For the Good of All (Law of the Lycans Book 7) (3 page)

He yanked her close, twisting her arm behind her back. They were so close now he could stare down into her eyes. “How would you feel if the positions were reversed? Maybe you’re the bit player whose life is expendable.” Coldness crept into his heart, into his soul as he contemplated the deaths she’d orchestrated. “An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Justice in its most basic form.”

He watched her throat move as she swallowed hard but there was no fear in her voice when she spoke. “What do you plan to do? Kill me for not living up to your high expectations?”

“I should.” He squeezed her arm even harder and her eyes briefly flared before the calm mask fell over her features again. “You’ve committed crimes against our people.”

“I’ve done nothing illegal.”

“Nothing that can be directly connected to you, you mean. But you’ve coordinated the work, matched mercenaries to jobs. Jobs that have taken lives, broken our laws.”

“And you’ve never killed? Never disobeyed the Book of the Law?” A sneer curled her lip. “We’re not so different, Eli.”

His jaw tightened. “Only if the cause was just.”

“And of course your view of what is just has to be right. You know, the people I’ve worked with all believed their causes were just as well. It’s simply a matter of perspective.”

She had a point. The evilest of men might very well believe their actions were morally right. But at some point there had to be boundaries. Laws that couldn’t be broken or argued into ineffectual legislation by some smooth-tongued lawyer or rationalized away by some ranting radical. Basic laws existed in the universe. Breaking them had to be punished.

“The world isn’t black and white, Eli.” Deirdre took advantage of his hesitation and pulled out of his grip. She walked over to the dresser and leaned her hip against it. “Why are you here? To preach about what a bad little girl I’ve been in your absence? It isn’t to kill me or you would have done it the minute I pulled that knife on you.”

“I might still change my mind.”

“But you won’t. We’re family.”

He hesitated, ancient instincts, memories from his youth, warring with his sense of justice. Dee had been—still was—his baby sister. His wolf whined in confusion; at one time they’d been pack. When did that relationship cease to matter? Slowly he nodded. “Not tonight. But this will be your only reprieve.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She inclined her head. “Now, what do you want?”

“Dismantle this organization you’ve built.”

“And if I don’t?” She casually reached down and adjusted a diamond bracelet that lay on the dresser.

“I won’t be happy.” A threat rumbled in his voice. “This stops here and now.”

“Okay.” She slid a sideways look at him. “But I really have no control over the men who work for me. You know how rogues are. They do as they please.”

“I’ll deal with them. Ensure they get what they deserve.”

“Elijah Stone, judge, jury and executioner. Is that how you see yourself?”

He ignored her comment. “I meant what I said. You’re out of the ‘mercenary for hire’ business.”

“Even if you manage to hunt down and eliminate all my old employees there will just be more to take their place. There’s no saving the world, Eli. There’s only survival of the fittest. Your time as a prisoner should have taught you that.”

“It taught me a lot of things, Dee. One was when to be merciful and when not.”

“Is that a threat?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Take it as you want.” And with that he left.

Dee sat down, her bravado now gone, and rubbed her arm. Eli’s grip had been tighter than she’d let on. There’d be bruises on her skin in the morning. She reached out for the phone and dialled a number she’d long committed to memory. A groggy voice answered her summons.

“There’s no time to explain. Just listen. We’re closing up shop. Everyone is being cut loose. Back up the records, make sure they’re encrypted and then purge everything. I’ll give you more details in the morning.” She hung up before any questions could be asked and tossed the phone on the bed.

Damn Elijah for reappearing. All reports had indicated that he’d died in the Middle East. The news had briefly saddened her but she’d realized early on that their goals would eventually clash. His absence had been...convenient. When her network of spies and mercenaries had informed her of his return she’d known it would only be a matter of time before he came looking for her. He was too clever, too pig-headed, too in love with the idea of justice, to leave her be and walk away.

Bending, she picked up the knife she’d kept under her pillow. It had been grasping at straws, hoping that she’d be able to dispatch him so easily but, she shrugged, nothing ventured nothing gained. Now she’d move on to her back-up plan. Make it seem like she was closing up shop. There were plenty of places where her skills and contacts could be used. Places where Eli would never find her.

She walked to the French doors to push them shut. It was a beautiful night, but she’d not linger to admire it. Her brother was out there somewhere and she had no desire to cross paths with him again any time soon. She’d been lucky tonight. Next time...

A shiver passed over her and she gave the lock on the door a decisive twist shut.

Chapter 1

A year later...

Tina stood behind the bar at Club Mystique, pouring a shot of whiskey while scanning the patrons waiting for their orders. It was the usual Friday crowd. Most came often enough that she knew their orders even before they placed them. The tall fellow always ordered a beer, his girlfriend was a daiquiri. Two Mystique specials for the blond couple at the end. She kept up a seamless stream of banter, pocketing tips and gathering empty glasses without thought.

The job was second nature to her now; tiring on her feet but not too taxing on her brain which gave her time to think about other things, like midterms and if she was going to continue the courses she was taking at college or switch yet again.

A sigh escaped her.

After almost a year of classes, she was coming to the conclusion that a career as a theatrical make-up artist, while fun and creative, wasn’t a good fit for her. She might have a flair for costumes and make-up but, just like the other career paths she’d explored, it lacked an indefinable something that she craved.

She picked up a glass and began to polish it. Why did all jobs have to be so…predictable? Something exciting, something that stretched her abilities, or allowed her to help people or at least make them happy, that’s what she wanted, not the stuff most people settled for. They went through their day like automatons and then came to places like Mystique hoping to regain some of the joie de vivre that had been sucked out of them.

Scanning the crowd, she noted which ones still had the dazed ‘just-left-work’ look about them compared to those that were reviving from the work-induced stupor of the week. Yep, poor fools were hoping to live enough on the weekend to compensate for—

Her sweeping gaze skidded to a halt as she noticed the man at the end of the bar.

He wasn’t a regular. Nope, she’d remember if he’d been here before. Not good-looking in a traditional sense. His jaw was too square, a scar marred his cheek. Stern brows topped eyes so dark they were almost black. Something about him demanded a second look, though. For one thing his size made him stand out. Tall with broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms, he made the other men look like mere stick figures. A marine, perhaps? No, not a human; there was a certain air about him that moved him out of the normal realm. More likely a Lycan Enforcer. The club occasionally had one stop by.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Enforcer didn’t quite fit him either. They were tough but this one had an extra edge to him. Plus he wasn’t scanning the crowds looking for Lycans who were breaking the law. He looked like he couldn’t care less what the rest of the patrons were doing.

So why was he at the club?

He wasn’t a partier and he wasn’t looking for an easy hook-up. Several women had approached him and he hadn’t even given them the time of day. Nor did he appear to be drowning his sorrows. It was almost as if he was made of stone. He just sat there sipping his drink.

It irked her for some reason, perhaps because he was messing with the theory she’d been mentally spouting just moments ago. People came to Mystique to enjoy themselves, not sit like a lump of marble. With a decisive nod, she made it her mission to break through his stony facade. Determinedly, she began to work her way in his direction. Gwyneth had been covering that end of the bar so she wasn’t sure what he was drinking. Vodka on ice by the looks of his glass. She paused in front of him.

“Ready for another?” She picked up the bottle anticipating his response.

“No.”

The word had her freezing in space. His voice was deep, commanding, seeming to grab something within her and demand an unequivocal response. It also caused a vision to flash before her eyes.

A mountain, steep and rocky was being battered by a fierce storm. Thunder shook the ground, rain lashed it, yet the mountain seemed to grow larger and more impenetrable. Wind whistled around its peak, cold and icy and unforgiving. She could actually feel it wrapping around her, whipping her hair so she couldn’t see, stealing her breath. A shiver swept over her and in that instant the vision disappeared leaving only the man in front of her.

She forced herself to move, not giving any indication of what she’d just seen. Setting the bottle of vodka down, she nodded towards his glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Water.”

“Oh.” She blinked at the unexpected response. He seemed more the kind to be downing shots of rot-gut whiskey. Opening her mouth to make some smart aleck response, she thought better of it. There was a look about him that signalled no sense of humour and the vision she’d just had seemed to confirm the fact. Instead, she raised one brow. “With ice?”

He nodded and she got him his order before continuing down the length of the bar. She could feel his gaze on her and she wanted to twitch her shoulder blades, but she kept her back still and straight.

No doubt he was judging her for her hair and clothing. Neon and sparkle; that was the armour she wore. If someone didn’t like it, too bad. And he was probably one of the disapprovers. Well, if he disapproved, he didn’t have to look, right? The idea of his silent condemnation bothered her for some reason, but she shrugged it off. She wasn’t here to please him. Other customers were waiting to be served.

She worked her way down the bar again, smiling, talking, taking orders. Gwyneth, the owner of the club, gave her a nod which was the closest thing to praise the woman ever gave anyone. Tina ducked her head in acknowledgement and continued on with her job. It was getting later and business was picking up, not so much so that she’d forgotten about the man, however. Their first encounter had thrown her. Next time, she’d be ready for the power he exuded. Next time, she’d meet him on more equal terms.

If her vision was any indication, he was like a living Mount Everest. Mountain climbing had never appealed to her before but it seemed she was about to take up a new sport. She only hoped she wasn’t going to end up like one of those climbers who became caught in a rock slide and ended up as a fatality.

Stone took another drink of his water, savouring the feel of it playing over his tongue before allowing it to trickle down his throat. After years of being held captive in the desert, never knowing when his next drink might be, he’d come to develop an unusual affection for the plain liquid.

Around him, the other bar patrons were swilling alcoholic beverages. At one time, he’d have joined them but for now he’d stick to ice water. A few sitting nearby gave his glass a speculative look before shifting their attention to him. He met their gaze without expression. His military short hair, scarred cheek and bulging biceps didn’t match his chosen beverage. Too bad.

Dismissing them, he turned his attention to the barmaid. Her neon purple hair and sequined clothing ensured she was easy to find in the muted light of the club. In bright sunlight, she’d probably make him squint. He’d liked her voice when she’d spoken to him a while ago and her eyes, under the layers of make-up, were an unusual purplish-brown that had sparkled with life.

Purple hair?
His inner wolf sniffed derisively.
And in her eyes, too. She must be a witch.

He nodded in agreement. One of the ‘others’, a non-shifter.

She was working her way towards him again. He tipped his glass and downed the contents. When she approached him, she gave him a cocky grin.

“Another H2O? Straight up? On the rocks?”

Her lame humour had the corner of his mouth twitching. “On the rocks. Make it a double.”

“Will do but if you get rowdy, I’ll have to call the bouncer.”

“I’ll try to control myself.” He surprised himself by responding to her silliness. She’d seemed meeker during their initial encounter. Apparently she had a backbone under the layers of make-up. He liked that.

She has an inner strength
. His wolf decided.
Even if her hair is purple.

She laughed and brought him his drink. Rather than going on her way, she leaned against the bar and whispered conspiratorially to him. “Are you here to meet an informant?”