Leopard's Run Read online

  He really wanted to yell at Evangeline. Ashe made no sense at all, but she was strikingly beautiful. The more he looked at her, the more he thought so. She was model material, but then she didn’t have the height. Her skin looked so soft he found himself wanting an excuse to touch her, just to see if it was as soft as it appeared.

  She had tied her hair in some messy knot that kept falling out and she’d have to redo it. That told him she hadn’t worked in the food service industry in a while, otherwise she wouldn’t have forgotten to wear her hair back or covered. Instead, she kept pulling her hair up into that silly mess that had him thinking about bedrooms. Or sex. Or both. The bedroom didn’t matter nearly as much as the sex.

  The fact that her hair was so thick even though it was blond told him the odds that she was leopard were even higher. Leopards tended to have a lot of hair no matter what the color. The way she moved was an indicator as well. She suddenly looked up and stared right into his eyes. She caught up the coffeepot and came out from behind the safety of the counter, stomping right toward him. Not a good move.

  “Stop staring at me,” she hissed as she poured coffee into his cup. “I mean it. You’re making me uncomfortable. I get that you’re royally pissed that I’m working here. I get why now that I’ve seen Evangeline’s husband, but I need the work, so please just back off.”

  He caught her wrist as she turned away. Very gently he removed the coffeepot from her hand and set it on the table, just out of her reach. The last thing he wanted was for her to dump scalding-hot coffee in his lap, and he had the feeling that not only was she capable of it, she’d been considering it. He kept possession of her wrist. “You’re better suited to be a bodyguard than a barista.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Her voice was strained. She sounded smooth, but he had a good ear and caught the stressed notes she tried to hide.

  “The way you move. You’re trained to protect yourself, and, I suspect, others.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m not in that line of work. I’m good at this, and I need the job.”

  “How do you know Evangeline?”

  “Ask her.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  She sighed and glanced toward the counter. “I have to work. We’re getting busy again. I know you need answers. Maybe after work I could meet you somewhere.”

  “I work until late. Where do you live?”

  She hesitated.

  Timur sighed. “I’m going to find out anyway. Just fucking tell me.”

  “I’m living in Evangeline’s house. The one she used to live in.”

  He was glad she didn’t argue about telling him where she lived. Tonight, he’d be with her. Alone. He even liked the idea, which was dangerous for both of them. He let go of her. She immediately rubbed her wrist as if he’d hurt her—or she was trying to get the feel of him off her skin.

  The entire time she’d been close, his leopard had been acting like a complete fool, rolling around and making absurd rumbling noises, which, fortunately, no one could hear but him. He ran his finger down her arm to her hand and then indicated the coffeepot. “You forgot something.”

  Soft color raced up her neck to her face. She caught up the glass pot without another word and hurried back to the safety of the counter.

  His heart settled to normal again and he pressed his hand over his chest while he breathed away the hard-on he hadn’t been able to control and, thankfully, she hadn’t seen. Or at least he thought she hadn’t. She’d kept her gaze studiously away from that portion of his anatomy. It had been far too many years since he’d had problems controlling his body. He had to put it down to his leopard and the fact that a potential mate was in close proximity.

  Did she know? Most women didn’t have a clue about their leopards, not until the emergence. Evangeline had known. She’d had a relationship with her leopard almost since infancy. If Ashe didn’t know, then her leopard would as it rose, making her inclined to flirt with every man coming near her, including Gorya and the two clowns that passed for cops. That didn’t sit well with him.

  A man came down the sidewalk and passed the shop, barely glancing in. There was nothing about him to catch Timur’s interest, but everything in him went still. His leopard snarled and came to attention. He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and kept his eyes on the man dressed in a dark suit. The man paused just at the edge of the window, glanced at his watch and turned around to go back the way he’d come. As he did so, he took a long look through the glass.

  Timur cursed inwardly. He should have had that glass tinted more. The shop was busy, and there were a lot of customers, two deep by the counter. He watched as the man hesitated by the door and then went on past it.

  “Man in dark suit. You on him? Tall, dark glasses, mirrored.”

  “Got him, boss,” Trey Sinclair said. He was on the roof across the street. Timur had two more of his security patrolling the streets and another on the roof of the bakery.Right in the crosshairs.

  “What about you, Jeremiah? Can you follow him without getting tagged? This is important. You’re not out in the jungle.” He added the last because the kid needed to be a little humbler and a lot more vigilant. He was young and eager, and he wanted Timur to take notice of him. Timur didn’t like sending the kid into dangerous situations, and he had a gut feeling this man was very dangerous.

  “No problem, boss.”

  “Cocky little son of a bitch, you listen to me. That man will kill you if he spots you. Don’t fuck up. You do, there aren’t any second chances.”

  There was a small silence. Jeremiah might be cocky and full of attitude, but he’d learned that when one of them said something, it was worth listening. They’d grown up surrounded by danger, by vicious monsters; he hadn’t. They had a built-in radar for danger; Jeremiah was just beginning to hone his skills.

  “I hear you, Timur. I’ll be doubly careful.”

  “I’d rather you lose him than get too close.”

  “I understand.”

  Timur could only hope the kid did, because even with the target out of sight, every warning bell he had was shrieking at him.

  2

  “YOU’RE going to wear a hole in that carpet,” Gorya pointed out. “Pacing isn’t going to bring that kid home faster. Either he’s on his way or he isn’t.”

  “I never should have sent that little monster,” Timur said, shaking his head and stepping to the window. Habit had him staying to one side and looking from an angle, careful no one could see him looking out. Fyodor’s mansion was enormous and the carpets were worth a fortune. Timur was fairly certain he couldn’t really wear a hole in the luxurious wool, but he paced often.

  “I like the kid. It’s just that he’s so young and eager to prove himself,” he admitted. “I swear, if he gets home safe, I’m calling Drake Donovan and telling him to reassign him to someone else. Let Joshua or Elijah babysit him.”

  Gorya shook his head. “You’re training him, not babysitting him. That’s the problem, Timur. You don’t see him as a man.”

  Timur had to agree with that assessment, but he’d be damned if the kid was dying on his watch. He couldn’t chance texting the kid because if he was in a compromising situation—like being tortured for information—a call from him would make things worse.

  He closed his eyes, seeing a river of blood and hearing the screams of his mother as she was so brutally murdered. He’d seen too many tortures. He’d participated in more than he wanted to admit and he never wanted to see one again. Right now, his body felt like it was watching one, a little in shock, adrenaline racing through his bloodstream so fast he had to work to keep his expression a mask.

  He didn’t want the kid’s death on him. If he killed someone, so be it, but to send out the kid, when he’d known that stranger was no one to fuck with … that would haunt him to the end of his days. “Damn it, Gorya. Do we even have a way to track him? Let’s put some men in the field.”

  “It won’t do much good when we don�
�t have a direction on him.”

  He swore and spun around. “I’m telling Fyodor we’re putting microchips in our men so we can find them if there’s a problem like this. Phones are no good because it’s the first thing you get rid of, but no one would suspect a microchip in our bodies.”

  “He’ll be back and he’ll be in one piece. Five minutes in his company, if he’s pulled this off, and I’ll bet you’ll want to kill him yourself,” Gorya predicted.

  Timur couldn’t say he was wrong. The kid could make a saint want to choose hell over heaven. “What did you think about the new girl? Ashe Bronte?” He had to change the subject or he was going to start pulling out his hair.

  “Wasn’t Bronte some kind of writer?”

  “That’s right. Three sisters. Very famous.” Timur wasn’t going to risk his cousin giving him a hard time about knowing English literature. He’d had to study in secret so his father wouldn’t beat the hell out of him.

  “Well, no one can find anything on a woman named Ashe Bronte. I’m sure there is one, but it isn’t this one,” Gorya said. “She’s got to be a plant. I hate saying that because she’s got a body on her and—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Timur all but snarled it. “I don’t need you going on about her body. You think I didn’t notice? I’m not blind. Every man for a hundred miles noticed. I’m just saying, she’s off-limits, so quit flirting with her.”

  Gorya stared at him for a little too long. Timur refused to be the first one to look away. He stared him down, allowing his leopard to look through his eyes at the man who was more sibling than cousin.

  “You’re attracted to her.”

  “I’m attracted to a lot of women, and as you say, she’s got a body on her.”

  Gorya shook his head slowly. “No, Timur, this is different. This one is the real deal. You’re going to go after her. Your cat even may let you have some fun without trying to kill her.”

  Timur shrugged casually. There was nothing casual about the way he felt when he was close to Ashe Bronte. “That would be the hope. So, forget going in that direction. It wouldn’t make me happy.”

  “She’s not going to fall for your charms,” Gorya said. “Oh. Wait. You don’t really have any.”

  Timur flung himself into an armchair opposite Gorya. “She didn’t much like me saying her name sounded like she’d made it up, and worse, that it sounded like a porn star’s.”

  Gorya stared at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. Timur had never had a lot to laugh at, so his answering grin was rusty, but it was there.

  “Hell of thing to say when you’re hoping to nail her,” Gorya pointed out. “Just sayin’, bro, your tactics need a little work. I think you haven’t had much practice lately.”

  Timur wasn’t touching that. He hadn’t. There was no getting around that. Picking up a woman was easy enough for him. Getting her out of her clothes was even easier. Controlling his furious leopard, that was something altogether different, and sometimes nearly impossible. The thought of being with Ashe, clothes off and bodies coming together hard, rough, the way he liked it, without his leopard demanding blood, was worth any price he might have to pay.

  “Go to hell,” Timur said and flipped his cousin off. He glanced at his watch again, and then looked to the window. If the boy didn’t get back soon, he’d have to apprise his brother that there might be a problem, and then he’d move heaven and earth to find the kid and bring him home.

  Jeremiah Wheating was a good kid. Overeager to prove himself, but he had all the right instincts. Drake Donovan had brought the boy with him from Borneo and the kid had spent time first as a bodyguard with Jake Bannaconni, a powerful shifter who had a lot of enemies. Jake could take apart a company and put it back together in a matter of a week. That made money, but also enemies.

  After Jake, Drake had given Jeremiah other assignments, wanting him to be well-rounded in his experiences. He’d come to Timur’s brother, Fyodor. The kid had been assigned to watch over Evangeline at the bakery, a job he hadn’t excelled at. In fact, Jeremiah had detested the assignment so much he caused a few problems for Fyodor with his woman—something Timur didn’t recommend anyone do.

  Jeremiah had proved he was unable to work in the bakery and make it look like he was a barista. Timur sighed. If Jeremiah had worked out, Ashe wouldn’t be in the bakery. Her sweet little ass wouldn’t be parked in Evangeline’s house. Evangeline had moved in with Fyodor at the main estate, but she had refused to give up her house. She’d bought it on her own, fixed it up and didn’t want to part with it. Who knew she was going to use it to harbor a potential threat?

  Timur had his people working to uncover Ashe’s real identity, but a part of him didn’t want to know if she was an enemy. If she was, he would be the one to have to take care of her, and that meant permanently. He pressed two fingers to his eyes. Hard. Wishing he was a better man. Wishing he’d at least had the chance to be a better man. He’d been born into violence and he knew damn well he was going to go out the same way.

  “You all right?” Gorya asked with real concern.

  Timur looked up and met his eyes. Gorya had been more of a brother to him than even Fyodor. They’d shared a terrible childhood and, thanks to Fyodor, survived it, but nothing, no amount of time, could erase those brutal, ugly memories for either of them. He nodded slowly. He wouldn’t lie to Gorya. His cousin was the one person who would always get the truth no matter what. “She’s stirring up things in me better left alone.”

  Like the need to have her under him. Like the need for those beautiful eyes to plead with him for release, for whatever he was willing to give her. Mostly, it was the worry that she might have to die and he would be the one to pull the trigger. If she was the enemy, he wasn’t going to allow interrogation. She would die quick and clean and never see it coming. He could at least give her that much.

  “You think they sent her, don’t you?” Gorya asked. His voice was very soft, very quiet, no hint of the compassion Timur saw in his eyes.

  Timur sighed again and gave another slow nod. “What other explanation is there? She’s lying about her name. She turns up out of the nowhere and convinces Evangeline to hire her without even telling any of us. She’s that good. That persuasive. She even talks her way into Evangeline’s house. Did you watch the way she moved? She’s no barista, Gorya, as good as she is at making drinks. She isn’t new at the job, but I’m not buying her act.”

  “Do you think Lazar sent her?” Gorya named their uncle. As he’d said the name, it had come out in a hated, fearful whisper.

  Timur shrugged. “We know he’s going to be coming at us. This may be his opening move. We’re strong and he knows it. He’d be smart to send a female assassin. We’d be looking for a male, but a female just going into the Han Vol Dan? Her heat would have every male leopard for miles going nuts. It would be easy enough, once she gets all of us into a frenzy, to kill Fyodor. Or us. He’ll want our blood too.”

  “But especially Mitya’s,” Gorya said.

  Timur had to agree. Mitya was another cousin. Of all of them living in that nightmare world, Mitya had suffered even more so than their other cousin, Sevastyan. It had been so bad that at times even Timur’s father had risked Lazar’s and his brother Rolan’s wrath and protested the treatment of his nephews. That was saying something.

  “He’ll try to kill all of us. Even our women. Evangeline needs protection around the clock, especially now that this female has shown up and somehow managed to get in good with her. I’ll be talking with Ashe Bronte this evening.” He glanced again at his watch, frowned and then shook his head. “This is taking too long. Try him, Gorya.”

  “He would check in if he could,” Gorya said. “Are you certain you want me to do this?”

  Timur nodded, jumped to his feet again and began pacing. He had so much restless energy inside him he felt like he might explode if he didn’t move. It was her fault. Ashe. He’d been resigned to his life. He would protect his brother and Evangeline
, but he wouldn’t be alive. There would be nothing for him. His sins were too great and he’d done little to redeem himself. He’d been born a violent criminal and he’d lived his entire life as one.

  “He answered my text. He’s alive, Timur.” Gorya poured relief into his voice.

  Timur’s heart jumped and he found himself rubbing his chest. The thuds were getting stronger. The panic attacks closer. He couldn’t afford either. He didn’t want to show his elation because his cousin already knew how anxious he’d been.

  “About damn time,” he groused. “I’m going to ground that kid.”

  “Timur,” Gorya cautioned. “Don’t break him the way we were broken. We could never do anything right, although we both know that was an excuse to beat the holy hell out of us. Your father enjoyed making us feel like shit. Just be careful of following his patterns. I have to fight it every day, and I imagine you do as well.”

  Timur swung around, ready to do battle with Gorya. Every muscle in his body, every single cell, wanted to protest his words. He wanted combat, ripping and tearing at flesh, pounding it with his fists, anything to escape the thought that he could be anything like his father—and yet, there was the proof. He not only wanted those things; he needed them.

  He stared at his cousin for a long time, seeing his father standing there, waiting for his son to fuck up so he could beat him. One wrong word. The lack of a word. One wrong move, or lack of one. It wouldn’t matter, the pounding would start.

  Eventually Timur liked those encounters because he could fight back. He knew his father would beat him within an inch of his life, but every punch he got in, he made count. He needed the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to hurt his father with those blows. Every one of them.

  He doubled his fists and stared down at it. “I liked hitting him,” he admitted. Finally. Aloud. He’d said it and he’d meant it. “Sometimes I hated him so much that I would start a fight just so he would come at me. I knew he’d kick my ass, but I could hit him. I began counting how many good blows I got in. How hard I hit. I always used the maximum force possible. If I was as strong then as I am now, I would have broken his bones.” There was satisfaction in knowing that. He would have liked to break his father’s bones.