Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel (9 page)

I can’t help the smile that escapes.

“What’s so funny?” His own smile returns—a hopeful smile—hopeful that I finally got that joke he never told.

“I’m just imagining you waking up on the motel floor, like you said,” I say.

“You get a kick outta that?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He laughs. “Good—I like that. I like that about you. See what I mean, Mel? She’s a feisty bitch.”

The red-haired Mel smiles slowly, showing his teeth.

“I like a girl with spunk. Pretty eyes, long hair, big titties—you’re almost my type,” Freddie says.

He waits for me to question his almost. I could care less, and it takes him far too long to realize it.

He’s already laughing before the punch line. “You’re a bit fatter than I’d prefer.”

My spit lands on target, directly between the prick’s eyes. His grin never leaves his face. If anything, it just revs him up even more.

“She knows what I like.” Freddie nudges Mel with his elbow. “I’ll give ‘er that much!” Mel looks less impressed—impatient, ready to be done with this nonsense, just like me. Also like me, he seems to be over Freddie’s predictable comedy.

I wait for Freddie to calm down before saying, “Fuck you.”

“Last chance, beautiful. Where’re the coins?” Again, Freddie pushes his cool blade against my throat.

Bzzz!

We all look to the buzzer-box next to my apartment door. My guardian angle is downstairs, ringing my apartment.

“Who’s that?” Mel asks.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CAPTURE & ESCAPE

Freddie sighs, his fist still clenching his knife against my throat. “Expecting company?” he asks.

I don’t respond with anything more than another shrug.

“Well, darlin’?”

Bzzz!

I remain silent.

“Goddammit,” Freddie mutters. “Alright—you’re goin’ to answer the door, and tell your friend that you’re busy. Got it? Don’t try anythin’ sneaky, ‘cause it won’t work. I promise, it won’t work.”

Bzzz!

“Answer it,” Freddie says, relieving the pressure of his blade from my throat.

I press the talk-button on my buzzer and take a deep breath. “Hello?”

There’s no answer. Freddie and Mel stand motionless, silent. Their eyes are wide and their grins are gone. Suddenly, it’s serious business—the joking around is over.

“Hello?” I say again, now silently begging for a response. Why won’t my guardian angle speak? “Who’s there? Hello?”

“I have a package for an Olivia Marie Kross?” an unfamiliar male voice crackles through my buzzer. No one in Ilium knows my full name—no one’s ever known my full name except for my parents, but I can’t imagine they’re sending too many packages from beyond the grave. My guardian angle doesn’t even know my full name.

“Buzz them up and act normal. Understand?” Freddie says. Freddie and his precious coins have become the least of my concerns. I’m not afraid of Freddie. Freddie is all bark, no bite. I am afraid of Carmine Pesconi.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“I’m not expecting a package.” My body is rigid.

Bzzz!
Mel reaches for the door-button on my buzzer but grab his wrist.

Freddie’s smirk returns to his face. “Do ya make lots of enemies?” he asks, hovering his finger over the door-button. “How’s this for a deal: Ya give me my coins and I don’t press this button.”

“I don’t have your coins.”

“Then I press the button.” Freddie licks his lips as if he’s discovered my weakness. He’s too stupid to understand that, pressing that button means him facing the thug downstairs, too.

“Wait,” I say. Freddie keeps his finger over the button. “They’ll kill me if you let them up here.”

“That’s the idea, darlin’.”

“They’ll kill me and you’ll never get your dumb coins.”

“So ya do know where my coins are?”

“I never said that I didn’t.”

Bzzz!

“Goddammit,” Freddie says, slamming the wall with his fist.

“Think she’s bluffing?” Mel asks.

Crash!
There is a splintering thud downstairs, followed by flurry of heavy footsteps.

“Ya got a back door by any chance?” Freddie asks.

“I’m on the third floor.”

“Window it is,” he says, grabbing my wrist and leading me towards the kitchen. Mel opens the window and looks down. “Hurry up,” he says.

Mel fearlessly hops out, grabbing onto the window ledge and lowering himself down before letting go, dropping six meters, and landing on his feet in the alleyway. One thing I learned in my gang days is, you don’t fall three-stories and land comfortably on your feet. How the hell did Mel do that?

“I’m goin’ to lower ya down. Mel will catch ya.” Freddie says.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“Hurry up,” Mel shouts from the alley.

“C’mon,” Freddie says, grabbing my arm. I resist as light-headedness washes over me. “Climb out.”

“I—I can’t.”

“I’m getting’ those territs back. You’re climbin’ out the fuckin’ window. Let’s go.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The mystery intruders have reached my apartment. The shadows of their impatient feet creep below my door. “Open up!” a muffled voice calls out before another series of dull thuds.
Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Out the window. Now.” Freddie pushes me against the window ledge. The alley below is blurry, spinning. My legs and arms tremble, overcome with weakness. “Now!” Freddie says again.

“I can’t.” I barely have the strength to wipe the tears from my eyes.

“Ah, for fuck sakes.” Freddie pulls me away from the window and tosses me into the closet. “Stay quiet,” he says, taking off his shirt and pants. “Not a word, get it?”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“This shit isn’t ventice, and it wasn’t cheap, either.”

“Ventice?”

He ignores me. The word ‘ventice’ is not a part of my vocabulary. A pair of skivvies away from being completely naked, Freddie drops his clothes at my feet—along with his pocketknife.

“What’s ventice?” I ask again.

“What did I
just
say about keepin’ it shut?” He slams the door in my face.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I’m blind, defenceless, save for Freddie’s dinky pocket knife. I listen to Freddie’s bare feet patter across the kitchen, towards the front door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m comin’, already!” he calls out.

I can hear the heavy metallic sheath of the deadbolt from my small, dark closet.

“Who are you?” an unfamiliar voice asks. He’s got a New Yorker accent.

“Me? Who the hell are you? What’s goin’ on? Hey—what are ya doin’?” Freddie says. The small parade of heavy boots enters my apartment.

“Where’s Olivia Kross?”

“I think she went to work. I just woke up. What’s up with the guns?”

“Who are you? The boyfriend?”

I can hear Freddie laugh, as if it’s such a ludicrous suggestion. He would be lucky to be my boyfriend. “Boyfriend? Nah,” he says.

“So what are you doing, sleeping in her apartment?”

“Well, between you and me, Liv’s a lively girl. Let’s just say, she’s a big fan of what I’m packin’, if you know what I mean. And hey—I’m only human. Can’t say no to the pair she’s got on ‘er.”

“Go look around,” the unfamiliar voice says.

“She’s not here,” Freddie replies.

“Don’t move. You wait here.”

“Really. She ain’t here.”

A pair of heavy boots pass the closet. In my bedroom, one of the men riffles through my things, slamming every dresser drawer, and flipping every piece of furniture.

“Anything?” one man calls out.

“Bedroom’s empty!” another calls back.

“I told ya, she’s not ‘ere,” Freddie says.

“Shut your mouth.”

The apartment becomes silent. I wipe the sweat from my trembling palms. Given their New Yorker accents, it’s safe to assume they’re Pesconi’s men.

“Check that closet.”

“That’s just a pantry.”

“I said, shut up.”

A pair of booted feet stop and block the light beneath the closet door. I grab onto the inside handle and hold it tight before the man on the other side turns his end. He gives it a tug. “It’s locked,” the goon says. My slippery hands tremble.

“A locked pantry?”

“What’s this all about, anyway?” Freddie asks.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Fabio—what the fuck?”

One of the men screams. The man at the closet door fumbles backwards, letting go of the handle.

“What the fuck?” one of the New York-accented men yells. “Where’d he go?”

Bang! Bang!

Deafening gunshots reverberate through the old apartment’s walls. I grab the door handle with both hands and hold it tight with all of my strength, leaning backwards to add the weight of my body.

My palms are slick with sweat and the metallic handle starts to slip out from my grasp. The trembling in my hands is now a full-blown shaking.

Thud! Bang!

Another scream—another loud thud. The apartment falls silent save for the rattling of the door handle in my shaking hands.