Big Bad Beast

CHAPTER 30

Mace Llewellyn gazed at the two youngsters that Blayne Thorpe had brought with her to “help” her babysit Mace’s son so that he and Dez could likely spend less than five minutes at some ridiculous charity dance. He would normally never go, but Niles Van Holtz had suggested their attendance. Mace didn’t want to think too much on why the Van Holtz Alpha would suggest that, because he already knew why.

So that he and his sisters, who would also be attending, would have an acceptable alibi—just in case.

“So I hope it’s okay that I brought them,” Blayne rambled on. Cute girl but she could go and go with the talking. “They’re very reliable and good with kids!” She grinned and Mace nearly sneered back at her. A mutt who wouldn’t shift to her human form and a bear-hybrid female that glowered like she might kill everyone at any minute. In fact, she’d managed to put Dez’s dogs under the couch with little more than that glower, even his sweet little pup was hiding under there. Dez’s dogs hadn’t had that reaction to anyone since Mace had first walked into this house. So, yeah, not sure he was buying the “great with kids” line but, whatever. He knew Blayne would take great care of Marcus and that’s all that mattered on these nights when his cheetah nanny was off.

“No Novikov?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going while simultaneously trying to will his wife to appear.

“Practice tonight.” And she launched into more talking that Mace really wasn’t listening to. Eventually, his wife rushed down the stairs, Marcus in her arms.

“Sorry, sorry.” She handed their son over to Blayne and Marcus hugged her tight, kissing Blayne on the cheeks and nose. So young and yet already exhibiting his father’s smooth moves.

“Stop looking so proud,” Dez warned him as she dragged the dogs out from under the couch and put them in their individual kennels in the office. A good idea since Mace didn’t want to come home later that evening and clean their piss off the floor because the bear hybrid made them panic.

Dee quickly returned and grabbed a silk wrap while putting Blayne through her usual coplike gauntlet. “You have all my numbers, plus the direct contacts to the precinct, Marc’s doctor—Oh! And where’s your phone, Blayne? You always leave your phone buried somewhere.”

“It’s in my bag.”

“Which bag? You brought three.”

“The black one.”

“They’re all black.”

“No. One’s a dark grey and the other’s granite.”

“You’re making me mental, Blayne.”

She giggled. “You sound like Bo.”

“Dez,” Mace sighed. “Can we go, please?”

“Okay, okay. But you have to drop me off at Ulrich Van Holtz’s apartment and I’ll catch up with you at the hotel.”

“Why?”

Dez’s lips grew tight and he got the feeling she was trying not to laugh.

“All right, woman, what’s going on?”

“Uh . . . it’s Dee-Ann. She’s—” Dez snorted. “She asked me and Malone to come over and help her with the dress she’s wearing tonight.”

“Dee’s wearing a dress?”

“I think she wants to look good for Ric.”

“Ric who?”

“Ric? Ric Van Holtz?” Mace stared at her. “You talked to him about your sister? Just a few days ago?”

“That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Forget it.”

“No!” Blayne yelped. She’d been trying to look like she wasn’t eavesdropping when that was exactly what she was doing. “Don’t forget. Tell. Tell!”

Dez laughed. “Tell you what?”

“Why does Dee want to look good for Ric?”

“Because he’s a hot supermodel type?”

“Dez!”

“I’m not positive but me and Malone think they may have made the leap.”

Blayne squealed, the hybrid dog barked, and the scary hybrid sow and Mace snarled in annoyance at the sound.

“I knew it!” Blayne crowed. “I knew it! Project Wolf-Wolf is a success!”

Mace opened his mouth to respond to that but Dez cut him off with one raised hand. “No.”

“Anything else?” Blayne pushed.

“Dee is also wearing heels.”

“See,” Mace said to his wife, “now you’re just making it up. You went too far. I will now no longer believe anything you ever say to me again.”

“Whatever. Blayne get your phone and keep it handy this time.” Dez kissed their son’s forehead. “Now come on, Captain Ego.” Dez moved toward the door. “I better get over there before Dee-Ann starts killing everyone in a thirty-mile radius.”

She had a point, but really, all Mace could think about was the ending to this evening. Because once the evening was over—so was his agonizing over what had to be done tonight.

After checking into that overpriced flea trap in the middle of this horrid city, Eggie Smith had left his mate in the hands of his niece Sissy Mae and that idiot lion of hers. Although the boy could play ball, so that made up for a lot of his worst attributes and made it worth feeding him.

Once he’d done that, Eggie stole a car from outside a bar and drove over to one of the Llewellyn Pride’s homes right outside Greenwich, Connecticut.

Parking a healthy distance from the property, Eggie made his way to the lion territory, moving as quick and quiet as his old bones would let him. He found a good place to take up position, managing to get himself safely ensconced among the leaves and branches of a large oak right outside the Pride house. He checked the distance with his scope and, satisfied he had a good eye line to his target, he opened the backpack he’d brought with him and quickly put together his rifle. Once he’d done that, he sat and waited for it to get dark. These long summer days made this sort of thing take much longer than usual. But it would only be a little bit longer and Eggie could wait.

While he sat and waited, he worried about his daughter. Worried she’d made a mistake choosing that damn Van Holtz, but Darla had been real adamant about letting Dee make this decision on her own.

“Lord, Eggie. She’s grown. You can’t make these decisions for her anymore.” As if he’d made any decisions for Dee-Ann Smith once she’d grown out of her diapers. That little girl always had her own way of doing things and none of that had changed. He doubted it ever would. And as long as this Van Holtz fella understood that, Eggie would have no problems with him. But if he ever lost sight of that . . .

Eggie saw some activity inside the house and he raised his weapon so he could use the scope to get a better look. The target was on her phone and, because it was always a good idea to keep up on the skills the government had been so keen to teach him, he entertained himself by reading her lips. And Lord, but could that woman complain. Even the air seemed to annoy her. Typical cat. Pouncing on dust balls and biting at lint.

Then the tone of the She-lion’s conversation changed. She was talking to someone else and Eggie could feel his fangs slip out of his gums because the female managed to go farther—or maybe it was lower—than any of them had given her credit for. She was willing to cross a line that even Eggie would never cross. Not in this lifetime.

Lowering his weapon, Eggie took apart the rifle and put it back into his bag. He dug out the holster with his sidearm and attached it to the waistband of his jeans. He headed down the tree and ran toward the She-lion’s home, moving quickly before it was too late.

Ric stood outside one of the Kingston Arms Hotel’s luxurious ballrooms and patiently waited for Lock and Gwen to arrive. He’d admit he was nervous. Word of his relationship with Dee was spreading through the shifter community like wildfire. He didn’t mind but he wanted to be the one to shock Lachlan MacRyrie into pure bafflement. It was fun!

Of course, he’d been planning to be standing here with Dee-Ann at his side, but she’d told him to go on without her and he had. It wasn’t that he intended to regularly torture her with these kinds of events, but tonight was different. Tonight was the night that Matilda Llewellyn would meet her end for the crimes she’d committed against her own kind. To limit backlash, not only among the shifter community but any full-human legal entities as well, those who might normally be suspected of the crime would be making an appearance at this event. Including, but not limited to, Mace Llewellyn and his sisters, Dee-Ann, Cella Malone, Dez MacDermot-Llewellyn, and Ric.

Although dealing with Matilda probably wouldn’t stop the hybrid fights completely, it would definitely put a dent in their well-funded and well-oiled fighting machine. Things like that needed money to survive and those who weren’t making money often walked away to find other illegal activities that would. Not that any of that made Ric feel better, but he could only help one disenfranchised group at a time.

Eventually Lock walked up to the ballroom with his arm around Gwen’s waist.

“You look gorgeous,” Ric told her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks. Although, I gotta admit. I hate this shit.”

“I know. But I appreciate you being here. You can be my alibi.”

“Because that’s always fun,” Lock told him. “So how did it go with Van?”

“Great. Until he found out I’d marked Dee. Then he went a little hysterical.”

The pair gawked at him, eyes wide and mouths open. Then Gwen laughed. “Holy shit, Ric, you actually pulled it off.”

“You and . . .” Lock shook his head. “She didn’t mind?”

“Lock!” Gwen squeaked.

“No,” Ric told him with a smile. “She didn’t mind.”

“And what about her father?”

“After this gets done, we’ll head down to Tennessee and tell him together.”

“Do you really think her presence will stop that man from killing you?”

Ric admitted, “I’m hoping.”

“Tell me,” Dee pushed. “Do I look stupid?”

“No.” And Malone seemed kind of surprised by that. “You look great.”

Dee again fussed with the deep blue, full-length gown with swaths of material that wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn’t really sleeveless, which wouldn’t work for her upper-body type, but it didn’t really have sleeves either.

“Honestly, you look great,” Desiree told her again.

Dee turned back to the mirror. If they really thought so . . . “You don’t think he’ll want this sort of thing too often, do you?” she asked Malone and Desiree. Because the damn dress alone had cost as much as the casket Dee knew she’d one day be buried in.

“Doubt it.” Desiree took another sip of the coffee she’d brought with her. “He’s usually too busy for these charity things. He mostly just gives money and makes his excuses.”

Thank the Lord for some small favors.

“Let’s get out of here so we can get this over with,” Malone said, picking up her purse.

Dee grabbed a few extra clips from the top drawer where she now kept her underwear and dropped them into her purse. She already had her .45 holstered to one thigh under her dress and her bowie knife holstered to the other thigh. The fact that she could easily hide weapons under this dress did make it more tolerable that she’d been forced to spend so much money on it.

“Do you think you have enough ammo?” Malone asked her.

Dee shrugged. “A girl can never be too prepared.”

“What are you doing here, Mitch?” Gwen demanded, and Ric quickly faced the cats in the extremely juvenile hope that he’d get to see his best friend toss the lion male around before he had to go inside the ballroom and deal with all that boring politeness the richer shifters insisted upon. “You better not start anything,” Gwen warned.

“This isn’t about you, O’ Narcissistic One.”

Ric glanced at Lock. “House. Stone. Glass. Throwing.”

Lock chuckled and Mitch Shaw pointed at Ric. “I’m here for the puppy.”

“Why? To perhaps thank me for the wonderful weekend I provided you?”

“Hardly. Not enough food. But I’m sure you’ll fix that for next time.”

Horrified, Ric asked, “Next time?”

But Mitch didn’t answer, he simply stepped to the side and Ric saw that Sissy Mae was standing behind him with an older She-wolf.

“Ric,” Sissy said, “I’d like you to meet Darla Lewis. Dee-Ann’s momma.”

Ric stepped forward, took the She-wolf’s hand. “Miss Lewis. It’s an honor.”

“Darla,” she said sweetly.

“Miss Darla,” Sissy corrected. “So’s not to get yourself slapped around by some cranky wolves I call Daddy and my uncles.”

“Of course.”

The She-wolf leaned forward and pressed her hand against Ric’s cheek. She closed her eyes, silent for a long moment. When she opened her eyes again, she announced, “As pretty on the inside as he is on the outside. My Sugar Bug chose well.”

Mitch snickered. “Sugar Bug.”

Lips pursed, a gesture that was all Dee-Ann, Miss Darla asked the lion, “Do you still want that key lime pie I brought for you, Mitchell Shaw?”

Mitch ducked his head. “Yes’m.”

“Then you be nice.”

“Does Dee know you’re here?” Ric asked.

“Not yet. But she will.” She turned to Lock and opened her arms. “Lachlan MacRyrie.”

Lock went in for the hug, squeezing the She-wolf tight but gently. “I’m so glad to see you, Miss Darla.”

“You never come to visit like you used to.”

“My schedule’s no longer aligned with Dee’s and coming to Smithtown on my own—even for the honey cream pie—seems a tad foolish. Even for me.” He pulled Gwen around. “This is my fiancée, Miss Darla. Gwen O’Neill.”

“My goodness, ain’t you just the prettiest little thing.”

Gwen actually blushed a little. “Thank you . . . uh . . . ma’am.”

“Why are you here, Miss Darla?” Lock asked.

“I’m here with Eggie.”

All eyes focused on Ric and he suddenly felt like he’d just been handed a speedy death sentence.

“Not for that!” Miss Darla gasped, then added with a firm nod. “Don’t you worry one bit, Ulrich. I made Eggie fill in that shallow grave before we drove up here.”

Lock grimaced and Ric swallowed. “Thank you?”

Mace Llewellyn walked up to the group, golden lion eyes narrowing. “Why are you all standing out here? I’m not going in there alone.”

“Mace Llewellyn,” Miss Darla chided. “Is that how you say hello?”

“Miss Darla?” Smiling with what seemed to be true welcome, the large male bent down, kissed her on the cheek, and hugged her. “How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine. And you look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” He frowned a bit, shook his head. “What are you doing here?”

“She came with Eggie,” Ric explained.

“Oh,” Mace said. Then he blinked. “Oh.” He thought another moment and, flinching the slightest bit, “Oh.”

“Not sure it could possibly get any more awkward,” Mitch muttered, earning a punch to the ribs from Sissy.

They left the bedroom, Malone stopping long enough to gaze at the bed Dee now permanently shared with Van Holtz.

“Dee . . . this bed.”

“Bear-sized queen.”

“Frightening.”

Dee chuckled, reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone, answering it. “Yeah?”

“It’s Ric. When are you getting here?”

“We’re on our way.” They headed down the hallway.

“Heads-up,” he warned her. “Your mother’s here.”

“Good Lord, why?” Considering the She-wolf referred to Manhattan as “that den of true evil where my Sugar Bug is forced to keep everyone in line.”

“She came with your father.” Ric’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She says he’s not here for me.”

If Eggie Smith had been, Dee would be burying Ric at this moment, not chatting about her father’s arrival.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be there in a few—”

“Dee-Ann?”

Dee stopped in front of Ric’s pitch-black living room, her eyes searching the shadows. Her mouth dropped open a little. “Daddy?”

“Sugar Bug. You look mighty pretty.”

“Thank you.” She motioned to Malone. “Daddy, this is Marcella Malone.”

Her father sneered a little. “Feline.”

“Daddy,” Dee warned before gesturing to Desiree with her hand. “And this is Desiree MacDermott-Llewellyn. You remember Mace? This is his wife.”

Her daddy stared at Desiree so long that Dee could feel the woman itching to reach for the gun she also had stashed under her clothes.

“Daddy? What’s wrong?”

He reached into the darkness behind him and yanked something out, tossing it at their feet.

White hair and claws were the first thing Dee saw before that head lifted and—

“Holy shit,” Desiree murmured. “It’s Matilda Llewellyn.”

The She-lion, her face bloody and her dress-covered body bruised in all the visible places, hissed and roared at them, backing away until Dee’s father planted his big foot against Matilda’s back, halting her progress.

“Daddy,” Dee snapped, stepping forward. “What in all of heaven or hell are you doing?” She worried that her father had finally lost his mind; that what he’d done for so many years had finally gotten to him. Because this was not discreet. This was not the Smith way of handling things.

“Tell them,” he snarled at Matilda. “Tell them,” he pushed when the old bitch’s hissing turned to wheezing laughter.

“Kill me,” she told them all, but specifically Desiree, “and you, whore, and my betraying bastard of a grandson will never see your boy again.”