Silver Moon (Hot Moon Rising #6) Page 2

  “Hey! Hey, where you going?”

  She quickened her step at the sound of Pete’s voice behind her. Turning sideways, she wriggled between a large, boisterous group entering the bar and escaped the brush of fingers against her sleeve. Hurrying across the road, she eschewed her usual bus stop. Best to put a bit of distance between herself and the bar, just in case Pete decided to pursue her further.

  She turned the corner, buttoning her coat against a sudden chill wind. The businesses lining the street were all closed. Their thick security shutters covered in graffiti and the piles of garbage clogging up the drainage channels in the road gave the street a seedy, rundown air. Lights shone at a few windows in the apartments above the stores. Muffled music and occasional shouts reached her ears. Arriving at the intersection, Silver paused, recalling the address she’d looked up earlier. Tina lived less than three blocks away. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to check in on her. Might as well try and get something positive out of this busted evening.

  A large, black truck swerved through the intersection, running a red light, and Silver stepped back sharply from the edge of the curb. A pounding beat poured from the open windows of the truck, and a crowd of youths jeered from it as it sped past her. Ignoring her building sense of trepidation, she hurried along the sidewalk in the same direction. Vehicles passed in both directions, no taxis though, she noted. Hopefully, there would be a bus stop near Tina’s and she could catch one heading in the right direction.

  Just my luck. The tricked-out black truck sat directly in front of Tina’s building. The front end blocked the sidewalk, the driver having ridden up the curb and abandoned it. Silver skirted around it to mount the shabby, broken steps of the apartment block. Rusted railings covered the lower windows. Tiny balconies holding makeshift washing lines, a couple of sad-looking plant pots, and a motley array of belongings that had spilled out of the upper apartments lined the top two stories. None of the buzzers on the wall were labelled, but the front door to the block had been wedged open with a large brick.

  Hesitating for a moment, Silver studied the hallway. The lighting was spotty, large stretches of darkness between the weak glow of a few overhead lights. Ignoring the queasy twist in her stomach, she checked the apartment numbers on the first couple of doors—103, 105, 104 opposite. Returning to the small entrance lobby, she ignored the elevator and opted for the staircase. The smell of stale garbage and urine increased the farther she climbed, making her glad to escape the confines of the stairwell into the third-floor corridor.

  The lighting in the narrow hallway was even poorer than on the ground floor. Angry male voices spilled out from an open doorway halfway down, and Silver did a quick count of the doors. Her pulse rate increased when she realized the argument was coming from Tina’s apartment. This is a really bad idea. Concern for her student warred with her belated sense of self-preservation. The shouting increased, accompanied by sounds of a struggle. Fear lent wings to her feet, and she fled for the stairwell, holding her breath against the unpleasant stench.

  She stumbled from the building, one hand pressed to her chest over her racing heart. Looking up and down the street, she searched in vain for a bus stop or passing cab. The slap of running feet and shouts sent her spinning off to the left, and she huddled against the side of the building away from the group of men who poured down the steps in pursuit of a skinny kid, dressed in a thin, gray sweatshirt and jeans that hung low, revealing most of his backside. The low-slung pants impeded the boy’s flight, or so it appeared when he staggered a few steps. The door to the apartment block banged closed. Silver flinched at the noise. Crouching low, she muffled a cry when the boy tripped and fell on his face.

  “Stupid, dumb fuck! No one steals from me,” a voice crowed from the top of the building steps, and a chorus of hoots, insults, and encouragement rose from the group of men arrayed around the steps.

  Silver blinked at the boy on the ground, watching the dark stain spread across the back of his pale sweatshirt. Her brain refused to cooperate, shying away from the truth her eyes were telling her. A high wail escaped her lips, and she slammed a hand over her mouth, turning in horror toward the scarred face of the man at the top of the steps. Click. Click.

  “Motherfuckinpieceofshit,” the man snarled. Like a slow-action replay, his hand swung around to point a large, black gun at her head.

  Run! Sweat pooled at the base of the spine as she stared death in the face, but her feet refused to obey her brain’s frantic screaming instructions. Tires squealing, a battered truck barreled down the street.

  “Shit! It’s the fucking cops,” one of the men shouted, and the rest of the group ran toward their abandoned truck.

  The scarred man sauntered down the steps as though he had all the time in the world, his eyes fixed on Silver. “What the fuck are you looking at, bitch?”

  She shrank farther back at the menace in his tone, unable to tear her gaze away.

  “Come on, Razor, come on man. It’s those fuckers from the task force,” a voice yelled from the open door of the black truck. The battered vehicle bounced up the curb, trying to cut off their escape route.

  “You’re dead, bitch.” The man sneered. A thick gob of spit landed on her cheek, and she choked on the sobs bursting from her throat. Cowering lower, she ignored the cold press of the dirty concrete beneath the thin pantyhose covering her legs. She tucked her head into her lap. Sobbing and shaking, she waited for the inevitable bullet to strike her down. I’m going to die without ever having an orgasm. The ridiculous thought sent a bubble of hysteria up her throat, and she curled her arms around her knees, laughing and crying at the same time.

  A few moments later, a gentle, but insistent hand shook her shoulder until Silver lifted her head. Concerned brown eyes, crinkled at the edges, studied her in concern. “Are you hurt, miss?”

  Another bubble of laughter erupted from her. “So-sorry,” she managed through the inappropriate giggles.

  “It’s all right, darlin’. You’re in shock. Can you stand up and let me check you over?” He urged her to her feet, his voice calm and soothing. She let him twist and turn her, making sure there were no injuries. “She’s fine, Charlie,” he called over his shoulder toward a second man crouched next to the fallen boy.

  “Same can’t be said for this poor kid. Any idea what happened?” His partner scrubbed his face with one hand.

  “Razor,” Silver whispered, and the man holding her spun his head back toward her.

  “What did you say?” His grip on her arm tightened, and she flinched. Easing his hold, he touched her cheek with his other hand, forcing her to look away from the body and up at him.

  “Razor shot him. That’s what one of the other’s called him, I think. He was going to sh-shoot me, but then you arrived.” Her body shook, the realization of how close she’d come to death striking home.

  An engine rumbled in the near distance, and Charlie cursed loudly. “Those fuckers are back. Better get her out of here until we can get some support.”

  The man holding her arm was already in motion, leading Silver to the battered truck. He opened the door, shoved her into the back, and piled in after her. Charlie slid into the driver’s seat, crunching gears.

  “Step on it, Charlie.”

  His partner didn’t need the instruction and was already racing down the street away from the black truck. The man beside her fastened a seat belt around her, patted her knee, and settled his body in the opposite corner of the rear seat. His position enabled him to keep an eye on both her and the road behind them.

  He pulled out his phone and made a succession of rapid calls, the first one to his captain. He rattled off a stream of information that stunned her in the level of detail he’d accumulated in those few minutes on the street. Keeping his attention fixed on the rear window, he finished his conversation and dialed another number.

  “Hey, Derek, it’s Jesse. I have a situation, and I could do with some help.” He paused for a moment then spoke
again. “No, no, Alexa’s fine. I need a place to hide someone for a few days, though.”

  Chapter Two

  The phone on the rough-hewn wooden table buzzed like an angry wasp. Kirk Matheson spared it an evil look, but otherwise ignored it, completing another round of chin-ups on the iron bar screwed into the sturdy crossbeam holding up the roof of his remote cabin. A matching set of bars were drilled into the wall, like rungs on a ladder, and a medicine ball hung suspended from the beam a few feet away.

  Sweat ran freely down his chest, soaking into the waistband of his loose-fitting pants. The interior of the building matched its owner—all hard edges and practicalities. It served a useful purpose but offered little in the way of comfort. When the pack relocated into the neat bungalows that formed the heart of Moonlight, their recently established home, he’d opted for the abandoned cabin standing in a tangled thicket of Myrtle oak trees about half a mile from town.

  Town might be stretching it when describing Moonlight. More a crossroads people ended up at by accident rather than intent. They got enough passing traffic to support their small community enterprises—a diner, a gas station, a convenience store—but the pack remained protective of their privacy. The Internet provided an employment haven for them, too. The anonymity of the screen meant they didn’t have to work face-to-face with clients, didn’t have to endure the relentless nosiness of working in an office with humans.

  Derek may have frowned at Kirk’s deliberate choice to isolate himself from the pack, but the others breathed a sigh of relief. No one wanted a neighbor who reminded them of the dark deeds committed to ensure the remnants of their little pack survived.

  To his relief, the irritating noise ceased, and Kirk switched from the bar to the thick, padded bench beneath the window. Lying on his back, he grabbed two massive dumbbells and commenced a rapid set of flys, working the muscles of his barrel chest. The twice-daily routine kept him busy, kept him focused on his mission. Kirk was a weapon, a blunt-force trauma to be wielded at his alpha’s instruction. The phone buzzed again.

  “Motherfucker,” he snarled, dropping the weights with a thud onto the nonslip mat beneath the bench.

  Only one person had his number, and Kirk had already pushed the limits of disrespect by ignoring the first call. Stripping off the leather-grip gloves on his hands, he grabbed the phone and thumbed the answer button on the simple handset. No fancy smartphone for him. He didn’t need record or photo-capture capabilities, didn’t need Internet access for research. He wasn’t an investigator like the others who worked for Derek Sawyer as part of The Defenders, the pack’s private security agency.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Kirk.” The alpha’s smooth, controlled tone betrayed no annoyance at his minor attempt at rebellion.

  “Who is it this time?” Straight to the point, no time for chitchat. Can’t let that clever bastard start digging around in my head. Derek saw too much with those sharp eyes of his. Being the biggest wolf didn’t automatically make you an alpha. Something Kirk would be forever grateful for. Taller and broader in both human and animal form, he still lowered his eyes before the utter dominance Derek exuded. Let others lead. Let them deal with the living, breathing members of the pack. Kirk had enough trouble handling the ghosts.

  “Female. Human. Meet us in the diner in fifteen and I’ll explain more.” The handset went dead next to his ear, so he dropped it back on the table. Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he headed for the shower. The bathroom in his cabin occupied a full third of the overall floorplan. The wall tiles were plain white, the floor tiles gray, and a square of mirror hung above the white sink unit to assist on those rare occasions he decided to shave the thick scruff of beard from his jaw. The shower, by contrast, was a study in luxury. The waterfall shower head complemented a selection of wall jets to pound the aches from his muscles. A wide bench ran the length of the rear wall.

  He’d saved every penny he had to replace the crappy old bathroom, spending hours online studying until he could do the installation work himself, even fitting an underground heat pump to ensure he had piping hot water whenever he wanted. Not like he didn’t have plenty of time on his hands these days. Killing and plumbing—hell of a fucking skill set.

  Settling in Moonlight gave the surviving members of their pack a chance to breathe again. A chance to live in relative peace without the desperate gnaw of fear twisting their guts. They’d been on the run for too long following the destruction of their habitat by developers. Hunters with their bloodlust and rival alphas with a taste for power had thinned their ranks even more, driving them south to the wilds of Central Florida. The pack had begun to settle and rebuild, and Kirk had no place among them anymore. He knew this, had come to terms with it, even if Derek had yet to acknowledge the fact.

  After shoving his sweat pants down over his legs, he tossed the soft material into the basket on top of several other pairs waiting for the wash. With a sigh of pleasure, he stepped into the shower stall and flicked on all the jets. Hot water blasted from every direction, tempting him to linger in the steamy cocoon, but he had less than ten minutes left to get to the diner where the pack held all their meetings. Reaching for the bottle of all-in-one shower gel, he scrubbed the sweat from his skin and shut off the water with a brief flicker of regret.

  It took a matter of seconds to towel-dry his short hair and pat the water from his upper body. He wandered into the bedroom, a thick white towel wrapped around his hips. Chewing on his toothbrush, he surveyed the sparse contents of the large dark-wood armoire standing in the corner. The heavy piece matched the solid bedframe—antiques he’d found in an old secondhand store and restored to a perfect luster. YouTube had a fucking video for everything these days.

  A couple of white button-down shirts and a few more black ones hung next to matching monochrome T-shirts and a handful of pairs of dark pants. Selecting a black shirt and faded black jeans, he pulled a pair of black trunks from one of the lower drawers and dressed quickly. A pair of well-worn sneakers completed his outfit. He snatched up the keys to his pickup then ran down the small flight of stairs leading from the cabin to the rough track connecting his home to town.

  It would be almost quicker to run to the diner than drive, but he would need his transportation to assist with disposal. The bed of the truck already held his equipment—a thick tarp, rope, and bricks for weight. Reversing his vehicle into the switchback he’d hewn through the thick undergrowth, he ran a mental map of pre-selected locations through his mind. Myakka River State Park held myriad hidden spots, and the gators were always grateful for an easy meal. This wouldn’t be the first female Kirk had dealt with for the pack, but it would be the first human female. It’s all the same to me. The lie sounded convincing enough in his head, and he pushed any qualms he had deeper. The pack came first. Last. Always.

  Bumping down the rutted path, he wove the truck through the thick sheets of Spanish moss hanging from the trees on either side. He didn’t bother with lights, his wolf-enhanced eyesight cutting through the dark night with ease. He turned off the track, onto the main street through town, and parked outside the diner. A handful of vehicles stood in a haphazard row, including a battered truck he recognized as belonging to Jesse, one of the human detectives from the local sheriff’s department who’d mated into the pack. It didn’t make sense for him to be present. Although he’d accepted the man, and his partner Charlie, into the pack, Kirk made damn sure to keep his dirty pack secrets from them to avoid any conflict of interest.

  Feeling uneasy, he approached the diner. The blinds were down, the closed sign hanging in the window. No light escaped from inside to alert passing traffic. He rapped his knuckles on the door, studying the dark road over his shoulder until he heard the lock unsnap and he could slip inside. Stopping just inside, he held the door at his back. Testing the air with his sensitive nose, he scanned the room. He filtered and dismissed the scents he recognized. Derek, of course. Rand, his second-in-command. The humans, Jesse and Charlie.

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nbsp; Fear, sweat, and a faint hint of blood all did their best to mask a sweet twist of honeysuckle. Kirk focused all his senses on the small figure cowering in the far corner of one of the booths. Nothing about the woman gave any indication of a threat, but it wasn’t his job to question his alpha’s decisions. He hadn’t been summoned for a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. He marched across the room and grabbed the small female by the arm, dragging her from the red, padded bench seat and halfway toward the door.

  “What the fuck, man?” Charlie shouted, rising from his seat around a central table.

  Kirk ignored him, ignored the fragile bones of the slender wrist grasped in his thick hold. Jesse rounded the table, reaching out to grab Kirk. Lucky for him, his hand closed on empty air when Rand restrained him. Snarling, Kirk shoved the woman behind him, trapping her between the door and his broad body. He rounded on the four men, claws forming, teeth elongated and ready to snap. They’d summoned him for a reason, and there could be no room for doubts. The woman had been deemed a threat, and the situation would be handled.

  His way.

  Chest heaving like a set of bellows, he studied the four men arrayed before him. Charlie and Jesse looked furious, glowering and struggling against the hold Rand had on them. The pack second smirked, although Kirk didn’t see anything to laugh about. And Derek looked thoughtful, studying him with those probing eyes of his.

  “You’re hurting me,” a soft, feminine voice whispered into his back. What did he care about crushing her? She wouldn’t feel anything soon enough. Still, he eased a few inches away and forced his minor shift back under control. The tips of his fingers tingled where his claws retracted, but another sensation—or rather the lack of one—distracted him. He missed the slight warmth once the woman was no longer squeezed tight between himself and the door.