His face falls, fear wiping away the hot, delusional rage he’d worn earlier.
Still, I expected a bigger tantrum. Pukes like him usually start bargaining when they know they’ve got their dick stuck in a closed door.
An eerie sensation hits me, hard, and I glance at Faulk.
He looks up from his phone, talking to some agent, and then at Bordell.
“If you want any leniency,” Faulk growls, peering down at him. “Tell me where the Fosses are right now.”
Bordell sneers like the venomous little creature he is.
I grab him by the front of his uniform shirt and lift him off the ground, despite his bulk.
“Where the fuck are they? Start talking and tell the nice man, or your fate goes from over to fucking doomed.”
He turns pasty white, but I don’t like that sliver of a smile on his face as he looks at me and whispers one word like a dark incantation.
“Wyoming,” he rattles.
Wyo—
Oh.
Oh, mother-fuck.
I throw him to the ground, grinding my teeth, panic flooding my brain.
“Grady? What’s going on?” Hank asks, rushing over.
“They’re after Willow!” It’s all I can say when every instinct stabbing through me screams move.
I run to the truck, grab my phone, and hit Weston’s number.
“Shit, I’ll get the truck!” Hank shouts, already on the run.
My heart sinks as fast as fear rises when no one answers.
I try it again.
Again.
Again and again and dammit, fuck, again.
“No answer?” Faulk asks coldly, his frown saying he already knows.
I shake my head and reach in, grabbing the bracelet off the blinker switch.
“It’s a five-hour drive,” I snarl. “If they’ve been intercepted, we’ll never make it in time...”
“Did you forget we’ve got a friend with a company helicopter?” Faulk says with a grin, already swiping his phone. “I’m calling Drake. We’ll have the North Earhart chopper pick us up and fly our asses out to Sheridan. I’ll call the FBI branch down there, too. Don’t worry. We’ve got this covered. I ain’t letting anything happen to your lady or that big old orange poof.”
Hank, driving my truck, comes flying up the runway and both Faulk and I run toward it.
“Hey! What the hell? You can’t just leave us here!” Bordell shouts.
If I wasn’t so worried about Willow and my nephew, I’d have fun making him suffer, but there’s no fucking time.
We’ve got them cuffed and strapped down, more helpless than caterpillars.
They won’t be going anywhere.
“Sorry, dude, important business. The FBI will drop by to pick you up before dark—if no animals come around first,” Faulk shouts back.
Then Hank slams on the brakes and we both dive into the truck.
21
Red in Tooth and Claw (Willow)
I’m one big throbbing mess of hurt.
Bile fills my mouth, so bitter I almost choke.
Focus, Willow.
How did I get so sick?
Oh, right. Reality comes whipping back with guns drawn, dead set on reminding me how completely screwed I am.
I will my eyes open and flinch at the pain that causes.
In all of my adventures, being knocked out cold is a first.
Same for being clobbered across the head with a baseball bat—a brutish surprise from a normally restrained backroom vampire named Niles Foss.
I should’ve known his inner bully would come erupting out of him sooner or later.
A groan sticks in my throat as I pry my eyes open. One is swollen and watery, casting this uneven blur over everything.
“Coming around, I see. About damn time,” a woman snaps off.
Priscilla’s voice.
A blizzard of goosebumps prickle my skin.
“Did you seriously think you could pull one over on us, young lady? You and your merry band of local yokels?” Her question drips rattlesnake venom.
Fear sinks its teeth into my flesh, and I look around, trying to focus my eyes.
Trying to figure out where the hell I am and also find Weston.
“He’s over there, in the hay, in case you’re wondering,” Priscilla says with a bored sigh. “He’s still out. He fought a little harder than you. Niles and the boys got a good workout putting him down.” She lets out her nasty plastic laugh. “Don’t worry, doll, we’ve kept you all together—including your tiger friend. He’s in the pen with you and Mr. Lazy Bones.”
What?
It dawns on me then. I’m in the trailer. So is Weston, slouched on his side and breathing in slow, pained hitches, and a few feet away...
Bruce.
Holy shit.
I don’t see any sign that they’ve hurt him, at least. Bruce looks at me with watery green-gold eyes, his thick tail banging the metal floor like a tree branch, as if to say, what the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?
I wish I knew.
Priscilla must be standing on a ladder or something because she’s looking down at us through the slats near the ceiling.
“I do hope you fed him this morning, dear,” She laughs again. “Not that it matters. Sooner or later, he’s going to get awfully hungry. Or maybe just mad that you’re invading his space. Tigers can be rather territorial, you know.”
My heart climbs up my throat. Bruce lets out a low growl I have to pray is meant for Priscilla.
“Why, of course you do,” she prattles on, her devious smear of a smile visible through the slats. “You’re the expert on tigers, Miss Macklin.”
If standing up and straining to reach the slats wouldn’t kill me right now, I’d do it just to stab out her eyes. But even turning my head up to look at her sends this odd, painful rush of blood to my brain, and the world spins.
Oh, God.
Bruce might not even get the chance to eat me if I have a concussion, if I’m bleeding in the brain from that blow to the head. It can’t end like this.
I can’t help the dry, ragged sob squirming up my throat.
“Now, now, don’t cry, missy. Not unless you’re whimpering at your own pathetic decisions. You know, you had it easy. All you had to do was go along, just this teeny widdle much—” Priscilla lilts, holding up her hand with her index finger and thumb barely an inch apart. “And you’d be living the good life right by our side.”
“Go along with killing animals and selling them on the black market?” I snarl. “I’d rather die.”
At the sound of my voice, Bruce lifts his head, looking at me and then at the taunting demon outside.
“Ah, of course. You just had to take a big fat dump on everything. You had to feed your shitty little martyr complex—and feed it, you will. I’m afraid you’ll just have to settle for one lonely tiger rather than an entire den of lions like the Romans did back in the day.”
I’m not too wrecked to scowl at her, wishing I could shoot lightning from my eyes.
“Get fucked. You and your spineless, psycho worm of a husband,” I hiss.
She leans back, gasping, pressing a hand to her chest like I’ve shot her through the heart.
If only.
Then she comes flying back at the slats, slapping the trailer loudly with both hands.