling growl.
Did the countryside have wild animals? She cast a fearful glance over her shoulder and, despite the barren, snow-dusted fields, wondered if she’d be safer inside.
The hallway proved as decrepit as the exterior, the wallpaper peeling, the plaster uneven and cracked in a few places where it showed through. She caught a glimpse of a room with a couch, the seat sagging in a huge dip, a few mismatched wooden chairs, a cold fireplace.
The kidnappers were talking in Russian again, meaning she had no idea what was happening. Propelled in the direction of the stairs, Charlotte climbed. Where else would she go?