Disgraced Cowboys (Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 3) [Siren Publishing Ménage Amour] (6 page)

She flailed against him now, knocking his hat onto the nearby bed. It flipped over and disappeared over the far edge. He was strong—alarmingly so. She knew self-defense from her classes at the Y. Why couldn’t she seem to think of any secret techniques for escaping a werewolf attacker?

“Calm down, ma’am,” he said, louder this time. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

That only escalated her struggle, and her towel dropped to the floor. Somehow, she wrenched out of his grasp, and she stood in front of him, heaving ragged breaths and completely naked. Jesus. She tried to using her hands to cover herself, but she knew what would happen next. The rabid, hungry stare she knew all too well would follow, and he would lose all control. He’d shove her onto the bed and roughly wedge those long legs between her thighs, her wriggling and fighting in panicked desperation until she felt the inevitable, sickening thrust of unwanted invasion.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her stomach twisting as a wave of nausea hit.

She backed away from him, her eyes wide and a hand out in a feeble attempt to stop him. The sight of her naked and trembling altered his entire demeanor, but not the in the way she expected. He averted his eyes and leaned over to yank the faded brown spread from the bed, which he held out to her. She clutched the blanket tight to her front, her mouth gaping open.

He took a step back, keeping his eyes trained elsewhere while she wrapped the bedspread around herself. Then he gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Please,” he said. “I just have a couple questions.”

Her heart was slamming against her sternum, and her gaze slid quickly to the door. She could run, but she’d never make it. She let her unsteady legs collapse beneath her until her backside was more or less seated on the mattress. The man towered over her this way, filling the room with a bulk and manner that reminded her a good deal of another dark-haired werewolf she knew.

He wore leathers over his pale blue jeans, and a red T-shirt stretched so tight over his chest that it called the fabric’s ability not to tear into question. A strip of his dark hair had been shaved clean over one ear, revealing a wicked tribal-style tattoo on his scalp. Despite his claim of not being a criminal, he definitely had bad-guy written on him. Except for the part where he’d covered her up and promised not to hurt her.

She shuddered at a distant but ever-accessible memory of a man who’d done the exact opposite, and she fought back a prickle of tears.

Marcus, where are you? She thought loudly in her head.

The man pulled up a vacant chair, which he flipped around and sat in backward. “Now, then, let’s start over, all hospitable-like. I need to talk to the man you entertained here. When will he be back?”

She blinked. “Who?”

He gave a disapproving shake of the head. “Wrong answer.”

She shifted on the bed, seating herself more securely. “I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to, but I don’t ‘entertain’ men in my motel room. No one’s ever here but me.”

“That so?” The wooden chair creaked as he leaned over to snatch something off the back of the other chair. “What’s this?”

She swallowed as he held out the duster. “Maybe it’s mine.”

The half smile came back. His nostrils flared briefly as he pressed his nose to the fabric. “You don’t smell like the man I’m lookin’ for. This does.”

Brandi tried for a nonchalant shrug. “So, I found that and brought it home. Is that a crime? Are you the law or something?”

“As far as he’s concerned, I’m the law.” She blinked in shock at the words, so similar to what Marcus had told her just a few days before. “To you, the ‘or somethin’’ will do.” He stood up, again dwarfing the room. The duster was clutched in his hand, down near his side. “You work at the strip club two blocks up the highway, don’t you?”

She stiffened. “Again with the assumptions. Why is it that if a woman’s got long legs and a big rack, men think she must be a giant slut?”

“No offense, ma’am.” He tipped a finger to the hat that was no longer there. “But I saw your photo up on the wall when I was there yesterday.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “What’s it to you where I work?”

He tilted his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “There was a bit of a scrap over at that club the other night. Don’t suppose you know anythin’ about it?”

She met his unsettling stare head-on. Lying wasn’t exactly getting her very far with this guy. Might as well switch to half truths. “I was there. So?”

“So,” he said, again holding up the duster, “this man and some other, uh, friends of mine were involved. What can you tell me about the fight?”

“Not much,” she said honestly. “I was in the back room when it all started.”

“And the man who dropped this coat? Where did he go?”

Before or after he morphed into a furry canine? “I have no idea.”

“But you brought his coat home with you.” His gaze narrowed. “Why?”

She stood and still had to tilt her chin upward to go eye-to-eye. “If you’re so worried about the damn coat, feel free to give it back to him. But as you can see, he isn’t here. Marcus has never set foot inside this room.”

Something flickered in his gaze. “Ah. So now it’s ‘Marcus,’ is it? You do know who I’m talkin’ about.”

Shit. Marcus’s name had slipped right out without a thought. She clamped her lips tight.

“What about Seth? Has
he
ever been in here?”

“No!”

He eyed her again. “You’re his woman, ain’t you? Marcus’s.”

A scowl creased her face. “His what? Hell, no. I’m nobody’s ‘woman.’” Kade’s smile slid wider, touching off a surge of anger. “What I
am
is highly pissed off that you busted in here uninvited, practically assaulted me, and are grilling me like a cop. Are you quite finished? I’d like to get dressed and get going where I need to be before I’m missed.”

The last part was a lie, but maybe he’d think twice about his borderline hostage scenario if he believed it.

“Goin’ to meet anyone I know?”

“That depends. You know many strippers?”

He grunted, a sound not devoid of humor. “Can’t say as I do.”

“Whatever. Can I go now, Mr. ‘Or Something’?”

Calmly, he wandered over to retrieve his lost hat. The top of it nearly scraped the ceiling when he put it on. “I’m terrible sorry to have disturbed you, ma’am. No harm done?”

“None that I won’t get over after you leave and never come back.”

He strode to the door and tugged it open. As he was about to step through, however, he paused. “If you do happen to see Marcus, I’d sore appreciate it if you’d give him a message.”

A stab of dread pierced her stomach. “I doubt I’ll be seeing him.”

“Oh, I
don’t
doubt it. Not for one minute. So you tell him that Kade needs to talk to him. Tell him I know who his mate is.” He eyed her with a pointed expression that had lost its humor. “Both of them.”

She stared at the gaping hole he left in the doorway as he stalked away with a typical cowboy swagger. Only after several moments of staring did she finally shake herself into motion and shuffle over to shut the door, still cocooned in the bedspread. She flipped the locks and turned to lean her back against the door.

So, that was the infamous Kade the other werewolves hadn’t wanted to be found by. He’d found her, though. And how had he done that, exactly?

Her gaze shifted to the duster now piled on the floor. He’d known Marcus’s scent, which still permeated the coat she was ashamed to admit she’d sniffed at several times herself. Kade must have tracked that scent away from the club. She wondered why he hadn’t done the same to find the others. Then again, they’d probably gone much farther than two blocks away. This was a much closer stop to check.

She swallowed down the heartbeat trying to pound its way into her throat. At least this meant Kade hadn’t caught up with Marcus—or Seth, apparently. What his beef was with them was anyone’s guess. Still, thoughts of Marcus in another altercation had troubled her ever since she’d watched him hightail it into the woods. He definitely seemed to attract trouble, which was a good reason to stay far away. That was something she fully expected to do. But Kade didn’t seem to think that likely.

What made him so certain she’d see Marcus again? And what was all the crap about knowing who Marcus’s mate was? He’d cast a hard eye on her when he said it, as if she knew who it was, too.

Her eyes widened. “Seth,” she breathed.

If “mate” meant what she assumed it did, it had to be him. The way the two of them looked at each other was, well, intense. The same way Marcus had looked at her, though with less irritation.

I know who his mate is. Both of them.

Brandi dropped the blanket to pool around her feet and headed for the miniscule alcove the motel considered a closet. She pulled out a thick black sweater and started dressing. She needed to let Marcus know about Kade. While she had no idea where he was, the most likely way to find him again was back at the scene of the crime.

* * * *

Brandi wasn’t in Hot Pink more than two minutes before she was swooped down upon by Angel Wings, whom Brandi privately referred to as the “Angel of Death”. The stripper clumped over to Brandi in huge platforms that barely brought her to eye level when Brandi was only wearing comfortable flats. Angel’s silver sequined costume barely qualified as a dress, considering the hem stopped north of her equally spangled snatch.

“What the hell’s this?” Angel spat. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to pick up extra shifts now? Don’t you make enough hogging all the best tips on your regular nights?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Brandi said, fighting the urge to yank on that pouty, over-glossed lip Angel curled into a sneer. “I’m here for a drink, unless that’s also on your list of things new girls aren’t allowed to do.”

Angel gritted her teeth and flounced away. Brandi shook her head. “The whole stripper politics bullshit is really getting old,” she muttered, then stalked to the bar. She took a seat right where Marcus had met up with Seth.

“Light beer,” she told the bartender, Manny. One quick beer, and if Marcus didn’t show, well, she tried, right?

Three hours and three beers later, Brandi groaned in sheer annoyance. What the hell was she still doing here? Only an idiot spent their night off hanging out at their job, especially when she had zero interest in watching her coworkers bump and grind on a pole. The feeling was mutual, too. Angel was onstage now, going way overboard on her stretches and pelvic thrusts. No doubt she wanted to intimidate Brandi, who could care less. Truth was, she knew Angel was the better dancer. That didn’t change the fact that Brandi made more money at it.

She should definitely go. Yet every time she tried to get up and leave, she couldn’t seem to drag her ass off the barstool. She’d catch a glimpse of a tall man, or someone in a Stetson would walk in, and her breath would catch in her throat. But hell, half the town apparently owned Stetsons.

This was ridiculous. He obviously wasn’t coming.

“Hey, Manny,” she called out over the din of Angel’s musical selection of “Centerfold.” “Got a pen I can borrow?”

She used the pen he whipped out of his half apron to jot a number down on her drink coaster. Meanwhile, the men in the bar were shouting, “My angel is a centerfold!” followed by the annoying “Na-na, na-na na-na” chorus that set her teeth on edge.

It took a few minutes to get Manny’s attention back. His clip-on bowtie was slightly askew. It was a busy night for a Tuesday. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Remember the cowboy who was here the night of the brawl?”

A skeptical look crossed Manny’s pinched though not unpleasant features. Too bad his chestnut hair was going prematurely gray. “Lot of cowboys here that night, busting up the place.”

“I mean the one who stood right
here
. Taller than the rest, wore a long, tan duster?”

“Oh, him. He was here with Seth.”

“Right.” She slid the coaster toward Manny. “If he comes in, would you give him this? It’s my cell number.”

He frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those, Brandi. I’d figured you for having a much smarter head on your shoulders.”

“It’s not what you think. I have a message for him that was delivered to me by mistake.”

His thin eyebrow arched almost comically high. “Paulo won’t like it.”

“That’s why I’m not asking Paulo.”

Manny shook his head but palmed the coaster. “Sure hope you aren’t letting yourself in for trouble. All sorts of rumors fly around about the cowboys he used to hang with.”

She straightened at that. “What sort of rumors?”

He shrugged while he wiped a spill off the bar. “They’re a damn strange bunch. Used to crew around with this guy Blaise, the kind you never wanted to see walk into your bar. Most of them can’t hold jobs apparently, either, especially on the ranches around here.”

Brandi nodded. That made sense, really. A werewolf doing ranch work? How would they explain taking a few days off every full moon? What if they shifted right in the bunkhouse in front of the other hands? And what about the animals? Animals were sensitive. Would they sense the were’s true nature? Probably.