Wolver's Reward Page 3

  Unused to a voice raised in anger, everyone stopped and stared.

  "We've already lost enough time travelling so slowly on these back roads. I have to get there. That isn't up for debate," Reb said before Darla could start one. "The Alpha and Mate are probably already worried about what's become of us. I say we commandeer the first vehicle that stops and is large enough to hold us and our things."

  "Commandeer? You mean steal?" Arnold sounded close to excited about this idea, and 'close to' was about as excited as Arnold ever got.

  "No, not steal exactly. More like borrow. We'll return it after we get to the park."

  Darla ran her nail down her cheek while her tongue pushed out the cheek on the other side, a sure sign she was going to say something snide. "So, let me get this straight. You're going to wait until some kind soul stops to help and then you're going to say something like 'We're commandeering your car, but don't worry, we'll bring it back' and they're going to say, 'Sure, why not? Here's the keys'." She leaned against the back of the van, arms folded, and ankles crossed. She looked around the circle of wolvers. "Yeah. Right."

  "So what's your suggestion? And don't say we stay here and forget about the Chase. I can't do that, Darla. You know I can't. Even if I wanted to, which I don't," she lied, "too much is depending on it, on me."

  "You're a wolver, not a sacrificial lamb." It was something Darla repeated often.

  "Darla," Reb warned.

  "Fine. We jump 'em and take the vehicle. No questions asked. No answers needed."

  "You mean...?" Rosemary's hands started to flutter. She grasped two fingers of her right with her entire left and held them against her stomach. "Oh dear, I don't think we can do that." She looked right and left, searching the faces to find some support. When she didn't get it, she pressed her hands more deeply into her stomach. "I think I feel sick."

  "I think we can do it," Lawrence said. Arms cocked, he raised his fists in front of him and positioned his feet. "We've studied the pugilistic arts, have we not?" Like his partner, Arnold, he liked the idea. "Man against adversity. I think it sounds like a marvelous way to begin this new adventure. We're taking matters into our own hands, meeting misfortune head on, conquering our..."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever," Darla cut him off. Lawrence could be long winded once he got going. "You think you can do it?" she asked the others.

  "We've been practicing, sparring in the ring," Arnold said and then shivered with his two fists in the air by his shoulders. "And what the hey?" he added daringly. "We'll be accosting a human and there are six of us."

  "Victory is assured." Lawrence nodded in agreement.

  "Five," Darla said. "Reb stays out of it. She has to stay pretty for her Alpha, whichever one it happens to be."

  Reb didn't like it, but Darla was right. It wouldn't do to meet your intendeds with a black eye. Her mother would be embarrassed.

  Darla laid out the plan and everyone took their places. Three cars passed, but none of them stopped. After the third, Lawrence raised his hand from the ditch where he was hiding.

  "This isn't a classroom, Lawrence. No need to raise your hand," Reb laughed. "Speak up."

  "But keep it short," Darla added.

  "I think we need to add a bit of sexual allure to our enticement and I think we should use Rebecca for the purpose. No, no, Arthur, hear me out." He closed his eyes and put the tips of his fingers together as if holding together his thoughts. "Studies show that males tend to have a sympathetic response to a weaker subject in distress, particularly if the subject is a sexually alluring female."

  "Then why not me?" Celia asked with the beginnings of a pout. "Don't you find me sexually alluring?"

  Darla snorted. "You play for the wrong team, Celia."

  "Well so does Becky." The petite brunette's eyes narrowed in on Reb. "Don't you?"

  "My dear Celia, you're perfectly delightful, I'm sure, as is our Rosemary," he added to deflect any hurt feelings that might arise from that quarter. Rosemary blushed at the compliment. "I merely thought that since Rebecca has no role here to play, this would be something she could do without endangering her ...um..."

  "Good idea." Leaving no room for further discussion, Darla pointed to the van. "Park yourself on that bumper, Reb, and try to look pretty and pitiful at the same time."

  Reb took up the position, but she wasn't sure how pretty she looked once it started to rain. Looking pitiful wasn't a problem.

  Chapter 3

  Mid-morning brought rain and loneliness. River was surprised by that. He'd never been one for socializing. When hanging out with the guys in the evening or in the security offices at work, he never really joined in. He listened, nodded, smiled or frowned at the right times, but never added to the conversation unless someone asked him a question. Most of those times, he wanted to be someplace else, someplace where he could run as man or wolf. It didn't matter which. In one form or another, River had to run, and except for the full moon when he was expected to run with the pack, River always ran alone. So why the loneliness?

  The thumping of the windshield wipers offered no answer, but their steady rhythm helped him think.

  Alone wasn't the same as lonely. He ran alone, but the pack was still there. He was a wolver, and wolvers needed pack. There was something inside them that craved the companionship of others of their kind. It was why rogue, or packless, wolvers tended to band together in loosely organized groups. They craved the company even if the company was shit.

  Shunning was used as a punishment. The offender was allowed to stay within the pack and allowed to continue their work, but was denied all social contact with packmates until the sentence was served. Being outcast was worse. Other than a death sentence, it was the most serious punishment in the wolver world and was used only for the worst of offenses, including betrayal of the pack. River had never been truly alone, so never understood the pain involved in such punishments. In the pack he was born into, such a punishment looked more like a holiday to him with no one to cuff or kick him as they ordered him around.

  One and a half days on the road, he was learning fast. Being shunned or outcast was no picnic. River frowned.

  Was he shunned? Was he outcast? Fuck no. He couldn't be. He'd done nothing wrong. There'd been no trial, no sentence handed down by the Alpha. They'd simply thrown him out. He wasn't wanted. Big surprise. He hadn't been wanted from the day he was born.

  River's hand shot to the radio and he poked at the buttons until he found what he was looking for. Heavy metal screamed through the cab, drowning out his thoughts.

  He'd left the Interstate a few hours before, and chose instead to travel a secondary road that ran beside it. He had nowhere to go, no timetable to keep, and no destination in mind. The pace was slower, but what the hell. Speed in enclosed vehicles had never done much for him. The truck was simply transportation that kept him dry. It was good for hauling shit. That was about it.

  Driving the truck wasn't like driving the bike. The Roadliner S was a cruiser with a comfy seat and plenty of power in its pushrod V-twin engine. There were faster motorcycles out there with sleeker builds, but River liked the way this one handled even on the sharper corners. Unlike some of the other big bikes he'd ridden, the Roadliner could lean pretty deeply into a turn before scraping the floorboards. And that was another thing. His size fourteens fit the floorboards with plenty of room to spare.

  It was an impressive looking ride. It turned heads when he rumbled past, but that wasn't why he bought it. He bought it for the way it made him feel. It was the closest he'd found to running as a wolf. His wolf thought so too, and when he rode, River felt the animal purr right along with the engine. That bike was a symbol of everything he wanted to be; fast, powerful, and respected. It was his prized possession.

  The rain was coming harder, the wipers slap-slapping at full speed and not quite doing the job, when he saw the red emergency flashers up ahead. A small dark cargo van was stopped half on, half off the two lane road. River slowed more out of c
ourtesy than curiosity. On the rear bumper sat a girl, shoulders hunched over her knees, head in hands. He wondered if she was crying. She was wearing shorts and had the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head, but in that rain, it wasn't doing anything to keep her dry. Long strands of wet, straggly hair falling to either side obscured her face, but he could tell she was young by the long and slender legs and the neon orange sneakers she wore.

  "Tough luck, kid," he muttered.

  As he drove by, the girl raised a delicate looking hand in a hopeless wave that whispered of defeat, but River didn't stop. It wasn't his problem. Hell, he had enough problems of his own.

  He made it another two miles before he pulled over, came to a stop, and after checking his mirrors, made the U-turn back the way he had come.

  It was that damned hand and its hopeless wave that did it. In his mind, he saw it as Forest's hand. His foster sister had those same long fingers and narrow palm formed with bones so fine and fragile looking, River thought he could crush them just by shaking hands. What if it was Forest back there? What if she needed help and some bastard passed her by because he was too busy feeling sorry for himself? And what about the bastard who would stop, not looking to help, but looking for something else? What if that was Forest stranded on a cold and rainy deserted road?

  Oddly, the thought made him smile. Forest wouldn't be driving in the rain. Her hands shook when Kat suggested she do it on warm sunny days. Poor Forest was afraid to drive, just as she was afraid to do anything else that was new. Mrs. Martin, the Alpha's housekeeper, insisted Forest drive down and pick up the cubs from school each day. She said the girl needed the practice. She wasn't wrong. The cubs complained that they could run the mile faster than Forest drove it.

  Still, Forest had come a long way from the girl she'd been. Her smile was shy, but it was a genuine smile, and she no longer jumped like a scared cat every time a man walked into the room. She liked her job helping Mrs. Martin in the kitchen and she'd become a helluva cook. Pups and cubs loved her. She was good at soothing their hurts and fears even though she couldn't soothe her own.

  He was thinking these things when he passed the cargo van again, pulled another U-ey and parked back a ways behind the disabled vehicle. The girl was still sitting on the bumper. He got out of the truck and walked slowly toward her, turning up the collar of his leather jacket against the rain.

  "Looks like you could use some help," he called to her.

  She stood as he approached and peered at him, using her hand like a visor to keep the rain from her eyes. Those eyes widened as if surprised by what she saw.

  "No."

  He saw her lips form the word, but the sound of it was drowned out by the thrumming of the rain. He was thin, but he was tall and his shoulders had broadened to an impressive width. Dressed all in black and walking toward her through the haze of rain, he understood how she might see him as frightening. With Forest and her timidity still on his mind, River raised his hands to show her he meant no harm.

  "I just stopped to help," he called. Keeping his hands high, he stopped.

  If Ryker hadn't trained him well, River might have missed the slight movement of her head as her eyes flickered to a spot behind him and to his right.

  "No!"

  This time he heard her clearly just as a shadow loomed up from the ditch beside the road. He turned to meet the attacker, a woman, big and broad and wearing a man's coat and cap. Raised hand now curled into a fist, River drove it downward and felt the satisfying crunch of cheekbone. He had no time to savor his quick response, however, as another figure, this one male, dove for the backs of his knees. His knees buckled, but he threw himself backward, rolling over the body behind him and landing on his feet. He kicked and sent the attacker sprawling in the mud. Still another came at him.

  These were wolvers, three females and two males, and they'd set him up. They'd expected a human, not one of their own. They were counting on their superior strength and speed, and outnumbering their victim. Surprise!

  His fist landed in a soft belly. He heard the grunt of pain as the wolver fell away. Another came from behind and he bent to capture the female wolver on his back and drag her over his shoulder. That the shifter was tiny bothered him not at all. He'd made that mistake years ago and had a scar on his back to prove it. Females could be more vicious than males. He tossed her forward like a sack of Mrs. Martin's flour. She landed atop another who was charging toward them.

  "Ow, that hurt," the male squealed.

  "You said this would be fun. You lied," the little one whined.

  Did he really just see her kick the guy? River didn't have time to think about it. His boot took another off his feet. They weren't well trained, but they kept coming at him like flies that needed to be swatted away.

  "That wasn't fair," the wolver on the ground complained.

  "Tough shit," River shouted back. What the hell did they expect?

  A red headed female who'd done nothing up to this point, now ran forward and slapped his shoulder, yelling, "Shame on you!" before she ran away.

  River didn't retaliate. He couldn't. It was too bizarre.

  It was now obvious that the girl in the orange sneakers was the bait. Hadn't he seen his old band use Forest in the same way? He could hear her crying just as Forest had cried. Forest always felt sorry for the victim.

  "No. No. Please don't hurt..."

  All the anger he'd felt back then came surging forward. He'd been too young and weak to help Forest. He wasn't weak now.

  She started running forward and he knew what would happen next. A backhand or punch would send her flying; her punishment for having a heart. He didn't want to see her hurt.

  It was time to end it, to show these shifters they'd messed with the wrong wolver. He didn't care how incompetent they were. Howls of pain followed his blows. He fought them off until he was in position to do the most damage.

  He caught the heavily muscled bitch who'd led the charge. Arms angled, forward and back, around her head and throat, one twist would break her neck. He didn't intend to kill her, but they didn't know that and if they challenged him, he'd do it. Her death would be on them.

  "Dare me," he roared. He released a surge of power that was greater than anything they could muster. The others fell back. The young woman kept coming.

  "I'm sorry," she said in a voice that sounded like heaven. "I really am."

  He started to tell her it was all right. He understood she had no choice. He never got the chance. She was holding a baseball bat by her leg. Before he could stop her, she swung it in a wide arc over her head, crashing it into his. River fell to his knees. Shaking his head to clear it, he started to rise. She hit him again.

  A woman started to speak, coughed and choked, and started again. "For heaven's sake, you didn't have to hit him so hard."

  "He meant to kill you, Darla."

  "Nah, I don't think so. If he meant to, he would have. And speaking of killing, you need to be careful with that bat, honey. You could kill somebody with that thing."

  "I did what needed to be done," the much younger voice sniffed. "We need to get him in the van and hurry. We have to get to the preserve."

  "Listen, kiddo, we don't have to do this. Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

  "Right or wrong, it has to be done. Hurry. We can't afford to be late."

  These were the things River heard as he faded away, or thought he heard anyway. It might have been a dream, but when he opened his eyes to the darkened interior of the van with his hands and feet tied loosely with cord, he was pretty sure it was real. He lay still for a moment and took stock of his surroundings. No voices or movement inside or out. No sound except drip, drip, drip. The rain had lessened to a drizzle.

  Outside, the rain had masked and washed away the scent, giving him no warning of who or what he was dealing with. Inside the van, he picked up six distinct scents; four females, two male. He would remember those scents, one in particular.

  He sat up
and groaned as the throbbing in his head threatened to split his skull in two. He was surprised the little bitch hadn't done it in the first place. The dainty looking thing had the voice of an angel and a swing that would make Babe Ruth blush with shame.

  He had to wait until the nausea subsided before he used his teeth to untie the knot at his wrists. His feet were next. He kicked the doors open not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He didn't care how much the sudden movement hurt his head. Once he had them open, he wanted to rip them from their hinges. His truck was gone along with everything in it.

  Of course it was. That was the purpose of the whole ruse and he, like a fucking asshole, had fallen for it. Put a helpless looking little female at the side of the road appearing stranded and alone, and wait for the mark. If there was too much traffic or the mark's shit didn't look worth it, or he wasn't alone, she'd say her father or brother was on the way with a tow truck. Thanks for stopping. Good-bye.

  If the goods looked worth it, someone leapt out, usually when the guy was bent over the hood or changing the tire. You didn't have to kill him, though the bastards who taught River the game didn't much care one way or the other. The point was to take what you needed; cash, credit cards, or vehicle, mostly all three.

  The question here was why they had left their vehicle behind. That wasn't normally part of the game. Leave nothing behind that could be traced. That was the rule. A quick check under the hood and then beneath the van showed him the reason. They'd thrown a piston rod. Oil was everywhere. The rod had shot right through the pan.

  The scenario was starting to make sense. This wasn't the group's usual MO. That's why they seemed so clumsy. Their attacks were random, not coordinated in any way. Yeah, they were probably surprised by his being a wolver, too, but that was the point. It didn't take four wolvers to take down a human, five if you counted the one flapping her hands. They either didn't know what they were doing or they were stupid. If it hadn't been for the little bitch with the baseball bat, they would have lost the game.