Big Bad Beast

CHAPTER 2

The first punch to her face sent Dee-Ann stumbling. But that wasn’t surprising. They didn’t call the tigress Marcella Malone “Bare Knuckles” for nothing. And Dee’s big mistake had been turning her back on her. She knew better than to turn her back on the treacherous feline and former Marine originally from Mineola, Long Island, New York. Or, as Dee used to put it when they trained together—“that Long Island whore.”

It had been a lot of years since they’d seen each other, since they’d started together in the Marines Corps’ shifter-only Unit until their commanding officer had placed them on separate teams because, as the polar bear had explained, “Some dogs and cats will just never get along.”

“I’m sorry, Dee-Ann,” the feline told her without any remorse whatsoever. “My fist slipped.”

“It happens,” Dee replied seconds before she swung her own fist, connecting with Malone’s face.

The She-tiger snarled, her head coming up, blood streaming from the cut on her cheek, eyes turning bright gold and angry. Seemed fair, though, since Dee had the same amount of blood coming from her nose.

The pair sized each other up. Dee quickly remembered all the strengths and weaknesses the She-tiger had. About Dee’s age, thirty-five or so, Malone had come into her full adult power with strong arms and thighs. She’d be fast, but her stamina would be nothing like Dee’s. At six feet, Malone weighed a bit more and had more curves in her human form. She still kept her black hair with white and red streaks long, and Dee had no qualms about using all that hair to her advantage if she had to.

Their teams spread out around them in a circle and Dee knew on some deeper, more humane level that this was wrong. They were here on a hot, late-June night in this Brooklyn warehouse for bigger issues than a bitch-fight between former Marines. But Malone had always brought out the worst in Dee. The absolute worst.

So ignoring the bigger issues—like what had happened to the fight ring that was supposed to be having an event tonight at this location—the two She-predators removed their jackets and brought up their fists.

Malone was and always would be a brawler. It ran in her tiger bloodline. She was the daughter of one of the greatest early shifter hockey players, “Nice Guy” Malone. And, like her father, she’d gone from the Marines to playing right defenseman for the Nevada Slammers. She was pretty good, too, but spent a lot of her time in the penalty box because she simply couldn’t stop from beating the hell out of people when they irritated her.

But hockey wasn’t all that Malone was part of. She also worked for Katzenhaft Security or KZS for short. The feline nation’s security team. Dating back several hundred years, KZS had bases all over the world, their job simply to protect all felines. It was rare for Dee or the Group in general to come face to face with a KZS team. Especially when dealing with hybrids. The cats were notorious for having no interest or patience with mixed breeds of any kind. As it was, they barely tolerated the feline crossbreeds—tigons, ligers, cheetah-leopard crosses, etc.—but when fellow felines bred outside their species or KZS teammates were dealing with canine mixes in general, they often showed more disdain than usual. Which meant they normally didn’t involve themselves with hybrid issues.

Until recently. Something that made Dee-Ann all sorts of distrustful.

That two-ton truck Malone called a fist rammed into Dee’s cheek, followed by a right cross to her already battered nose. Dee ignored the little yellow birds twirling around her head and blocked the next punch with her right forearm, smashing Malone’s nose with the palm of her hand. Malone’s head snapped back and Dee followed up with a punch to the stomach. Malone caught Dee around the neck with both arms and came in close, bringing her knee up into Dee’s gut, twice. Dee slammed her head forward into Malone’s.

“That’s it!” a female voice yelled.

Strong hands yanked Dee and Malone apart and the fact that their feet weren’t touching the ground told Dee they were being held by something really big.

“Dee-Ann?” That female voice again. It didn’t belong to whatever was holding them.

Dee wiped blood out of her eyes and looked down into a familiar face. “Evening, Desiree.”

Wearing a bulletproof vest over a light T-shirt, her gun drawn—she always had more than one on her at any given time—her bright grey-green gaze quickly taking in the room, Desiree MacDermot-Llewellyn seemed much more at home with shifters than with her own. It wasn’t just her choice of mate either, the lion male Mace Llewellyn whom Dee had known for years through her cousin Bobby Ray. No, it was too easy to dismiss Desiree as a full-human who didn’t find her own way until she’d met her mate. Because the truth was, Desiree MacDermot-Llewellyn was as much a predator as anyone Dee had known.

Desiree shook her head, blew out a breath, and put her weapon back in the holster at her side. “What the hell are you doing, Dee?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

Rolling her eyes, Desiree looked over at Malone. “And you?”

Malone snarled, baring her fangs. A move that didn’t bother Desiree one bit based on that snort she gave in return.

“Check the place,” Desiree ordered. She was NYPD and had not come alone tonight. Besides the bear holding Dee and Malone like two rag dolls, there was a S.W.A.T. unit from the Brooklyn precinct that was made up mostly of shifter cops who’d worked for other precincts throughout the five boroughs until they got this gig. Unlike the Group or KZS, their job was to keep the peace between the species throughout the city, not protect or wipe out. And although Desiree was full-human, she had three things going for her that made her perfect for this particular job: She was mated to a powerful lion male, she’d bred a lion male of her own, meaning she’d do what she could to protect him, and the woman was a damn good cop.

“Dez,” one of her team called out. “You better see this.”

Desiree walked off and Malone said to the one holding them, “Think you could put us down now, sport?”

The roughly seven-ten polar’s gaze went back and forth between them before answering, “No.”

After several minutes, Desiree returned, her expression direct and not too happy.

With a swirl of her finger, Desiree ordered her team to, “Bring ’em all in.”

“What the hell for?” Malone snapped.

“There are about twenty bodies back there,” she informed them. “Some in their human form, some not so much. Maybe you two would have noticed if you weren’t busy having a caged death match.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “Until we straighten this out, everybody goes.”

Desiree turned to her team, barking out orders.

Feeling downright shamed, Dee glanced over at Malone, who raised her head at the same time. And, for a moment, Dee guessed they both felt the same bone-deep disappointment in themselves for not keeping their eyes on the bigger issue. But then it seemed they both got tired of that and began snarling and snapping, trying to claw at each other from a distance, ignoring the bear ordering them to settle down.

Dee had to admit, it felt better doing that than feeling sorry for herself.

Ric pulled three plates from the overhead grill. He slammed the door shut with his elbow and slid the plates of sizzling sea lion blubber onto the saucier’s station for the final touch.

“Let’s go, people!” he yelled out, seeing the number of tickets piling up. “Let’s pick up the speed. We’ve got a full house out there!”

“Yes, chef!” was the answer he got back, followed by several muttered “Asshole.” But Ric didn’t mind. He kind of deserved it.

“Ric!” he heard his younger cousin Arden yell out as she stormed into the kitchen. If a Van Holtz didn’t want to work in the kitchen, then they worked front of house. At least until they got through college.

Arden held a large platter in her hand. A full salmon, head and all, that Ric had sent out ten minutes earlier.

“What is it?”

“The grizzly on six says there’s not enough honey in your honey sauce salmon.”

Knowing that his honey sauce glaze was, is, and always would be perfection, Ric understood what the disgruntled bear really wanted. Reaching down to one of the cabinets, he grabbed one of the fifty bear-shaped bottles of average, everyday honey he kept there. He wouldn’t waste the good—and expensive—European stuff on Philistines.

Pushing past his sous-chef, Ric unscrewed the top and dumped half the bottle of honey right onto the salmon, stole a knife from one of the nearby stations and smeared the honey over the fish. Taking the platter from his cousin, he tossed it into one of the industrial microwaves and re-heated the fish for a few seconds. Again, someone with an actual palate might deserve better treatment, but this idiot bear was lucky Ric didn’t drag the damn fish across the bathroom floor.

When he knew enough time had passed, he opened the microwave and pulled out the fish. “Here. With compliments from the chef,” he practically snarled.

Grinning, his cousin walked out.

“They’re all Philistines!” he announced to his kitchen.

“Yes, chef!”

Ric went back to work, his unwavering focus on getting the food done and getting it done well. He was happily in a zone when his phone vibrated from the pocket of his black sweatpants.

“This is Ric.”

“Hi, Cousin.”

Ric smiled. “Uncle Van! How’s it going?”

“Great. Great. I know you’re busy so I’ll make this quick. I’m having something messengered over to your apartment in the next day or two.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to ask me what it is?”

“Should I?”

“Probably.”

Ric grimaced. “This involves my father, doesn’t it?”

“Possibly. I’m sending you copies of the books for the Van Holtz restaurants in the tri-state area. I want you to look them over, closely, and tell me what you think.”

Ric’s grimace turned to slack-jawed panic. He could feel his mouth dropping open in shock. “Pardon?”

“You know what I’m asking, Ric.”

“Yes, but—”

“And you’re the one I trust to be honest with me.”

“But it sounds like you already know the truth.”

“I’m guessing. You are the one with the head for numbers. Or so my beautiful wife keeps telling me. Her exact words were, ‘Please don’t try to think. It’s painful to watch. Send the damn things to Ulrich.’ And, as always, she’s absolutely right. Will that be a problem?”

Investigating to see if Ric’s father, Alder Van Holtz, was robbing his own family and Pack of funds for whatever reason he might have? Gee . . . why would that be a problem?

“No, sir.”

“Excellent. Let me know when you have something.”

“Okay.”

The call disconnected, Ric went back to his work, glad that he would be turning over his kitchen to his sous-chef soon because he had guests coming over in a bit. But before he could get lost in the food, his phone went off again.

Dreading that his father had already heard all about it through his spies, Ric went out to the back alley to answer the call.

“This is Ric.”

“Mr. Van Holtz?”

Ric almost sighed in relief when he heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Yes.”

“This is Detective MacDermot. NYPD.”

He knew her. Mace Llewellyn’s wife. Not exactly the type of woman Ric would expect a lion like Llewellyn to choose for his mate. Not that there was anything wrong with Desiree MacDermot. Far from it. But a Puerto Rican–Irish street cop from the Bronx wasn’t exactly a blue blood, was she? Something that the Llewellyns usually insisted upon.

“Yes, Detective. What can I do for you?”

“My boss was wondering if you could come in tonight for a meeting.”

Ric frowned. “I’m working tonight and have plans, so I’m not sure that’s going to—”

“We have your team, Mr. Van Holtz.”

Ric blew out a breath. Dee-Ann. “I understand. I’m heading right over.”

“Thank you.” She ended the call and Ric slipped the phone back into his sweats. Already irritated, now Ric was extremely annoyed. He glanced at his watch, making sure he had enough time to deal with whatever drama Dee-Ann and her team had gotten into and then get back to meet his friends without being forced to cancel the entire evening. He could do it, even though he might be a little late, but they’d wait for him.

Already thinking of what he’d have to do in his kitchen before he could cut out, Ric gazed down to the end of the alley that led out to the street. That’s when he saw him. Their eyes met and the kid took off.

Ric ran to the end of the alley, looking up and down the busy street, trying to catch sight of him again. Nope. Nothing.

Damn it. This night was simply not getting any better, was it?

Dee sat in the cage, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin resting on her fists. She sat in the cage and waited while the She-tiger in the cage next to her paced back and forth like she was about to be dragged off to the Bronx Zoo tiger display.

“How can you just sit there like that?” Malone finally demanded.

“What do you expect me to do? Pace around like an idiot?”

“I expect you to do something.”

“Don’t see the purpose of gettin’ all upset.”

“When do you ever?”

“That was always your problem, Malone. All emotion, no sense.”

Malone faced her, gripping the bars with her still-bloody knuckles. “At least I give a shit. At least I care about those people they found.”

“That’s real Yankee of ya, Malone. But your big emotions don’t really help nothin’, do they?”

“Cold as your precious daddy, I see.”

That had Dee up off the bench she’d been sitting on, across the cage, her arm through the bars, and her hand wrapping around the back of Malone’s head. She jerked her forward, slamming her forehead into the titanium metal they used for these cages since they were built specifically for shifters.

Malone’s fist came through the bars, punching Dee in the eye.

Fangs bared, the two females held on, trying to drag each other through the bars.

“Dee-Ann!”

Dee stumbled back, the pair releasing each other at the bellow.

Trying to see through her already swelling eye, she blinked in surprise.

Van Holtz . . . er . . . Ric, stood outside the bars, absolutely seething. He was in his black sweats, black Van sneakers, and black T-shirt, but the scent of his busy kitchen still lingered all around him. The predator cops sitting at their desks lifted their heads and tested the air, probably trying to figure out why they were suddenly so hungry.

“Get out here,” Ric ordered and Dee walked forward. She reached through the bars and fussed with the lock that held her for a bit. It opened easy enough, and she heard Malone gasp in surprise behind her. Poor felines. They just didn’t have the same way with locks as wolves and foxes.

“Why didn’t you do that before?” Malone wanted to know.

“Because knowing I can do it is just as good as doing it. Just like knowing that I can cut your throat while you sleep—”

Ric placed a hand over Dee’s mouth and pulled her down the hall. “Bathroom?” he asked Desiree, who was unlocking Malone’s cage.

“At the end of the hallway.”

They found the room and Ric pushed her in.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

And all Dee could do was shrug and admit, “She irritates me.”

Ric opened the first aid kit tacked to the wall and took out some gauze and antibiotic cream. He wet the gauze and began wiping the blood off Dee’s face and her knuckles. Once the blood was gone, however, he still had bruises and cuts to deal with.

“She irritates you? She irritates everyone.”

Dee gazed at him through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “You know Malone?”

“I hired Malone. She plays on the Carnivores.”

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“Have you seen the way that woman plays?”

“I don’t care how she plays, supermodel. She’s with KZS. Did you know that, too?”

He gazed into her eyes and answered with utter honesty, “Of course, I knew.”

Dee shoved him aside. “You’re working with them now?”

“They’re not our enemy, Dee-Ann.”

“Like hell they’re not. Maybe you don’t remember when they tried to move on wolf territory, but I sure do.”

Ric scratched his forehead. “You mean in 1832?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Smiths really don’t let a grudge go, do they?”

“Not unless we’re contractually obligated to like we were with y’all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But we don’t have time for this, Dee.”

“What does that mean?”

“Come on.”

Dee waited while Ric threw out the bloody gauze, slathered some ointment on the worst of her cuts, washed his hands, and took Dee to the main office on the floor: a glass room with a door and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge from the window behind the desk. Sitting at the desk was a black bear sow. Desiree stood next to the desk and Malone sat in a chair beside another feline. A lynx, who seemed way overdressed for this meeting.

“There you are,” the lynx complained, pointing at her watch. “Have date. Not missing. Let’s move this along, people.”

Ric closed the door and, always the gentleman, began introducing everyone to Dee. “You know Detective MacDermott, and this is her boss Lynsey Gentry. She runs this division of the NYPD. And you know Marcella Malone, and this is her boss, Nina Bugliosi. She’s Cella’s supervisor, but speaks for KZS as I speak for the Group.”

Dee gazed at him. Cella? He’s calling her Cella now?

“Sit, you two. Sit.” The sow motioned them down and began. “I’ll keep this short because I don’t see a point in making it long-winded. Here’s the deal. These fight rings have popped up all over the city and they’re multiplying. Now, I won’t get into the concern over protecting who we are from the full-humans who know nothing about us. That’s a given, I think. The more important issue is that we can no longer ignore what’s happening to the hybrids in this city and the other boroughs, nor can we continue to try and strike at these small dogfights that we’ve been stumbling across. It’s not effective. So after talking to Niles Van Holtz, who runs the entire Group from East Coast to the West, and Victoria Löwe who represents Katzenhaft Security in the States, we’ve all decided to join forces.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Malone asked.

“That means we’re putting a small team of our best people on this to get to the heart of where it’s all stemming from. I want to know who’s the money behind this. Once we find the money, we can take it from there. But we’ve got to find the money.”

“And who’s gonna be on this team?” Although Dee already had a bad feeling she knew the answer.

“Desiree will take lead. She represents NYPD and can keep the full-human precincts off you, something she did earlier tonight after the residents of that neighborhood complained, so you should thank her. I don’t know what we could have done if anyone else had found you in that warehouse with all those bodies.”

Together, Malone and Dee looked over at Desiree and sneered, “Thank you.”

Desiree laughed and Gentry continued. “To represent KZS, we’ll have Miss Malone and for the Group, Miss Smith.”

Canine and feline scowled at each other across the room. Then Malone roared and Dee barked multiple times, lips pulled back over fangs.

The lynx snapped her fingers in Malone’s face. “Date!” she bellowed. “Was I not clear I have a date? I don’t have time for this bullshit.” She pointed at Dee-Ann. “From you either. So let’s cut to the chase rather than wait for the bear to make her slow, plodding way to it. We’ve already looked at your records, ladies. All three of you are former Marines, and both Smith and Malone have Unit training. So you’re going to get over whatever bullshit issues you have and fix this problem before I get really fucking cranky.” She stood, smoothing down her mini-dress. “Is that it?”

“Well—” the sow began.

“Good. See ya!” Then she was out the door and gone.

Dee turned to Ric, waiting for him to say something. He did.

“So . . . are you hungry?”