Chapter Three
"Atkins is back in the States and he's gunning for us," Ian said. "He already tried to get Danny."
Fear instantly enveloped me, making me shake. "Is Danny okay?"
Hank nodded. "He made it to the bunker, and Abe was able to fight off the goons Atkins sent after him. Abe subdued them long enough for the authorities to arrive and arrest them."
"Are we positive it was Atkins?" I had to ask. "Could it have been a simple breaking and entering?"
I could hope.
If I never saw Robert Atkins again, or the man we knew as Robert Atkins since we had no idea what his true name was, I'd be thrilled to death. The man was bad news. Rich as Midas and bat shit crazy. He liked spending his money on collecting things—and people—whether through legal means or illegal ones. As long as he got what he wanted.
He wanted an ocelot shifter.
"Oh, it was Atkins all right," Ian said. "His men kept asking where the cat shifter was."
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm sorry about the alarm call," Ian said, "but we didn't know if he was going to send people after you or not. We thought it was best if we were all together."
Well, that at least explained why Ian had called.
"Okay, so what's the plan?" I knew Ian had one. He always had a plan. "How do we find this guy?"
"We need to—"
"You need to stay here where it's safe while we go out and find this fuck head."
I slowly panned around until I was looking at Jack. Had he just suggested—no, ordered—that we stay here like damsels in distress and let the big boys fight our battles?
"You have got to have the biggest set of balls I have ever seen on a man, and I've seen a lot of balls." I looked my fill as my gaze roamed up and down his body. "How do you fit them into your pants?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Now, look here—"
"No, you look, Corporal," I snapped. "This is not the military and you are not my father, my lover, or even my boyfriend. I do not answer to you. You have no right to give me or anyone else in this house orders."
"You are not equipped to fight someone like this," Jack insisted.
I flicked out my claws. "Want to bet?"
Jack snarled as he grabbed my wrist. "You can't scratch someone if you're incapacitated."
I flicked out the claws on my other hand and raked them across the hand hanging onto my wrist. Instead of letting me go like I thought he would, Jack's lips firmed. He slowly angled his wrist until the bleeding scratches were right in front of my face.
His brown eyes turned as dark as his intense stare. "Fix it."
"Another order, Corporal?"
Jack's jaw clenched. "Fix it."
My eyes narrowed. I stuck out my tongue and slowly licked away the blood on the top of Jack's hand. I never broke eye contact with Jack. If I had, I might have missed the way his nostrils flared when I stroked my tongue across his skin.
Something intense burned through me when Jack's gaze traveled over my face and searched my eyes. I felt a tingling in the pit of my stomach, and I found myself extremely conscious of Jack's virile appeal. He was a rough man, uncompromising. I doubted there was an ounce of mercy in his entire body.
I found that strangely arousing.
I licked the last of the blood from Jack's hand then raised my chin mutinously. I had a stubborn streak in me a mile wide. I also didn't like being told what to do. I'd been that way since I was a small child. Drove my parents insane.
