Page 12 of Nicolette

The sound of a crash came from somewhere in the locker room, making Marco’s head whip around. He gave a low warning growl making me worry Mortas was back, but when an identical caracal leaped onto the table, I relaxed. The two looked at each other for a moment, almost as if they were conversing silently. Marco shifted to the side, giving more room for Polo to stand next to him.

“Sup, Polo,” I greeted. “I should warn you this isn’t a rescue mission.”

Polo gave an affirmative-sounding trill as he nuzzled my cheek and gave it a quick lick. Then I felt the prick of teeth on the side of my neck right where Mortas had been drinking from. This was quickly followed by another set of teeth wrapping around my trap muscle. It seemed they were going to share this burden together.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to get to know each other better. You guys seem like cool people,” I shared, then took as deep of a breath as I could with two large felines on my chest. “Ready when you are.”

While I’d like to say I didn’t go screaming into the afterlife—that would be a lie. The twins simultaneously bit me, but instead of tearing out my throat, they held me there as their claws sliced into my skin. It was as if I’d somehow turned into a fucking cat tree they decided to use as a scratching post. That was nothing compared to the pain of their bites. It was as though they were pouring acid into the wound, and it slowly traveled through my bloodstream, destroying everything in its path. Clearly, I’d chosen the wrong fucking people to kill me because this was worse than hell.

“Nic, you need to fight,” Marco whispered into my ear.

My body started to convulse so badly that I hurled myself off the table. The twins caught me easily and cradled me between them. Polo looked stricken as he gazed down at me, panic blazed in his eyes. Marco, on the other hand, looked determined as he forced me to look at him. While all I could get from Polo was how terrified he was, Marco had a calm about him, as if he was confident in his choice and would see it through.

“This right here, right now, is the fight of your life,” Marco stated, which had me utterly confused.

Why would I be fighting if I was dying?

“I’m sorry, Nic, but I couldn’t let you die, not like this, not when I could do something about it. I hope one day you’ll forgive me for making this choice for you, but all I want is for you to live. If that means you live the rest of your life pissed at me, that’s the price I’m willing to pay because you’ll be alive to hold that grudge,” Marco said cryptically.

Another bout of convulsions took over my body, but the twins held me through it all. Sweat poured off my body as my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, then my bones began to snap, which caused me to scream until I was hoarse.

Thankfully, I passed out when the pain simply became too much.

Chapter 5

Nine Lives

After hanging up with Marco, something in the pit of my stomach told me he wasn’t going to listen to me. The way he was talking about this woman and how his feline had chosen her, there was no way he’d allow her to die. Feline shifters didn’t have mates the same way that werewolves did or even bear shifters. They mated for life, and once that happened, there was no one else in the world for them. While being shifters meant we had a certain level of influence from our animal counterparts, it didn’t detract from us being human first. That being said, certain areas of our biology were dispositioned to place the animal’s needs before the human’s. For felines, the strongest pull was when we found a compatible female that would make our pride stronger.

If this was what Marco was up against, there was no way my orders were going to stick, not through the phone. Had I been standing there ensuring my alpha magic was behind my words, then it would have been enough to keep him clear-headed for us to get him away from the temptation. Shoving to my feet, I grabbed my leather jacket and pulled it on, feeling the well-worn leather settle on my shoulders.

My patch marking me as president rested over my heart with my name right under it, so there was no mistaking who I was. Spanning the majority of the back was the mark of the Savage Pride. A roaring lion surrounded in blood splatter with a gear framing it all in, declaring to all those who dared to mess with us, blood would be spilled.

“Nine, where you going?” Rambler called as he shoved off a sweetbutt who’d been trying to get in his pants all night.

I paused to look at my vice president and best friend. “Lucky Shot, just have a feeling that Marco’s not gonna listen to me.”

Rambler grunted and stood to join me. The tiger was massive, almost seven feet but with his shitkickers, it made up the inch he was shy. Head covered in his favorite beanie and full thick black beard, he looked the part of the fucking biker he was. With his leathers already on since he never liked to show his arms and the scars that littered them, he fell into step with me as we left the clubhouse.

It was pride rules that you never left the building without your leathers, be it a jacket like ours or the simple leather vest or cut we gave the prospects. Savage Pride had been running out of this city for over a hundred years, and everyone knew it. Wearing our leathers spoke for us if a cop thought about messing with us or another thug wanted to start some shit. It was all the warning they would get before they wound up dead, bleeding out on the ground at our feet.

In a world full of supernaturals, weakness wasn’t something anyone could afford to show. Wars between species were deadly for everyone, even if you weren’t involved. As a rule, we tried to avoid those, but sometimes you needed to set someone in their place. Making an example out of those who stepped out of line kept it from happening more than it should.

The humans viewed it as barbaric, ruthless, and savage. They’d be right. You either won your battles, or you rotted in the gutters of The Grid. It was a cruel world out there, and I planned to do whatever it took to stay on top, protect my people, and keep unnecessary war off the streets. It’s not that I had a heart of gold or anything. It was simply business. War costs money, weapons, and lives and scared off the customers we sold to, which was why I was trying to avoid having to mount up and head into enemy territory.

“Need an extra hand?” Dice questioned as he appeared out of the shadows of the building we used as our clubhouse.

As my enforcer, I should bring him along, but in a delicate situation, it might be best to have him sit this out. My gaze flicked over to Rambler, looking for his thoughts on the matter.

“We are going to an underground supernatural hangout. It might be smart to have someone watching our backs. You know him, the sneaky fucker would practically be invisible in that kind of crowd, Supe or not,” Rambler pointed out.

Dice stood there tossing the two little cubes he’d been named after. Most people, when they thought enforcer, they pictured someone like Rambler, big, bulky, and scary as fuck at first glance. Dice was the opposite of that. He was tall but built like a gymnast with lean muscles and not an ounce of body fat on him. His hair was a dirty blond mop on the top of his head that fell over his green eyes, hiding them from view. The thing about appearances, though, was they could be deceiving as hell because that skinny motherfucker was the most ruthless killer I’d ever met. Personally, I thought he rather enjoyed the fact that people underestimated him. By the time they figured out their mistake, they’d already be dead.

“I don’t care what the dice say to you. No one dies unless I give the order,” I instructed, making sure to add a little alpha magic to it so he knew I wasn’t fucking around.

Dice nodded and headed over to his bike. He was a man of few words, to the point I sometimes forgot he could speak. His sister told me it was because he had impulse control issues, and he learned his foster parents wouldn’t beat him as much if they forgot he was there. Later on, when he came into his animal, everything changed. He continued to stay silent but let his knives and claws do the talking for him instead. The dice came into play when a therapist suggested it would give him a chance to think about his choices before acting. Fat lot of good that did him. Now he merely used them as a game to play with his victims.

The roar of our engines filled the night and muffled the sound of music and laughter coming from the clubhouse. Taking the lead, I tore out onto the empty street and took the shortcut down the alley to the main road. Our turf was on the edge of the city near the train yard and the old industrial park full of dilapidated warehouses and buildings we used for various things. The Broker’s turf was on the newer side of the slums, so they had fewer potholes than us.